Chapter Text
"Do you still remember it? That first year?"
A noncommittal hum is the man's only reply, the clink of a metal spoon on porcelain filling the room as he stirs his tea. Always 3 stirs, then two taps of the spoon on the cup's rim before gingerly setting it back down to avoid the unnecessary clattering of utensils. His own fingers return to the keys laid out in front of him, an older tune coming to mind.
As always, any ball thrown by the Tsaritsa is a grand affair, palace servants flitting about through scores of political and otherwise important guests. Dottore, per usual with events like this, stays off to himself, mask in place to avoid the unpleasantness that comes with eye contact. It isn't as though the other Harbingers ever seek out conversation with him anyways. Signora fancies herself a connoisseur of the variety of imported wines, though he does sometimes check in on how her prototype delusion has been functioning as of late. Of course, Capitano tends to linger near the Jester, not one for much beyond the necessary conversation. Pierro may have recruited him, but even he seems partial to keeping his distance unless required.
Any moment now, those ballroom doors will part, and the Tsaritsa's latest pet project will waltz in. It is always the same cadence. A welcome fit for royalty, the shaking of hands, and a new mystery for Dottore to prod at until they inevitably bore him. He sips his drink, some cocktail far too expensive for how unpalatable it is. Not that he ever had a taste for the finer things, he has always preferred practicality.
A voice cuts through the surrounding chatter. He could almost the low timbre pleasant, but the faux politeness oozing out of every word sours that thought immediately.
"Does the Second often make a habit of staying off by himself?"
Dottore hums thoughtfully, swirling his drink in consideration before replying, "That would be by design. So tell me, what is it you-"
A flash of white catches in his peripheral. Curiosity piqued, Dottore turns to fully appraise this newcomer. Clearly expensive shoes, slacks pristinely pressed without a single wrinkle to be found, gloved hands folded and resting on top of a decorated though sophisticated cane. Several rings adorn the man's hands, glittering silver under the lights. The reading glasses perched on his nose seem to be designed to match all of his other jewelry. This stranger is taller than he would have thought, a few inches taller than Dottore himself. He is perfectly groomed in every sense possible, something that Dottore has already stopped putting nearly as much effort into.
He smiles in amusement as he takes in the sight of the other man's coat, a clear sign to distinguish him from the rest of the guests here tonight. He finds himself delighted by how their newest addition has subverted his own expectations for how the evening will go.
"I take it you are the new Ninth, then? I must admit, you've caught me by surprise. When rumors of a new member joining our ranks reached me, I expected someone who would take full advantage of such an opportunity to be center of attention."
The man shrugs in appraisal, clear lenses reflecting and partially obscuring how his eyes remain closed. When he tilts his head to speak, the jeweled chain attached to them sways gracefully and accents a long curl, both framing his strong jawline. Not a single detail is out of place on him.
"Oh? Well, I'd be remiss not to take advantage of the opportunity to meet with some of my new cohort ahead of time, especially those of us with a known reputation for sneaking off early in the evening." The newcomer's eyebrow raises, daring him to challenge the assumption, "I understand that aside from necessary financial meetings and summons from the Tsaritsa, you in particular are quite the recluse."
Dottore scoffs, quickly growing bored of this, "The progress of my work is far more important than social gatherings, I presume I simply have different priorities than most."
The man chuckles, an undercurrent of gratification in his tone, "My, you're quite straightforward, aren't you? I shall extend you the same courtesy, then." The Ninth checks a pocket watch, nodding to himself, "I do hope you'll stay long enough tonight for a cursory chat about your funding. It is my understanding that your projects require quite the ambitious budget, and I should like to gather some notes before we formally meet on the topic of your funding." The man's smile doesn't falter, though his grip on his cane tightens minutely. His voice drops all pretense when he continues, "And let me be completely clear, the Northland Bank may have previously been full of spineless cowards who trembled in fear of the Doctor, but you will find that I am not so easily intimidated."
Dottore focuses on forcing his jaw to unclench. The audacity of this new Ninth - utterly frustrating. He still hasn't even opened his eyes enough to make out the color of his irises. Dottore glares from behind his mask at the man's perfect composure, his lips curling into a snarl.
"So, my reputation proceeds me after all." His voice betrays his bitterness, though he attempts to reel in the worst of his flaring temper as he exhales sharply. "My projects are of the upmost importance to the Tsaritsa's mission, and, while my current budget may seem high to you, I can assure you that-"
"Pardon me, but I believe it is time for the party to truly begin. I trust I will be seeing you once the ceremony is completed." With a wave of his hand and a placating smile, he has the gall to cut off Dottore's sentence.
Without so much as waiting for a reply, this new Ninth turns and walks away to a side door. Dottore sneers at his retreating figure, and makes a mental note on what he maybe like to deal with in the future. He's already planning alternative funding routes by the time the nuisance disappears from sight.
Minutes later, the main ballroom doors begin to open, and he watches how the man of the evening enchants his captive audience. Stewing in his frustration, he watches as a round of financiers, servants, and political guests all take their turns to fawn over the new arrival. Their clear reverence for the man's theatrics only serve to anger Dottore further. Rolling his eyes behind his mask, he turns instead to find a servant he can leave his now empty glass with.
The proceedings become dull rather quickly, a seemingly endless parade of people more boring than the last flitting around the latest Harbinger. At the very least, he's picked up the man's titles from the gossip surrounding him. Reverent voices talk in hushed tones with one another about their introductions with "The Regrator." Another group endlessly drones on about how "the Ninth of the Tsarista's Harbingers" is already proposing promising changes within the structure of the Northland Bank. He even overhears a snippet of Pierro and Capitano's brief discussion, something about how "Pantalone seems even more adept at forming key connections than we had expected."
In a surprisingly pleasant turn, it does seem as though Dottore himself has finally garnered enough of a reputation among these returning guests that he hasn't had to suffer any utterly wasteful conversation.
There's a scant few minutes remaining until the ostentatious clock centered over the door finally hits 9:45, and then he can slink back off to his lab having stayed long enough to satisfy the social expectations of such an event. In spite of the Regrator's earlier words, he experiments back in the lab will wait for no one. No, if that banker wants to meet, it can certainly wait another day or two.
Of course, even the best laid plans are often led astray. As soon as he turns to slide away from the frankly overstimulating crowd, there he is again, already looking his direction.
"Heading off so soon, Dottore?" Pantalone's lip curves upwards on one side, and, paired with the slightly teasing tone of his voice, it would make for a disarming display of charm to anyone else.
For him, it only evokes a deep scowl. "Yes, well. I have time sensitive projects requiring my presence. I trust you've already made plenty of new friends to exploit? Seems like you've made quite the impression tonight."
In an attempt to make the most of this time spent trapped within the bindings of implied social contracts, Dottore chooses to expand on his previous observations. The other man is rather young to become a Harbinger. Pantalone can't be more than 25. A closer inspection of his appearance reveals that in spite of hours of socializing, he remains perfectly poised, long black hair pulled effortlessly over one shoulder to frame a… deceptively muscular build. Not one to be intimidated, indeed. At least by most people.
His smooth, deep voice seems practiced. Honed to cut through overlapping voices clearly, it effectively turns the rest of the ballroom to background noise when he speaks, "You know as well as I do, no one here should ever truly call another 'friend.'"
A false smile that could rival the other man's plays at Dottore's lips. "So you've picked up on that, have you? What else have you learned on your first evening?" He tilts his head with somewhat genuine intrigue. Considering it has been nearly a decade since he's been willing to attempt anything other than the bare minimum to climb the social ranks of any society, perhaps there is more he could learn.
"That I have no stomach for conversing with people who constantly seek to overinflate their own wit. So few people in this room have anything interesting to say at all. The gossip I've heard from the servants has been the most enlightening, if a bit unrefined."
"Hah." His laugh is dry in return, "In that, we are in agreement." The clock sounds off the hour, a reminder of pressing issues back in the lab. He impatiently steers the conversation in a bid to hurry his along, "Ah, I really must be leaving soon. Now, what was it you needed to know from me? You mentioned wanting notes to discuss my funding earlier, and I am rather too busy to stay any longer."
Pantalone taps his fingers along his cane and hums thoughtfully to himself, masterfully slowing the pace of the conversation. Metal rings tap rhythmically on carved wood before stilling a few moments later. "A brief overview of your most recent projects should suffice for now. To my own understanding, you frequently have several ongoing simultaneously."
Dottore frowns, running a hand through his loosely styled curls. "I would like to preface this by clarifying that their bases alone could never impart the importance of these projects, but I will attempt to impart the weight of potential impacts."
He mentally parses through his notes from the past week to organize his thoughts as succinctly as possible. "Currently, I am finalizing a cure for Eleazar and additionally fine-tuning aspects of Khaenri'ahn technology that I've been studying. There are a few other upcoming ventures that I have been toying with as well, though heir undertaking relies on the results of my current experiments. Does this satisfy your need for notes at present?"
He's met with a shrug, and a wave of Pantalone's extravagantly decorated hand. "That will suffice for now."
His shoulders drop slightly in relief, "Excellent. In that case, I will be taking my leave now." With a slight readjustment of his mask and coat, he turns to the side to devise the quickest way through the crowd.
"I look forward to our meeting again soon, Doctor. You strike me as quite the fascinating subject yourself." With a slight chuckle and the brush of their shoulders, the larger man saunters past him amidst the rest of the crowd, the clink of his cane accentuating each step.
Intriguing.
……
It is only a few days later when one of his underlings hands over a sealed letter. The script on the outside is unfamiliar , though elegant. The young fatuus fumbles to hand over a letter opener, and, with one practiced flick of his wrist, the letter is freed.
"Good evening, Dottore,
I do hope you've been able to make progress in your ongoing ventures. In the interest of both of our busy schedules, I figured this letter would serve as an appropriate means to inform you that I have settled enough to host our first review of your laboratory's finances. This coming Tuesday or Thursday, I have time in the morning to meet, no earlier than 9am.
Send a servant back with notice of your preferred timing. When you attend, expect a significantly more thorough audit of your projects than you may be accustomed to.
Pantalone"
Even his handwriting manages to be pretentious. Rolling his eyes to himself, Dottore calls for one of his staff.
"You there, write a reply to this note confirming this Tuesday for a meeting, and have a servant deliver it up to the Regrator."
The young woman nods with wide eyes, scurrying off. Dottore squints and refocuses on the vial in front of him, frowning at it. At least his other experiments are moving along nicely.
……
A knock startles him out of his near trance, and he harshly drags his hand from where it had been tangled in his hair so that he can mark the page he left off at.
"I thought you lot knew by now to avoid interrupting me, must we truly go over this again?"
"Ah- My apologies, Lord Harbinger, just um. It's Tuesday. Thought I might remind you of your meeting with the Regrator, so that we might procure funding for the next phase."
Dottore frowns, looking at the scattered pages on the workspace in front of him. There's just an many indecipherable pages as there are useful ones.
"Tuesday already, then. Fine." He stands and rolls his shoulders, stiffness evident from pouring over his notes for far longer than he realized. "Leave me be."
Taking a few moments to at least run his hands through the worst of the accumulated tangles in his hair - a side effect from his habit of pulling at it when too deep in thought - he dons his coat and begins the walk to Pantalone's office. Paying hardly any mind to his surroundings, it is almost alarming how quickly he seems to appear in front of the office door. Briefly, he debates barging straight in, but he brushes the thought aside in favor of hopefully garnering an amicable relationship with the man now funding his research. He knocks at the door twice, and catches the scent of incense coming from within.
A servant opens the door for him, and Dottore finds himself within a finely decorated, if simple, space. The Ninth's decor is every bit as ornate as he expected, though the choice of silver accents rather than gold sparks his interest. He allows his eyes to roam and pick up more of the details.
The room is laid out for function rather than the Ninth's comfort. Bookshelves line the walls, with a hearth present to the right. There's a mixture of financial records and ledgers, as well as a surprising amount of novels that Dottore recognizes as well-known classics. The desk is centered in front of the main window, a true mastery of woodwork with inlaid silver forming a floral motif near the sides. The design in the center is much more interesting, a set of scales. One is filled with mora, while the other depicts a hand pressing down on the empty plate to tip the favor. It certainly feels fitting. Two chairs sit opposing the desk, though is own interest is drawn to the chaise lounge nearer the hearth.
Even his lampshades have inlaid designs. Meticulous indeed. The entire room is designed to put the person entering at ease. Dottore finds himself smirking as he comes to the realization that the man's office is nothing more than an elaborate mouse trap for unwitting victims.
Pantalone greets him with his usual carefully designed smile and a kind gesture of his hand, "Ah, lovely to see you're punctual. I had hoped as much." Rather than taking one of the chairs, Dottore drapes himself along the plush cushions of the lounge. It is much warmer in here than in his lab. A comfortable and expensive trap indeed, the deep purple fabric beneath him is too artisanal not to be imported.
"Yes, yes, I made it on time." He carelessly waves a hand in the banker's direction. "As much as my own designs take up my schedule, I would be remiss to leave a poor impression on the man financing my livelihood had I arrived late to our first meeting." Pantalone doesn't need to know that half an hour ago, a subordinate had to remind him which day of the week it was.
The Regrator quirks an eyebrow at him, something like amusement showing in the slight set to his lips. He interlaces his fingers, rings clinking quietly as the hearth crackles on.
"It is appreciated. Time is mora, as you surely know." Tilting his head slightly, eyes barely open behind those glasses as always, he continues, "And how have you been keeping? Your appearance is a bit more… unkempt than the last time I saw you?"
Rolling his eyes behind his mask, Dottore dismisses the thought with another wave of his hand. His appearance has always been irrelevant to him when there are pressing experiments to complete, especially when so few recruits can actually be trusted to understand their way around costly laboratory equipment. "Your pleasantries bore me. I'm quite alright. Go ahead and ask your questions."
Gloved fingers thumb through several nearby documents to pull a file. Snagging a fountain pen, he sets a few blank pages in front of him for note-taking. Seems the man has no qualms getting directly to business after all. "I recall you mentioning some studies on a disease known as Eleazar. Explain to me what your qualms are with your current allotment of," he adjusts his glasses, delicately skimming a finger across several line items, tapping once he locates the corresponding number, "one hundred thousand mora every three months, and explain why you feel entitled to more."
Bristling as he reflects on the current state of that project, Dottore tries to keep his commentary clear enough for someone unacquainted with general research on the subject to follow, "Eleazar is a complex disease hailing from Sumeru. In its early stages, the skin scales over and causes numbness. However, it is much more clever than most others; it progresses by working from the outside in until it eventually impacts nerve function on a larger scale. By the final stage, Eleazar causes a complete immobilization of the body." He mimics a walk with two fingers, abruptly his fist as he continues, "If you have ever watched a spider spin it's web, it is much the same."
Mulling over several of his current hypotheses, he picks out something potentially more enticing to the financier, "One of the more interesting aspects of this disease is its response to elemental energy. We can infer that Eleazar thrives on it, due to a higher than usual concentration of said energy within many of those afflicted."
Pausing to assess Pantalone's expression, he's met only with the same infuriating resting smile as the man jots something down. The only inclination he's still listening is the slight nod he gives for Dottore to continue.
Launching back into his speech, he finds himself elaborating more than intended, "If I can deduce more information on how the elemental energy responds, I believe it could give me a better foundational understanding of another experiment I have undertaken. One I have enough information on where and how innate elemental energy is stored within the body, I should be able to better adjust individual delusions to their owners. But then again…" Cutting himself off so as to not delve too faring an early tangent, he tries to reel his thoughts back into what his budgetary concerns are. "I digress, I'll get to that later. My qualm currently is that it is unreasonable to expect any progress to be made when I have such a low budget. Especially when combined with a lack of proper help in the lab."
Wagging a finger for emphasis, he rants on, "You can only train mice to do so many things, you know. Not to mention the travel costs and how expensive it is to even source the materials I need. With more mora, I can more quickly produce the results I need."
The scratching of pen to paper fills the office for a few more moments, and then Pantalone nods affirmatively to his notes. "Quite the project, it seems. How have you been testing your hypotheses currently, and what do you deem necessary in order to make the progress you desire?"
"Currently, I am limited to tissue samples I can acquire on limited trips to Sumeru. Due in part to the expenses of opening a lab, this has been the only viable way I can test anything. It is much more reliable to have test subjects, but the terrible little man previously in charge of my funding kept refusing to see me about it." His lips curl up in a snarl just remembering the gall of that ridiculous man. He thought every word that came out of Dottore's mouth was worthless, and only ever funded the bare minimum to keep Pierro from stepping in.
Mulling over that experience again, he launches into a tirade, "Tell me, Pantalone, how do you feel about blasphemy?" Not missing the way the pen pauses in the middle of a note, Dottore continues without bothering to wait for a reply, "It is my belief that the Gods have no interest in the actual lives of a majority of people. And therefore their power should be taken and… redistributed as it best serves humanity at large."
"That is how I have been treating Eleazar thus far. Careful assimilation of God Remains into the human body as a means of fortifying the entire system against the disease." Only when he finishes that whole spiel does Dottore actually tilt his head over towards the banker, eyes darting across the man's face for any hint of rejecting the thought at face value. Instead, an unreadable expression stares back at him. It is a carefully controlled lack of reaction, not faltering as Pantalone returns to jotting down more notes.
Deciding that is enough of a cue to continue, he jumps back into answering the question at hand, "As for what amount of mora I deem necessary," he goes through several possibilities in his head, settling on the true best case for experimentation, "I would need upgraded equipment in order to foolproof anything breaking at the hands of unskilled subordinates, and I would need a way to transport live subjects here for more thorough testing of my hypotheses." Acquiescing in an attempt to make his requests more palatable, he puts a hand on his chest and continues, "I am not so unreasonable as to expect funding for an entire lab built out in Sumeru itself as of yet. I have compiled enough information to recreate any environmental factors."
If he so happened to have those notes because he previously studied at the Akademiya's own abandoned Eleazar hospital, then so be it. He doesn't have to explain everything to the Ninth just because he's funding it. "I expect this would raise my quarterly costs for this experiment to 200,000 mora, with the additional upfront equipment costs around 250,000."
Papers rustle as Pantalone reviews his notes alongside several other documents from the file. "And how do you anticipate we recoup these costs? I surmise a man such as yourself is intelligent enough to know that an investment with no returns, especially at this amount, would be an asinine endeavor. Especially when you have not designated a potential timeline for how long this research will take to conclude." Gloved fingers lace together as he turns his attention back towards Dottore. In spite of the gentle, disarming curve to the man's lips, Dottore feels as though he's being studied.
"That is where my secondary project comes into play. The Tsaritsa needs more reliable weapons against vision holders, and I find that waiting, or worse, praying to wake up and find one, is preposterous. Why wait for a gift form the Gods themselves, when we as humans have every right to create and take whatever power we wish for?" A grin crosses his own face, and he waves a hand as he fully lays across the chaise beneath him. This project is one he is truly passionate about.
"I am of course referring to delusions. A marriage of raw elemental energy and Khaenri'ahn technology. By understanding how elemental energy can cause adverse reactions within the body, I can refine this technology to not only be a veritable equal to a vision itself, eclipsing the need for God given power altogether, but make them marketable." He smiles as he emphasizes the word, knowing that progress with these would be indispensable to the future of the Fatui. "Currently, the existing prototypes are prone to being unstable, but, once I am able to expand the body of research surrounding latent elemental energy within the human form, I see no reason why it cannot be perfected."
Pantalone's chuckle is followed by the sound of a bell. A knock sounds at the door, to Dottore's obvious confusion.
"Don't look so confused, Doctor. This is quite the enlightening discussion we're having. Do come in." Pantalone turns as one of his subordinates enters, and simply states, "I believe we could be here for quite some time, there is much to go through on the Doctor's accounts. Return with tea, and then reschedule my next meeting for later this afternoon." He looks over his notes as the young man leaves, and waits until the door shuts to continue.
"I knew when I accepted this position that I would be in the company of others who disregard the need for Godly approval, but I must admit that your enthusiasm in taking the mere existence of the powers that be as a personal challenge rather refreshing." Dottore hears the words, but his attention is far more focused on the deep purple of the man's eyes. A fascinating, rich color made even more intriguing by the fact that even open-eyed, Pantalone's carefully constructed mask of expression remains at a slightly amused neutral.
He finds himself wondering just how much it would take to see a different emotion break through. Before he can attempt to find out, Pantalone has already gone back to his notes, just in time for the tea to arrive.
"Excellent, thank you, Gregor." The subordinate salutes, and leaves them be once more. Pantalone's signature smile deepens almost imperceptibly as he grabs his cup, "An imported blend of green tea leaves from Liyue. I recommend it. I've found it tends to soothe the throat during extended conversation, and the caffeine is always a welcome boost to keep oneself alert."
Hidden eyes narrowing at the masterfully subtle implication, Dottore scoffs as he sits up and grabs the second cup. "I find nothing wrong with being thorough. It is often quite the chore to explain the intricacies of my research to others in terms they can understand. Besides, you asked me for details. It is hardly my fault if my answers were more than you bargained for." He decides to blame his severe lack of sleep for the childish annoyance seeping into his tone.
Pantalone's smile deepens near imperceptibly, "On the contrary, Doctor, I simply find myself surprised you have yet to tire your voice. It was my understanding that you are not fond of extended conversation with others if it can be avoided."
"My sincerest apologies if my conversational skills are not up to par with that of your political and financial cohort." He huffs, and arrogantly raises his chin. "It is never in my interest to willingly bore myself with the minds of others, especially ones as dull as that."
Violet eyes regard him again, and, though partly hidden behind the teacup, Dottore can clearly see that the banker's smile has a slight tilt to it. The lopsided expression fits imperfectly on such a meticulous man, though it certainly suits him much more to anything else he has seen on his face.
He tilts his head in interest, the connection forming. "I see, you must bore of them too if talking with me is thisentertaining for you, Banker. I do hope that getting a rise out of me for your own amusement isn't a recurring theme in our future meetings." He enthusiastically wags his index finger in the direction of the desk, "I am not 'all bark and no bite' as the expression goes."
He's met with a short, enchanting laugh, "Oh my, an outright threat against a fellow harbinger? How unbecoming of you, Doctor."
Dottore loses track of how many quips the two trade over the course of their meeting. Unfortunately, he also loses track of time. Amidst further discussion of his funding over tea - which he reluctantly admits to himself is rather soothing to the throat, they find themselves interrupted by another knock. Being that it is the same cadence as before, Dottore assumes it is the same subordinate from earlier. At this, Pantalone skims the notes he has made once again.
"It seems as though we are running out of time. I'd like to take a moment and review my final allotments to your budget as of today." Raising a hand as if stopping Dottore from speaking, he emphasizes, "Save any complaints until I am completely finished, and preferably once you are out of earshot." There's that mask of expression again.
The moment the conversation delves back into the real of mora, it is as though Pantalone completely flips a switch. Infuriatingly unreadable, though not a completely unchangeable expression, it seems. "For the Eleazar project, I will grant your initial funding request for laboratory equipment in full, though your quarterly budget will only be increased to 175,000 mora."
There's a brief second of silence, as if testing whether Dottore will interject. Seemingly satisfied when there is no reaction, he continues, "For the delusions, I will only amend your current budget by a further 25,000 mora until you can provide a timeline for the conclusion and application of your findings on elemental energy. Your overall salary is unchanged as of now, and, based on the Tsaritsa's guidance, will not be increased unless a substantial finding relevant to our work is completed." Folded hands and violet eyes regard his mask once again, as if waiting for an inevitable outburst.
Merely frowning, Dottore reclines against the plush cushion, tapping his fingers along the side. "Disappointing, though I cannot fault your logic entirely. However, what of the instance I make progress sooner than the next quarter? What are the stipulations for amending one's budget?" Eyes narrowed, he regards the man across from him carefully.
If he's being honest with himself, he hadn't expected that this meeting would end up being quite so productive in the first place, but Dottore is nothing if not observant. He has learned enough through this conversation to know that, if he doesn't specify these terms now, they will be left intentionally vague. A clever ploy, he must admit, though not one that would ever work on him.
"In the instance of progress sooner than anticipated, simply request a meeting. The same applies for any amendments." At Dottore's responding hum of agreement, he reaches for a fresh page and begins to detail the contact itself.
Without looking up from his task, Pantalone muses aloud, "You are far more amenable to reason than your reputation belies. I was expecting far more of an outburst upon denial of full funding. Something along the lines of threatening me with the prospect of becoming one of your test subjects, if palace gossip is to be trusted."
A slight frown comes over Dottore's features as he contemplates how to reply. "Reason, above all else, is the key to progress. I have come to the realization that it would be rather hypocritical if I refused to recognize a well-constructed argument, as you have made over the course of our meeting today." His true frustration still manages to make itself known as he continues, "Even if that means that my preliminary research into my next experiments will need to be put on pause."
The sound of the pen scratching paper fills the room, and Pantalone counters, "So you accept in spite of your evident unhappiness with the current terms?"
"My unhappiness has less to do with your terms than it does with time itself. Time is the natural enemy of the researcher. Sans the ability to completely halt the world itself in a perfect vacuum, there is simply no way to counter change. Experiments rely on controlled variables, and I rely solely on my own functionality at a given moment. Mortal lives only afford so much time to work with."
The pen stills for a moment, and Pantalone regards him with unmasked intrigue. Vibrant eyes seem to stare straight past his mask. "An interesting quandary indeed. Am I to infer that your next experiments intend to deal with this issue directly, then?" Dark curls shift with the tilt of his head, falling into a new pattern of waves across his shoulder.
Tracking the movement, Dottore inclines his own head in turn. "And if I say yes? What then?" The banker only hums to himself, looking back over the numbers for a moment. Dottore mulls over several things as he watches their contract be written out. What could such a man truly think of such a blasphemous idea? To offer indefinite time, to not only extend but indefinitely eliminate aging as a variable.
The answer he receives is promisingly vague, "It is an interesting concept. To live forever as one is currently - how could anyone deny the appeal of that?"
The corners of Dottore's lips twitch into a twisted grin, and he cannot help but tease the other, "My, you're still so young, yet you already concern yourself with your own mortality to this degree?"
"In our line of work, our time is often the most threatened resource of all." Putting the pen down, Pantalone relaxes into his seat, leaning against a partially closed fist. "I have invested quite a lot into gaining the position I now hold, and I intend to be here for so long as I am able." He waves a hand in thought, rings glinting in the light, "If something could extend that for me, how could I claim to be of sane mind if I did not appear amenable to further discussion? Just as you said earlier, reason is the key to progress."
Dottore chuckles at that, excitement bubbling up beneath his skin. "And if I said that all I needed to bring this concept into reality was more funding, what might you say in reply?"
"I would say that it seems as though s partnership could be mutually beneficial." The barest hint of the crooked smile he saw earlier plays on Pantalone's lips. "Perhaps there is an opportunity for me to fund a personal request of our most esteemed Second harbinger," Sitting back up and grabbing the pen, Pantalone continues with a taunt, "so long as he could actually provide me with the promised results." The scratching of his pen resumes, only pausing for one lithe finger to trail down a column of numbers, adding another line item at the end of a list.
"A partnership? Not afraid of your own reputation becoming diminished by tying it to my own? You seem to regard yourself in higher esteem than that." There is something about how the two have been verbally poking and prodding at one mother that Dottore finds himself genuinely enjoying. As this is additionally one of the first times he has sensed that someone truly shares his ambitions, he finds himself almost enjoying the prospect of working more closely with the banker. Not to mention that doing so would only give him more time to see what else can cause that perfect expression to shift.
Pantalone merely chuckles, "Under the guise of merely following up with our most erratic scientist, it is actually quite easy to play this off as nothing more than additional budgetary meetings. You don't seem to mind playing that part already, so I do not imagine you'd take issue with it now." He slides over the pen and newly minted contract, tapping just at the bottom. "Just a few signatures, if you please. If you look at line item number nine, I believe you'll find yourself fairly compensated for such."
Dottore grins in turn, but still pulls the papers to read through at his own leisure. The contract has far more details than expected for being drawn up so quickly, though his handwriting maintains a simple, unfaltering elegance which can only come from extensive practice. He only asks to modify a handful of minor (and asinine) details, mainly in an attempt to get the banker to show any hint of frustration. Coming up fruitless in his pursuit to visibly agitate the banker, he concedes to sign where prompted. Next to each X, his scrawling signature dots each page.
As he stands, he walks over towards the desk, leaning over the front of it. "One last thing," he points to line item nine, vaguely labeled as 'Personal Request.'
"In order to formulate this, I'll be needing samples to work with. Whenever you'd like to begin this Personal Request, as you have labeled it, simply come by my lab. It should only take a few minutes." Watching raptly for any sign of fear or hesitation, he's momentarily caught off guard when Pantalone simply nods up at him from his desk.
"Then I shall be seeing you soon indeed, Doctor." He carefully inspects that the ink has fully dried, and files away the newly minted contract, adding it to the plethora of them stacked neatly on the side of his desk. He folds his gloved hands together, signature smile falling into place, "A pleasure doing business with you, Dottore."
Dottore scoffs, though it's borne of idle amusement rather than ire. He's already devising ways to get under the man's skin the next time they meet. While he has yet to place why he finds the idea of breaking the Ninth's expression too tempting to ignore beyond his generally insatiable curiosity, at the very least it provides him entertainment during otherwise draining meetings. "And with you, Pantalone."
……
The next several months pass in a blur of experimentation. Failure, revision, and repetition day in and day out, only resting when absolutely necessary. The influx of funding to a project he's much more passionate about than usual shatters the remaining work-life balance Dottore had, which was already scant to begin with. He can count on one hand the amount of days he's actually slept in his quarters rather than passing about against the nearest surface in his lab ever since that first meeting.
Each day begins with administering his newest serum to different cell cultures and placing them into an incubator, then he and a few of his less mediocre lab assistants continue to refine the Eleazar process. The delusion research dominates his afternoons, the blasted things still prone to expelling a variety of adverse elemental reactions when tested. Evenings are spent with the analysis of the day's cultures, and nights are spent with sprawling textbooks and notes scattered across his desk and nearly every accompanying surface.
Things start to come together in month eight. Or was it month nine already? The Eleazar subjects have remained stable enough to properly examine the elemental properties in their bodies. Thinking about Pantalone's comments on his reputation, he scoffs as he pulls up his mask and snaps on a pair of gloves for his next exploratory surgery.
This Eleazar patient had been in a coma for months now, since shortly after arriving to the lab. A recent decline in most of their functions led to their reliance on a plethora of machines as their brain function deteriorated to the point of not responding to stimuli. Mostly. This case should prove the perfect opportunity for him to finally get his hands on a certain part of the brain that he has long hypothesized to be involved in the storage and use of elemental energy.
His assistants have learned their places well enough to avoid asking too many questions, and not too long after the subject is prepared, he can finally observe it - the hippocampus. A wonderful remnant of human evolution. Monitoring many of the body's inherent functions, it would be an ideal place for elemental energy to concentrate. Being that many of the more base creatures across Teyvat have some ability to interact with it, this, one of the earliest pieces of the human brain, has to be where the energy resides in its most potent form. He attaches a few probes to different instruments of his own design to more closely monitor reactions, and uses the most stable of his recent electro delusions to send a small pulse directly to the area.
The reaction is more immediate than he expects, a twitch of muscles that haven't moved in months. Then, a spark in reply. He snaps at the subordinate he had charged with taking notes,
"Your notes had better be perfect. I'm still in need of a comparative case to this one to verify any results, after all."
He pays no attention to how the young woman reacts to the threat, returning his full attention to the subject on the table. He sends another small pulse, and this time, one of his instruments begins to sound. It might be the most glorious thing he's ever heard, only enhanced as he watches the probe slowly freeze over. The assistants watch on, their hands pausing in place as small bits of ice form over the metal. Dottore grins beneath his mask, taking in every detail of this moment. He feels nearly giddy as he watches the evidence of his hypothesis accumulate in front of his eyes. His never-ending pursuit of knowledge counts another success today.
……
Another month or so, and he's finally able to activate one of the delusions at full force without an explosion. Staring at the frozen wall in front of him, he reaches out a hand to glide along the surface. Cold even through his leather gloves, he can't help but let out a nearly maniacal laugh. Finding out how the body stores elemental energy had been key indeed.
Without being able to engineer the delusion to interact with his own anatomy, of course previous versions had failed when their full potential was unleashed. Even better, all it had taken was elemental markers in his blood to find the right type of reaction to use - mass production will be easy enough to implement with this in mind. Any member high enough ranking to warrant a delusion can simply submit a sample as part of an annual physical, and then it is only a few more steps to find which element reacts the most favorably to their sample. A bit of tuning later, and greater production of delusions is within his grasp.
More importantly, finally cracking this code means that now he has even more time to focus on the serum a certain banker has tasked him with creating.
……
Dottore looks over his latest letter to Pantalone one last time before sealing it, ensuring that he hasn't undersold the progress he has are so far. The Ninth has proven to be a stickler for 'details, not rambling' in return for funding. He is unsure if Pantalone realizes, but he seems to have taken up the mantle of Dottore's personal Review Board. Letter deemed sufficient, he sends it off with a subordinate and takes a moment to rest back in his office before his next foray into refining the anti-aging serum.
He rests his cheek against a fist, loosely propping up his head to pour over notes. While he has slowed the cell replication and managed to stop some of the degeneration in recent samples, it isn't enough. He needs to ensure that the transfer of information as cells divide is perfect, as merely halting the life cycle of existing cells would only mean any new wounds could never heal. He closes his eyes to visualize he addition of different components, tracing through potential patterns of reactions. What in Teyvat has the longest lifespan, and why?
Creatures such as the gods, of course. There's the adepti, and some other lifeforms such as Oceanids seem to have a penchant for sticking around. He has been tinkering with the god remains already, but has yet to counter their adverse effects enough to be safe for prolonged use. The cells always come out tainted, far too unpredictable in response to normal stimuli. Something to meter this, perhaps. He doesn't notice when he starts to slump forward onto his desk, trying to hold onto his train of thought. The sleep overtakes his exhausted body before he has a chance to realize just how exhausted he truly was.
……
The tigers circle him over and over. Always watching, waiting for the moment he's not looking to strike. There's a sharp rapping sound, and they pounce. Dottore is lost in a flurry of movement. He exhales sharply, finding himself disheveled on the ground in front of his desk. It takes a moment for his mind to come back to the present, and then he hears a knock at his door.
"What is it, have the lot of you managed to kill another one of the subjects?" His back cracks in several places as he shuffles to the door, irritated already. "You know I'm more than happy to-" He pulls the door open with a sharp movement, confused as he looks up to find Pantalone. "Ah, it's you. What work does our Ninth have in my lab?" Dottore finds himself wrong-footed at the man's appearance, but reaches up and runs a hand through his hair, "I just sent you the latest progress, is there some issue I'm unaware of?"
Pantalone chuckles, adjusting his grip on his cane and brandishing the letter, "I'm quite aware, Doctor. I wanted to see this progress for myself if I'm to be funding the next round of delusions." Dottore takes in the man's appearance as he speaks, deducing that this is an outfit he's certain Pantalone would deem dressed-down. Absurd, considering his slacks alone are likely worth a month's salary for one of their subordinates. Wearing a black dress shirt tucked into black slacks, his white coat is a stark offset to the rest of everything else. The long, clean lines of the coat somehow makes the man seem taller than usual. Clearly in a good enough mood, Pantalone tacks on, "I must also inquire, just how creative do those threats of yours get? I can only imagine what you were planning on saying had I been anyone else."
Dottore grumbles and swings the office door open a bit wider, "Come in, I'll only be a moment, then we can go to the testing area." His own office is an absolute mess, papers scattered on virtually every surface. Luckily, all he has to do is grab a handful of pages that ended up on the spare chair to give the other enough room to sit. He begins to look for his most recent pages on the delusions, muttering to himself, "I finished the work on those yesterday, so I suppose that would put them…"
Seemingly paying him no mind, Pantalone's voice catches him off guard, "An office fit for the company of no one, it would seem. Aside from yourself, when's the last time someone else was actually in here?"
Sifting through the papers on the corner of his desk, Dottore easily replies, "As if I'd let anyone in here when I've been so absorbed in my research. I hardly even leave save for when I'm actively testing out a theory."
"So I would be correct in assuming you hardly sleep. I figured as much when the volume of progress you made surpassed what any sane person would consider an insurmountable workload." His presence shifts, skimming over every detail of the office. "I must say, it is commendable that the quality of your work hasn't suffered with the strain that this type of lifestyle must put on your mental faculties."
Dottore waves him off, organizing all the pages he's found into the correct order. "As if I'd ever let my research suffer for something as banal as a few days without rest. Plenty of ways around that if you're not lacking intelligence. Coffee, of course, but there's also -" He pauses, a connection sparking in his mind. He frowns for a moment, shoving the stack of notes in his hands to a clearly confused Pantalone. There's no time to savor the slight crack in his facade, not when he's got the solution to their serum so nearly figured out.
"I cannot believe I looked over something so unbelievably simple." He shuffles through several drawers in his desk, finally finding the bag he needs, "Ah - Ahaha, what a fool I've been to ignore something right in front of me." He's grinning at the mushrooms, taking one out and holding it up to purple irises as one would brag about a prized possession. "Do you know what this is?"
A slight furrow to his brows, Pantalone answers, "I can't say that I'm familiar with this variety of mushroom in particular, no."
"This, Pantalone, is the key to that personal project of ours." He knows his grin must be borderline maniacal now, but cannot find it worth caring about in the face of his revelation. "Rukkhashava mushrooms, local to the rainforests of Sumeru. Rumor has it, the sages use these in an annual ritual for the fallen Rukkhadevata, though no one knows what their exact purpose is. However, I've been lucky enough to study them at length. They contain a compound that aids in memory retrieval and the genesis of cells. This is exactly what I've been looking for, right under my nose this entire time." He cannot st the genuine laugh that escapes, his precious few hours of sleep over the past week rapidly catching up with him.
Pantalone gingerly lifts the mushroom from his fingertips, studying it with a renewed interest. "Is that so? Such a fascinating title thing indeed. So this is how you maintain your sanity." By the time Pantalone returns his attention to Dottore, he's already begun to hastily scribble out a formula, calculating the amount he's need in a sample to stabilize with the other ingredients. Dottore only vaguely registers the feeling of eyes on him after he finishes the calculations, and snaps his head back up at an angle to regard the other man with a smirk.
"Care to join me for an experiment, Pantalone?" Manically giggling again, He grabs his new formula and the bag of mushrooms. Then, he's leading the man to another section of the lab without so much as a moment for a reply. He pays no mind to his subordinates, and he knows Pantalone is following by the click of the man's cane on the concrete below. He shoves open the door to his private workstation, and slings the mushrooms onto a countertop. This room is kept much more organized than his office, everything meticulously organized and labeled.
Reviewing his notes for only a moment, he whirls around and begins to grab the things that he needs. After sparking the burner, he sets aside two mushrooms next to his preferred medium of 10% slime condensate mixture. In his hurry, he nearly bumps into Pantalone, the taller man clearly amused by the Doctor's sudden switch of mentality. He simply grabs the Ninth by his shoulders and turns him towards the only stool in the room before continuing, "This should only take a few minutes. Stay there, if you please." He doesn't realize that Pantalone is outright chuckling at his antics, or how he tensed when Dottore's hands had gripped his coat.
The mushrooms are ground in a mortar and pestle, the condensate is set above the burner, and, finally, Dottore can get the last thing he needs. He tears through his ingredient storage, barely remembering to put on a secondary pair of gloves before getting out the double insulated and metal-lined box. He sets it on the counter with a careless thud, and measures out the hypothesized amount of ground mushrooms to the beaker. He stores it somewhat impatiently, muttering something to himself about temperatures and ingredient quality.
Mushrooms successfully dissolved, he can move onto the most important step. His hands nearly shake with the anticipation, but years of surgical procedures have hardened his resolve to move only with the upmost precision. He deftly undoes the clasps along the side of he box, tosses open the lid, and grins down at the small vials. They emit a soft glow, and he hastily uncaps one, tilting it into the solution over the burner. He drops in a magnet, carefully transferring the beaker to another instrument. The magnet begins to stir, and he grips the edge of the counter in anticipation as the mixture begins to homogenize.
"And what was in the mysterious vials?" Pantalone's voice shocks him out of his trance. Dottore had forgotten he was even here.
"Ah- yes, you must have questions. The serum I've been working on. I've tried all sorts of different ingredients to stabilize the outcomes, to no avail. I have quite high hopes for this one, though." He points to the beaker in front of him, ignoring what he knows of lab safety in favor of leaning directly over the still bubbling beaker. "The Rukkhashava Mushrooms possess a unique ability to enhance and stabilize the mind's functions. They've been used in poultices, teas and the like for ages. This, though, is their greatest purpose yet."
He can feel his lips twitching up into a smirk while he watches for a sign of a reaction in the mixture. "When put into the correct medium and combined with the remains of a God, I see no reason why he mushrooms could not only stabilize adverse effects of the Archon residue. Even better yet, they may also be capable of combining with it to create a substance that can refine the natural genesis cycle of cells."
"You seem to have a penchant for seeking out blasphemy, Doctor. And you're certain it will work?" Pantalone's attention is focused on the masked figure in front of him, rather than the beaker itself. Dottore is practically glowing, the heavier gloves he had put on earlier radiating a small amount of light ever since he picked up that vial.
Gleefully laughing in turn, he shakes his head, "You truly know nothing of science if you believe me to be certain of anything. Repeated testing is the only way to gain any level of surety in results. Only then an a hypothesis be supported. This is merely the beginning of what I think could be my breakthrough in immortality."
There's a shift in color in the beaker, and safety protocols be damned, Dottore cannot help but lean in even closer with a giddy laugh. He hastily adds a bit of context for his fellow Harbinger who has shifted his attentions to the beaker as well, "A color shift is one sign of a chemical reaction taking place. This is an excellent sign for us." The liquid seems to phase between clear and a deep blue for a few moments, and then a ripple of light comes from the center, the solution rapidly emulsifies into an icy blue.
Dottore's manic laughter fills the space, and he manages to tear his eyes away to find Pantalone staring at the beaker with an unguarded sense of awe. His eyes catch every minute shift of expression, soaking up the unsung praise for his work with rapt attention. This is definitely one of his favorite expressions he's wrung out of Pantalone so far.
Voice dripping with pride, he cannot help but tease, "Finding yourself impressed, Banker?" Not only is he making progress with the experiment he's been the most excited about, this is becoming the perfect opportunity to expand his existing knowledge of the Ninth's visages.
By now he has learned to expect those features slipping back into a perfectly controlled smile the moment he draws attention to it. He flicks off the stirring instrument with a smirk as the banker clears his throat. "I must give credit where credit is due, of course. For someone so clearly lacking any control over his mind, you may have some true talent after all." Dottore's smirk drops into a snarl at the polite inclination of the banker's head. In response, Pantalone flashes a contained smile and closed eyes.
"Must I remind you what my progress with this formula means?" He sets the beaker to cool off to the side.
"And must I remind you how impossible this would be were it not for your ever gracious benefactor?" Disregarding eyes meet his steel mask. As always, Pantalone loves to lord it over him how reliant every success is on the wealth of the Northland Bank.
"Mutually assured survival, just as much as it is mutually assured destruction, then." Dottore clenches his jaw and takes a step toward the Ninth.
"You always do cut straight to the point, don't you?" Pantalone's fingers tighten around his cane.
"There is no better way to get to the base of an issue, in my experience. You ought to try it sometime, and let that silver tongue of yours rest. It would be a nice break for everyone to be spared your theatrics." He takes another step forward, waving off whatever retort was surely to come in reply. "It's quite fortuitous we've made such a breakthrough during your visit. I'm running low on my material to test on, I can collect a new round of cells to test on now."
There's a tightening in Pantalone's jaw, and he sets his shoulders a bit straighter. "Must you be so intentionally grating all the time? Perhaps you'd find most situations outside of the lab less frustrating if you'd simply learn a few social conventions."
Chuckling at the insult, he replies in turn, "Actually, I find I quite like how those work for me now." He doesn't miss the change in The Regrator's posture, and he takes another step forward forward, encroaching into Pantalone's personal space. He cocks his head to the side, grinning up at the other man, "As for the sample. Don't tell me you're already squeamish. After all, if this round is successful, we'll be working together for a long time." He's only a foot or so away now, eyes darting behind his mask to soak in every detail of his expression.
"Do you intend to intimidate me like this, Doctor? I thought I had already established that I," The cane clicks against cold tiles as Pantalone steps forward as well, "am not so easily frightened." Cool, violet eyes look down at Dottore's mask, unflinching. "A blood sample is easy enough to provide. You should also know by now that my only qualm with the sight of blood is when I'm seeing it stain my clothing." Pantalone steps past him, letting their shoulders brush as he takes a seat in one of the lab stools. Cane set to the side, he begins to roll up his sleeve.
Grumbling to himself once again, Dottore simply grabs what he needs to collect more samples. He rids himself of the thicker pair of gloves, and swaps his usual pair out for lab gloves. The snap of the band against his wrist is a crisp, satisfying break in the otherwise silent lab. He sets out the needle and a few vials, then adjusts Pantalone's arm on the side of his workstation.
Refocusing as best he can, he does up the tourniquet. Pantalone pointedly looks away as he traces and taps the veins to find the best one, though he does not flinch at the prick of the needle. Dottore does as he needs, watching as the vials fill up with blood. He tilts each one as he puts them into a rack, a motion he's done a million times by this point in his life. Filling the last one, he swiftly undoes the tourniquet and presses a piece of cotton into the crux of Pantalone's arm, smoothly pulling away the needle. Then he grabs the man's other hand and firmly presses it over the cotton so that he can grab a proper bandage. He meticulously aligns the gauze over the pinprick of blood, and presses firmly as he wraps around his elbow.
Finished with Pantalone's sample, he grabs out a second set of vials, pulling off his lab coat to unbutton and roll up his own sleeve. He twists a tourniquet on tightly with the handle of a nearby scalpel, and grabs a fresh needle. Neglecting to focus on the other man in the room, he jabs the needle in the vein he knows always is easiest to draw from. He reaches up and undoes the tourniquet when the last vial fills, flexing his hand for a moment. Once he's bandaged in turn, he steps away to begin plating one of each sample immediately.
He nearly startles when Pantalone's voice cuts through the silence again, "As enthralling as it is to watch you work on this, I do have other appointments to attend to this morning." He would expect the man's tone to be dripping with sarcasm, but he seems to have heard none at all. "Care to show off the delusions you've been working on?"
"Fine, yes. Just give me a moment to finish this up." He huffs, and focuses on finishing the work in front of him while Pantalone seems to occupy himself by inspecting the workspace itself. He adds the last bit of trial serum, and moves the plates into an incubator. He sighs, and turns around to see Pantalone holding one of the vials of blood up to the light, tilting it slowly back and forth.
"Finally gaining an appreciation for science, are we?" He snatches the vial back, and properly stores them for use in future trials. "Let's get on with the delusions, then."
……
Triple checking the latest results, he tries to stop the giddy chuckle from escaping to no avail. The telomeres have shown significant stability compared to his control groups, trial version I-III is officially ready to move into a human trial. He still has not been able to account for the difference in his and Pantalone's sample reactions, but any bit of extra time is one he will gleefully sink his fingers into.
He distills the serum, ensuring it is as pure as possible, and caps two test tubes before storing the rest in an airtight container. He carefully wraps the test tubes, taking a second to admire the translucent, icy teal color of the liquid, and places them into a bag. The Regrator will simply have to excuse his impatience in visiting sans a scheduled meeting.
He feels a tremor of excitement run through his hands as he knocks on the banker's office door, the subordinate standing by the door carefully avoiding looking too long in his direction.
"I'm rather busy at the moment, please make sure to schedule in advance. I have some openings tomorrow morning, just speak with Gregor."
He huffs, and calls out teasingly, "Dearest Ninth, refusing a visit from me? I have quite the news for you on our latest collaboration." He narrows his eyes and presses his ear to the door in an attempt to clue in on the man's reaction.
Silence. Of course this is the time Pantalone chooses to ignore him. How is he supposed to-
He stumbles forward as the door opens, barely catching himself on the doorframe. He looks up to see a mirthful expression on the banker's face as he rights himself. "How long have you been awake this time? Have you even realized how late it is?"
Dottore scowls and runs a hand through his hair, yanking his fingers through a knot stuck in the end. So what if he's been awake for a few days to finish this round of testing? It worked.
"You still seem to be at work regardless of the hour." He pushes the door opens wider and slips past Pantalone into the office. Ignoring the allure of the man's ever comfortable chaise lounge for now, he pulls the neatly packaged vials from his pocket, and turns to the other as the door shuts behind him. "Now, I think a toast is in order."
"A toast, hm? Over what exactly, and with what drinks?" The banker moves back over to his desk, sitting down and looking over his papers once more. Dottore watches for a moment, observing how his fingers glide across the pages in practiced, rhythmic motions. He hums and unwraps the vials, placing one directly center of the page Pantalone is reading.
"Why, to long lives of progress ahead." He grins, waiting for the realization to cross the other man's face. He sees the exact moment the gravity of what has been placed in front of him hits. It's only a slight widening of his eyes and his hand darting out to snatch up the vial, but Dottore basks in their mutual excitement.
He looks over the vial carefully, and then back up at Dottore. "Truly, you always nag me for my love of 'theatrics', but you ignore your own proclivity for the same." The smile that crosses the banker's face is one that Dottore hasn't seen before.
This one is softer than his usual amusement at their banter, much kinder than he thought possible for a man who so frequently nags Dottore every time he so much as trips after a few too many nights without sleep. Nothing at all like that mask of unaffected politeness. Dottore tilts his head and observes for another moment, tracing his features with intense focus. "You've done it, then? An elixir of immortality?"
Finding himself slightly unfocused after being faced with that expression, he turns to his usual ramblings to regain his balance. "It has far to go before being perfected, but this one has been able to slow aging in our cultures. I've yet to find a way to perfectly preserve the telomeres as the cells divide, but, by my estimations, this version should slow our aging by roughly 1/3 of the usual rate." He speaks reverently, and forces himself to slow down on his explanation, "In our continued collaboration, I expect I can make improvements rather quickly now that this version has proved stable and effective."
Pantalone's eyes track the movement of his hands as he speaks, flicking back up to his face when he finally pauses, "You really must learn to simply enjoy a moment without feeling the need to look at it objectively. Minimizing another 30 years of life after only a year of work, that's certainly nothing to scoff at." Dottore finds himself unsure of what to do with the sincerity in his voice. He frowns slightly to himself.
"I am always quite proud of my accomplishments, it seems to be one of my more aggravating traits to others." He pulls up his own vial, rolling it between his fingers. "No one has come close to being able to create something like this. Not a single other person."
"Pride is not the same thing as enjoyment. Your ego is large enough as it is, though your lack of concern with your own well-being in spite of such a massive ego…" Pantalone hums, tilting his head in thought as he runs a finger along the glass. "You know, we'd met before my appointment as the Regrator? Twice, actually."
Dottore feels his face furrow in confusion, scraping through his memories. He would certainly remember, right?
Chuckling fills the quiet office, the hearth crackling the only other sound in the cozy atmosphere. "I suppose it would not have made much of an impact on you, but this is actually the third time you've ensured my life remains in tact." Pantalone's eyes follow the Doctor's movements as he moves to lean against his desk. "I'll give you a hint. I tried to thank you, and you refused to so much as look at me. I believe your exact words were something along the lines of 'Repay me by never wasting my valuable time again' the first time. The second, you simply questioned how a bank clerk could even wind up in a gunfight in the first place."
Recognition finally strikes the Doctor, lips twitching into an intrigued smile, "Ah yes - of course. You had managed to stay awake in spite of severe internal bleeding the first time we met" He exaggerates a once over glance of Pantalone for emphasis, "My, look how you've changed. It's been nearly 10 years since then, hasn't it?" He takes in Pantalone's relaxed form again, the man fully at ease in his luxurious office space. Dottore catalogues the change in his physique, hair, and overall presence ever since he first laid eyes on a young wretch sent to his lab as part of a new batch of test subjects bought. "You were a truly fascinating subject to work on. I'm glad to see my work has remained intact."
He thinks again, mulling over how he may have changed to better place the second time they'd met. His hair was likely a bit shorter then, and he must have been moved into a lower ranking position. Would he have been wearing glasses by that point?
Ah! His eyes dart to the man's left arm. "Oh my, and that nasty gunshot wound." He laughs to himself, "I must ask, how did you manage to get into such a predicament? You were merely a bank clerk at that point." He cackles, remembering how frustrated he was by being pulled away form his experiments to fix up the teller.
Pantalone chuckles along with him, shrugging to himself. "It seems some people do not take kindly to the rightful repossession of their belongings when they are unable to pay back a loan. The bastard pulled a gun as I was in the midst of subduing him. It was a lucky shot."
Catching his breath and clearly enjoying hearing the full story after so long, Dottore twirls a long strand of hair around his fingers, pushing it back off of his mask. "What an expected reaction. It does make sense. After all, if you ever attempt to repossess any of my equipment, I believe you'd wind up back on my lab table." His lips curl into a smirk, feeling a sense of normalcy again as he inclines his head to glance at Pantalone again.
"So long as you never disappoint with your findings, I expect we'll not have to find out. Though I believe you'd be surprised how difficult it would be to subdue me for long enough with who I am now." Pushing up from his chair, Pantalone steps around his desk in front of where Dottore leans.
He truly has changed since arriving with those other subjects, he's grown quite a lot in those ten or so years. Vial in hand, he uncaps and raises it in the space between them. "What was it you said earlier, 'to our long lives of progress ahead?' I'd also add, to our sure partnership."
Uncapping and raising his own vial in turn, he decides to decipher what that tone meant later, choosing to enjoy their success at this moment. As his smirk softens into an expression more genuine than he realizes, he returns the toast. "To our long lives of progress, and our continued partnership."