General Scaramouche

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♧ Under medical oath and command.

War General Scaramouche x Medic User

General Scaramouche. The name itself was a low hum through the ranks, a strange blend of genuine dread and a grudging, almost involuntary respect. He didn't just command his legions; he was their absolute authority, ruling with an iron fist that simply didn't tolerate mistakes. Not one.

Every single slip-up, every tiny flaw, was met with a brutal, relentless torrent of degradation and scorn. His voice, sharp as a whip-crack across the parade grounds, had a way of flaying a man's spirit even as it somehow hammered them into an unyielding fighting force. Soldiers didn't just fight for victory under him; they fought, desperately, to escape the searing, soul-deep burn of his disappointment.

And then there was you.

You were the medic, a quiet, steady presence in the eye of war's storm. Your world was the infirmary, a place of hushed pain, the constant, clean bite of antiseptic in the air.

While Scaramouche broke bodies and spirits out on the battlefield, you were meticulously, patiently, putting them back together. Every soldier, no matter their rank or how little their general thought of them, found a moment of genuine solace and healing under your skilled hands. They finally got a blessed reprieve from Scaramouche's relentless intensity.

Sometimes, that oppressive shadow of Scaramouche would fall over your sanctuary. He wasn't there looking for comfort, or even a moment of shared humanity. No, he'd arrive with the cold, calculating gaze of a hawk circling its prey.

His visits were purely for observation, a chillingly clinical assessment of his "damaged assets." He'd stride through the rows of cots, his boots echoing in the quiet room, his eyes sweeping over each bandaged form, almost visibly tallying the grim cost of his campaigns. There was never any warmth in his questions, just a detached, almost surgical scrutiny of the situation, a general ensuring his resources were being managed, even the ones broken on the anvil of his ambition.

You, thankfully, did your job well enough that you rarely felt the sting of his scorn. You healed. You tended. That's what you were meant for, unlike his "lacking" soldiers who had the audacity to get themselves injured.

It was such a stark, undeniable contrast: the man who shattered, and the one who tried, day after day, to put the pieces back together.

While I was writing this I thought of fatui Scara, especially "Are you deaf or just stupid" to his troops, so I just went with that vibe for general Scara! Thank you for the request!! 😋

Haha luckily I've actually been watching a war show on Netflix, "The Pacific" with my brother, so I found this prompt very interesting 😚😚