Hellooooo, world! Notice anything different about me? Heheheh....
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Whaaaat? You- you can't tell? But I dressed up extra cute to celebrate finally being able to use the camera again!
...snif... hic....
Do you reaaaally not know...?
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Sigh....
Sorry to throw a fit like that... I guess you haven't seen me in a while, so it's okay.
...it's my neckerchief. Sheila gave it to me...
Cute, isn't it? She said it was from her home planet. She hasn't always liked us as much as she does now, so I'm honored that she liked me enough to give me something of hers... and I miss her, so...
Well, I miss everyone. But I can't go ransacking their closets just because. That would be... against my programming. I've got to be helpful. And fun. And... other things. Good things.
Well, I guess throwing fits isn't in my programming either. But let's keep those between us, okay? I don't-
No, no, we're getting off topic.
Todaaaaay, I've been authorized to share the script of a scrapped comic the author was planning on making about Fugo's childhood! Technically, its not- well, you'll see, won't you?
Here goes!
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Narrator: My baby brother was born when I was eight.
Narrator: I still remember it distinctly. February 27, 1985. The maids took Alfie and I to a hospital room to go see our new sibling, and when we arrived, our father left the room with a look on his face. I can’t describe it. Still, I’ve never forgotten that face.
Narrator: That face was the beginning of the end.
Narrator: Alfie didn’t even notice. He’d been excited all day about the idea of a sibling- he was convinced we were getting a sister- and I guess maybe I wasn’t so into the idea because I’d already done the whole new brother thing. Alfie was the good kind of new brother. The kind that didn’t mess up the life I already had. Me, the prince of the house, and Alfie, some little tag along. He understood that he was beneath me.
Narrator: But the other one…
Narrator: Nonna and Nonno were already there. Nonna cradled my little brother in her arms, while Mother and Nonno argued about something.
Nonno (their grandfather): “I will not name my grandson after alcohol! Amaretto? Are you crazy, woman?”
Mom: “It’s a beautiful name, and it matches his brothers! I don’t think anyone will associate it with-”
Nonno: “No! A drunkard with a drunkard name is not worthy of my family title!”
Nurse: “Sir, please try not to get so riled up- you’ll stress out the new mother-”
Nonno: “Silence! She is a smart woman, she knows I’m right.”
Narrator: Alfie clutched my wrist tightly.
Alfie: “Toto… What’s happening…?”
Narrator: I should have known. He was causing trouble since the moment he was born.
Mom: “Ugh, fine! Then what do you suggest?”
Narrator: Nonno stopped to think. Nonna, smiling down into our little brother’s face, spoke up quietly.
Nonna: “Pannacotta. For his white hair.”
Mom: “Panna cotta…? That’s- Dolcezza, are you sure?”
Nonno: “I don’t see any problem with it. Pannacotta Amadeo Fugo. It’s an honorable name.”
Mom: “…”
Narrator: She glanced at the door, only just now seeming to notice us.
Mom: “How long have you two been there? Where’s your father?”
Narrator: Alfie hid behind me, so I was forced to speak up.
Affogato: “I don’t know.”
Narrator: Mom rolled her eyes.
Mom: “Well. Don’t you want to see your little brother? Come here.”
Narrator: I don’t think either of us were so sure about him anymore. But we both wandered closer to that little harbinger of destruction, and peered into Nonna’s arms.
Alfie: “Why is he so weird?”
Narrator: He didn’t look like any of us. He looked… well, it was like my brother said. Weird. And the moment I touched him, he began to scream, and scream, and wouldn’t stop until Nonna took him in her arms and sang quietly to him. All of the adults fussed over him, leaving Alfie and I to look at each other and wonder just what was going on.
Narrator: It was an omen of what was to come.
Narrator: That creature- that demon- had come to take everything from me.
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Narrator: Once Mother came home, that was when the nightmare began. Father wouldn’t speak to us. He spent all of his time locked up in his study. We used to hide from the maids after school, so that we could avoid doing schoolwork by spending time with our father. But now…
Alfie: “…when is Papa going to come and play with us?”
Affo: “What do I know? Leave me alone.”
Narrator: I had long since started to give up hope. I knew the moment I saw that face of his that things were going to change. I just didn’t expect… this.
Carla (Maid 1): “Boys! What are you doing here? You can’t-”
Narrator: Alfie hadn’t caught on yet.
Alfie: “When is Papa going to play with us? Carla, please tell him to come out!”
Carla: “I-”
Narrator: She glanced at the door, terrified.
Carla: “Your father is very busy, okay? Do you want me to play with you instead?”
Alfie: “No! I want Papa!”
Narrator: My brother began to cry. Carla pleaded with him, offering him anything she could, ice cream, a trip to the park, no homework- but none of it worked. He just kept crying and insisting.
Narrator: I remember just staring at that dark, oaken door, and feeling a churning, swelling heat build up inside of me. It was the baby’s fault. His fault. His fault. Our father didn’t want anything to do with us anymore because of him. What could I do? How could I get our father back? How could I break down this horrible dark door and force my way inside, force my father to be with us again, force things to be the way they were before?
Alfie: “Carla, tell him to come out! Tell him to come play with us!”
Carla: “Oh- please don’t cry- I- do you want your mother? I can get you your mother! Wouldn’t that make you happy?”
Alfie: “Nooo! I only want my Papa! Bring him, bring him!”
Narrator: My memories, once beloved, now filled me with scorching agony. Me, only me, sitting on my father’s lap, as he called me his pride and joy. My beautiful son. My perfect boy. I looked just like him. I was perfect. I was the right son. I was his prince, his heir, the ruler of the household. Whatever I demanded would appear. That was how it worked. That was how it always worked. Yet now…
Narrator: There was something I could not have. Something I wanted, more than anything.
Narrator: Papa, come out. Papa, let me be with you. Papa, don’t leave me behind this wicked door. Let me in. Love me like you always did. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair.
Narrator: I couldn’t help it.
Affogato: “Papa! Come out right now!”
Narrator: The maid screamed, and tried to summon our mother and other maids to tear us away. Alfredo was hauled off long ago. But I wouldn’t leave. I scratched, and bit, and tore. Whatever was necessary to make my father pay me what he owed, what I deserved.
Affogato: “You can’t stay in there forever! You have to come to me! You have to!”
Affogato: “I am your so-”
Narrator: And then… the door was opened.
Affogato: “Papa! Finally, you-”
Papa: “Get away from me, brat.”
Affogato: “…”
Narrator: They dragged me off to the nursery. Obviously, I was in a lot of trouble. Our nurse yelled at me, our mother yelled at me, the baby screamed. But I was numb to it all. The reality, the hopeless reality, of my situation had finally settled upon me.
Narrator: Our father didn’t want us anymore.
Narrator: I don’t remember how long I sat on my bed, staring at the wall. Alfredo eventually stopped crying, and came to me, to lay next to me and tremble. But he was just another reminder of what I no longer had. So I shoved him away, and he fell from the bed, and cried once more. He did not try to come near me again.
Narrator: I didn’t want him. I didn’t want anyone. I just wanted my father back. I just wanted that baby gone.
Narrator: I genuinely don’t remember having tried to kill it. But Mother says the maids told her I did. They told her they heard that freak screaming and ran to him, only to find me there, hitting him again and again with a little book, telling him that I hated him, I hated him, I hated him. Alfredo was huddled in the corner, quivering. Or so I was told.
Narrator: They moved me out of the nursery that day. Because I was too big, they said. But it was just to protect that little brat from me.
Narrator: Alfredo wouldn’t do anything to him because he was a coward, but I knew he felt the same.
Narrator: After all, when I was banned from the nursery, he was the one letting me in.
Narrator: He would stand in the corner, watching me, as I tormented our little brother. Nothing too bad. I would pinch his face, or twist his skin, or poke him, and whenever the maids came I would hide and Alfredo would go back to his bed and stare innocently at them.
Narrator: Why would they ever guess? I wasn’t allowed in, and Alfredo would never hurt anyone. The baby developed a reputation for false alarms, and eventually, they just stopped checking on him altogether. Months passed, and I was free to do whatever I wanted.
Narrator: In hindsight, I should have killed him then. But it had become too fun to watch him scream, knowing no one would come to save him.
Narrator: I would tell him things.
Affogato: “Our parents hate you. Did you know that? They don’t want you at all. Everyone was happier before you came around.”
Affogato: “Papa hates you. Mother hates you. We all hate you.”
Narrator: Alfie and I heard his first word. He could make sounds before that (obviously, his screaming was the worst thing about him), but Alfredo and I didn’t have any reason to think he was anything other than normal.
Pannacotta: “Haadyo. Aaah haaaado?”
Narrator: I hate you, said the brat. I went to hit him again, but Alfredo stopped me.
Affogato: “What?!”
Alfie: “He- he’s just copying. Don’t hit him.”
Affogato: “I don’t care if he’s copying me. I hate him.”
Alfie: “But he’ll tell on us! What are you going to do if he says “I hate you” to Mama or Papa? And if they find pain spots-”
Narrator: He meant bruises-
Alfie: “-on him, then we’re going to get in big trouble!”
Affogato: “Ha! They don’t care about him. He’s only a pile of trouble for everyone.”
Alfie: “…”
Narrator: He let go of my arm, and slipped back over to his corner, and sat down.
Alfie: “So are we.”
Narrator: Anger surged through me. How dare he lump me in with the worthless scum? Me? The heir of the house, the beloved of our father? I was not like them. I was not like them. How dare he?
Narrator: Alfie cried, and the baby cried, and I screamed and screamed and screamed. I hate you. You’re nobody. They love me, me, me. Only me. Only me!
Narrator: But no one came. Not for him, not for the baby, not for me.
Narrator: When the morning came, the maids were shocked to find me with my brothers. I told them I got lonely so Alfredo let me in. Alfredo knew better than to say anything.
Narrator: When the morning came, Pannacotta spoke again.
Narrator: At the time, I didn’t understand why the maids were in such a buzz over it. They kept asking Alfredo and I if we knew anything about it, and we both said no.
Pannacotta: “Aaaahdou. Waaahaado.”
Carla (Maid 1): “What is he trying to say?”
Blanca (Maid 2): “Water? Does he want water?”
Marianna (Maid 3): “Get his mother, quickly!”
Pannacotta: “Mmamaaadeeeh.”
Narrator: Our mother rushed in, maids spilling through the door after her. Blanca held our brother out to her.
Mom: “He spoke? But he’s so young!”
Blanca: “Listen, listen!”
Pannacotta: “Maadahaade oh.”
Narrator: Our mother was thrilled. She didn’t understand what he was really saying- Mother hates you- but she knew he said something with Mama in it, and of course, that was enough for her to take him into her arms and rush away.
Narrator: She hired people to come and teach him to speak better, and would tell anyone that would listen about her genius son who learned to speak at only four months old. And the baby would never shut up.
Narrator: If I hated him before, I hated him even more now. He got our mother- our cold, careless mother- to choose him over us. The only thing I had on my side was that Father still didn’t care for him. But I wasn’t worried.
Narrator: Soon, Father would pick me over them all.
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Ooooooooh! Spooky, right? I don't even know what to make of it!
Hope you enjoyed today's episode of Fun FGA Facts!
