Chapter Text
NARRATOR
The Fatui are a delegation of diplomats from the Zapolyarny Palace of Snezhnaya. They maintain full and complete loyalty to their Cryo Archon, the Tsaritsa. At the top of their ranks are the Eleven Fatui Harbingers— all of which keep their own personal agenda.
Sandrone, more commonly known as The Marionette, is the seventh of the eleven Fatui Harbingers. She’s taken a great interest in ancient automatons. When she heard through the grapevine that a couple of nobodies from Inazuma had developed a contraption suitable for war with so little resources, her interest was piqued. Did they get their grimy little hands on some ancient records? If so, what business did they have not sharing with her? Despicable.
Drunken by her lust for more knowledge, she set off to confront these people with a few of her lackeys in tow. She was indeed questioned for leaving her study, for she only leaves whenever a crisis emerges— granted, what qualifies as a crisis is severely contorted between each Harbinger. She didn’t share her interest with her fellow Harbingers, though— only saying, “You ask too many questions. Can’t I go on a stroll every now and then?”
She was a unique woman, always sitting in the hands of her most prized possession: a large automaton she’s named Pulonia. It seemed to be completely loyal to her, perfectly content to have her in its arms for as long as she desired.
The Marionette arrived in Fontaine and didn’t delay for a second. She immediately found the people behind the marvelous invention she sought and began her interrogation immediately: “You must have a blueprint for these contraptions, yes? Did you draw inspiration from Khaenrian architecture and engineering? Are they sentient? Do they display any sense of loyalty? How are they programmed?”
Such questions persisted for quite a while, until a woman sharply cut her off.
“Calm down! They are very simple weapons. They do not have any ancient technology, nor are they sentient. You push a button and a pellet pops out.”
Admittedly, the Harbinger was quite disappointed by this revelation. She was also deeply upset by the gall of this woman, to show such disrespect towards a Harbinger. “I’ll give you five million mora for your blueprints, Miss Hamamoto. Another five for the rights.”
“You can shove that Mora up your…“
Such offensive remarks are too bold to repeat, especially those in regards to a Fatui Harbinger. For the first few minutes, she ignored the audacious words of the woman, instead examining the weapon in her hands. Sure, maybe the blueprint, as they claimed, didn’t draw inspiration from any ancient technology. Whatever that woman was holding, though, definitely had symbols only seen on Khaenrian artifacts. That otherworldly, orange glow was too distinct to disregard.
The Marionette looked at her lackeys, most of them being small ruin machines, the rest being Fatui agents. “Kill them,” she demanded, “—and no matter what, I want that exact weapon in my study. No matter what it takes.”
The battle that ensued was a long and egregious one, and all the Marionette did was watch as it took place. She watched how, unlike the rumors she heard, that weapon didn’t have to “reload” any pellets. It seemed to run off of a mysterious energy, thus feeding into her suspicions even further. The Marionette didn’t care for liars. Sandrone hated them.
“Liars taint this already despicable world,” she whispers, studying the gun as its wielder falls to the ground in agony. “The Hamamoto name will be wiped from this world. Your family will pay the price for your foolishness.”
Perhaps she was being harsh. Perhaps she was being childish— but she certainly didn’t care.
The musket that was in the dying woman’s hands was thrown to her partner, who was quick with escaping from the Fatui’s grasp. When they were just about to catch up with him, they saw an Anemo Vision materialize from his free hand as he dashed far away from them within milliseconds, leaving his beloved companion to die in their hands.
The Marionette sighs, disappointed at the outcome. “I don’t want any of you returning if it isn’t with that contraption,” she demands. “If you can’t, then you’re better off not returning to Snezhnaya. Kill any Hamamotos you encounter along the way.”
The Tsaritsa probably wouldn’t care about such a small, insignificant contraption— but Sandrone’s goal was to scrounge up every ounce of information about ancient technology. Any obstacles in her way will simply be eliminated. The Hamamoto clan was just another pest to exterminate.