#speaktruly

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@speaktruly

arlecchino... you choose who for :3c / “You’re afraid of me, aren’t you?”

The tease is met with a scowl and a show of teeth. There's an attempt at standing up after being so easily thrown away, one that ends with him stumbling forward once more, groaning in pain and frustration as the taste of iron invaded his throat once more. A taste he got used to way too quickly, one that certainly the crazed puppet who dispatched of him so easily would appreciate.

"No."

P's voice might've been as strained as it could be, he could be saying an obvious lie, but the determination in his tone is still loud and clear. Using his blade to get up once more, again he stumbles back, quickly catching his footing as he points the very same weapon to Arlecchino - his eyes staring back at the other all the way through, refusing to back down. No matter how much that thing terrified him, no matter how many times he'd die fighting it or how many times it would come back with yet another weapon, Geppetto's devil was no quitter.

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@speaktruly

« What could be a more peaceful solution than you simply not resisting and allowing me to do what I must, mh? »

He almost believed they could've left that frozen hell without having to deal with a nuisance. He almost believed that he was done with Stalkers wanting him dead. He almost believed that Lumacchio was going to listen to reason, that they could've found a peaceful solution - one suggested more out of annoyance than genuine desire to avoid violence for once.

Annoyance, and the knowledge that somewhere, out there - beyond the leader of the Bastards -, Lea and Romeo are facing someone who, in this moment, is still considered a walking nightmare.

Straightening himself after being forced to duck to avoid a last minute explosion, P let out an angry sigh, reaching for his blade and giving Gemini a half-apologetic glance - one that was meant to tell him that he tried - before putting himself in position and rushing in, swinging his weapon at the other's chest. Peace was never an option, after all.

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@speaktruly ► Alidoro

L'Osteria del Gambero Rosso. A fancy name, almost playful, one that one time was synonym with happy laughs, drunken songs and games of cards held in the night. Now, just like the rest of the Malum district, a building in ruins, one that smelled like blood, old booze and mud, as humid inside as it was outside, under the seemingly endless rain.

According to the Cat and the Fox, it was empty. Mostly empty, anyway - other than the Stalkers and the Rabbits lurking around, Geppetto's puppet met nothing but living deads. Nothing worth liberating, so far. A decrepit part of town, one he couldn't imagine flourishing even if he tried.

So, as he walked in, he found himself genuinely surprised in seeing a man. A living one, at least according to the red sprouting from the small wounds around his body, one that seemed to have taken out a few Carcasses on his own yet was struggling against a particularly big one. Gemini would've commented that said beast could've been the red lobster that gave the name to the tavern, if he could; the puppet would've pointed out that it didn't look like the lobster on the sign at all, save for the claws. Of course, neither of them had the time: the second he saw a human, P already leaped from the balcony above, landing... more or less gracefully on the creature, sword first, digging it through its skull. It shrieked, moving left and right until it suddenly twirled on itself, sending the boy flying against a miraclously (previously) intact table, crashing down in an explosion of rotten wood and dry blood - the moon shining through a small window above pointing at him not unlike a stage light as he still got on his knees, taking aim with the Falcon Eye.

Kill first. Think later.

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@speaktruly -> P

In the heat of battle, the realization comes late. Blades clash, smaller one perfect against the bigger one, a kick to get the opponent away from him; the sword waves at his side, and he gives it a rapid sharpening. And there, in the midst of sparks and metal grinding against metal, he suddenly truly sees his opponent. His mind almost rejects the image as the blade swings away from his arm, and he finds himself just... staring at the other. Is he looking at a mirror...?

Swords clash suddenly and violently, the puppet barely having the time to raise the sawblade to interject the attack coming from the side. He has but a second to try and hold his position, not enough to actually keep it before being literally kicked away, stumbling back but still remaining on his feet, and-

--and blink, surprised, at the sight of his aggressor. Recognizing himself -- well, himself before he let his hair grow longer, anyway. A ghost from his past, attacking him out of the blue.

…scary?

A bit. Yeah. Positively disturbing.

The other puppet stays still, anyway, and so does P, not without obvious tension; the grip on his blade tightens as he lifts it on his side, ready to attack if the other does the same.

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@speaktruly

Debris fly everywhere as Laxasia lands where Lumacchio was standing just a mere moment before. It takes a handful of seconds before his figure returns visible: just a few meters away, waving away the dust around himself, the umbrella opened over the head to protect himself from the few rocks still falling from above. « I say, » he can't but comment, with a quite annoyed tone. « trying to ambush me? Me? You are getting more and more rude by the day, my dear. »

He's annoyingly slippery. Laxasia knows that the leader of the Bastards didn't get his position as either a high ranking Stalker or as one of Simon's favorite attack dogs because of luck or money, but that didn't make this any less frustrating.

No, there's no frustration. She's above that, after all: she's supposed to be the next step of evolution, and he's nothing but a pest who avoided his rightful punishment for nothing but a mistake nobody could've predicted.

Perhaps he has banther in mind. The Stalker always had quite a sharp tongue, after all - an annoyingly charismatic fellow, who could buy his way out of every situation if necessary. A liar with more class than most. And to achieve Simon's dream to create a world with no lies, this means that he needs to be eliminated.

If he wants to speak, Laxasia doesn't give him the time: as soon as the dust dissipates she raises her sword, pointing it at the sky before slamming it on the ground, watch it crack and create lightnings directed towards the man.

She won't disappoint sir Manus.

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@speaktruly

Pinocchio taps on his cage's metal rooftop - his usual way of asking him to turn on his light, or to ask for a talk. Gemini is always glad to reply to that signal; but this time, his head remains low, antennae flickering for a moment as the only indication that he heard his friend. He stays sit on his small chair, the legs bent to the chest, arms hugging them much tighter than he realizes. « Sorry, pal... » he murmurs, because staying completely silent seems to him so much worse than talking. Unpolite, even. Is it even the case now, to talk about being polite...?! « I don't feel like talking right now... »

He couldn't move. P knows he should hurry up, that his father is in danger, that every second spent there, sitting in front of the chair where Sophia sat, decayed, for the Angel knows how long, was a second more for Simon to use the arm of God and complete his plan. He knows it.

And yet, the puppet, if he could even be considered one at this point, couldn't move. Legion's hand lies on hi side after calling for Gemini, begging for a distraction that doesn't come, the other holds tight onto what remained Sophia's Ergo now pumping in his artificial veins, the empty crystal cold in his hand.

Cold. It's cold. He feels the cold, in the same way he feels confusion, sadness, anger, grief. So, so much grief. The realization of Romeo's true intentions, Antonia's death, Sophia's last request, everything happened too fast, too soon.

It hurts so much. Just now he understands Belle's words, and he can't even shed a tear to release all that anguish.

Unknowingly mirroring Gemini's pose, Pinocchio blinks, slowly, tiredly. He's so tired, too. So hurt.

"Not even a bit…?"

His voice is still distant, and yet filled with emotions. For someone who finally learned what joy was thanks to the test subject he saved, it sure is hard to feel even just a hint of it.

"This is what she wanted. And yet…"

He squeezes the crystal, with the feeling that if he did so with the mechanical hand he would've easily broken it.

Is Geppetto's puppet-- is Geppetto's boy a killer?

Yes he is. He killed so many people, at first not knowing what murder was, then to defend himself. Sophia, Parrot, in a sense Antonia too since her life shortened for his own choices… that was different. That was murder.

"…I feel sad."

What a curse, having fear, anger and sadness being the first emotions he could fully comprehend.

What a curse, being the devil's puppet, having his strings in the hand of the man who caused all of this. What a curse.

What a curse.

"…sorry." his head lowered, arms clinging on his legs, he hid behind his knees. Begging to cry. Begging to release the pain. "You don't want to talk." he repeats, not mockingly, but just for the sake of keep talking, anyway "Sorry."

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@speaktruly -> red fox and black cat

« You seem like you need a hand. ». She smirks behind the mask, looking down at the poor boy. Her brother leans from behind her, barely holding a chuckle. « Or two! » he exclaims, and sits beside her. They exchange a glance (well... he pretends to), then down again at the puppet. « Do you want some help? »

Laying down, arms and legs wide open as he's busy letting out the umpteenth temper tantrum of the day, the puppet simply sighs loudly at the two Stalkers' words at first, squinting ever so slightly to glare at them, sitting calmly on the roof above him instead of dealing with the mud and the blood and the puddles on the ground where he's currently lying, against Gemini's wishes.

He just... stares. A little annoyed, actually. He likes the Fox and the Cat, they can be fun to have around, but the more times he gets his arms ripped off of his body, the more he thinks that they should stop playing games with him and actually help him.

"Yes."

Loud and clear, still from the floor. We're getting desperate, folks.

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@speaktruly -> Gemini

« Uhm, miss Eugénie? ». Gemini waves a small hand in the air, making sure she knows about his presence before making a jump to get on her workbench. He doesn't want her to get scared! Or to instinctually hit him with a hammer, it... wouldn't be very pleasing. « Hello! I was wondering if, uh, I might... ask your help, for a little project? »

Oh, thank heavens he spoke! She wouldn't have risked making a hole on her workbench by using a hammer, maybe, but the sight of such a huge bug would've certainly made her take out a shoe and try to do the same… especially since she was deep into her own work, a little too distracted to notice him until the last minute.

"Oh hi, Gemini!" she smiles, putting away what remained of the umpteenth sword broken by P "What is it? I have some time."

Hopefully he didn't want to ask her for a comically small sword again. She would love to try and make it, of course, but the idea of him jumping around and try and fight Carcasses and frenzied puppets on his own, as adorable as it could be, was... Troublesome.