epitaffio | IC Inbox

[Early this morning, something intriguing was posted to the network. Left alone in these early hours, Diavolo had plenty of time to mull over it before Doppio rose for the day. There is so much time for thinking when there is no room to sleep. And while the relative silence in Diavolo's mind was welcome after the constant buzzing of the week prior, it's unlike him to let anything suspicious slip past him without heavy consideration.

And, oh, this message was suspicious. At face value, it's nothing of particular interest to him. "Anti-monster home security" — but he doesn't make a point of invading the homes of humans. But, then, safety is paramount. And though the butchery demonstration is of no use to him, Diavolo has not yet given Cervo the opportunity to indulge in a properly cooked meal. The deer was amusingly taken with the novelty of a seared dinner — how would he respond to something finely made? Diavolo is no chef, and his dealings with human bodies have been brutal at best, but he has few productive activities to occupy his free time with. Perhaps this is a starting point.

Of course, he doesn't admit those thoughts.

When he speaks to Doppio soon after he wakes, he is all business. His tone is light, airy, unperturbed. It almost feels like a mission. "A curious message was posted to the network this morning," he starts. "Something is to be broadcast on television this evening. We would do well to investigate this. If you aren't preoccupied today, Doppio...?"

And the rest of the day slips away. Having a goal to pursue, small as it is, energizes him. And this task being something he's comfortable tackling as a team makes it all the better. It may be insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but keeping track of the affairs of others like this is almost a taste of normalcy. For tonight, he can feel capable and in control.

And when the hour approaches, he is doing his best to relax in front of the television, a tangle of too-small blankets and long limbs. This being a "mission" does not preclude his own comfort.]

Doppio... did you bring any food? I don't know how long this is going to be.

[Doppio isn't as peckish as usual in this form... but Diavolo can't help but ask.]

[Even if neither of them voice it, they can very much agree on one thing: it's good to have a goal.

From the moment Doppio receives his quasi-mission, there is a renewed pep in his step. He's eager to begin his investigation immediately - though he is forced to slow down once he realises that they do, in fact, already have information such as "the general subject matter of the broadcast" and "who is behind it." Still, if all this mission entails is watching TV with the Boss later tonight... that's plenty to be excited about. Right now, when Doppio feels ever so slightly more tempted to indulge than he usually does, he might even admit to himself that it would be fun to just... stay up a little later, maybe see if a movie comes on and watch that...

In any case, the hour does, indeed, approach. And even if his stomach isn't as demanding as he's grown accustomed to, snacks strike him as an important element when in extended contact with a screen, so he is naturally ready with two buckets of popcorn, one in each arm.]

I've got it covered, Boss! Salty and sweet popcorn--

[... It is when Doppio looks at each bucket in turn that he realises he is no longer quite sure which is which. Unfortunately, both sets of popcorn are pretty white.]

... Um, so you can have whichever you'd like!

[He'll... figure out which one's safe for himself from observation, he's sure.]

Edited 2022-05-02 23:06 (UTC)

[Doppio's diet has noticably changed since his transformation. He's no longer prone to absentmindedly munching on beef jerky — at least, not since the incident. It turns out that demons are incredibly averse to salt, and ingesting the substance is especially abhorrent. And a chain is only as strong as its weakest link, and so Diavolo has spent more than his fair share of time scrutinizing the ingredients of all the various foods that crossed into their apartment. It's excessive, perhaps, but Doppio's memory for the details can be faulty. This is a far easier mission than most... but having one of them suddenly compromised is an ordeal he'd like to avoid.

Even if the enemy compromising them is a reasonably salty batch of popcorn.

And so, noting Doppio's slightly confused glance at the snacks... Diavolo will have the honor, he supposes, of taste-testing both buckets.]

Don't be careless, Doppio. I need you to be at your best.

[His scolding is punctuated by a crunch. And then another. Ah, there's the salt. Diavolo quickly yanks that bucket into his lap. The sweet is quite nice, though. He may yet sneak another bite of that.

...coexisting like this is still strange. He'll put that out of his mind, for now.]

[Oh no, the Boss Noticed(tm). Which is kind of embarrassing, really. Sure, he's grateful for it, but... Someone like the Boss shouldn't have to cover for silly slip-ups like this. Slip-ups like his.

Still, he happily taste-tests the presumably sweet popcorn, and... yup, confirmed. That's the sweet bucket.]

Feel free to eat some of mine too, though! I just can't... You know. [A sheepish, quiet laugh.] Uh, thanks.

[It's a shame, too. Salty and sweet snacks... They're at their best when they coexist! He'd happily switch between both if he could do that without feeling sick! But alas, only the Boss will be able to indulge in the ideal popcorn experience.

In any case, he sits down. Though his eyes linger on the space next to the Boss and his blanket, he ultimately goes for the other seat near the TV.]

When's it starting?

[Sharing is much more difficult when Doppio seats himself and his popcorn over there. He will refrain from pointing that out, though.]

The post said it would begin at sunset.

[Which far less precise and easy to understand than a specific time. But for Diavolo, who tends to spend as much time as he can basking in the light... well, he's far more intimately familiar with the rising and falling of the sun than he ever expected to be. And, just to be sure, his eyes flick to a window and the murky sky beyond it.]

A few more minutes, at most.

[Is he close enough to the lamp glowing at his side? Probably... but he'll nudge himself a little closer regardless. He can't be falling to pieces when he has things to pay attention to.]

[Try as he might, Doppio can only exercise so much Common Sense (tm) at a time. Unfortunately, he just expended all of it reminding himself that he should absolutely not
sit close enough to the Boss to touch his blanket, and consequently has none of it left for the logistics of sharing popcorn.]

That's not very exact, is it? I guess it works in their favour, though.

[Whatever their goal is, without an exact time, it's much harder for anyone to accuse them of being late, right? From what he gathers so far, Doppio figures a lot of... whatever this is going to be is actually about presentation.

But, indeed, it isn't long until it starts, and the anchor's disposition already has him on edge. Though if there's going to be a "butchery demonstration," and if it uses real human meat... yeah, makes sense that she'd be that rattled.]

I have to wonder what the goal is here. Broadcasting something like this so publicly...

[Diavolo scoffs. He would never do something so obvious.]

It's guaranteed to draw attention. But whose attention is it that they truly want, Doppio? The humans? Ours? The fog's? Or those that oppose her?

[Crunch. The nervous newscaster fades into memory and the show proceeds with a dull and very long lecture about trap disarming presented by a harpy Diavolo is fairly certain he doesn't recognize.]

I know you aren't breaking into the houses of humans to feed, Doppio, but you would be wise to pay attention to this demonstration. We can never be too cautious.

[And if Cervo is buried somewhere in that head, lurking and hearing this too... He is someone Diavolo can picture rushing into an armed building thoughtlessly. Brute strength can only get you so far.]

They've gotta be trying to send a message, right?

[The question is to whom, of course, and if the Boss isn't sure, then Doppio can't even begin to guess.

... Then again, long-winded as the trap talk is, it's making the message seem like a pretty informative one, too. Doppio is listening, alright, because even if he isn't hunting anybody, it's knowledge that could come in handy for a myriad of other reasons--

At least until the harpy veers into a weird soliloquy about the grace of the Fog or whatever. Geez. He furrows his brow.]

Are they just trying to scare people or do they mean this stuff for real?

[An uneasy laugh bubbles under his skin. The fact that the disarming lesson then proceeds as normal makes this no less bewildering.]

The Fog God inspires fanaticism in her followers. It's entirely possible that this person is being sincere.

[Diavolo's disdain for her is obvious. His opinion of her is already low, and tonight it plummets further still. The loyalty and passion her followers have for her is entirely undeserved.

Eventually the talk of traps ends and the video cuts to a new scene. Diavolo pauses, taking the details in, his gaze especially fixed on the vampire.]

That is... Atem, isn't it?

[Someone he knows and has spoken to, involved incredibly personally in this sort of display... It's unnerving.]

[Unbelievable as it seems, the Boss is probably right. As he watches the broadcast, Doppio's thoughts wander. He finds himself wondering if it's just a God Thing - if you have to be like that to believe in a god, if the belief comes first and the fanaticism comes later, if it's just the Fog God... It isn't often that you hear about the other guys doing stuff like this, but it isn't unheard of. When they ended up in another world - that was one of the Fourth God's guys, wasn't it? And thinking back to their home...

He's not sure where he was going with that thought. It hangs in the air until it pops, and when he starts paying attention to the broadcast again, Atem is indeed on-screen.]

Y-- Yeah. He's...

[When they ended up in another world...]

I still can't really get a good read on him. [And this won't help; Doppio can already tell. But...] Is this... the part he said was for humans?

Hm. I'd thought of Atem as someone reasonably level-headed.

[He, at the very least, is someone who tends not to pry. Has Diavolo really grown so careless?]

It certainly doesn't seem like this part is intended for us. It's an attempt to strike fear into the hearts of the human populace — but I doubt they need more of that. They're already so... helpless. That harpy just finished explaining to us how worthless their best defenses are. They already know their place. This is ... wasted effort. Pointless theatrics.

[Crunch.]

And now, a game? There is no point in playing with one's food. Eat them and be done with it. They've already lost.

[There are little things about this broadcast that unsettle him. The terms of Atem's little game, for one. Is this how he always goes about feeding? One of those types who carefully picks his meals that consist of those most "deserving" of death? If selling shoddy security systems for a profit is enough to warrant this sort of treatment, then...]

Be on your guard around him, Doppio.

[Level-headed... He can't really argue with that, can he? Or at least he couldn't, before... this. Just like with the harpy, in the best case scenario, this is purely performative; in the worst, the fog has seriously screwed with his head.

... Somehow, though, he was less sure with the harpy. When it comes to Atem... it's easier to believe that this, too, is part of some game he's playing.

Still, the Boss may be right when he calls it pointless.]

... I guess... the food might not be the point of it either. Maybe it all plays into what he's doing.

[The word felt odd on his tongue. Food. It's only natural that the Boss would put it that way, since he's affected by the hunger, but for Doppio - who is unbelievably unaffected, against all odds immune when not even the Boss is--

It all calls to mind the sensation of ants crawling under his skin.

When the game goes sideways - the humans press the buttons, the trick is revealed, the shade lashes out - Doppio is, in a sense, grateful for the distraction.]

Do you think... Atem knew they'd play dirty?

[Diavolo imagines himself in their position. A human held captive by a monster. Helpless, his life left in the hands of Atem and the humans beside him.

It isn't greed that drives them, not from the moment the three are strapped in place in front of stakes aimed to kill. At that instant, the reward at the end is meaningless. Power is wonderful, but power at risk of one's own life... What other option did they have? To sit there idly and trust that the other two wouldn't sell you out in an instant? Wait the allotted time and pray that they wouldn't kill you before you had chance to draw another breath? No, everyone stepped in to their bindings with the same goal — to live to reap their rewards.

He wouldn't have played. That's the difference between him and these humans. He'd have walked away with his life. But, if, against all logic, he did decide to play Atem's game ... he'd have pressed the button before the countdown began as well. It's the only way to ensure survival.]

...I can't imagine a scenario where they would have done otherwise. [He finally says.] That smile on Atem's face when they agreed ... the way this entire scene was arranged ... he must have known what they'd do from the very start.

[And perhaps that is why he feels so uneasy, lapsing into silence as the shade tears into them. Greed made them take the first step and play — and that was all it did. But it wasn't greed, it wasn't soullessness or rottenness that drove them to break the rules and "kill". It was the most basic instinct of all: the need to survive.]

Edited 2022-08-30 22:13 (UTC)

... Yeah. I guess you're right.

[Doppio isn't privy to the Boss's logic; all he knows is that the conclusion he's arrived at makes enough sense to him. And Atem is sneaky like that, isn't he? Doppio hasn't known him to be cruel, but...

He doesn't know him all that well, he thinks, shunting fake memories of a fake reality off to the side.

A werewolf comes into frame. She's unfamiliar, but her cool and focused approach is immediately striking.]

"Butcher"? Geez, haven't they done enough to scare people?

[Then again, the collected way she's approaching this... Maybe it is meant to be instructional.

Despite that, and despite the fact that Doppio is sufficiently familiar with arterial spray, the sight that follows makes him gasp. A man with his eyes still open; his throat, sliced; his reaction, absent. It's somehow more eerie than it would have been if the man were either fully alive or fully unconscious.]

[There have been times that Diavolo thought learning the art of butchery could be useful. For Cervo, fierce as he is with his kills, indiscriminate as he is with his gorging — there are finer ways to approach a meal, and he's toyed with being the one to introduce Cervo to them.

For Cervo ... and for Doppio.

So when the demonstration begins, when the werewolf walks onscreen, his attention is fully on the television. He is no stranger to the gorier details of the human body. How many times has he seen King Crimson's fist plunged into the chest of another? How many has he cut down without a second thought? No, there is nothing here that should bother him.

The werewolf slices the man's throat in one swift movement, and he falls limp. Next, his clothes are torn away. And then, with cold precision, she narrates as his arms are cleanly removed, one by one, followed by his legs.

It isn't the same, not remotely. There is no need for memories of the distant past to dredge themselves up here and now. This is what he tells himself as he continues to watch, unblinking and silent. He is no coward. He won't allow himself to be held back by fear.

Her knife presses against the man's abdomen, and, for the first time in minutes, Diavolo makes a sound: a shuddering gasp.

(11:20 AM. File number 68...)

It isn't the same, it isn't. Nothing... nothing like him. Nothing like him at all, and so he must watch on.]

[Doppio was absolutely ready to pay attention to the rest of the broadcast, despite the distastefulness of the imagery. Not unlike what he did back home, when the Boss places his trust in him, the very least Doppio can do was steel himself and do what's asked of him. Hell, if the Boss wanted him to, he'd start taking notes on how to butcher a person.

But the sound the Boss makes is concerning enough to shove the broadcast into the background of Doppio's priorities. His eyes are no longer on the TV.]

Boss?

[No response. Doppio's voice calls from the other side of the room; to Diavolo, it might as well be coming from another time and place entirely. There is no room for Doppio in the memory that engulfs him now. By then he was already gone — bled out on the Colosseum ground, his voice and his presence severed from Diavolo from then into eternity.

In that moment, he thought he could stand it. There was no trial he had not triumphed over; he would not stumble and fail now. He would prevail over the traitors who dared to seek him out, he would prove once more that he stood at his rightfully-earned place in the world, a pinnacle surpassing all—

(...48 to 54 hours since his death...)

He should have known something was wrong then. He should have understood. It all blurred together, unreal and hazy, like a distant dream. It couldn't be real. It couldn't be him. Some other body and some other mind trapped in this hellish nightmare. Not him, never him.

The werewolf-girl on the screen says something; it's drowned out by the memory, vivid and excruciating and consuming him whole. He couldn't move then, only his eyes. He spoke — he thinks — he remembers the desperation in his voice as he asked her for answers. He remembers cold silence in response, and cold steel plunging into his chest, and the blood that flowed forth, the shock of pain, the screams spilling from his lips —

The body on screen is deathly silent. No gasps, no screams, no pleading protests — nothing but an empty shell. The werewolf shows no emotion as she slices away, just as that doctor did. All is routine.

Not like him. The man isn't like him. So why, then, does he curl in on himself reflexively, as though anything he witnessed matters, as though the butchering of a corpse is comparable to what he suffered? Why does he feel a jolt of sympathy, a jolt of pain, pressing his fingers against his abdomen. There's nothing there, no scar to prove it ever happened, but he knows what was done to him, knows what he saw as his gaze drifted downward towards a body flayed wide open. Pieces of him taken out, scrutinized and remarked upon. Everything he was — everything he accomplished — all reduced to this. Flesh and bone, dissected and analyzed and left to rot away.

(...his identity is unknown...)

Did it ever end? Is he still trapped in that hell? If he is awake, if he is real, if he is still himself ... then why doesn't it stop? Why does he still live it? Why does he still suffer?]

[Something is wrong. Something must be terribly, horribly wrong.]

Boss!

[He gets up and rushes to his side. His eyes seek out the Boss’s, but there is no reciprocation. It’s as if he weren’t even there. It’s making his heart want to jump out of his chest, in a way that feels diametrically opposed to what it ought to have done the first time he saw his face.]

Can— Can you hear me? What’s wrong?

[It’s terrifying. It’s not right. He’s never seen him like this—

No, that’s not right. The very first time they met here in Ryslig – that first week, if not that entire month… The realisation doesn’t make Doppio feel any better, but it’s starting to paint a picture.

He casts a glance back at the TV. The dissection plays out in spite of its audience.

… It was when she started to cut into the body.

Even though he isn’t sure how much good it’ll do at this point, Doppio hurries to turn off the television, an inelegant, almost brutish flick before he turns his attention back to the Boss.]

[The voice fizzles away to nothing with a click and a hum of static. The absence of noise is just enough to jolt Diavolo; a sudden change in environment is never a good sign. He feels no pain except for the dull ache where his nails dig into his flesh. If he's dying, he thinks, then the act is being dragged out far too long.

It wouldn't be the first time.

(Why would he be dying?)

In his head, the woman's droning words don't stop. They catch and repeat like a broken record, looping without end. It takes a moment to realize that there's another noise mixed in, and longer still to recognize that the desperate sound comes from him. He could have believed this wasn't real, that this was only a dream, a fleeting and pointless thought if not for that visceral reaction.

It's a whimper, pathetic and utterly mortifying in its misery, and the first move he makes is to press a palm hard against his lips to ensure that it never happens again. The countermeasure is only half-effective; more noise spills out, muffled now yet still painfully obvious.]

[It's not working. Maybe he shouldn't have expected it to. The damage was already done - throwing away a gun won't get rid of a bullet wound.

But it isn't just not working, it's getting worse. This may be the worst thing Doppio has ever heard, a sound he never wanted to hear coming from the Boss, of all people - not because it's "pathetic," but because it makes his heart feel like it's being torn to shreds. The Boss so afraid, and Doppio isn't doing anything about it--

But he HAS to do something, and there's no room for second thoughts - not now, when the Boss is in so much pain. Before he knows it, he's doing the first and only thing that comes to mind: pulling the Boss into his arms and holding him.]

Boss, I'm here.

[Doppio's hold is firm, driven by impulse. Meanwhile, his voice is low, but he can't stave off his panic entirely; his words run over each other in a rush.]

I-It's okay. Can you hear me? We're-- We're home right now, there's nobody else here. Just... Just you and me. I'm right here.

[The fear that this might not be the best thing to do hits him, small and sudden, and his hold slackens.]

[He doesn't protest. He gives in too easily, reacting to the sudden shift with a gasp but not fighting against it. His breaths come more erratic as the grip tightens around him. He can't begin to process the flurry of words murmured to him, but the voice is gentle, familiar. The arms are warm. If he closes his eyes and allows himself to sink into the feeling, it's almost comforting.

He can't be dying, at least not like he was before. If he was, it would not feel nearly so pleasant. No blood, no ache, just quiet words and racing thoughts. It calls to mind the memory of being tangled in vines, wrapping limbs and wings around Doppio until everything stopped.

Those same soft words, the same tone. It couldn't be anyone else. There is nothing to fear in this room.

It's been weeks, he thinks, if not months, since the last time he sank so low. Plagued by thoughts spiraling out of control until they were indistinguishable from reality, and even then it is rarely something so mundane that sets him off in the first place. Potential danger, something real and tangible in his environment to react to — that he can at least understand. Television. He was watching television, of all things. A recording, yes, real and brutal but entirely harmless to him, and it was enough to ... to ...

The grip around him slackens suddenly. The change in pressure is enough to startle him into movement, the slowly easing tremor in his limbs returning twofold. He lowers his hand from his mouth, releasing another desperate sound.]

D-don't.

[Don't what? That may be too hard to verbalize right now. But acting is different, and, with shaking grip, he finds himself clinging back.]

[Oh. Oh.

No need to verbalize - Doppio gets it. He takes a surprisingly emboldening deep breath and puts his all into the embrace. It's firm, but hopefully not painful. He just... wants the Boss to feel safe.]

O-Okay. I'm here, okay? I'm not going anywhere.

[He tries to keep his breathing steady. Any nerves he's feeling are nothing compared to what the Boss must be going through, anyway, so he has to do this. He has to be at his best. He can't let go.

(He's never wanted to let go, in any case; not really.)]

[It's a tight grip for someone so small, he thinks. It's strange and it's grounding. Not as soothing as it would be to close his eyes and slip away, to relinquish control and sensation and leave the rest to Doppio.]

You — shouldn't see me like this.

[Those words go muffled into the fabric of Doppio's shirt. Despite the half-hearted protest, he only presses himself closer. He feels the thrum of Doppio's heart and the movement of his chest with every breath, and tries to focus on them.]

[Doppio shakes his head. In the position they're in, it's almost a nuzzle; he may worry about that later, but not now. The Boss needs him, and the way he presses himself closer only makes Doppio want to reciprocate even more, somehow, to curl around him and hold him and stand between him and the world; then he'd close his eyes, and nobody would have to see the Boss like this.]

Nobody's gonna hurt you, Boss. I won't let anybody lay a finger on you.

[If for some reason the wolf girl on the television burst in here and decided she wanted to take the Boss apart, Doppio doesn't know how he would stop her, realistically speaking - but he does know he wouldn't hesitate to do whatever it took, no matter the consequences.

It's not that he shouldn't see the Boss like this. It's that nobody should have made him like this.]

[He comes to rest his head on Doppio's shoulder, his breaths rapid as a flurry of words pour from him.]

I'm... exhausted, Doppio. The past strangles me despite my best attempts. I see it everywhere — in everything. I thought I had triumphed over it. I'd thought it was over, but it still...

[How can he defeat an enemy that only exists in his head? He could leave right now and hunt Giorno Giovanna down for what he did to him, and it wouldn't change a single thing. What hurts him now is memory alone — intangible and insurmountable. It isn't about the werewolf, nor is it about the dead man she sliced into. The broadcast should have been such an inconsequential thing; instead, it is as a reminder.

It happened to him before.

It could happen to him again.]

I want to— to sleep. To put my trust in you fully, to rely on you as I once did, but...

[...but that isn't possible anymore.]

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epitaffio - 2023-03-27 21:21 (UTC) - Expand

IC Inbox

march 24

LET'S GOOOOOOO

sweet doppio...

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declaring myself free of cringe and anxiety and fear. let's go

WE CAN DO IT. WE ARE FREE

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give him a moment to recognize doppio; he's bluescreened and is rebooting

i know you said to give him a moment but. this felt Right

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sadboss hours

makes incoherent noises

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(no subject)

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.