The Gilded Songbird

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/41137869.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Category: Multi
Fandom: 原神 | Genshin Impact (Video Game)
Relationship: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Tartaglia | Childe &
Capitano(Genshin Impact), Pierro & Fatui Harbinger Members
Character: Pierro (Genshin Impact), Pulcinella (Genshin Impact), La Signora
(Genshin Impact), Pantalone (Genshin Impact), Il Dottore (Genshin
Impact), Capitano (Genshin Impact), Tartaglia | Childe (Genshin
Impact), Tartaglia | Childe's Family (Genshin Impact), Arlecchino
(Genshin Impact), Columbina (Genshin Impact), Scaramouche
(Genshin Impact), Sandrone (Genshin Impact), Original Male
Character(s), Fatui Members (Genshin Impact), Fatui Harbinger
Members (Genshin Impact), Fatui Agent Characters (Genshin Impact),
Other Character Tags to Be Added
Additional Tags: Fluff and Angst, A LOT of Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mostly hurt
and not a whole lot of comfort, Comedy, Dark Comedy, Eventual
Romance, Not for my character though, Dark Past, Graphic Description,
Corpses, Blood and Violence, Snezhnaya Does Not Believe In Tears,
Mental Instability, anguish, Psychological Trauma, Gaslighting,
Manipulation, The Other Harbingers Are Lying Fraudsters, Betrayal,
Conspiracy, Threats of Violence, Enemy/Enemies Of The State,
Depression, Paranoia, Anxiety, Politics, political strife, Dreams and
Nightmares, Flashbacks, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Other
Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags Are Hard, I hate tags, This shouldn't
be hard, I forgot some tags and I can't bother rearranging so,
Symphonies and Orchestra, Classical Music, My character is the
Tchaikovsky of Teyvat
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2022-08-19 Updated: 2022-08-24 Chapters: 2/? Words:
2569

The Gilded Songbird

by TheFNG

Summary

"Because unlike the world of music, things aren't over for you after your ninth symphony."

This fanfiction follows the totally happy and secure life of Rafael Rusalka, a.k.a. Burattino.
The 12th Fatui Harbinger; also known as "The Puppet".

Things won't go wrong for him working in such a daunting environment... right?

Right?
Notes

Right!
So!
This has been in the works for a few weeks now. I saw the Interlude Teaser and I was like
"omg they're so cool and hot and I want to make my own". And so I did.
This is only the introductory chapter, where we get to see our dear Burattino in the flesh. It
is written in First Person Perspective. The same will not be said for future chapters
Notes will be more detailed in the upcoming chapters, once we get to hear more from our
boy :D
 Ladies and Gentlemen- Rafael Rusalka!

It truly is a shame how fickle the heart could be. How willing one can be to stab a back or two to
push their own agendas. For their greed and selfishness. But when you work in such an
environment as the Fatui, you’ll learn not to be surprised. Of course, that’s not saying you should
grow to be impassive. It will always hurt. That’s the bane of it all.

Now I hear you ask: who am I? That will be answered, dear comrade, but, if you will, picture this
for me first…

The quick, beating rhythm of snare drums. The swaying melody of oboes and bassoons. The
strumming of the balalaikas. Wondrous music reverberates around the crowded theater. Dark as it
was, it certainly wasn’t devoid of an audience. Quite the contrary, really. Every seat from the
bottom of the mezzanine to all corners of the balcony was occupied, and why would it not? After
all, the highly esteemed Star Ensemble was beloved by all of Snezhnaya. One pays good money
and time for that entertainment.

Then, the choir began to chorus, in tandem with the music, and the audience listened. It was a
universally familiar patriotic tune, one about the great veterans of auld, those who have fought and
died for the safety and glory of our motherland. They sing of their great deeds, the hellfire they had
tread in the times of trouble, the struggle for victory, and how as they age, their veteran souls
remain. A true serenade of their unwavering loyalty to Her Majesty, and the courage, bravery, and
endurance to brave the storms. That has always been the staple message of music such as these.

And now we’ve reached the climax, and the loud trumpeting booms over, inclining and crying to
the listener . The music grew louder, in fact, that people outside the theater could hear it. The choir
rang, their voices dropped and at their highest, like the loudest canary— melodious and booming.

Standing before the masterful orchestra was their beloved conductor. Me.

In a way, conducting can be a good reflection on my field of work in the Fatui. Same as how I
direct my orchestra to melodious serenades and compositions, I guide my legion to keep things
afloat. Dealing with the more complicated, intricate things that come and go in this damn
organization isn’t easy. Why would it be easy?

To deal with the intricacy, you yourself have to be intricate in a lot of things, whether that be
approach, resolve, and thinking. If you don’t properly conduct, there will be no synchrony, and
rather than music, it would merely be a choking gaggle of clashing instruments. Likewise, if you
can’t deal with the burdens and obstacles of the position I bear, well… we don’t have to delve into
that, yet.

With the downward flick of my baton, the music came to a halt, and the symphony reached its end.
There was no time for silence as the audience erupted in a standing ovation. I gesture to my
ensemble to stand up and bow, just as I turned around to bow myself. I looked on. Pitch black, with
barely distinguishable silhouettes, standing and cheering. Nonetheless, I was happy. Happy to
entertain.

“Ladies and gentlemen— Rafael Rusalka!”, the theater speaker bellowed enthusiastically, and my
smile subtly went away. I hated that name. It always reminded me of unpleasant memories. But,
for the sake of my true identity as a Fatui Harbinger, I have no choice but to keep that up. I’m sure
my comrades will be most displeased if I blew my cover.
Speaking of my comrades, I was finished for today. With my orchestra sent home, I looked to go
home myself.
 The Usual Night
Chapter Summary

After the concert, Burattino returns to Zapolyarny Palace for the night.

Chapter Notes

Hi, and thank you for waiting!

This chapter, as was said in the first, delves into his individual relationships with the
Harbingers, excluding some.
It might contain a scene alluding to anorexia. Not enough to warrant a tag.
Enjoy reading :D

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The fireplace in the main hall burnt brightly, providing just enough light and warmth for those
close. The palace was always too dark, with only scarce lighting and the radiant blue moonlight to
light the labyrinth of this place. No one seemed to be bothered about it.

Burattino rested by the fireplace, seated almost dangerously close to the kindling flames, an open
book on his lap. No one cared about the cold either, him included, but he always preferred the
warmth. Anything other than the constant ‘pain’ of the eternal frost, one could suppose.

He ran his thumb along his tongue, and flipped a page and two, digits caressing the rough and
dusty paper. The book was about the music of Snezhnaya, and the history and culture surrounding
it. If it wasn’t obvious already, music is quite his forte.

Burying his nose into this piece of knowledge, Burattino grew engrossed, tuning everything else
outside his reading. The crackling of the firewood turned nearly silent, barely noticeable to his ears
as he continued to read and read and-

“Burattino?” A female voice rang echoed in his empty ears.

The calling of his name broke him from his trance. He shook his head and looked up, embarrassed.
He was always too invested in things he took interest in. At times, it was a help, and at others, it
was a hindrance. The Harbinger turned his head to his side to face the person, and seeing them
elicited an exhale from him.
“Columbina.” He called her name in response, a weak smile forming as he closed his book and
placed it in the nearby stool. Out of all the Harbingers, he had a most favorable friendship with The
Damselette. They shared many common interests, such as music(no surprise there), and both took a
liking towards quiet. With that said, there is still more beneath the surface that they would rather
keep hidden in their closets, but to the average being, the two get along well.

“Where have you been? I didn’t even know you returned.” She asked, her soft-spoken, angelic
voice managing to reverberate across the spacious hall as she made her way to the fireplace. “Are
you trying to be avoidant again?”

Burattino chuckled at that. “You know me very well, comrade.” He looked to the fireplace, intent
on not fixating his sights on his friend. “And you know them too, and what they’re like. At this
point, it’s more of a habit now than a course of action.” He gave a brief grin, though one of truth.
Not many of his colleagues cared about something as trivial as music. Not that they should. There
were more important burdens for a Harbinger. Burattino knows that. But what is an unfavorable
burden to them, is a burden he himself would gladly carry on his shoulders a hundred times over.

“Then you probably won’t like why I looked for you.” He could hear the sarcasm in Columbina’s
voice. He knew why she looked for him. It has become part of his daily routine now at this point.

“Let me guess, you’re to inform me that dinner is ready. As always.”

“Indeed.”

The two briefly laughed in unison before the twelfth Harbinger stood up from his seat. Brushing
his forest green uniform, he allowed himself to sink back into the standard white fur coat, keeping
tucked with a few clasps by the lining. Embellishing it was merely one memorable award— a
breast badge of silver and hard glass, honoring him and other esteemed recipients the title of
National Artist of Snezhnaya , generally given to the revered, well, artists, of the motherland. And
one he had earned rightfully through efforts; trial and tribulation, before he was where he is now.

“After you, m’lady.”

Columbina let out a soft titter. “Oh, stop. Don’t have to be so courteous, Scapin..” She straightened
herself, walking up to Burattino who had a hand gesturing to the hallway. “You can go first. I’ll
follow.”
“Eh, if you insist, comrade.”

And with that, he trotted off, towards the direction of the dining room. The Damselette followed
suit, falling in step with her taller, broader colleague as they made their way. For the most part,
they were silent, occasionally peering around, eyes on the walls, the unlit sconces, the moonlit
windows — the only light for their path — and at times, other shadows pass by them, belonging to
their lesser subordinates, quickly scrambling past their superiors while keeping up courtesy and
respect for the higher ups. Anything that wasn’t engaging in another conversation.

“So how did it go today?”

Burattino turned to look at her when hearing the question. His facial expression was indiscernible
as he looked away from the moonlight, but the corners of his mask glinted. “Riveting as always.
Such constant joy.” But no one needed to see a face to know the genuineness of him through his
voice. Again, music was as big a part of his life as his main duties.

“I’m glad to hear that.” Was all Columbina replied, before going silent again, keeping her focus on
walking.

“Mhm.” He nodded as they turned a corner to find an arch of warm yellow light pouring out of a
relatively large doorway. An indicator that they have reached their destination.

“Ah. We’re here. Hope we’re not too late.” Burattino sighed in what seemed to be frustration. He
spent the night avoiding the other Harbingers, and here he was, about to eat dinner with those other
Harbingers. Great. “Come on, now.” He added, slightly picking up his pace.

Rounding the corner, he entered the dining room. It was bright, very unlike the rest of Zapolyarny.
The long table before him glimmered with the most wondrous of platters and dishes. Steak, soup of
many flavors like lentil and beef, kasha, pierogi, borscht, and bliny, though he was sure the bliny
was specifically requested by someone as it was generally an item for breakfast. All twelve seats
had their respective plates, complete with all the utensils and whatnot(he never really cared about
that).

Looking further around, he saw that most of the Harbingers were present, and some started eating
already. From what he could see, Sandrone, Signora, Dottore, and Scaramouche were yet to arrive.
Sandrone probably got caught up working on her puppets, he thought. Signora is unusually absent,
Scaramouche doesn’t take too kindly to anyone, myself the most, and Dottore is, well, he’s
Dottore.
He was quick to take a seat at the end of the table. Pierro sat at the opposite end, taking demure
slices of what Burattino could only assume was meat and bringing it to his mouth. His focus was
purely on his dish, occasionally taking glances at the others as he chewed, mostly at Burattino
himself, an air of tension and awkwardness establishing between them despite the distance. The
two weren’t exactly the happiest pair. Their relationship was, and still is purely professional,
considering how close their respective jobs and responsibilities are. If one didn’t know any better,
they’d say Burattino was the vice -director, not the lowest rung on the Harbinger ladder.

On his left sat dear Columbina, engaging in conversation with Arlecchino beside her, the sight of
which caused him to smile, slightly and briefly. He always suspected that there was something
brewing between the two, as at times he noticed that the Damselette would stick by the Knave a lot
of the time, and especially the fact that the latter was seen to be more… open when around the
former. Though, he didn’t bother to pry. Columbina would just deny that they may or may not be a
thing, and he and Arlecchino abhor each other, him being perceived as snobbish and lazy, and
undeserving of his position as Harbinger, and her being perceived as a psychopathic heathen who’d
sell her own kin out for a fare.

He quickly looked to his right, where Childe and Capitano had taken their seats. He nodded at
them in courtesy, though one look at the former’s dishes and he was quick to frown. “Do you want
some… vareniki with that jam, Tartaglia?” He inquired with a sarcastic tone, and both looked
down at the plate. The vareniki was so few, and it was drowning in red jam, making it look like
someone’s eviscerated insides in that bowl.

“Huh. I did seem to go overboard with the condiments.” Ajax chuckled, slightly embarrassed. He
stood, picking his bowl up to reevaluate the contents of his dinner. Capitano scoffed. “Piffy” was
all they said before sinking in their seat, ready to enjoy their more balanced meal of borscht and
bliny. Well, at least Burattino knew now who requested the bliny.

And he couldn’t even begin to talk about Pantalone, who were seated by Pierro’s left, a vacant seat
separating them, waiting to be occupied by Dottore. Oh, he hated him . He had plenty to say about
The Regrator— the richest man in Snezhnaya. A pretentious, heartless dignitary, if you could even
call him a dignitary. Nose stuck so far up his bottom, it’d almost be in the same place as it was.
Though, if there’s one thing he could respect, it’s his unrelenting scrutiny as a banker at heart.

At least the Harbinger sitting opposite to him was more favorable in terms of person. Pulcinella too
had his head down and focused on finishing what’s left of his dinner, and comedically enough,
only his tophat stuck out from the table.

More nicer things could be said about the rooster. He was a lot nicer and caring for their comrades,
though he took a particular liking to Tartaglia, having taken care of his kindred a handful of times.
It was nice to know that he wasn’t alone in this endeavor.
 Burattino looked around some more. The others hadn’t arrived yet, and he presumed they wouldn’t
be for a longer while now. So, shifting his focus back to his plate, dug in for his much needed
sustenance. The rest of dinner was dull— being sat at one end of the table didn’t leave him with
much riveting conversations. Tartaglia was too busy vying for Capitano’s attention, and
occasionally some… comments about Burattino’s body were thrown his way. And he didn’t wish
to stick himself in between whatever Columbina and Arlecchino were up to, lest he faces the ire of
the latter. Oh well. It had been like this for the longest time. It’s not any different now, he thought
as he sank into his seat, despondent as he slowly but surely sucked the contents of his plate up.

Despite the speed at which he was eating, when his plate was empty, he looked up to find that he
was first to finish. Signora only recently sat at the table, and everyone else still had a lot on their
plate. Was he not eating enough? Or were they eating too much? He couldn’t say. Rather, he stood
up, brushing his coat clean of any dirt. Told the others he was done for the night, and exited the
dining room. Returning to darkness and the blanket of moonlight, he roamed the halls, looking and
contemplating, pupils bleeding into pitch black, and any emotion it expressed was gone.

A sigh passed his lips as he stopped dead in his tracks, rustling of fabric and clinking of frigid
metal boots turned to nothing but silence. He looked up, eyes regaining light and mirth as he turned
to the door beside him. A hand slowly reached out the comfort of his coat, grabbing the knob and
twisting the door open.

“Finally..”

He groaned as he entered, ready to crash in bed for the night.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you for reading!

Please drop by the archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!