Chapter Text
Twelve portraits. A matching set, featuring the ten active members of Her Majesty’s Eleven Fatui Harbingers, as well as both the director and The Tsaritsa herself. All within a three month deadline. It certainly wasn’t impossible, The Cryo Archon knew the limits of her artist, your limits, but it didn’t mean it would be easy.
You were familiar with enough of the harbingers; five years of being commissioned by The Fatui will undoubtedly lead to a few run-ins with those in charge. Those run-ins were enough to know just how asinine a project this would quickly complete. Some were arrogant, some were fickle, and almost all were busy.
It was most sensible to go through The Jester’s secretaries. Nearly all official documentation within Zapolyarny Palace passed through this office. Though, a commissioned artist holds hardly any clearance in a military’s headquarters, and the personal schedules of the harbingers weren’t to be shared with just anyone who waltzed in the Palace doors.
Only thanks to the aid of a supervisor, one who’d just finished displaying a recent oil painting in The Jester’s office, were you able to garner any helpful intel. She couldn’t offer much, but the few bits of intel were enough of a start.
The Tsaritsa had offered an old storage closet as an art studio. Though, calling it a closet undersold it, considering it was larger than your own apartment. You’d happily taken advantage of the generous offer, filling it with everything a painter could need. Boxes filled with paints and brushes were piled high, one wall was covered in shelved canvases, various easels stood either pushed to the side or holding up works in progress, tarps strewn about to protect the hardwood floors, and dozens of sketchbooks and notebooks were stacked on cabinets filled with more supplies yet. Various lamps sat around the studio, a valiant effort to make up for the absence of natural light, shining over the large desk, as well as the many, many sketches and references hung across the walls.
Taking from the stack of notebooks, you took a seat and began writing. The Fair Lady and Childe were both reportedly gone for duty, as well as The Knave being in Fontaine briefly. The Rooster had business in the city, and The Jester would be returning from an expedition in the next few days. Each of them would have to be addressed at a later date, but that left The Captain, The Doctor, The Damselette, The Balladeer, Marionette, and Regrator available and in Zapolyarny, in theory anyways.
Regrator and Marionette were easy to locate, but difficult to meet with; it’d be best to speak with their office staff to schedule meetings. While The Doctor was commonly in his lab, the odds of getting in were approximately zero. Perhaps one of the others could recommend a time and place to catch him. As for the other three… The Balladeer, The Damselette, and The Captain could be any number of places as far as most would know. This was already turning out to be quite the drag…
Nonetheless, you gathered your things. The notebook, pencils, canvas, brushes, and paints, all tucked neatly into a large tote that was swung over the shoulder as you shut off the lights and set out for work.
You approached the large, walnut doors that lead into Regrator’s territory, pushing them open to reveal an ornate hall. Desks lined either side of a mauve rug, leading to another door at the far end. Each desk was occupied by the harbinger’s extensive team of bankers. The sound of paper being shuffled around, pens scratching across documents, and coins clattering around echoed across the high ceilings.
“Hello? Do you have an appointment?” an older lady sat at a desk positioned at the entryway, a large book laid open in front of her, and crossword puzzles off to the side. She narrowed her eyes, “well? We don’t have all day, we’re on a schedule here.”
“No ma’am. I need to meet with Lord Regrator, Her Majesty has requested a project-”
“Lord Harbinger doesn’t take walk-ins. You’ll need to make an appointment,” of course you knew that, but correcting her would likely only irritate her. She starts flipping through the book in front of her, “You can typically expect to wait at least a month to find an opening, I can take your name down and see what I can do.”
She stared up at you, prompting you to share your title. She then pauses as she begins writing, turning her head towards a fine watercolor hung near the doorway. “Hm… you said Her Majesty is involved?”
“Yes ma’am, I’m to paint a portrait of Lord Regrator as part of a collection she has ordered.”
The lady scratches off the note she was taking, tossing it somewhere under her desk, Instead, she turns to another page in the book and begins writing, “well today’s your lucky day. It just so happens Lord Harbinger has an opening tomorrow at 10:45. Don’t be late, he won’t wait up.”
Tomorrow… that was much more doable than an entire month out. You gave a slight bow, “thank you very much ma’am, I’ll be there,” and after taking a quick note of the meeting time in your own notebook, you make your way back out the door.
Unlike Regrator’s office, there were a great many staircases and halls to travel down in order to reach Marionette’s workshop. Tucked away deep in the palace’s basement, the sound of gears grinding, the smell of oil being pushed through the vents. It was uncomfortably warm, steam pipes running across the ceiling… There were few humans who had reason to step through her quarters, leaving only the tea room sorted for mortal comfort.
While twisting through the labyrinth of halls, a mechanical door whirs to life. The sound of old rust grating against itself fills the air as each piece of metal twists and turns, slowly pulling apart to reveal the entryway. A giant, hulking figure appears in the clouds of dust. The stirred up debris fills your lungs, sending you into a coughing fit.
“Ugh, Pulonia, make a note to clean this door up, what an embarrassing display. Such a mess… no matter what. You, state your business, and make it quick,” it took a moment to locate the origin of the voice. Such a giant… robot? No, that couldn’t be the source. Rather, there was a girl sitting in his hand. She looked tiny in comparison, but her tone demanded authority.
“Ah, I was looking for Lady Marionette. I’m to paint portraits of each harbinger, it’s a commission from Her Majesty. I was hoping to schedule a meeting?”
The girl stared down, humming for a moment, “Yes, I do believe Rosalyne mentioned The Tsaritsa was planning this. Well, I am she, Sandrone, the 7th Fatui Harbinger. What exactly is the purpose of this meeting?”
The seventh wasn’t entirely reclusive, but rather selective of her company. Most wouldn’t picture someone so doll-like to be a harbinger, though who were you to question her place. As for what you needed… “Lady Harbinger, it’s an honor. I would like to first meet to discuss the painting process. That is, if you have any relevant preferences, going over clothing and location, and blocking out a timeframe would all be addressed. Is that acceptable?”
“Hm… very well. Procedural, organized, I like it. You may come by tomorrow afternoon, 3:30pm.”
Tea time, of course. You folded just slightly at the waist, “thank you, Lady Marionette. I’ll be there.”
“Good,” the giant machine began marching past. ‘Pulonia’, she had called it. Once it turned a corner and was out of sight, the notebook was pulled out once more to take note of the meeting.
Ah, and you had missed your chance to ask about the locations of the others.
The only somewhat promising lead remaining was The Doctor’s lab, which seemed to occupy its own portion of the basement. This area was at least occupied by humans, though their directions were incredibly inconsistent, and it didn’t help to be limited to the very outskirts of the lab. Not that you necessarily wanted to see what lurked in the heart of The Doctor’s den, though it was starting to feel preferable to the wild goose chase this was turning out to be. One agent would point you to the northern end of the lab, ‘he was just going towards the boiler’. No no, now an assistant was insisting he’s been in his office in the eastern wing all day. Office? Certainly not, he was in the surgical hall to the west. How could one man’s location be so difficult to pinpoint?
You were asking yet another Fatuus, expecting to be sent the opposite direction yet again. Though, instead, the agent pointed just down the hall. A short man was making his way towards you, adorned with a large brimmed hat. “The Balladeer,” the agent muttered, before slinking away.
“You. You’re the one running all around the lab, is that right?”
His voice oozed with arrogance, far more intense than Marionette. Although he didn’t have a giant robot to compensate for his stature. Once again, you start on your spiel about the portraits, only to be swiftly cut off.
“Tsk, you’re covered in more stains than Delta after a surgery. And what a ridiculous bag, it’s half your size. You’re getting on my nerves.”
Lovely. An absolutely lovely personality. Not that there was a choice, he’d have to be put up with one way or another, “I just need to know what you’d like done for your portrait; so we can discuss clothing, location, and-”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll wear what I’m wearing, just pick a time and place, and inform the secretaries. Is that all?” You could only hope he wasn’t normally this irritating, though considering the smirk on his face, it was doubtful.
You were about to simply shake your head and move on, before remembering once more, “oh, could you possibly help me find the other harbingers? I still need to speak to The Captain, The Doctor, and The Damselette-”
“Third floor, eastern wing,” and he was already walking away.
“Thanks…”
The third floor, eastern wing. It was better than nothing, and probably the most productive thing to come of the trip down to The Doctor’s lab, but it was still a very large portion of the palace. Not that one could complain, two harbingers had come to you already, and one was scheduled with a meeting much further in advance than what could be expected.
And yet, your artistic luck seemed to play on, as a soft singing voice could be heard down the corridors, painting an auditory path to your next target.