epitaffio | IC Inbox

[All three eyes reflexively shut as Doppio's cold hand nears; the stark difference in temperature is a jolt to his system. To Doppio, he feels warm to the touch — perhaps even hot, given the ever-present light that burns within him.]

Not feverish. [He says with a soft laugh, not shying away from the contact despite its pointlessness.] Just... off. More talkative than usual. Perhaps it is only because I've longed for your company, but...

[There he goes again — another stray thought best kept locked up tight is verbalized for Doppio and the cat to hear. Now he shies away.]

I can't help but wonder if this is another of this peninsula's tricks. Have you noticed anything strange today?

Oh. [That. Stupid of Doppio to jump to the conclusion he did, since he WAS just thinking -]

Y... You know, me too, I think! That's what I meant earlier, with the... Talking about this stuff. Are we both feeling it?!

[What "it" is, he's not sure. An... itch of sorts...?]

We may be. I certainly am. And, if so... It would be best to test the boundaries of this here, where we are alone.

[The cat certainly won't tell any secrets. Diavolo reaches a hand up to Doppio's, gently cupping his forehead, and softly tugs it away.]

Is it merely a supernatural compulsion to speak, or is there something more to it? [A thoughtful pause.] Ask me a question — anything you like. I trust you to be reasonable.

[Anyone else in all the world, and he would have locked himself in his own bedroom until he felt like himself again. Here is a safe space — one in which he can assess the potential for danger.]

A... Are you sure, Boss?

[Never mind "reasonable." If they really are being compelled to say things they wouldn't normally say...]

What if you end up saying something you'd never tell me otherwise? I couldn't forgive myself... I-I already know so much!

[Case in point, he's not sure he would have said that last thing under normal circumstances. The way Doppio sees it, the fact that several secrets have been coming undone during their stay in Ryslig is something he should simply not draw attention to.]

[Serious as this topic is, it's hard for Diavolo to keep a straight face when Doppio speaks so sincerely. A brief smile crosses his lips.]

Your dedication is truly admirable, my Doppio. But I assure you: it is no grave breach of trust to ask me a simple question. Something with a straightforward, factual answer — ideally an answer you already know. This is a test, not an interrogation.

Yes, I am certain. Unless you would prefer that I do the questioning...?

No!

[... Oh, even he can tell he answered that question unusually fast.]

I-I mean... That would be... okay, if it's you. [That sentence, conversely, felt far too difficult to put together. It didn't hurt, and for a moment he's surprised that it didn't before he wonders why it would have in the first place.] But... I can do it if you're sure, Boss.

[He's probably right, anyway - Doppio might very well be overthinking this. A simple question couldn't cause that much harm. He just has to pick the right one.

Something straightforward and factual that he already knows the answer to... One thing comes to mind immediately.]

... Uh, what's your name?

[There. That should be fine, right?]

[The question catches him off guard.]

[A widening of his eyes, a sharp intake of breath, a quiver on his lips — even now, something within him, dark and small and terrified, stirs and aches to lash out. To wrap its jaws around the past and snap down, to struggle against it until he tears himself free of it completely. For a moment, it is his precognition that he misses the most — a few seconds' warning would have been enough to steel his expression and respond with grace and poise befitting someone like him.

But he falters, and his unease is evident in every twitch of his body, and he desperately misses the disconnect. He was shielded from the world, once, and from weaknesses like this. His mind was enshrined in the safety of Doppio's body, attuned to the rhythm of his pulse, sharing every breath, always able to find comfort in the familiarity of routine. Their fingers would be wrapped tight around some discarded trinket, warm against their skin. He could have laughed it off then, his words soft and teasing. You've grown bold, my Doppio. There wouldn't be a knot in his stomach or a hitch in his voice. There wouldn't need to be.

Only a name — and one he has declared a dozen times or more by now. A simple question, and one he is more than capable of answering. The past they shared is gone; there is no returning to it, no matter how much he tries to keep everything the same. His name was a secret once, but no longer. They were broken, and they were broken long ago, and the answer cannot break them any further. After all, Doppio is playing by his rules. He asks only what he already knows.

Nothing changes.]

Diavolo—

[Ask me another question, he wants to say, now that this trial is neatly conquered. With the next, the testing will truly begin. Can he hold off the urge to answer? For how long can he resist?

He tries to ask. Really, he does. But something in the air, something wailing in the pouring rain, won't allow him to move on just yet.]

—Derosas, by b-birth, but I— I'd gone by... by other—

[And there he cuts himself off with a hiss of pain, biting down hard on his own hand to muffle himself.]

[Doppio regrets asking even before the answer comes. The Boss's tension is palpable, and even with explicit permission he feels he has crossed a line he shouldn't have. The feeling only grows as Doppio notes that he's watching him, that he's witnessing the Boss's anxiety like it's nothing, and he's ready to apologise, to take it back.

Then he hears the answer. Then the answer keeps going. Then it seats itself in his mind, cozily, with ample space to etch itself into his memory.

He knew it. He shouldn't have asked a thing. Now the Boss has been forced to give up yet another fragment of the past he fought so hard to bury, and Doppio has attained yet more knowledge he never needed against his will, except now it's entirely his fault.]

I'm sorry! Boss, I-I'm so sorry. Stop!... Stop.

[How does he make up for this? How can he punish himself--]

... Ask me something instead! So we're even!

[He blurts it out on impulse; he isn't sure it makes any sense. But somebody needs to pay for this, and he isn't about to cut off the Boss's tongue, and...]

I-I'm so sorry. I'm sorry...

[When Diavolo pulls his hand away, radiant blood trickling from the bite wound, he murmurs under his breath, seemingly oblivious to Doppio's words.]

Efficient. Brutal. I'd thought it would take more to determine what precisely is going on, but, with one question, you have shown me everything I need to know. I... will have to stay here until this ends, of course. I cannot risk explaining myself to others. You will have to inform Komaeda that I will not be setting foot in that store until this is over. And you—

[With a growing, frantic energy, he grabs at his laptop, jostling the weary cat off of it in the process. It hisses and bats a threatening paw at Diavolo, but there is little it can do to protest against sheer monstrous strength. So it flops its body back down, taking comfort in the warmth that still remains.]

—will have to take this from me. [The laptop is shoved directly into Doppio's hands, whether he is ready to take it or not.] I believe it is more than simply verbal impulse. There are too many risks involved and I cannot be given the opportunity to—

[And here something dawns on him in a brief moment of eye contact. The pained expression on Doppio's face, the stream of regretful words he babbles...]

...did you say something, Doppio? I ... was not paying attention.

[They are effectively oblivious to each other until Doppio finds a laptop shoved into his hands. After their mutual realisation, there is a moment of stunned silence before he manages to say -]

... You're not mad at me? [And then, unbidden:] I'm mad at me!

[Blink.]

[There's a moment here in the raging storm that everything stills. Rain and wind and silence fill the air as Diavolo processes this most unexpected response.]

Don't be. You did exactly as you were told. I could have been stricter with my instructions, but you are not to blame for my carelessness.

[But these, he feels, aren't the most comforting words. Even without foresight, he can imagine Doppio finding reason to protest, and so he tries to stop that before it has a chance to happen.]

Even then, little harm was done. At least it is you that I dredged up this miserable piece of the past for. There is no one in this world more worthy of hearing the name. After all, it is yours as much as it is mine.

[A little more than he meant to say ... but entirely truthful.]

Edited 2023-05-19 16:09 (UTC)

[Slowly, Doppio begins to calm down - but the Boss’s last remark gives him pause again. His brow furrows]

It’s “mine”...? Oh.

[... Right. Of course. Because they used to be… Because they really were…

For reasons Doppio can’t put a finger on, he feels a cold, crawling sensation creeping into him. Before he can help it, he mumbles, breathless -]

My name’s Doppio.

[And when nothing happens, he feels something else. He quickly realises it’s relief.]

W-We should— talk about something else, right? We should stop talking– Wait, no, I don’t wanna stop talking to you… Uh, just– Give me orders! [... Oh. Yeah. He’s still holding the Boss’s laptop.] Um… Uh, r-restate your orders? If that’s okay?

It is ours — and yet it isn't. What use is a name that ties us to a home we've left behind? A name given by someone who could never begin to comprehend us? As far as I am concerned, "Diavolo Derosas" died nearly twenty years ago. [With a twitch of the lips and a scoff:] I've read the obituary. I am something new. And you —

[Slowly, softly, a hand reaches up to cup Doppio's chin, tilting his face up for a better look. There was a time that Doppio's cervine features felt like a cruel mockery, a twisted joke in an endless torment. It doesn't feel that way anymore.]

— you are my Doppio, exactly as you always have been. Altered, perhaps even irreperably different ... but still you. My one source of stability in this nightmare of a world.

[And, just as sudden as the touch was ... it's gone. Back to business, precisely as Doppio requested.]

The laptop, Doppio — keep it away from me for the time being. I don't wish to spill my entire life story to strangers, but I fear that I may. I do not need the temptation.

[Right. Right. His relief spreads, gradually replaces that crawling, creeping sensation that threatened him earlier. That name doesn't matter anymore - because the Boss has left it behind, because Doppio never knew it, because it is, for all intents and purposes, nobody's name at this point, and--

And then the Boss touches him, and it isn't the first time he's held his face like this, but something about the gesture combined with his words - he's his Doppio, his, even now that so many things have changed and Passione is no more and he grows to understand they were never meant to live like this - that makes his heart swell. It almost, almost feels like it's about to beat again, and the incoming pulse drives words from the pit of his stomach to his mouth:]

I lo--

[Doppio just barely manages to shove his fist into his mouth and bite down. Hard. He has to, because if he doesn't--

The laptop nearly slips from the free arm he's using to hold it. He's got to take care of that.]

Uh, I'll-- I'll hold on to this for you, Boss. I'll... Yeah.

[He could hide it somewhere, but that wouldn't be safe enough - the Boss would seek it out, if the compulsion got to him. He could throw it away, but that would be even worse - anybody could come across it, find the Boss's private messages, read every one of them, and even if his correspondence doesn't consist of orders and deals anymore it's still important to keep it safe, and Jesus FUCKING Christ his stomach hurts SO much. If he were feeling poetic, he might say it's like his body is trying to absorb the words he refused to say back into itself.

He isn't, though. Right now, he mostly just feels sweaty.]

I know you will. As ever, my most trusted.

[As mundane as the mission is, as low as the stakes today are, there's something to be gained from speaking about it with such intensity. It incites something in Doppio. The look in his eyes, the relief on his face, the warmth in his soft expression. The oddity of gazing upon it is outweighed by the charm; though they should be whole, though he should be able to feel the movements Doppio makes as though they're his own but can't ... he can admire them from a new perspective. Different, but the same.

A hand covers Doppio's, gentle, mindful of the difference in strength and size. The warmth that engulfs it is sudden and soothing as any pain is stolen away.]

Go on. You aren't one to hide things from me, are you, my Doppio?

[The small outburst did not go unnoticed. He will pry the rest out, and more.]

[Okay, he doesn't just feel sweaty - he feels like he's about to burst, too, and quite frankly he can't tell if it's the good kind of bursting or not. Hell, he's too alarmed to even realise that thought is complete nonsense.

The Boss's words only make the compulsion stronger. Doesn't he understand? No - what does he think Doppio was about to say? Maybe he's suspicious. Maybe he thinks he's hiding something - something important, something dangerous, something other than... that. A frivolous, silly feeling.

And yet, frivolous as it may be, keeping himself from blurting it out takes a herculean effort.]

W... What? I wasn't-- wasn't saying anything else-- Ngh!

[It happens very quickly. In one moment, he's holding the laptop closer to himself in the vain hope that it will lessen the painful cramp in his stomach. In the next, the pain subsides, and he'd be grateful - relieved, even; does that mean the urge is gone for good? - if his eyes didn't then fall on the Boss's hand over his own, then on the look on his face.]

Don't-- You're not supposed to do that! I'm fine!

[Another pang, almost like hunger, flows straight from him to the Boss. Is it because he's lying?]

[Diavolo winces as a wave of pain rushes through his body. A strange, sudden sensation — a side effect, perhaps, of this curse that plagues them? Doppio's lies are blatant, and so is the pain that comes in time with his words. Diavolo's grip on his hand only tightens.]

Weren't you? I'd thought I'd heard something. I think it was — "I lo...?"

[Look at him while he speaks. As painful as it is to be seen, it, for once, would be so much worse to speak from the shadows. To sit back in cowardice, afraid of what he will find if he digs deeper, unable to face the truth head on. So Doppio's face is tilted up again to stare into three unblinking eyes.]

No... I must be mistaken. You wouldn't conceal the truth from me. You wouldn't lie to me. Merely a slip of the tongue ... nothing more.

[There's a frantic energy rising in his voice, a breathlessness as the ache grows. Doppio's and his lies, intermingling. But it is no bother. He's suffered worse. It's now or never, when he can feel every lie resounding in his body.]

How dearly I would love to believe that. If only I could trust you fully... But you've given me reason to doubt your loyalty, Doppio. For months, I've feigned ignorance. I haven't pressed. I've allowed you to — to do as you please, certain that one day you would reveal the truth to me. But that day never came. Even now, you fight against me. I wonder why...

[He heard. He knows, and he's just teasing him. Suddenly, Doppio gets the distinct impression that his heart is about to zoom up his throat and expel itself through his mouth.]

I... I'm sorry! I wasn't... I-It was just something you wouldn't want to know...!

[No pain this time. As far as Doppio believes, that is the truth: the Boss would never want to hear the guiltiest, most self-indulgent thoughts that plague him.

But the Boss has more to say, and when Doppio realises he isn't teasing after all, his heart sinks back down like he just swallowed a boulder.]

What? No! I... What?!

[When has his loyalty been called into question? Is it his job? Is it-- Has he been taking too many liberties, looking at him too much, smiling too much, grown too used to daily life with the Boss? He's been so good about not mentioning the past and all of the things he was never supposed to know, but maybe he's crossed a line. The line. The boundary that his treacherous tongue wanted so badly to break just now. That's the only thing he can think of - other than that, despite the cessation of his formal functions as underboss, he has stayed utterly loyal to absolutely everything they--

...

His eyes go wide. He mutters:]

Trish...

Edited 2023-05-25 19:18 (UTC)

Trish.

[The laugh that follows is hollow, the smile unkind. Diavolo's heart pounds in his chest as he listens to the stammering, and then — then Doppio understands. Wide-eyed, guilty, painless.]

I should have suspected something was wrong from the very start. My daughter is... insidious. That very first time she approached us — weak, helpless, lost, hungry. She tried to worm her way close to us, then, and for what purpose? It drove me out of my mind with worry. I'd thought it to be a blessing that you forgot those days so easily, that her actions could not sway you, but now...

[The pressure increases. The heat flares, lapping at Doppio's skin everywhere Diavolo's fingers press in.]

Now I can only wonder if that was a lie I too-eagerly believed. Now I know that you have been keeping secrets from me. I wonder, Doppio. Have you truly forgotten?

[And, if there is even the slightest hint of hesitance—]

Answer me.

The first... huh?

[What is he saying? Does he mean... that time in the Wastelands? Wait, no, she didn't approach them, she approached Doppio alone and then managed to summon the Boss--

Doppio winces. The heat around his hand isn't like that of a demon's flames, but it's close enough to make him feel uneasy. The Boss wouldn't hurt him, would he?... No, he would. If he genuinely thought he could no longer trust him, then... he'd be well within his rights to treat Doppio like he would treat any other traitor.]

I... I don't know what you're talking about! Really!

[Doppio means it - he has no idea. Something he "forgot," apparently; considering he doesn't even remember claiming to have forgotten anything, it must be the truth. Not that he'd lie about something like that.

... Not to the Boss.]

[The soreness pulses between them as Diavolo's fingers dig in, giving and taking pain in the same instant. He can feel the heat of his own hands, an electric spark turning on him as he presses.

There is room here for doubt. The answer clarifies nothing. Doppio might not remember, or he might not understand the question.]

I must be sure. It was not long after I arrived. After the vortex took me, after I was devoured and pieced back together... I was still careless then. I did not yet believe you to be real. Perhaps if I put my faith in you from the start, this would not have happened. Perhaps if I had been more resolute, you would not need to... stray. In all of our encounters, she has been decisive and willful — traits that I have lacked. You do best with a purpose.

[It hurts to admit such weakness, but his faults pour out relentlessly.]

The audacity with which she speaks to you — the way I've seen you respond — I'm certain she's given you a purpose. But when? Was that the beginning of it? That day we spent together, wandering the city streets, children ripped from space and time? She stayed with us, she spoke to us, fed us and ensured our safety.

[A beat.]

I trusted her then. I... did not have the context to doubt her, or I would have taken you by the hand and taken you away. As soon as I regained my senses, I could only wonder what her intentions are. Was she targeting you from the beginning? To build trust when you needed it most, to sway you to her side? Tell me, Doppio. Tell me you can't remember, now when I can feel it.

Edited (HOW) 2023-05-26 17:57 (UTC)

[Not all of this is news to Doppio. He has known that the Boss struggled to trust his surroundings or Doppio or reality at first. It doesn't make it easier to hear, however - and before he can interject, there is more and more spilling from the Boss's mouth, each word worse than the last.]

You've got it all wrong--

[But it still won't stop. The Boss thinks Trish is his purpose? Again, he tries to interrupt - to be more precise, the sentence forming on his lips is "That's stupid" - but there's MORE, and-- children?? Doppio's brow furrows.]

Wha...

[Targeting him from the beginning? That's--

Silence. Can he finally say something?

He can?

Okay.]

I don't know what the fuck you're going on about! Look-- [The laptop threatens to slip again. He huffs.] I don't know how Trish does it either, but I didn't... pledge my loyalty to her or whatever you think I did! You're my purpose, idiot!

[wait. wait he didn't mean to say that last part. at least not like that. uhhhhhhhh]

W... Wh-when were we kids, anyway?

[FLAWLESS CHANGE OF SUBJECT, MASTERFULLY DONE, ACING THIS CONVERSATION]

[Doppio answers, and there's no painful surge of lies pouring into his body. Diavolo's expression shifts with every word, dread and anger and surprise and embarrassment — and he wants to dig his heels in and drag more out. If not that day, then it started before the wastes, then, where he was summoned as she watched, lurking needlessly, agonizingly close. What had the excuse been? That it was mere coincidence that it was her and him — that she'd been the one come to Doppio's rescue in his time of need? And he'd allowed himself to believe that there was nothing more to it, to put it out of his mind while more pressing danger surrounded them all.

The same pattern, easing her way close with promises of safety and care. He wants to protest and point out his suspicions, he wants to say so many things about Doppio's heated confession, but the words die in his throat.

Doppio has asked a question, and so he must answer it.]

A few months after I arrived. The passing of time was hazy for me then, so I can't be more specific. I couldn't sleep. I could hardly think. When it happened, I felt... almost serene.

[The past is such a dreadful thing. Longing for the past is far, far worse.]

As though I was in a dream... and fear and pain could not touch me there. We were inseparable. You held me close. You—

[Stop. This, of all things, should not be dredged up. But it must be.]

You told me my eyes were pretty. I... could not fully believe you.

[There are so many emotions vying for Doppio's attention right now that he wouldn't be able to name half of them. What he can tell is that the feeling making his shoulders go slack as the Boss speaks this time, whatever it's called, is not Worse Than Before. It is, in fact, Less Alarming. He welcomes that.]

Your eyes are pretty, [he mutters, words unwittingly escaping him again, now that he isn't putting all of his effort into keeping his traitorous mouth closed.

A few months after the Boss arrived... That still isn't enough for Doppio to place it. It could have been any of the weeks he has forgotten; they come regularly.]

I forgot. ... Sorry.

[It isn't that strange, when he thinks of it that way. Though -]

... Good thing I stuck close by, right? Instead of wandering off like I usually do?

[That IS what happens most times - it must be, even though for the past while, he has snapped out of it relatively close to home.

His condition... Its return had been a relief at first, despite the pattern seeming somewhat different from what he was used to back home: several days missing - usually nearly a week - separated by what had to be at least a month, instead of intermittent, unpredictable gaps. It was familiar, almost strangely comforting, after several weeks of remembering just about every hour of every day. And of course it was comforting, knowing what he knows today; though he never realised it, each absence was an act of sharing. Now--]

Let's talk about something other than my lousy memory!

[...

He's not sure he meant to blurt that out, but at least it doesn't seem incriminating.]

No... no, you did wander. Even in youth, you were effortlessly drawn in by the antics of small creatures. I did not stray, but you were rambunctious, and endlessly eager to take in the sights of this new world. [A pause, and then, for clarification:] There were lizards. I could not hold on to you tight enough to always be by your side, no matter how much I tried to cling. That we could be separated was a horrendous novelty I was unprepared for. I remember being forced to come to terms with it all alone — something I had never been.

[The memory spills out of him, unstoppable. And, though his heart beats fast, his expression is softer than before. That week, despite everything, is not wholly a bad memory. He leans back, then, releasing his grip entirely to fold his hands on his lap. He carries a tension with him still, fingers twitching and staring off into the distance. But he continues with the reminiscence that cannot — must not — be stopped.

Stopping now would end this brief moment of peace. For as long as he speaks, everything between the two of them can be fine, tranquil, nearly normal. There is no need to think about the surely-buried truth that agonizes him. As long as his attention is on this and not Trish, there is no conspiracy to worry about and no betrayal to fear.

The brief thought of her name sends a jolt of anxiety through him. Moving on:]

I'd started to piece together everything I'd forgotten by then. I vividly remembered fear, and death, and they were... too terrifying to cope with alone. I'd thought I'd lost you for good. [Here his posture stiffens, regret spiking up within him as soon as he confesses his weakness and doubt. So he switches his course here to spill a less mortifying truth.] That was when I met Beatrice. I suppose I've never mentioned that — I wouldn't have. I didn't want to remember that week; I could not bear to explain it to you even in vague terms. But I met her then, and she was patient and gentle with me, and I believed her to be someone reasonable and predictable. And a few months later, she tracked down our address and deposited Struffoli on our doorstep.

[Blink.]

I still don't know what to make of that. I was certain it was her idea of a sick joke. This miserable little thing, drifting in solitude... it felt like open mockery. And yet... as I've been exploring this island, I haven't been able to put him out of my mind. I've been sincerely considering where the best place for him to live would be.

[He's changed. Something changed him, and there is nothing in the world more disconcerting than that knowledge.]

Is this what I've become? Reduced to... this? Doing menial work, mingling with the masses, entranced by the mundane? Was I not meant to strive for greater heights?

Edited (remixed/remastered) 2023-05-28 15:50 (UTC)

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.

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i said i knew what i wanted my tag to be because it is Very Simple

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DOPPIO IM SORRY

sickos dot jpeg

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