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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.
i said i knew what i wanted my tag to be because it is Very Simple
... You're not mad at me? [And then, unbidden:] I'm mad at me!
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[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.]
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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?
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[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.
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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.]
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[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.]
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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?]
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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...
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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...
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[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.
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[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.]
DOPPIO IM SORRY
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.
sickos dot jpeg
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]
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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.
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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.]
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[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?
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because) the general matter of Doppio's tendency to wander wasn't really the point.Not that kind of wandering, where he is distracted but still alert; rather, it's wherever he goes when the hours disappear - like this week apparently did.Though it sounds like despite any of that, in the end, he did fall victim to his usual failing: he left the Boss alone and terrified. It has him stepping forward to chase the Boss's withdrawing hand, even though its grip had been almost painful moments ago; ultimately, however, he doesn't let go of the laptop.
All he does is listen
- and not only because the change of subject is welcome -until it's more than evident that he needs to say something.]It's because you're kind. The... Struffoli thing, I mean. You want to find a good place for him because that's just the kind of guy you are.
Besides - [He hesitates, clenches his jaw, relents -] Okay, it's weird that you're working at a convenience store, but I'm pretty much a janitor! It doesn't mean... Yeah, Passione's gone, and that stings. I bet it stings even more for you, on top of... of everything else that happened. But... you're doing your best, right?
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[Diavolo huffs at the idea that it is kindness that drives him; the very thought makes him feel... shameful, if he must assign a word to it. Dedicating time and energy to the care and companionship of lesser creatures is Doppio's expertise. But as he protests the intention behind his actions, an unease settles deep within him. He was doomed from the moment he gave the thing a name. Perhaps that was the beginning of the end. He'd allowed himself to slip headfirst into mediocrity, and what does he have to show for it? Soiled clothes from surveying the stormy gardens and an ache in his body that only grows with each passing moment?
A king does not toil away in the fields like a peasant. The Diavolo of the past would not have fallen so far. He spent a lifetime spent outrunning every past weak iteration of himself, but now the ghost that haunts him relentlessly is the one who lived and thrived at home, worlds apart from him in capability and accomplishment. The Diavolo of the past would have delegated these tasks to someone more suited to the mundane by now — he would have any human working for him in an instant with only a twitch of his fingers and a shower of sparks. One with power such as his was born to command.
But here, his mind protests, he is nothing special. Chosen to change and grow, yes, but so were dozens more. So was the very person who brought him to ruin, and he was chosen first. It's an unhappy thought — one best driven out of his mind as quickly as possible. Pressing on, there is something in Doppio's soft reassurance that lingers in his mind and brings him turmoil.
He can't allow this to go on.]
And this is not my best. It can't be. Nothing about what I am doing here is acceptable. This sort of existence was... never meant to happen. Not to me.
[A wince as a surge of pain ripples through his body — and he carries on.]
I am... so much more. I could reach out and take what should rightfully be mine — I could forge myself again into the Boss you once knew. The only reason I haven't yet is— is...
[There's a piercing pain in his head, a growing pressure that he can't help but rub his fingers against. With eyes pressed tightly shut, he exhales slow and ragged. This blight, this disease wants him to speak. Like the flowers that ripped his secrets from him, now this has come to tear free what he kept inside then — the truths that he died for. He won't let it win.]
I could. I could. I'd make everything right once more, rid myself at last of the hesitance that grips at me and move us both forward towards a greater future. It should be so easy. I... can't be so lost. You can't look at me and truthfully claim that this could ever my best. You—
[You can't lie. Not without a struggle, and Doppio's words come out so easily. He opens his eyes, then, and reaches out, pulling one of Doppio's hands into both of his own. He can feel the chill of the hand, so small beneath his, but the cold won't last long beneath the pulse of heat and light. He needs to feel Doppio's answer — whether it be the harshness of a lie swelling beneath his skin, or the comfort of truth.]
Please tell me you don't truly think so little of me.
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The Boss demands an answer. It starts to spill from Doppio's mouth before he can think of what it ought to be.]
No! Boss, that's not it! I-- I thought... [He fumbles; he still doesn't have the words, and that's...] That's the problem! I-I'm just... I'm not good at this like you are! If it was the other way around, you'd be making me feel so much better, I just know it, but I don't know what to tell you!
[Those can't possibly have been the right words either, but there was no stopping them.]
Boss...
[His mouth hangs open. This time, he realises the words lingering on his tongue are those same three he tried to hide earlier. God fucking dammit, what good is a selfish declaration when all he wants to do is help the Boss feel better?]
I didn't mean you can't do better than that, [he tries again, his voice strained.] It's just... What you're doing now...
[Why is this so fucking hard? How does the Boss do it?]
Y... You've been through hell, Boss. You've seen and felt stuff that'd make anyone want to curl up and die. But... But you're here, and... you're trying. You're trying not to curl up and die.
[Not like this. He'd say it better. He'd make Doppio feel like he's earned his position in the world somehow. And that, he thinks, is what the Boss needs right now, but he doesn't know how to get there.]
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Trying — and failing.
[It would be so wonderful to shut himself away from the world, close his eyes and sink in to Doppio's every lingering word and believe him with his whole heart. The magic that grips him on him won't allow him this one small comfort. He's driven to refute every last point — he needs to, just as he needs to breathe.]
The end of Requiem was not the end of my dying. [Slowly, he recites:] Trish, beneath the waves. I struggled, but in the end, I knew there was no use in fighting. Cervo, when I was lost and alone. I begged. I knew struggling was pointless, and so I let him devour me. The parasitic flowers choked the life from me because I allowed them to — because I would rather embrace death than reveal that which I kept hidden. I curled up beside you and died in your arms when I could have confessed to you everything we were. It was... the safer option to keep you in the dark rather than risk losing everything. If I'd dared to tell you the truth and for my efforts woken up all alone...
[It doesn't matter. It didn't happen. Even worse than the malingering past are all the "what-ifs" that plague him. What if there was a world where everything went wrong, one where he fell so much further, loneliness and suffering stretching on into eternity? What if some chain of events led to a life of joy and triumph, if only he'd made the right decisions, if only he hadn't faltered when it mattered most? It's a cruel thought that digs at him, that somehow, some way, things could have been different.]
Mana's twisting of my words led to my transformation into a waldgeist — and when I woke up, stiff and sore and dead, I knew it was because of the way I had phrased my request. And though I cannot count all times I was forced to relive my past in that nightmare... I allowed that shade to put a stop to it, even if only briefly. A mercy killing, and I welcomed it openly. Knowing all of this, can you still say that I'm trying, Doppio? Five deaths that I can count as real — each of them my own fault. It could have been six, had I not escaped from that gargoyle with my life.
[And, with a slow breath, he's no longer driven by desperation. The headache subsides, the compulsion ebbs away, and he is left feeling empty in its absence. Exhausted to the core, he wants nothing more than to drop the topic for good and rest. But when he thinks of leaving it at this, another urge spikes within him — one last thought that he cannot let go of.
He leans himself forward, cautious in every movement, so keenly aware of the bulk of his horns, and he comes to rest his head against Doppio's shoulder. He doesn't have to speak loud to carry his voice, now; so close to Doppio's soft ears, there's no need for much more than a whisper. There's no risk of being overheard even as he confesses the most shameful of his weaknesses.]
But... you aren't entirely wrong. I have tried. Just once, I escaped. I fought with everything I had, and...
[Even now, his chest sometimes aches where those claws ripped through his flesh. For reasons of pride, he almost let himself bleed out then and there rather than allow that lich to come to his aid. But if he died that night, Doppio would be left alone without him, and...]
I want to fight. I want— to live. I know it's absurd for me to set my sights on something so low after everything I had once achieved. Truthfully, more than anything, I wish we could return to the past we shared. With greater foresight, we could set those miserable weeks right, and we would live the rest of our lives the way we were always meant to. But... I know that to be an impossibility.
[There are too many variables. Doppio is dead at home, and Diavolo is something far worse. Even with the powers of gods, there is no guarantee that anything could ever be right again.]
And so I've found myself hoping that — even if I can't always be with you — I might one day be able to carve out a place in this world that is mine. Somewhere with safety, comfort, happiness, warmth... all the things I need but cannot seem to find. That is what I try to achieve.
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It probably wouldn't do much good, anyway.
He does wonder what to tell him this time, how he can possibly make his words just work, because he can't let the Boss keep putting himself down - but then he realises he's not done.
Not only is he not done, he's on his shoulder now. And this time - though it isn't a compulsion in the same sense as that force demanding that they spill their truths - Doppio slips his hand free, so that he can reach up and place it on the back of the Boss's head.
When he finally says something, Doppio's voice is just as quiet as the Boss's.]
I've kinda... wanted that, too. I-I mean, I've thought about it, and... and I think it'd be nice. It's not like we have a place to go back to, so... so shouldn't we just make the most out of what we've got here?
[It doesn't really matter what that place is. It doesn't need to be Passione again, as long as it's theirs.]
And... I think this island's a nice start.
[... Wait. He slips his hand back into the Boss's - so he can tell it's true.]
I-I think it's a nice start. It's not like it was ours back home, but... it is now, right?
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Mm. It is ours to do with as we want. We... could not settle anywhere before we came here, so this is an opportunity to forge something new. You could decorate as you please — and change anything you like. I thought a garden might appeal to you... somewhere you can watch your creatures in comfort and privacy, without risk of being run over.
[He laughs softly into Doppio's shoulder. It kept him on his toes.]
All the things we never could have had in a life spent drifting across Italy. You don't remember having a home, do you? It was many years ago, and...
[And those days are perhaps best left in ashes.]
Is that... something you've ever longed for? Some stability, some place in the world that is yours?
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Mmhmm. You know I don't remember. [Sardinia, he assumes the Boss means. Something occurs to him -] It's weird--
[And he knows he didn't mean to say it out loud, but after some hesitation, Doppio decides to just go for it. It... shouldn't be that bad, he hopes - but more importantly, he'd rather not scare the Boss again.]
It's weird... knowing, but not remembering. I don't mind! [That's true, he thinks. If it weren't, he wouldn't have been able to say it, or his stomach would be trying to compress itself again, or whatever.] It's just kind of... wild.
[... Apparently, that's all there is to that thought. Part of him was afraid there would be more; he's not sure what, exactly, that could have been.]
But... Maybe that's why I never really cared about that kind of thing? Staying in one place, I mean. It's not like it was something I was used to. So... I was happy just going wherever you needed me to go.
[His voice grows quieter as his hand apparently tries to burrow further into the Boss's hold.]
I'd still do it, if you asked me to.
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Or if you do, at least allow me to come with you. The thought of you going somewhere on your own is... unnatural. [Alarming. He's sent Doppio out alone before, and, only weeks ago, Diavolo dashed off himself to prove some worthless point. It's an exercise in futility. Once separated, something always goes wrong.] Yes. If the need to travel arises, we will go together — as we should.
[If only saying that could make it true. He could promise a thousand times not to repeat the mistakes of the past and never to leave again, but how can he stay true to his word when the very world fights against him? It isn't always overconfidence that tears them apart. When things turn perilous, so often the first thing to go is Diavolo's mind, and fighting against instinct in that state is nigh impossible. The past has wormed himself into him, vicious and unrelenting, poisoning him and pushing him to the brink of madness.
(He's alone, he thinks, when he slips into the past. Doppio is not— cannot be real, with his gentle eyes and his caring words, so far removed from where he ought to be. He could only ever be an illusion, like everything else, meant to break him down, and he can't allow it to taint his memory. No wonder his first impulse is always to run.)
If he could cling any tighter, he would — carve himself close and stay there until all is right again, but he can't. So he leans in as close as he can — eternally too far apart — and sighs against Doppio's neck, and another terrible little thought slips free.]
I fear I may never get used to this. I don't understand how others live. Their entire lives spent alone... how did you ever manage without me?
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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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hey so. i'm sorry for this
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"yeah just uhhh kill me" "no NOT LIKE THAT"
today in tags that went in a specific direction on a whim
im also taking this on a whim
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made u wait. is this too intense a convo to be backdating? waves hands. its fine
it's fine!!!!!!! also suicidal ideation cw
is it normal to still have brainbees about stuff that happened years ago.like for me ya but DIAVOLO?
heeheehoohoohee
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