Happy (belated) new update everyone, time to devour all the new lore aaa

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Scaramouche suppresses a smirk as Sucrose all but slumps over the table while Albedo plays with the food on his plate. They have been so gracious to fall for his trick, hook, line, and sinker.

His performance was successful on all counts. After the dance, the two alchemists invited him to dinner, saying his gift far outweighed them going over their research. Though that was definitely true, Scaramouche pretended to refuse, claiming they were too kind, only relenting after their insistence. Scaramouche still doesn't understand a thing about their showcase – something about being able to transfer rust between metals? Or other weird things like that – but nevertheless, he was invited to a talk Albedo would be giving on the last day of the Fair.

With any luck, Scaramouche won't have to suffer through this disorganised mess of an event for too long. Being invited to dinner is a great start, and something he must take advantage of.

And that's why he, Albedo, Klee, and Sucrose made their way through the Fair's culinary section, a large exhibition taking up one of the smaller buildings and the surrounding grounds. Food carts and tents lined the walkways, with smaller stalls at the hangar-like ground level. Proper restaurants are found on the first floor, becoming fancier and fancier the higher the floor.

Apparently, all participating Principal Investigators of the alchemical division get some type of free food pass, as Albedo guided them to a fancy Sumeru small-plates restaurant taking up a large chunk of the top-floor pavilion. They were even lucky enough to score a corner table overlooking Sumeru, with its dense jungle on the left, the cliff-riddled desert on the right, and the base of Sumeru's capital weaselling up a colossal, mountain-sized tree dead centre.

Though stuffed, Scaramouche keeps going through his plates, currently munching through chicken tandoori along with naan bread from another plate. He ordered a bit of everything as he usually does, never having to think of costs since joining the Fatui. Just because he's on an assignment doesn't mean he can't treat himself. Quite the opposite.

Across from Scaramouche sits Albedo with a small plate of vegetable pakoras, accompanied only by an equally tiny portion of rice from a communal plate. His plate is still half-full with rice and a few pakoras that he has been rolling around on his plate for the last couple of minutes.

A sleepy Klee is leaning against Albedo, kept awake only by a persistent bout of hiccups. Her plate is almost picked clean, as she quickly devoured her portion and then spent the next hour picking whatever seemed interesting from everyone else's plates. Scaramouche let her have bits of his food solely to get into her brother's good graces and because she was instrumental in getting them to meet… Not to mention this little tyke apparently kicked Childe's ass, so perhaps Scaramouche should go out of his way to buy her a lollipop as thanks, while trying to wheedle out the whole story for future blackmail material.

Next to him, Sucrose yawns and then quickly covers her mouth, "Sorry, I think I'll go in early today. I didn't expect the…" she yawns again as her cheeks flush, "dance."

Scaramouche holds back a teasing grin. Her head looked like a turnip after the last performance, both from exertion and embarrassment.

Albedo looks up at the sky, the moon almost halfway up, then to Klee. "It is quite late… Sucrose, would you be alright going back with Klee?" He rouses the kid with a gentle pat and shows her a pakora, only for the girl to stick out her tongue and for him to sigh. "Apologies, but I'll need more time to finish my portion."

Which Scaramouche finds weird, though keeps his expression disinterested. Unlike humans, Scaramouche doesn't need to eat. If Albedo's design is similar to his, then the homunculus may only eat for pleasure's sake. But if so, why does Albedo eat so slow and so little? If you're going out of your way to do something you might as well enjoy it to its fullest.

Unless Albedo doesn't have to and doesn't want to eat, and this is just to disguise his true nature. But if that's the case, does Albedo do so because of Scaramouche's presence? Do either Sucrose or Klee know that he is a homunculus?

Or maybe the reckless idiot that made Albedo did a shitty job and Scaramouche is pointlessly overthinking the contradictions of a flawed product.

Sucrose sleepily nods as she gets up and picks up Klee. The kid clings on to Albedo for a bit, but she eventually lets go with a quick good night to him before she falls asleep again in Sucrose's lap.

"And how about you?" Albedo asks Scaramouche after he says goodbye to the other two. "Your performance looked quite taxing."

Scaramouche lets out a polite laugh as he waves Sucrose goodbye as well. "Not at all, it's become routine by now."

The two sit in silence until Scaramouche judges Sucrose and Klee are far away enough. He leans forward on the table, switching to a more flirtatious tone. "And since I don't have to get up early tomorrow, I can spend all night having fun."

It's not subtle, but Scaramouche only has a week to work with and is already bored by what little the Fair has to offer. Besides, he's found little difference in laying it thick versus taking more time to test boundaries when it comes to success. Fair looks can get you a long way.

But, Albedo merely gives him an absent-minded nod. "Though I can't imagine most venues will stay open overnight. Do you plan to go out to the city?"

Scaramouche gives Albedo a blank look.

Okay. So this didn't work as he expected. He is willing to excuse such ignorance as it being late and facing a sleepy target who just met him. Or maybe the nerdy alchemist is completely oblivious and Scaramouche needs to be more direct.

Well, whatever. He can take a more lax approach today. Best to play it safe so he doesn't scare Albedo off.

"Oh, maybe," Scaramouche says, falling back onto his chair. "I've heard of neighbourhoods near the suburbs here that have amazing nightlife." He deliberately shifts his shoulder to cause his yukata to droop off his shoulder. "Too many things to do, not enough time."

Albedo hums in agreement as he glances at him before staring out into the city. He's not the most emotive sort, Scaramouche realises. As to why is that–

In any case, it makes judging his reactions harder, but Scaramouche enjoys a challenge.

As long as it doesn't turn into a chore.

The view from the pavilion is quite nice, enhanced by a gentle, warm southern wind and faint chatter of fellow patrons. Scaramouche moves his chair to lean against the railing and looks out at the landscape.

The way the city is half-visible through the darkness reminds Scaramouche of an old tale. Supposedly, there was a painter in Teyvat whose vivid painted landscapes could bring anyone to tears. It was a legend among many when it came to famous artists, each one extolling them as masters of their craft and telling tall tales of the flood of emotions a mere glimpse of their art could bring forth.

Once, long ago, Scaramouche put those legends to the test. He sought after all such art, art deemed important, historic, expectation-shattering. Each piece left him more bored than the last.

He should have expected such a thing. Emotions borne from art are mere artifices. The true emotions come from experience, and art merely resurfaces memories of them. Yet if that is true, why does Scaramouche still not feel anything when looking at those mythical tear-inducing paintings?

Then again, any emotion he feels is an intellectualised by-product of how he thinks he should feel. Anything he may feel is brief and inconsequential. Sparks failing to light a pyre. Any disgust, anger, frustration – for those seem to be the only emotions his incomplete body can produce – are an unconscious reflex, a glitch quickly corrected. He has no heart for spontaneous bursts of it. If he did, he would understand. He's supposed to be able to, even with his true heart lacking, the Fatui, Il Dottore…

Scaramouche is under no delusions that the Fatui care for him any more than for his combat prowess, but you'd think sticking around so many humans ought to trigger something. Il Dottore told him, warned him that his powers would likely come with their fair share of emotions, but progress on that last front has been mind-numbingly slow. Though he's improved leagues and leagues from when he was a naive lost little puppet, the most prominent emotion he can experience is boredom and annoyance, which frequently morphs into anger. Scaramouche's mind may have escaped the void his heart has been banished to, but too often he feels it too is standing on the precipice, ready to tumble down and revert to a blank slate.

He can fake everything else – how could he not after being around humans so long? – and once he thought there was some truth to the 'fake it 'till you make it approach', but that was a long time ago. It also doesn't help that his only other point of comparison now is the stone-faced little homunculus he's supposed to abduct–

His thoughts are rudely interrupted by the sound of scratching paper. Scaramouche whips around to catch Albedo staring right back at him.

"What are you doing?" Scaramouche asks while relaxing his frame. All that pondering made him annoyed again.

Albedo doesn't seem to have noticed, for he merely gestures to his open sketchbook. "I like to sketch things that catch my interest. Today in particular has been very fruitful."

What a nonsensical hobby. The little homunculus making art. "Show me."

Albedo puts down his charcoal block, rips the page he's working on, and slides his sketchbook over. Scaramouche grabs it and randomly leafs through sketches upon sketches, most nothing more than stick figures. Here and there some details are pencilled in, but there's no comprehensible pattern; from a random outfit detail, to a weed, to a grimace of a random audience member.

Nonsensical. If it's details Albedo is after, a kamera would do much better. What's even the point of drawing like this?

The sound of scratching on paper makes Scaramouche look up again. Albedo has gone back to sketching, currently filling in some lines. Though at an angle, Scaramouche recognises the drawing's focus.

"Are you sketching me?" Scaramouche blurts out.

Albedo pauses and looks up as well. "Would you like me not to? It's a hobby of mine – and I am planning to give you the completed work once I'm done."

"You're going through all the effort of making something just so you give it away?" Scaramouche asks. His first instinct is to scoff; he's aware of his good looks and how artists flock to such things like moths to a flame. But he has an act to keep up. His confusion is genuine though.

"Yes," Albedo blankly says.

"... Suit yourself," Scaramouche says with a shrug and returns to staring at the horizon, though with the added awareness of Albedo's gaze upon him.

What a strange turn this night has taken.

"What about your hobbies?" Albedo asks after a few minutes of silence. Probably making sure his subject is not bored and stops posing.

"Sword dancing, I suppose," Scaramouche answers, not bothering to look back. He doesn't want to ruin the sketch after all.

"Is that why you became a performer?"

"Sort of. It started off as a favour to a friend; he was a swordsmith and wanted me to test one of his products," Scaramouche nonchalantly says. The trick in a successful disguise is to lie only when necessary for your cover.

"Was?"

The question surprises Scaramouche. Albedo is genuinely paying attention to his words, not just making small talk.

Whatever. There's no use hiding it. That man is long dead, along with his betrayer and most of their families. He made sure of that.

Scaramouche shrugs. "Inazuma can be an inhospitable place."

Albedo takes a moment too long to respond. "I see. My condolences."

Scaramouche stares at a small cluster of faraway lights. The wind has died down and the chatter has died down to where he can hear the crickets and Albedo's sketching.

"Despite the hardships, do you miss your home?" Albedo asks after a few seconds.

What a strange question. Maybe Albedo is trying to make conversation and grasping at straws again. Or maybe Scaramouche's oh-so-vulnerable confession has struck something within the homunculus.

"As much as anyone would," Scaramouche lies. "I do like that my new position lets me travel all around Teyvat."

"That's good," Albedo says with a polite smile. "I've been very fortunate with settling in Mondstadt as well."

Ah, so Scaramouche has hit a mark.

He raises his eyebrows in faked surprise. "Are you not originally from there?"

"No. I… used to travel with Master – my alchemy teacher," Albedo quickly corrects himself, and Scaramouche realises he's struck gold. 'Alchemy teacher' his ass.

"Teacher?" Scaramouche repeats, putting a touch of awe into his voice. "Wow, if they're the one who taught you, they must be another genius."

'And stark raving mad', he mentally adds. The closest person Scaramouche would liken this so-called 'alchemy teacher' would be Dottore, but that madman still has his head screwed on enough to merely mutilate existing flesh.

Then again, the first time Scaramouche met Dottore, the man kept questioning him about details of his creation. He still does, under the guise that knowing how Scaramouche is built is imperative for unlocking even more power – and anything else he may desire of his body. Depending on his mood, Scaramouche gives him non-committal answers, or simply tells him to fuck off.

But now Il Dottore has found someone who's done just that and tricked Scaramouche into bringing a 'sample' via those arrays. Arrays that he bets have to do with how to create a homunculus.

Say Scaramouche does bring him Albedo; fuck is Il Dottore going to do with him? The Tsaritsa won't be happy, and if Il Dottore thinks he can keep this under wraps from the rest of the Harbingers, from Pierro himself, then he's lost what little sanity he has left.

But, if Scaramouche doesn't bring anything then, complaints of wasting budget aside, Il Dottore will use that as an excuse to force Scaramouche into a whole new host of experiments to 'boost' his power. Which would be neat if they worked, but 90% of them are wastes of time and the other 9% agonizing.

Once, after a particularly excruciating session involving liberal applications of Pyro, Scaramouche made an off-beat comment that getting more powers wasn't worth it if it fucked up his head.

"What makes you think this will affect your mental faculties?" Il Dottore asked as he pulled off his gloves.

Scaramouche mumbled something about his making some stupid connection to pain, drawn from observations of grunts who came out of a skirmish physically fine but shaking like a leaf.

Il Dottore scoffed in response. "Those are faulty emotional responses, errors in pattern-matching," he said, followed by a smile. "You, my dear Balladeer, are blissfully devoid of such things."

But that was then. Currently, Albedo's smile grows slightly wider, in blissful innocence of all the gears turning in Scaramouche's head. "She is."

"So are you here to meet her?" Scaramouche asks. He's showing his hand, but getting a lead into that madwoman will solve his current clusterfuck. Pierro will definitely be interested, though whether he'll recruit her or kill her, Scaramouche does not know, nor does he care. Il Dottore certainly won't have any complaints either.

"She's…" Albedo pauses. "She's away at the moment. On an expedition."

Scaramouche innocently tilts his head. "Is she going to be back soon?"

Albedo doesn't respond.

"What's her name–?"

"It's a very long expedition," Albedo cuts him off, stopping his sketch half-way. His smile is gone, replaced with his usual blank expression. Another glitch corrected for.

But even if Scaramouche has hit the metaphorical brick wall, the 'extended absence' of Albedo's creator is interesting. The expedition excuse is definitely a lie, but her true fate is still unknown, as is the reason for her 'departure'. She could be dead, or Albedo could have run away from her, or she could have abandoned him–

"So, do you have any plans for the rest of the Fair?" Scaramouche asks, changing the subject and putting his thoughts in the right track. He's still determined to get close to Albedo, even if he's unsure what to do after the homunculus falls into his clutches. "Any exhibits you want to visit?"

Albedo lets out a small breath, the rising tension leaving his frame. "Not particularly. Sucrose and I will be on stall duty tomorrow, then we will give a small talk during the last day, but besides that we'll be free. We're hoping to visit other areas, though most of our colleagues sadly choose to stay in their bubble."

"I wouldn't know about the more intellectual areas, but you should check out the outdoor engineering branch." Scaramouche points at the faint outline of a giant metal wheel on the other side of the grounds. "That thing there has little carts that bring you way up to the top."

Albedo follows his hand and nods, falling back into a more sociable disposition. "Thank you. If you want any recommendations for alchemical exhibits, I know some colleagues who have interesting and accessible showcases and who would be happy to discuss them with you. And you're always free to visit our stall as well." He looks down at the sketch, adds a few lines, then passes the paper to Scaramouche. "Here. Thank you for the cooperation."

Scaramouche barely pays attention to the sketch, but breaks into a faked wide smile. "Wow, I should be the one thanking you! It looks great."

Albedo seems taken aback by the praise. "Oh, no need to thank me."

"If you say so." Scaramouche says as he and Albedo stand up. "I may pop by your place tomorrow morning as well. Let me know if you want me to bring you something from the city or other stalls to alleviate your boredom."

It takes him a moment, but Albedo nods. "I'll keep the offer in mind. Farewell."

The two walk by the exit of the restaurant, then move to opposite sides of the building, Albedo staying at in-ground accommodations over one side of the Expo whereas Scaramouche has to deal with the cramped caravan cots on the other.

Once he reaches the performing arts section, Scaramouche finds a quiet corner and gives Albedo's sketch a proper look.

The drawing centres him both spatially and with the attention to detail. The table, the sky, even the railing he leans on are nothing more than rough lines.

In contrast, the subject, Scaramouche, is drawn with careful detail. Albedo perfectly captured the way his bangs part and catch on his ears. The rugged edges at the end of his yukata and how it parts, revealing his sarashi–

Scaramouche blinks and looks down. His yukata has come somewhat undone at the chest. Scaramouche quickly retries his yukata properly. He's surprised no one has bothered him on the way here, thinking him as a helpless maiden, unlike his time as a wanderer. Some of his intimidating aura must be leaking through.

Scaramouche looks back at the drawing. He's been sketched before, sometimes because his target was an artist, others because he simply chanced upon the opportunity. But no matter the apparent skill of the artists, Scaramouche hated each and every one of them for a reason he couldn't formulate.

Until now. Until he catches all the little details Albedo incorporated that Scaramouche wasn't even aware he has. Until the startling realisation that Albedo is drawing him. Scaramouche, not a baby-faced version of the Raiden Shogun.

And that should mean something. Scaramouche's realisation. The time that Albedo took to make it, the hours sunk into his craft to make such a creation possible. The fact that Albedo freely gave it away and was even somewhat bashful about receiving praise. The contextual hilarity of being given as a gift by the very man Scaramouche plans to abduct.

It should trigger something.

Yet Scaramouche feels the same persisting emptiness when he bunches the drawing up and throws it into an overflowing bin.

\*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*/

Albedo's talk takes place in a room eerily similar to the Fatui's anatomical theatres. A raised table in the centre of the room is surrounded by steep tiers of standing stalls, like a miniature amphitheatre. The table and centre stage are perfectly lit, whereas the seats are kept as dark as possible.

Scaramouche is standing on a corner at the highest row alongside Klee. As he has been personally invited, he got to pick his place before anyone else, ignoring the strange looks as he passed by the other alchemists eagerly crowding at the entrance. Some of the ones he passed by are now pushing against each other on the limited seats, standing shoulder-to-disgruntled-shoulder.

Unfortunately, more and more people pile up, and Klee ends up between his legs before he lifts her up and makes her sit over the railing. Scaramouche tolerates this minor annoyance, but when another person tries to shove him against the wall he zaps them with no hesitation.

His victim jerks and pushes back against his fellows, earning a few indignant cries. He blinks owlishly at Scaramouche, who sends him an innocent look as he extends his hand to grab the furthest part of the railing he can reach, establishing his space.

Klee wobbles as she swings her feet and accidentally hits someone's back. Ignoring the offended look from the alchemist below them, Scaramouche picks her up and makes her sit over his shoulders. Better this than have her start a scene. Plus, she barely weighs anything, and he's found out the best way to get Albedo to open up is to be good to the kid.

Not that he hasn't tried other ways. By the Archons he has, but the Fair is almost over and he's no closer to his goal than he was the first night. Albedo is perfectly polite, earnest even, but the moment Scaramouche tries to wheedle any info about his past, or change the nature of their interaction to anything more personal, he is either shut down or ignored.

It's maddening. Scaramouche is not doing anything wrong on his end. Albedo is simply an unholy combination of reserved, paranoid, and oblivious, and his expressionless composure is not helping matters.

Then again, Scaramouche should have expected the latter. If anything, the lack of emotion is a good sign because a homunculus acting exactly like a human should, micro-expressions and all, would signal he is as adept at subterfuge as Scaramouche. And that he could more easily see through Scaramouche's own act.

To add to his troubles, Scaramouche also hasn't come to any solid conclusion of what he'll do with Albedo after capturing him. He hasn't heard anything from Il Dottore, not that he expected to. He hasn't been able to contact anyone, and he's still in the dark on what Albedo is and can do besides vague notions of blasphemy.

Bah, it doesn't matter. Scaramouche could spin capturing a homunculus any way he liked. For now he should focus on that.

The chatter quickly dies down when Albedo and Sucrose walk in at the centre stage, by the table. Albedo's coat is fully buttoned up; Sucrose is wearing an oversized cotton one, though her flushed face implies she's not going to last long with it on at this temperature. The two move to opposite sides of the table, where a large pot with two plants sit opposite to each other. One is a perfectly healthy bloom, but the other is almost withered.

After a quick exchange between the two presenting alchemists, Albedo steps forward. "Good afternoon everyone," he begins, his voice low yet clear enough that what little chatter remains is quickly extinguished. "Thank you for attending today's showcase. My assistant, Ms. Sucrose," he politely gestures to Sucrose, who goes even redder and keeps her gaze locked on the table, "and I will be presenting a transference technique. Originally it was intended to be used as part of Ms. Sucrose's botanical research. However, further investigation revealed it to have a much wider application range, and we expect that there are many more avenues we have left unexplored for now."

Albedo's tone is soft, but steady and void of emotion. Yet he's fully captured the attention of the room, as many physically lean in from their seats. "Our technique, under the provisional name 'Property Displacement' lets us redistribute certain material across living organisms, such as nutrients–"

At some hushed whispers, Albedo stops half-sentence and stares at the audience. The people responsible quickly go silent and physically shrink, trying to fit with their fellows.

"... We will begin with a simple demonstration of our technique, then a short explanation before repeating it with different parameters," Albedo continues, as if he was not interrupted. "Following that, we will delve into more detail on the theory behind it, and we will conclude by answering any questions you have."

He takes a step back. "Ms. Sucrose will take over the demonstration, as this is well within her area of expertise. Please give her a warm welcome."

After a few interspersed claps, Sucrose steps forward with all the confidence of a newborn fawn.

"Um, hello," she starts with a squeak, which she covers up with a cough.

Some whispers re-emerge, but they quickly grow silent when Albedo's gaze falls on them. He scans the crowd, briefly stopping when spotting Klee and Scaramouche. The kid waves both hands, while Scaramouche settles for an acknowledging nod. Albedo gives them a quick smile before turning his focus back on his assistant.

Sucrose, her gaze fixed on the table, gulps and then steps back to give everyone a better view of the implements. "A-as Master Albedo mentioned, this technique arose in part due to my growth experiments…" She glances at Albedo, who takes a pause from staring at disruptive academics to give her a sombre but encouraging nod. It works, as Sucrose's voice picks up in speed and intensity. "I was testing the effect of different growth factors, but there was a problem in minimising confounding variables, such as factors beside the one we were investigating, or ensuring that two specimens started off in the exact same condition…"

Scaramouche can feel himself physically dozing off as Sucrose starts talking about technical details he cares not about. Klee's weight and her occasional wiggling is what keeps him awake, though even she rests her little head on her hands, probably just as bored.

Some excitement returns when Sucrose finishes speaking and Albedo raises his hand over the table to perform the actual demonstration. But all Scaramouche sees is some light as the wilted flower blooms while its fellow slightly deflates, as if dehydrated. Not exactly mind-blowing stuff.

And then Albedo starts another lecture. Scaramouche bites back a groan. He suffers through this for a few minutes, then takes out the handouts for this session and the complementary pencil, and draws a tic-tac-toe board. He fills in a spot then hands it and the pencil up to Klee, rousing her from an incoming nap.

Time passes quickly after that. The kid puts up a valiant fight, so Scaramouche lets her win a couple of times. At one point, Klee has filled in the upper-middle and upper-right spots, so Scaramouche naturally fills in the upper-left spot.

When he hands it back, he can feel the kid physically pouting. But a second later, she gasps and begins furiously scribbling. She hands the paper back for Scaramouche to see she's added a new column on the left side, and filled the top spot there, technically creating a row of three, followed by a smiley face.

Scaramouche stares at it for a second, then shakes as he tries to hold back a snort. The kid's an absolute riot and his only source of fun in this mess of a mission.

He marks down a victory for the kid and starts a new game. Might as well make the best of his last afternoon before his trap finally snaps shut on his blissfully oblivious prey.

\*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*/

"Finally, though we have limited plans to continue this avenue of research, we urge anyone interested to do so," Albedo finishes up the talk. It is customary at this point to let the assistant add their thoughts, but Sucrose has definitely gone over her tiny threshold for public speaking, evidenced by her completely flattened ears. "Our tests so far could only be labelled with preliminary, but we are happy to share our data and arrays with interested, academic, groups," he says with a small bow, which Sucrose hastily copies a second later. "Thank you for your time."

The end of his talk is accompanied by a hearty amount of applause, with some alchemists rising to leave while others shuffle to the stairs to reach him. Sucrose slinks away as soon as is publicly acceptable, but Albedo stays in place to field questions.

The audience's reception has been more enthusiastic than he expected, for people keep coming up to him with questions. But their inquiries are basic, so Albedo's answers are equally plain. During a reprieve, he steals a glance up at the top corner row. Klee breaks into a smile and gives him a big wave, Kunikuzushi joining in with a smaller one.

Albedo gives them an acknowledging nod before fielding a question about the minutiae of the necessary arrays.

Kunikuzushi has been a bright spot in an otherwise dull Expo. He slots in almost perfectly with the type of companionship Albedo can handle… His biggest hurdle to relationships is the long term effort needed to be put into maintaining them. Not because of a lack of desire, but because there are not enough hours in the day. Between his research, split up between his final assignment and personal projects, mentoring Sucrose and Timaeus, his duties as Chief Alchemist, and looking after Klee as her big brother, he has no space nor time for companionship. Entering into any form of companionship would be unfair, both to Albedo and to any potential companion – the weight of responsibilities is one thing, but can it compare to perceiving your friend as uncaring or neglectful?

And that's why friendships and relationships formed during the World Expo are so convenient; Albedo only has to worry about interacting with the same people once a year. Kunikuzushi is a travelling performer, so he likely has similar expectations. From their interactions, Kunikuzushi too seems aware that their friendship is limited to the World Expo; after that they will go their own ways, and may reunite next year at best. Albedo can work with that.

After the last alchemist leaves, Klee hops down the stairs, Kunikuzushi following right behind her.

"The field is clear," Albedo says and turns around as Sucrose peeks her head from backstage. His assistant sighs at the lack of people and quickly moves in to tidy the table.

"What are we doing next?" Klee asks as she all but jumps to his side.

"The stone carvers' guild has had a competition over the expo to carve statues representing each section," Albedo says, but notes Kunikuzushi opened his mouth to speak. "I'm sorry, did you have a different idea?"

Kunikuzushi makes a dismissive gesture. "Yeah, but we can do that in the afternoon. Besides, I like looking at art."

Ah, how fortunate. Albedo has picked up that Kunikuzushi has an appreciation for the finer things in life. Perhaps bordering on hedonistic, but Albedo understands. Life is joyous. Albedo struggles with that concept sometimes, hence one of the reasons why he sketches. To remind himself of a pretty sunset, a hardy little weed growing between cracks of paved road, a person's unconscious smile.

Kunikuzushi stretches and Klee copies him, adding a yawn. She's taken a liking to him. Albedo was initially wary, not because Klee cannot protect herself, rather that she may be too much to handle. Jean frequently asks him to take a more strict role, but besides teaching her basic safety and backing up Jean's frequent decision to ground her, no other measure seems necessary. Though Kunikuzushi is nowhere near as energetic as his little sister, he can somehow match her energy, or at least occupy her enough that she doesn't get bored.

In any case, the four of them walk out of the showcase room in relative peace. With today being the final day, most of the Expo's attendants are packing up. He and Sucrose have already done so but they will leave at nightfall, so they still have some time.

They reach a domed side-room, with statues arranged in a circle. There are a few people milling about, but it is quiet overall.

Klee runs past the first statue, and Albedo takes pause as he's not quite sure what it is. The statue is made up of two figures, though they both appear to be half carved. The two figures are sitting across each other, and their hands have strange shapes, one sharp like a nail, the other with a flat end like a hammer–

Two sculptors carving each other, Albedo realises. His guess is confirmed by a plaque at the base of the statue, reading 'The Reflected Sculptor'.

How interesting. Albedo ends up looking at the statue a bit too long and has to catch up with everyone else. Klee in particular is running about as if searching for something.

Albedo passes by a statue of a woman looking down on a pile of scrap and scratching her head with a wench when Klee stops by another. Albedo catches up with her and only spares a glance at the statue of a man in mid-dance, veils circling him with a fluidity uncharacteristic of the stone it is carved from. 'The Euphoric Performer' is written on the plaque on the statue's base.

"That's you!" Klee says and points at Kunikuzushi.

"Sure is." Kunikuzushi says with a smile as he stares past the statue.

Albedo finds it strange. Are they not to his liking?

Because of her young age, Klee doesn't notice Kunikuzushi's disinterest, and she runs along the other statues before she comes to an abrupt halt. "Albedo, Sucrose, that's you!"

The three follow after her to come across a statue is of a barely-clothed person of ambiguous sex, posed as if rising from a chair.

"The Triumphant Alchemist," Kunikuzushi reads out with a raised eyebrow.

The hand by their hip holds open a thick, heavy tome, gesturing downwards. The other hand is held high with a stone delicately held between their fingertips, as if trying to look at the sun through it. The sculptor has gone as far as to have the stone be made of gold, in representation of citrinitas.

"Interesting," Albedo says as he observes the statue. "The artist has some knowledge of alchemy."

Kunikuzushi gives him a confused look, and Albedo points at the statue's hands. "The alchemist is holding the magnum opus and the philosopher's stone." He then gestures at the book. "The magnum opus is held low, as a symbol of passing down their knowledge to those metaphorically below them, often referring to their apprentices or humanity as a whole."

"And the stone?"

'The tool with which they will blind and dethrone the divine,' Albedo recalls Master's words. But he cannot share this interpretation of the statue, so he settles for the version dominant in Teyvat. "A tribute to Celestia."

Klee has already dragged Sucrose to another statue, but Albedo decides to look at this one a bit longer.

Master's lessons were not limited to practical techniques, but often included its history, the symbols and ideology behind it. The Triumphant Alchemist is one among many. But it made an impression with Albedo, though because of the silliest reason. In all versions created by alchemists and artists their body was unlike the typical humans, a mix of what people considered male and female. Though not an exact physical match, Albedo resembled them in spirit.

But, he's reminiscing. Interestingly enough, Kunikuzushi is also still staring at the statue, his head slightly tilted.

"Is there anything else that catches your eye?" Albedo asks.

Kunikuzushi crosses his arms. "What does their lack of proper attire mean? Lab safety is for losers?"

Albedo can't help but laugh. "Ah, no, that's a creative liberty. But I think there's a reason behind it, an old superstition–"

"No, and for the last time stop bothering me with inane questions–!" comes a frustrated yell, and he and Kunikuzushi look back at a group of three people. Two of them stand by side, dressed in a typical garb of Sumeru's academics, whereas the third man who is being yelled at is clad in light clothes and holding a large notebook filled with notes.

The two people, a man and a woman, try to step away, but the third man keeps following them, and the three eventually end up in their way.

Though the male academic is busy staring angrily at the floor, his colleague stops and stares at Albedo in recognition. The third man followed her gaze and his already pleased smile widens as he too looks over Albedo.

"Ah such luck, we've come upon one of your peers! You must be Sir Albedo of Ordo Favonius, excellent…" the man mutters to himself and starts scribbling onto his notepad.

Albedo takes a step back. "... If you have any questions about today's showcase, please consult the handouts–"

"No need Sir Albedo, I and my readers at the Daily Telegram, are more interested in alchemy as a field rather than its details," the man quickly says and Albedo feels his stomach sink. "In fact, our readers are dying to know about your unique perspective in this grim new era–"

"...Excuse me?" Albedo asks, and from the way the journalist's eyes glitter, that was the worst possible thing he could have done.

"Well, I'm sure you've heard that many believe that the reason you've not joined Sumeru despite your impressive record is because you've seen how far our dear Academy has fallen," Albedo starts shaking his head, perplexed, but the man keeps talking, "and that you're aware our dear God of the Woods did indeed survive that terrible catastrophe half a millennia ago, and that Lesser Lord Kusanali is nothing more than a Fatui puppet–"

"That's heresy!" the male academic exclaims as his colleague nods. "Sir Albedo please excuse him, he's just another conspiracy crank–!"

"You've provided no proof that my allegations are incorrect–"

"Proof–?! It is your responsibility to provide such a thing in the first place!"

"Exactly!" the other academic adds as Albedo looks helplessly between them. "Even if your theory has an inkling of truth, what on Teyvat would we do with a puppet archon?"

Judging from the ever-widening grin on the reporter, this was again, one of the worst things to say.

"I'm so glad you asked!" The reporter takes out a few papers, and it takes Albedo a moment to realise they're likely previous issues of his shady publication, filled with bold all-capital headlines. "As our dedicated team of researchers and journalists has thoroughly documented over the years, Sumeru Academia is aiding the Fatui in building monsters, one example being the twisted versions of humans called homunculi, who will serve as soldiers when you wrestle military control of the city in your ultimate goal to undermine Celestia–"

The scholars sputter at the sheer nonsense thrown at him. Mentally, Albedo fares no better though merely raises his eyebrows at the reporter.

Sumeru creating homunculi… As if homunculi are more fact than fiction when it comes to Sumeru, and Teyvat as a whole. But the concept gets him thinking. If a scholar somehow figured out how to create one, either by a flash of genius or coming across a stash of Master's old notes, their motivations would be completely different. Master created him out of a pure search for truth, for knowledge, her treatment of Albedo showing she considered him as valuable as any other pupil. Sumeru's academics, on the other hand, would be too busy chasing papers and grants, and would treat any unfortunate creations of theirs like mindless lab rats.

Alternatively, if the truth of Albedo's nature became public knowledge… If he was stationed in Sumeru instead of Mondstadt… even if he still had a kind-hearted and discreet assistant like Sucrose, the sheer size and reach of the Academy would ensure the truth of his nature would still leak, and after that…

Sumeru is just as devoted to its Archon as it is to its ideal. They have ethics panels and disciplinary committees and are not afraid to expel those who overstep. And there are dark rumours of such panels actively suppressing knowledge, choosing to mire in ignorance instead of seeking out the truth.

Those not immediately writing off Albedo as blasphemous and seeking his destruction would be eager to investigate how he functioned. If not destroyed, he would be locked away in some underground lab, existence struck from the records. Not allowed to continue his research but forced to be part of someone else's.

Albedo is glad to be part of the Knights in more ways than one. Even if the worst comes to pass, even if his true identity becomes public knowledge across Teyvat, he has a hard time imagining the Knights coming after him. Or Mondstadt in general caring much about him being a homunculus. Maybe the nuns and priests would give him strange looks.

But when it came to individual people, like Kaeya, or sister Rosaria…

"Sumeru's alchemy resembles that of sinners," the reporter continues his little soapbox, and that last word worsens Albedo's dread. "Our scholars are no better, we have evidence you have been delving into the worst aspects of alchemy, lest we not forget that this so-called Sacred Art was also the tool of choice for the Great Sinner–"

"Please don't bring them up," Albedo cuts him off at the mention of the title, speaking with enough force as to momentarily silence the reporter.

The Great Sinner… It's a cursed title, with its bearer changing depending on who's using it.

Some may call his master that, her so-called sin being breathing life into Durin. Most use the term to refer to the unknown alchemist responsible for the corruption. Others merely use the Sinner as an allegorical, mythical figure of man's folly against the Archons' might. In the end, it's no better than a falsely constructed umbrella term for all of Khaenri'ah's prominent alchemists, a heavy term inextricably linked to the corruption and Master.

And Albedo does not want to care for any such things. Master never brought it up, never mentioning Khaenri'ah when she was of sound mind. With his limited knowledge, he's unsure how to feel because he's unsure of what happened back then. Who was responsible for the corruption? Celestia? Another alchemist related to Master, perhaps an apprentice or a rival or her own teacher?

"What you're saying is no more than speculation." Albedo says to the journalist who, despite his cautious look, still takes quick notes. "Alchemy is a wondrous science, and my relationship with Sumeru Academia has always been cordial."

"Y-yes exactly!" one of the alchemists joins in. "Sir Albedo has always attended major events hosted by the Academy, and his work is often featured in our in-house publications–"

"Ah, so you too are a part of cabal–"

"Do you mind?" comes Kunikuzushi's annoyed voice over Albedo's shoulder. "We're trying to have a quiet moment here, stop bothering us with nonsense."

The reporter frowns at Kunikuzushi's interruption. "And who are–"

"Buzz off," Kunikuzushi cuts him off, having already taken Albedo by the arm and gently but firmly guiding him away.

Albedo waits until they're out of hearing range to speak: "That was rude – Not that I don't appreciate your intervention," he quickly corrects himself with a sigh. "Thank you."

"Don't worry about it," Kunikuzushi responds, to Albedo's added relief. "Why did you even try to entertain that guy?"

He struggles to answer. "Let's change the subject. The reporter spoke about conspiracies, and I don't care about old dead things."

Master always told him not to dig up corpses. Khaenri'ah is long dead, the truth behind its existence either buried or locked deep in the hearts of those who still remember.

"What a coincidence," Kunikuzushi adds a second later with a smile. "I don't care about such things either."

\*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*/

Future chapter title: 'Old Dead Things' :]

Also

Albedo Kunikuzushi: Friend? c:

Scaramouche Albedo: I'm gonna self-project so hard at you