As a scientist it was his responsibility to answer those odd questions that lingered at the back of the minds of all--even puppets. As the Doctor observed his subject ponder the question, the man walked over towards of his many cabinets, taking out a sharp set of pliers. He set the tool over his sink, washing it thoroughly as it to assure the already clean metal was glimmering and reflective. A single look over, and a dried towelette before he walked over to the puppet, moving over towards the cracked pieces of the Balladeer's knees. Shattered and in tatters.
" oh but you can die, can't you? "
An almost sickly sweet smile curled upwards on the corners of the Doctor's lips as he leaned over and stabbed the pliers closed into the shattered pieces. He dug in, with purpose yet a little too deep that might cause the puppet to convulse and twitch.
Strange how the god that designed this puppet still placed pain receptors all over the body. Or perhaps not so much--after all, he put pain into his own copies. What would cause a god to think differently?
" after all, you can be shattered to pieces, and even turned off, couldn't you? or would that simply be a temporary deactivation, i wonder? "
There was a moment where he kept the pliers in placed, before he squeezed at a piece and began to pull it out, slow and careful, atrociously painful.
" --and would you consider immortals to be alive? they are, after all, in capable of dying, by definition. "
Finally, he pulled out a chunk of something or another--damage that wasn't apart of his doll--and placed it on a table on the side. The Doctor let out a chuckle and placed the top of his hand below his chin, looking down at how much work he had to do before glancing over at the Balladeer with narrowed red irises.
" oh but how am i supposed to find you and fix you if i can't hear your screams of pain? you call for help? if i can't even track when you're in pain, hm? "