[He's not here to get comfortable. Diavolo leans his back up against the wall by the door and watches Doppio intently, not allowing any slight movement or shift in posture to go unnoticed. As he watches, he must be making all sorts of undignified expressions (grateful that Doppio doesn't look), chewing on his lower lip as he mulls over how to begin the conversation he actually came here for.
Finally, he decides on:] Doppio. You - we can't - I -
[No. That wasn't what he meant to say at all. Finding the right words has been harder for him, ever since... everything happened. He stumbles around sounds more than he ever did, and it gets so much worse at times like these when every nerve is on edge. Talking to Doppio used to be so easy. An instinct, a reflex, like breathing. This is unnatural. If things were right in the world he wouldn't even have to ask. He'd know. He'd have been there to witness everything. He never would have been hurt. He never could have been hurt.
Inhale. Exhale. If he can close his eyes and pretend for a moment that the two of them are back in Italy - back together - talking how they used to - maybe then he can find the right words. But that feels like a lifetime ago. And Doppio isn't... he can't be, he's so wrong. And so familiar. And when he's the only thing he has left...]
Just... tell me, Doppio, why you did it. I won't be angry with you. You are far too indispensable to me for that. If there's some... behavior I can correct, if there was some action I'd taken that led you to... I need to know. We can speak freely here. You have to tell me. Don't keep me in the dark any longer.
[And he braces himself for the next part, where Doppio, dutiful as ever, will surely spill everything. If being devoured wasn't enough and hearing all his faults and misdeeds echoed back to him is another part of his punishment, then he has no choice but to take it. It will eat away at him forever if he doesn't. He'll have nowhere to return to if he can't fix this.]
no subject
[He's not here to get comfortable. Diavolo leans his back up against the wall by the door and watches Doppio intently, not allowing any slight movement or shift in posture to go unnoticed. As he watches, he must be making all sorts of undignified expressions (grateful that Doppio doesn't look), chewing on his lower lip as he mulls over how to begin the conversation he actually came here for.
Finally, he decides on:] Doppio. You - we can't - I -
[No. That wasn't what he meant to say at all. Finding the right words has been harder for him, ever since... everything happened. He stumbles around sounds more than he ever did, and it gets so much worse at times like these when every nerve is on edge. Talking to Doppio used to be so easy. An instinct, a reflex, like breathing. This is unnatural. If things were right in the world he wouldn't even have to ask. He'd know. He'd have been there to witness everything. He never would have been hurt. He never could have been hurt.
Inhale. Exhale. If he can close his eyes and pretend for a moment that the two of them are back in Italy - back together - talking how they used to - maybe then he can find the right words. But that feels like a lifetime ago. And Doppio isn't... he can't be, he's so wrong. And so familiar. And when he's the only thing he has left...]
Just... tell me, Doppio, why you did it. I won't be angry with you. You are far too indispensable to me for that. If there's some... behavior I can correct, if there was some action I'd taken that led you to... I need to know. We can speak freely here. You have to tell me. Don't keep me in the dark any longer.
[And he braces himself for the next part, where Doppio, dutiful as ever, will surely spill everything. If being devoured wasn't enough and hearing all his faults and misdeeds echoed back to him is another part of his punishment, then he has no choice but to take it. It will eat away at him forever if he doesn't. He'll have nowhere to return to if he can't fix this.]