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[Doppio is being followed.]

[It starts subtly, but doesn't stay that way for long. Whatever's got its eye on him, it's impatient. So the first night, it trails him in short spurts, for a few minutes, maybe up to half an hour, and then leaves him be — but after that, it sticks on him for hours, especially at dawn and dusk when sunrises and sunsets are luminous and warm. While it takes care to stay out of sight at first, the physical presence is palpable and menacing, and as the days go by, it gets closer and closer.]

[More careless, too. By the end of the first day, Doppio will have heard at least one barely-audible noise, a sucking sound that ends in a pop that makes the ears hurt, followed by the complex scent of rotting vegetation. Not nearly distant enough for comfort, either. Just a few yards behind his shoulder — except when he turns around, there's nothing there.]

[By the second day, it's not even bothering to hide. It sits at the top of buildings more like an architectural gargoyle than anything, knelt on the edges of roofs, window ledges, and once or twice on the top of a streetlight. A warm pink and white, its eyes reflect gold tapetum lucidum in the growing or departing dark; or if night has already fallen, the backs of its eyes seem pink, like a white rabbit's.]

[By the third day, Doppio is starting to see things. Or maybe he isn't? Tongues of flame lash from nothing in his peripheral vision, far enough not to pose him any direct danger but close enough to register as deeply psychologically uncomfortable for a creature so flammable. He no sooner turns to look at them than they disappear as though they were never there. That smell stays, though.]

[And then—]

[Sometimes you're walking home to San Giorgio Maggiore by yourself, minding your own business, and the entire street in front of you is engulfed in flame, cutting off your path entirely. You, a desiccated deer husk, are forced to back up. But there's someone behind you.]

Buona sera, Doppio.

Edited (what's time) 2023-07-14 23:31 (UTC)

[The words keep coming, so much so that he barely has the time to process them. The days when he knew, the days after - maybe Doppio should consider himself lucky that the neverending flow of confessions doesn't leave any room for him to wonder if he even wants to know more. He doesn't need to know, not so badly as to pry it from the mouth of someone helpless to stop it. And there's more, and more, making his blood traverse to his face despite how little it travels these days, and when the Boss blushes too the most absurd thought - Do we blush the same? - crosses his mind for the briefest of moments -

And then the Boss presses himself to Doppio. The towel jammed between them is at least more comfortable than the laptop was before. The rest of it is not.]

B... Boss, don't say that! I don't want to lock you up or-- [His voice hitches. When the thought continues regardless of his tongue, another painful cramp assaults his stomach.] Ow, fuck!

[He winces, tries again.]

Don't... ask me to bite you.

[The cramp passes.]

[Doppio pouts in annoyance. Of course she hasn't forgotten. You don't just forget things as important as this. Her claim that she got lost, though... Didn't the Boss say she looked like she'd been in a fight? Just how out of it was she?]

He--

[Was freaking out, he nearly tells her, and then he just as nearly bites his tongue because what the HELL is he thinking, telling her something like that? She doesn't need to know.]

... He thought you might have been looking for me. The Boss, I mean. [That. He goes with that, instead.] But I told him... that didn't sound likely.

[Still, it seems worth noting. The Boss very much thinks she would have sought Doppio's aid, even though Doppio himself knows better.]

[It's been a weird few days.

First, Trish showed up. Then she stayed. Then...

~~Awakening. Unease, despite the freedom. Hope. And then the hunt, flesh and blood and soul unevenly split between the three of them.~~ Nothing. ~~More, even after the others were satisfied. Always more, always craving and attaining and rinse and repeat until Doppio returns, and it's never enough but it keeps him going until the next time.~~

Then he had a mission, and he had to remind himself of who he was doing it for when the Fog God got her creepy mitts on him. It's fine. He can do it, if it's for him.

And now he's pretty fucking sure he's being stalked. He's not sure by whom, or by what. But his ears pick up on it first - as they so often do these days - and then he swears he feels eyes on him, and then he sees more than just eyes, and the next thing he knows?

The next thing he knows, Doppio is just going home when everything is suddenly on fire. He freezes - no, he stumbles back, he has to, the sight stirring a part of him that runs deeper than most living things' reasonable fear of fire or even deeper than something else hidden away and forgotten, panic and adrenaline and everything up in flames--

And then, finally, he bumps into him.]

Giorno Giovanna...!

[That motherfucker.]

Why not? It would be — so easy...

[Something flares up in Diavolo, bright and furious and ashamed. Desperation gives way to frustration; if Doppio will not act, he must make him act.]

If you refuse my requests, I won't stop until I find something you will do. Bind me and leave me somewhere well lit, if it displeases you to imagine me falling apart, or... muffle me, gag me, whatever it takes so that I don't...

[He heaves a deep breath, then, shaking with rage and fear and something harder to place, presses himself as close as he can to Doppio's neck, and — snaps down. Teeth against cold skin, biting as hard as he can; if something breaks or ruptures beneath, so be it. The force is nothing compared to that of a carnivore's jaws, but it's more than enough to hurt. And all the while he dares silently (and what a relief it is that he can't speak with his mouth occupied like this), his eyes flashing green, his tail whipping behind him — go on. Fight back. Do something.]

[Truthfully, the smell of blood likely lingers on her. She did endeavor to remove that which was blatantly visible. But her fur is thick and her tail is hard to reach, so there are perhaps traces that can't be seen where the scent clings. Impossible for humans to detect, but subtle to monsters, especially those that thrive off their sense of smell.

It sort of reminds Trish of how Kaito stubbornly smelled like peanut butter for awhile after his run-in with another monster, although the contrast between her incident and his is terribly grim despite the parallel.

At least she and Doppio seem to be on the same page. She's not surprised Diavolo was suspicious, but she was telling the truth. They were the furthest thing on her mind, but San Giorgio Maggiore stood tall against the horizon and her body ached and her flesh itched and with the city still some distance out, she decided to chance it.

She can explain herself just fine, but Diavolo's intentions are still unclear to her. He commiserated...but the catch to that has yet to reveal itself. She's their guest now, though, so she has time to sort through her own mind puzzle.

In the meantime, she scoffs.]

He didn't seem to believe I came across this place completely on accident.

Despite what he may think, having this location accessible on the network is only meaningful to those of us who are deeply familiar with the greater landscape. I often get rides to and from Bavan, for example, so I'm not one of those people. I've got my usual routes committed to memory and that's all I can be bothered to do.

[Ptooie.]

I certainly wouldn't be looking for you even if I'd had a clue where I was going. There's little you could do to help me anyway, unless you've got spare change for clothes.

[Diavolo was surprisingly honest about them having no money. The charitable approach would be to think he didn't want to give her money for nothing, but he always chooses the strangest things to be honest about.

Yes, he's broke as hell.

Yes, he'd love to murder her if only it stayed permanent.

Thanks, papà.]

[It would be very easy, no matter whether he wants to admit it or not, and that's precisely why the Boss shouldn't be saying it. What is he thinking?]

I... I mean, if you really want it, then-- then I can gag you, Boss, just--

[But before he can elaborate on what he would or would not do on the Boss's command in this particular instance, a blunt, dull ache strikes his neck.]

What--?!

[Doppio's legs shake, not so much from the pain - which is there, yes, but quite likely not as bad as it would be if he were alive - but from the force the Boss is exerting. His knees begin to buckle, and all he can think is-]

What the hell... is this supposed to accomplish?!

[He's not thinking when he presses his hands against the Boss's chest, trying to push him away. He's thinking even less, if that's possible, when his claws pierce skin.]

[There's one thing Trish can take comfort in: her efforts to clean herself up have paid off. The scent of blood is undetectable for humans, lingering for monsters with an acute sense of smell... and for monsters like Doppio, whose strengths lie more in hearing and sight? It's hardly worth a mention. He might pick up on something if he came closer and tried to sniff it out deliberately, sure. But he's not going to do that, because sniffing Trish's fur is the last thing their dynamic needs.]

So... Whoever you ran into first, you would have asked them for money?

[He doesn't mean to offend her with the question - genuinely, he's trying to understand what's happening. It's hard to picture Trish begging for change.

Then again, it was also hard to picture Trish turning up here, or picking a fight with a stranger on the internet for no good reason.]

[If anyone sniffed her she would smack them. Let it be known.

It is true though. Of any person she's ever met in her life, she can count on Doppio the most when it comes to missing the forest and the trees both. To not investigate too deeply, even if his life depended on it. He's easily distracted besides, but he does ask a surprisingly pertinent question.

Trish stares at him for a long moment, like she's suddenly decided she's done talking, but she does answer after all.]

Seeing as I was filthy and penniless, yes. I didn't have room to be picky.

[Says the pickiest person alive.

Sure, there are some people she would have avoided, but only because it hurts to look at them. Diavolo is a poor sight himself, but her fear from the summer party has been ground down since then, and he doesn't seem interested in a fight even remotely. Or perhaps she's still in a weird mental space from trying to kill someone intentionally, but she can't describe that space any better now than when it was happening. Whatever the case, she doesn't have room in her gut to feel anything but empty.]

I know we've had our moments, but not everything I do is a mind game.

[Or is it?]

Please.
You can speak to her when you come back. I trust you.

I will pull myself together. There are tasks still to be done that do not involve her. I will be awaiting your swift return, my Doppio.

I'm relying on you.

[Diavolo holds himself steadily determined until the moment Doppio's claws rake rough against flesh that has been lacerated before. His old scars sting beneath the touch; he flinches away from the sudden, piercing pain on reflex alone. His mouth opens to gasp for air, and his shaking hands grasp at Doppio's wrists, shoving away in turn. All instinct, no rationality, body and mind locked in battle.]

The point is... that you silence me. [He chokes out, his tail lashing harder against the ground.] At any cost. I needed to... ensure you understand the severity of this. To incite you into action.

[And then some logic settles back into him. There was a point to this exercise before fear gripped him tight and made him weak, hesitant, unsure. He tightens his hold against Doppio's wrists, and drags his hands and his claws higher — closer — against his throat.]

Edited 2023-07-19 09:45 (UTC)

[Doppio looks… skeptical. Or maybe confused; admittedly, it can be hard to tell when it comes to him. Don’t get him wrong, he believes Trish when she says this wasn’t supposed to be some kind of mind game. Mostly. No more than what she always does, anyway.

It’s more that the implication that she has playing mind games in the past makes him uneasy.

Still, he decides not to press on that particular point. There is another implication to her words, if she’s telling the truth:]

… You were just that desperate, then.

[That’s… not surprising, in and of itself. Nothing but desperation could have led Trish here, to the home of the people she hates the most. But the sheer level of desperation it must have taken…

Doppio purses his lips, unsure how to pose the question on his mind. Or how to translate it into words, frankly. ”What the hell happened” doesn’t seem quite enough to cover it.]

You can count on me, Boss.
I’ll head straight there as soon as I’m done!

[His immediate reaction, when the Boss pulls away, is relief. Thank goodness, Doppio makes the mistake of thinking for a second. He hasn’t completely lost it.

Then the Boss puts his hands on his neck. This time, Doppio is the one who pulls away.]

No! Will you fucking stop that?! I’m not going to kill you, one of us needs to remember!

[... Doppio is also the one to say more than he intends to, this time.]

[It's weird to see that expression on Doppio, admittedly. He's not one to question things too deeply, or at least a concept becomes so abstract to him he discards it as incomprehensible and not worth wasting energy over. Which, frankly, is an ability she both wishes she had and one that terrifies her in equal measure because being thoughtless is exactly what defines this man.

Being thoughtless is helpful when you want to be cruel.

Trish also bristles a little, but she was never happy about admitting it, and Doppio summarized her state in a single word.

Desperate.

It's pathetic, but she's no one of great stature. Her pride being on the line was a sad hill to die on indeed when it's otherwise meaningless. Even if it's one of the only things she's got.

All this to say she grimaces and looks away, and that's answer enough. The next question on his mind is harder and more sordid to touch upon, and she'll admit to it to Diavolo, but to Doppio...

She rests her cheek on her arms, studying some wildflowers that have made this side of the building their home.]

...I don't plan to stay here long. Desperation isn't enough to convince me of that.

[Technically, she could get up at anytime and walk to the city.

She could find somewhere and someone else.

But she finds that once she stopped running, she didn't have motivation to do anything of the sort with regards to ignoring Diavolo's meager offer. There's appeal in being somewhere...maybe not remote or unknown, but definitely bereft of anyone but these two. It's like climbing out of the sea onto an island, an entity that will neither help nor hurt you. You can just be.

Of course, there's some deranged men living here, but she can ignore them and they can ignore her. She can treat them like a couple of gulls with a criminal past, as it were. And she's a hermit crab that helpfully stays tucked away out of sight.]

[Fortunately for the two of them, Trish's words lead Doppio to a question that's much easier to ask:]

So... When are you going?

[Correction: a question that's much easier to ask thoughtlessly, because when he doubles back on his own words -]

Uh, not that I'm trying to rush you! Or... trying to... get you to stay? I mean, one way or the other, I'm just... It's just a question! I'm just asking... Just asking how long...

[- the worse he makes it.

It was easier when she was just a hermit crab, rather than an egg from a nest left behind.]

[He doesn't grip tight enough, and that is his flaw. It only takes one rough jerk away for Diavolo's hold to slacken. He can't commit wholeheartedly; he cannot see his will through to the end. Perhaps he doesn't want death, but—

But something flares up in him regardless, something bright and blinding, a rush of heat and a jolt of static that sets his hair on end.

Memory... is that all this is about? Is that why Doppio disobeys his orders?]

Oh, Doppio? So why does it have to be me? [His voice comes in a low, accusatory rumble that pieces the silence.] It is always me. It has always been me. Every fault, every mistake, every burning memory is mine alone to bear, while you press ever forward, unchained by our past in a way I could never be. I envy you more than you could imagine.

[He regretted his words enough when they were fresh out of his mouth. The Boss's response only makes him feel worse. Now it feels like a betrayal, like what he meant to say is that he isn't willing to relieve the Boss of a burden merely because it would inconvenience him.]

That's not...!

[It isn't what he meant. That's no lie.]

D-Do you want me to remember? I-- [He minds. He doesn't know why he minds, but he must, because he can't bring himself to say he doesn't.] I-I'd do it for you. [If he had to. If it was an order.] I just... I...

[But there's another burning truth desperate to come out, and he finds himself unable to form a single word until he gives in to it.]

What's... What's gonna happen if we both forget? What'll that make us?

[Trish could laugh. It would be a dry, bitter thing, but she could.

Doppio trips all over himself to clarify, but she feels the the first question, the one predicated on his gut and not his bumpy train of thought, that one's the real and true question.

He doesn't want her here either. It's fine. It would be weirder if he did want her to stay. That would be antithetical to everything her father is. Before all this, too, they didn't exactly part on good terms, which makes a terrible amount of sense. There were no good terms from the outset.

She doesn't lift her head, but her tail flops back and forth listlessly behind her. Thinking, thinking...]

Once I've got myself figured out, I'll go. Assuming your other half doesn't change his mind and toss me out first.

I'm hesitant to make hard number estimates for either scenario.

[Sardonically, she adds:]

I'm sure you understand.

D-- He's not gonna do that. [The response comes so quickly, he stumbles over himself.] If something happened to you, he'd... there'd be consequences.

[It isn't the nicest thing to say, he realises. Fathers, in theory, are supposed to have reasons other than fear to protect their own flesh and blood. The only way this could be comforting to her is if she's ceased to think of the Boss as her family, but... she must have by now, right? She said it herself - she's here out of desperation, nothing more.

If that's the case, though, why was she so insistent on making Doppio admit to something he has no memory of? They're different people, obviously. Does she understand they're different people? She must, if she's intent on calling Doppio family while the Boss isn't. But then--

It's been grating on him, even though he tried to gloss over it. He can't help himself. He mutters:]

Don't call him that.

[Part of her thinks their sheer proximity would invoke consequences, but she doesn't speak that thought aloud. A blithe comment about a threat to their safety is thankfully something she knows better than to toss around, even if it would be satisfying for a moment.

She's not disappointed by the accuracy of his statement, at least. Doppio worries about saying "nice" things, but they've long ruined any chance for niceties. There can only be tolerance, and that is something she can understand and even be content with if that's all they're willing to give.

These two who make up the man who was her father, who rejected her the moment a family tie made itself known. Biology ties them both to her, even if Doppio wasn't really there in a capacity where he could claim to remember it. Although she knows he must've been present for some part of that summer, because he used the common shorthand for her mother's name...

Indeed, she's silent while she listens to him remind her that her father is terrified of Giorno's wrath, and then he summons her own. Although she realizes very quickly she shouldn't snap at Doppio in earshot of Diavolo, and bites down hard on her lip until the feeling goes mute. Her tail is the only thing that gives her agitation away with the way it swishes back and forth in tighter, quicker strokes.

Her tone is clipped when she speaks then, but otherwise has no real bite to it. Rather, the greater undercurrent is resignation.]

Right, I forgot. You're still perfectly happy to pretend otherwise.

[A thought occurs to her, in that instant. Doppio didn't remember that time he'd met her as a little boy. His ability to forget is unparalleled in a world where most anyone else is scrambling to hold onto every fragment of themselves, memory or no.]

[Hmph.

She lifts her head to look at him finally, chin plopping to rest on a fluffy wrist.]

Do you even remember when we last met?

[It's not pretending, he wants to tell her - it probably isn't even about... whatever the hell she thinks it's about - but then she throws a curveball.]

What?

[That's what he's been wondering, because the last time they met...]

... It was... that weird fog. Do you remember?

[He may have been wondering, but he's not so sure he even wanted to ask. The reason behind Trish's presence here is a convenient excuse, but all things considered, he could have asked her any time before now. An excuse is all that it is.]

[She's not surprised by the question he tosses back in return. Maybe he assumed everyone else must forget too, and for the rest of the week after Max brought her home, he would have been temporarily vindicated. Indeed, she couldn't remember a thing.

All she knew to do was to trust Max. That, and to settle into what was apparently her room, where she plucked away on her guitar, playing the only riff she'd held onto where everything else had left. It was grounding in a surreal situation where her world had become so, so small.

But it all came back. She remembers Doppio trying to reach out to her and failing. She'd had enough memories left to distrust him, especially when he called her name. Which is funny, because she had more reasons than she could remember to distrust him.

And...she remembers him calling out to Donatella. She doesn't recall what his face looked like – she wasn't looking his way, if she remembers right – but the shape of her name sounded so strange on Doppio's lips. He apologized too, another curious thing. However, she has no illusions there was any modicum of care in his actions. He talks about his boss fearing consequences, and doubtlessly it's the same for him. If he didn't try, it would be held against him.]

[By who? She asks herself this. There was no one else to witness him whether he tried to help her or not.]

[She sets the thought aside.]

[Anyways, her answer is easy even if her emotions are something else entirely. Gently, she says:]

Yes, I do. Was I supposed to forget, Doppio?

[For your convenience, she wants to add as a snap at his heels. But with Diavolo nearby, she doesn't.]

Edited (/ my beloathed) 2023-08-03 06:18 (UTC)

No, that's not what I meant! [He's firm this time, unlike when he stumbled through inquiring about her stay.] You were just...

["So far gone," he wants to say. "It was scary," he wants to say. He has the impression she could take those words and stab him with them, though he can't put his finger on why.]

... What happened after I lost track of you?

[Doppio genuinely wants to know, even if it hadn't occurred to him to ask until now. How does someone go from not even remembering when and where they are, to... just... normal again, able to recall the past and understand the present and to let them coexist? He isn't surprised the Boss could do it; Doppio is sure he's relived his deaths many, many times outside of the Pale Fog, and he only needed a little help to find his footing again. But Trish... Did someone else come for her? Did she do it all by herself? How?

As for Doppio himself, he didn't have to forget this time. He simply refused to remember. He ran from the fire, he left the pickax behind, he walked past the sunny streets of Sardinia without fail, and when he found someone willing to help him and the Boss and then saw the kind eyes of a long dead man smiling at him behind her, he ran again. All he had to do was run until he could find the Boss and run away with him. It was straightforward.

... Come to think of it, though, there's something he can't quite seem to remember. Not clearly.

Why did he run towards Trish?]

If we forget... what? Forget everything? Everything we have been through, everything we are...?

I know this to be true: you, my Doppio, would be the same as you have always been, even lacking a past to guide you forward. At your core, you are... unshakable. I know you, and I know your soul, and I know that you have never been anything but your most genuine self. Even with every memory stripped away from you, with time, you would piece yourself back together — precisely as you should be.

It has happened before. It could happen again. But there is nothing—

["To fear", but the words die in his throat, his confident speech fizzling away to a noncommittal murmur. How miserable the past truly is. Memories that should have been theirs to share are now only his, and the thought of pushing through the same loss again fills him with an aching loneliness.

If Doppio alone were to forget himself, then Diavolo could mold himself into someone new to match, share only the pertinent details of their history and leave the rest of the wretched past behind where it belongs. But he would still remember the version of himself that suffered alone, that was a coward, weak and worse in every conceivable way. And he would still remember every victory, every joy, and he would be unable to share any of them with Doppio — not the same, never the same again.

But that wasn't the point, was it? The question was not about Doppio alone. If they both forgot, then—]

You would be fine.

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IC Inbox

between july 9 and july 12.

hey so. i'm sorry for this

yeah ok that checks out

cw: little a dissociation

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<sleepless>

"yeah just uhhh kill me" "no NOT LIKE THAT"

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<purplepiper>

today in tags that went in a specific direction on a whim

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im also taking this on a whim

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YOU ABANDONED YOUR BABY BIRD, DOOPY!!!

what baby (< clueless)

DFLKSDFKDSF

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