epitaffio | IC Inbox

Oh-- Oh, yeah. Yeah, sorry. I, uh, forget you get cold sometimes. I mean... Because I don't, so... Uh...

[It sounds stupid when he blurts it out. It might sound stupid no matter what. He can't help it sounds even worse said to someone who--]

I-It's weird, if I think about it too much, [he mumbles.] Weirder, knowing... about us. Or maybe it isn't? I, I don't know if you could feel it when I got hurt - shit, I hope not - but-- And I don't have to think about it! It's just... I'm thinking about it now, I-- I guess.

[... He's going to chalk that particular pile of incoherent nonsense up to The Compulsion (tm) and do his goddamn best to move on.]

Um, I really need to put down your laptop anyway.

[INSIDE HE GOES.]

Sometimes, it hurt. [Comes Diavolo's confession.] But not nearly as much as it hurt you — as though you were shielding me from the brunt of it. It allowed me presence of mind in the heat of battle. Up the stairs, Doppio.

[A hand nudges Doppio's back, directing him the right way where the path splits. The soft patter of feet follows behind them. Up stairs and down corridors, around corners and through doors, and eventually they arrive somewhere modestly liveable. A little on the plain side for his liking, and with far too many crucifixes for comfort, but these things can be altered.]

Set it down anywhere you like. Somewhere secret, perhaps. I don't want to be tempted while I'm so loose-tongued. [And then, with undue determination, he ducks his way through a door. Clanking and shuffling ensue, and soon he emerges with hopefully-clean towels that once belonged to some nameless human a world away and now belong to him. There's little time to react before one is pressed firm against Doppio's hair to catch the rain that clings to it still. Meticulous and gentle so as not to snag against the small antlers, but still there's a clumsiness to the motion. He isn't used to this sort of contact with another person, wholly external — and neither is Doppio, judging by the way he shies away from it. So Diavolo allows him to part, under one condition: as soon as Doppio's hands are reasonably free, the towel is chucked at him so he can finish drying himself off. Catch!]

Edited 2023-06-23 14:04 (UTC)

[Sometimes. It's enough to make Doppio wince, even if sometimes doesn't mean always and even if the Boss is right when he says Doppio took the worst of it. If he had known, he would have been so much more careful. But... they've already talked about this, haven't they? Just a little, on the very day the truth was forced upon them? Maybe that's why he doesn't feel compelled to spill it again.

Regardless, his back is tense as the Boss places his hand on it, relaxing only slightly as he guides him.]

I never got this good of a look at this place before... Guess I have plenty of time now, [Doppio mumbles. He's still wondering where exactly to put the laptop that the Boss won't immediately find and he won't immediately forget when he feels a towel soaking up all the rain that had slowly but surely seeped into his hair.]

U-Uh, you don't have to! I mean, it's kind of... [Embarrassing, weirdly embarrassing for the Boss to be drying his hair - no, maybe that's not the word -]

... Intimate, [is what he ends up saying, quietly and not entirely of his own volition, and then he decides he needs to put the laptop in a drawer right away.

When he comes back, he catches the towel with his face first and his hands second.]

[Diavolo can't help but softly laugh at the fumbled catch.]

Intimate? This hardly scratches the surface. I have been far more intimate than this with our body... my Doppio.

[Is he going to elaborate? No, he's going to let that hang in the air, for now; whatever dark magic is at play here has seen fit to drag that out, but nothing more. More pressingly: Diavolo is soaked to the bone, and not even the largest towel in all the monastery is enough to make a dent in the dampness, but he can at least try to tackle hair and feathers and fur before he drips everywhere. If the barriers he conjures were not so limited (and not so taxing) he would have deeply considered using one to protect him from the rain as he worked outside. As for the mud dirtying his clothes... there's nothing to be done there until he can get back to the apartment and change.]

[Doppio doesn't have a whole lot of blood left circulating in him. The Boss knows this, surely, from the many injuries he has witnessed - even serious wounds bleed little more than small cuts. In the past, severed appendages have left him with barely-dripping or even dry stumps, which... makes sense, he supposes. If he doesn't have a pulse, his blood probably can't get around much.

Somehow, when the Boss's words set in, most of the blood currently in Doppio's body must rush to his face, because he goes very red.]

Right, [Doppio says, or he thinks he says, because it comes out awfully quiet but he swears he moved his lips. He scrubs his hair with absolutely none of the grace the Boss attempted moments ago.]

—and so have you.

[The disjointed thought tumbles free, and with it comes more. He only takes the briefest glance at Doppio before looking away.]

I preferred to leave these sorts of menial tasks in your hands alone. There is so much to— to tend to. How are you not exhausted by it all? It never ceases. Eat. Clean. Sleep. At least I am no longer forcibly burdened by the latter—

[But there are times he wishes he at least had the option.]

—though I dearly miss the peace that a decent rest could give me... Ah.

[A small longing he did not want to confess to, and so he shies away, turning as he towels his wings. Were he plagued by animal instinct, he would shake them out; as it is, he has the common decency to not splatter rain all over the building.]

[The thought is... No, actually, he doesn't think he has a word for how the thought makes him feel. But it's true, it's evidently true when he's forced to face the truth of their shared existence. How many times did he clean their body? How many times did he prepare himself a proper meal, sometimes at the Boss's insistence, without knowing he was feeding the two of them all along?

At any rate, the Boss's next admission shakes Doppio out of his stunned reverie. A confession of his own stumbles free just as easily:]

I'd help you sleep if I could, Boss.

[It's silly, but sincere. If he'd known it sooner, he might have... Okay, he doesn't know WHAT he can do to make a monster sleep when they expressly don't. But he could have started thinking about it, at least.

Now that he's thinking of what he CAN do, though... He's dry enough already. The Boss has a lot more surface area to cover.

He puts his own towel down and grabs the end of the Boss's towel instead.]

Actually, can I help right now?

I don't doubt you for a second. But, short of locking me in a dark room until my consciousness erodes to nothing, there is nothing you can do to help. And you wouldn't do that to me, hm?

[And then Doppio's small hands are tugging at his towel, and it gives Diavolo pause. Blink and parse the intention behind the action — and as soon as he does, he glances aside.

There are so many things he wants to say. Deflect, deny. "Do you think me helpless, Doppio? I can handle this myself." It's one thing to be cared for when they are together, but, apart like this, it's just... strange. Unnatural. Wrong. Accepting this help would mean accepting what they have become. It would only prove how far he has fallen. He can't.

He could act as though the very thought doesn't make his heart race in his chest. Play it off as some gracious indulgence, some tender closeness not for his benefit. Never his; it is nothing he needs. "I'd allow it, my Doppio, if it would make you happy," and leave it at that.

It would be so easy.]

Please.

[He can lie to himself as much as he wants. His voice still betrays his true feelings.

There is no way to recover from such a small, desperate admission with his dignity intact. All he can do is loosen his grip and let the towel in his hands drop, and he lowers himself along with it, down to the floor in a slow kneel. His eyes close, his heart pounds louder, and he turns quiet and still.]

Edited 2023-07-09 18:34 (UTC)

[In an ideal world, this would be a phone call. But with Trish mere feet away behind a wall, her bear ears sure to overhear anything Diavolo says, he must resort to the second best option.]

Trish came to San Giorgio Maggiore.

[Yes, only that: the tiniest note, hurriedly typed out as soon as he hears the shower turn on. A warning, perhaps.]

[When does Doppio make it back home?

If he comes early enough in the day, Trish will be there in her day form and distinctive tourist chic look, staring blithely into the middle distance. It's not helpful or productive to marinate in her fugue state on their front lawn. That being said, she's surprised she's staying too, but they so far the energy of her presence insinuates her tenure is merely a temporary measure. If she's still here after more than a week, well...no, she won't be. That's what she tells herself.

The only change that will happen if he arrives late at night is that she'll be a bear doing this.

And if she sees Doppio?

Her first response, as if to signal the fact she realizes this whole situation is absurd, is to raise a hand (or paw) in greeting in a way that echoes Atem.]

Yo, Doppio.

[Talking to him is illegal and also she's still mad at him, but annoying her father by talking to his underling is more enriching than stewing over how much Doppio sucks.]

[It's always a nice surprise to hear from the Boss in the middle of a shift at Crowe Clinic, no matter if it's via the phone or laptop. This time...

Well, it sure is a SURPRISE. But the contents of the message are really, really not enough for Doppio to discern if it's a nice one or not.]

What?

[He's inclined to believe it isn't.]

Disheveled. Clothes tattered. Drenched in blood. Disoriented.

She, for reasons I cannot fathom, came here for help. Asked for money for a cab or to take a shower here.

I allowed the latter.

[Maybe it isn't what the Boss would have normally said. Maybe, in different circumstances, Doppio would have heard a noncommittal answer and backed down, embarrassed that he even thought of suggesting something so intimate. But then again, would he even have offered, in different circumstances? He would have wanted to, no doubt. But there is so often a hard line between wanting and doing, and Doppio can only imagine that whatever force is pulling the truth from their lips is eroding that line as well.

~~Or maybe it's just a convenient excuse - a little push that allows him to act.~~

It isn't as if Doppio feels all that bold. When the Boss kneels at his feet-- well, first of all, it feels just plain WRONG, so much so that he has to fight the urge to lower himself in turn. But more importantly, his hands shake. He's holding the towel and his hands are shaking and he hasn't even started yet.

He tries. The towel hovers near the Boss's head. He tries a little harder. He's touching the Boss's head now. Suddenly, his arms can't move.

Which feels extremely fucking silly, considering this was his idea in the first place.]

... I've pretty much done this tons of times, right? Taken care of your... our... hair? And stuff?

[Maybe he can do it if he reminds himself. If he's reminded. If it's the most natural thing in the world, then there's no reason why he shouldn't be able to.

He just... thinks it might be easier if he hears it again.]

[Doppio finishes his shift at the clinic. Mostly. He may have rushed some of the cleaning, may have put off filing some papers that ought to have been filed, but he can make up for it some other time. Probably. All that matters is that, by the time he's back at San Giorgio, the sun is still a couple of hours away from setting.

It's all a little bit surreal. He's barely gotten used to the island being here at all, a slice of home just for the two of them (and for numerous stray cats, and curious humans...) and now Trish is just... there. Casually greeting him.

... He's not sure why it comes to mind - it isn't a particularly significant memory, not even in the context of the last week of his pre-Ryslig life - but it does: when he stood on this island one day, watching a group of traitors flee, Trish barely warranted notice in his mind. He dialed a number, he relayed the Boss's orders, and none of it involved the unconscious girl that the traitors had run off with.

Now, he awkwardly raises his own hand to return the greeting, still not quite believing that she came to them.]

Ours, yes. Washing, brushing, braiding — you were always so meticulous with it. I never quite mastered your technique.

[He runs his fingers through his damp hair, pauses to tuck a strand behind his ear, then presses closer to the towel and Doppio's hand behind it. It's a small, wordless encouragement. Permission has been granted. Go on.]

You may not be the most coordinated — but you have always been gentle where it counts. [It isn't an insult; he says it with a distant fondness.] There were times I unraveled the braid you made, and when it was time to put you right, I could not begin to tie it back properly. I'd let you believe it was you who made a mess of our hair.

[A soft sigh.]

And our body, too. Stained in blood from my battles, worn out and run down from lack of sleep, aching, famished — you were always with me to pick up our pieces and put us back together. And I—

[It's embarrassing. It's shameful to reveal how needy he was, how needy he is, after years of suppressing his feelings. But how could it ever be wrong? He was never meant to stand alone.]

...I never had the chance to tell you how deeply I appreciated every moment of it.

What??

[... Okay, he's not helping. But also, WHAT???]

What the hell happened?

Her ridiculous duel was yesterday. She seems to be unharmed physically. The blood is likely not her own. As far as I can gather, she emerged victorious from the fight, and now for some incomprehensible reason she is here.

I don't know why she came to me.

I don't know why I let her in.

She is in the shower now.

[doppio help]

[Cognitive dissonance seems to be a common phenomenon here, the illusion of normalcy hamstringing Trish, while Trish showing up at all is enough to tilt the world on its head for the two of them.

To think all three of them would be here again, under impossible circumstances that can never be replicated.

They're ostensibly alive, and changed on the outside, but little of what's fundamental to them has been changed – nothing that hasn't been a slow, painful process anyway. They're a stubborn lot, but Trish is only aware of that insomuch as she's jockeyed hard to turn Doppio's head towards the truth. Which was a total wash as far as she's aware, and she swapped to heckling Cervo to do it on her behalf, since Doppio only deigns to listen to the splinters of himself that are stronger and more commanding than he is.

But that was also unsuccessful, and with everything else happening...she hasn't reached out to Cervo again.

Frankly, she wasn't sure she would keep trying, or if she would even speak to Doppio anymore now that her father proved to be a twilight's shadow of his former self. Still not someone she would approach for fun, and unpredictable in perpetuity, but a man who more and more seems to keep to himself. Or maybe she's so downtrodden Diavolo could threaten her and her only reply could be "So what?" Or maybe the aquarium reality has completely shut her fear response down for the next eight hours. It's hard to say.

She lets her hand drop when Doppio "replies", staring blithely at him and finding he's as well preserved as the last time she saw him. It's almost comforting to know her world can turn upside down, and Doppio will still be the same. Or it would, but then she remembers she wants to toss him off a pier. Alas.]

Hmph. You act like you've seen a ghost.

[Funny, since they're the ghosts.

Anyways, she continues:]

If it's that much of a bother, pretend I'm not here. Your boss is already keeping an eye on me easily enough on his own.

[Many eyes, even. Nephs are not great to behold.]

[It's okay. The Boss is encouraging him to do it, so it's okay. The Boss is saying things like our hair and our pieces, so it's okay. Shakily, gently, Doppio presses the towel against the Boss's hair, and then he moves his hand, and then he just has to keep doing that. Less shaky. Still gentle.

The continued confession is making his cheeks go red again. Not because it's embarrassing - but then again, he's not sure what he'd call it. It's real and it makes his chest flutter and his limbs feel light, it's genuine and it comes from somewhere vulnerable and he can tell, but embarrassing? No, he doesn't think it's that.

He doesn't KNOW the Boss feels embarrassed, either. If he did, he'd try to reassure him - somehow. The details are irrelevant; he would simply try. What he does know is...]

Well... I had to be at my best for you, Boss.

[Which doesn't sound that great, now that he's said it out loud. Sure, he did it for the Boss, but he didn't do it for the Boss, did he? His brow furrows.]

I-I mean... If I'd known what I was really doing, I... I'd still have done it! But it'd be different, right? The way I did it, it was more... I was doing it for me, so I could do it for you, instead of really doing it for you?

[... He's a little confused now. But the point is -]

So-- So you don't have to thank me for it.

SHE WAS SERIOUS ABOUT THE FREAKING DUEL??

I thought it just as absurd as you, but the blood that stains her is proof enough that she went through with it.

For the record, the shower may require a thorough cleaning when you return. Can you come soon? Say that an emergency arose at home.

I don't know what I'm meant to do. I am at a loss. You are better at interacting with others than I. Do I say something?
Is there anything that can be said?

Why would she do this?

Come to me.
Not duel.
I can understand the duel.
I cannot understand this.

Perhaps she was looking for you.
I know she has a habit of that.

[His messages are ... more clipped than usual, less thought out, a rapid-fire stream of consciousness blasted directly at Doppio.]

[The potential good news is that Trish's attitude shakes Doppio right out of his stupor. It's only potentially good because, as it happens, this is Vinegar Doppio, and just because he has more in him than a dumb little wave, that doesn't mean the rest of what he has is that much better.]

It's not about you being a bother at all! It's just-- Why the hell are you here?!

[It defies all common sense. No matter what happened in that stupid duel, Doppio can't think of a single reason why Trish would come here, of all places. After all -]

You hate us.

[It's a simple, factual statement; barely even an observation. Of course she hates them - she has every reason to. The Boss, because he tried to kill a daughter he had never even met, and him because... he helped. Because he helped, and because... because of course she does.

~~The other reasons, the ones he struggles to name, are what leaves an uncomfortable weight in his chest in the wake of his statement.~~

Does she even remember the last time they spoke?

... Would this make more or less sense if she did?]

I'll thank you all I want, Doppio. For everything you've done for me in the past — in those days that you knew exactly what we were, when all I had to do was ask for your help, and... and in the time after, when you didn't understand, and couldn't even begin to remember us. Even when I was nameless, faceless, untouchable, you still...

[It bubbles free, and there's no stopping it. He can sigh and bite away this train of thought. Another one takes its place.]

—And I'll thank you for every single day, every moment we shared... and for every time you did your best, for you, for me, for us — one and the same. I couldn't have asked for anyone better to share my life with.

[He tries to swallow the feelings, but it's no use. He gasps as heat rises to his face and a tinge of pink marks his cheeks beneath his freckles.]

And I am so thankful that — that you've stayed with me, despite everything that we have suffered — that I have suffered. I may never be the same. I may be beyond repair, but here you are, faithful as ever, and I...

[He leans in close, buries his face against Doppio's neck, nearly toppling him over with the movement. He presses himself flush against Doppio and murmurs words warm against his skin. Quiet. Desperate.]

...I hate this. I want it to stop. Make it stop, Doppio. Please. Could you do that for me? Turn off the lights, lock me in a room until I can't speak any longer or — or tear open my throat with your teeth and end this. Something. Anything. Not — not like this. I don't want it to be like this.

[Of course she remembers the last time they spoke. She remembers how she wished him to feel the weight of everything he'd ever done, as if he has it in him to feel an ounce of guilt. If nothing else, he'll live with the interminable failure he and his boss endured, and is to be helpfully reminded of it every time he looks at her.

However, a lot of these hopes of hers require a modicum of self-reflection on his part, and Doppio isn't capable of that either. Although he is cognizant enough to realize the biggest problem here.

She hates them, and that alone should be enough to have kept her away.

It's not like she respects them either. But it is curious that Ianthe inspired so much animosity in her, and when she looks at Doppio now, gaze going from hoof to antler and down again...she doesn't feel much at all. Like all of her emotions bled out the wound Ianthe gave her, or she vomited up every drop of the bile she used to taste in the back of her throat when she thought about any single iteration of her father. Empty, empty.

She plops her chin in her hand, elbow balanced on her knee, and sits and regards Doppio with a sleepy, disinterested look.]

Yes? I haven't forgotten, if that's what you're worried about.

[Forgetting is your job, sir.]

The long and short of it is that I'd gotten lost and ended up here. So, I decided to try my luck. [A shrug.] As far as I anticipated, I'd be turned away. And yet here we are.

[She almost wants to ask him if her being here is more or less weird than her father obliging her enough that she's been here long enough the sun is lower in the sky, insinuating a several hour stay already.

Take that mind puzzle and smoke it, Doppio.]

[He can understand the duel?! Okay, no, that's not the point.

... Also, ouch.]

I don't think she'd be looking for me.
She was kind of pissed the last time we talked.

[Okay, that's not quite true.]

Or... the time before that.
I don't know if she remembers the last time, since it was during that weird fog.

Uh anyway, I'll finish up here as fast as I can Boss!

IC Inbox

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im going to assume this is early enough that doppio hasnt yet taken a Full Tour

o7

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cw: description of injuries

oozes forth from the sludge. a crusty underbaked tag is better than none tag

i echo your words and make them mine

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July 1st, around noon, post Trishening

San Giorgio, July, Whenever Papas are Done Chatting

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<sleepless>

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<purplepiper>

<sleepless>

hey im feasting rn?

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<purplepiper>

<sleepless>

damn if you're feasting then what am i

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voring!

<purplepiper>

WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, PURPLEPIPER. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 541.26.365.77 * PURPLEPIPER has joined 541.26.365.77 <PURPLEPIPER> Am I doing this right? <PURPLEPIPER> Pretty weird to just leave a message like this is an answering machine or something <PURPLEPIPER> ME leaving a message I mean! <PURPLEPIPER>** You can leave one if you want and I'll just get back to you whenever I can.