P-gio - P.Gio

Boy has puppy eyes.

The human heart was designed for torment, and the mind for disease. But what of mine? Will I succumb to the same fate? 🎭🦋

My beloved 🤎

The sound of muffled sobbing drew me to a bright, rainy windowpane, where a weeping woman hid herself behind a curtain. On broken breath she begged me to retrieve her baby for her, her cries growing in their violence while she told of the night her family had cruelly taken her daughter away. I nodded to her shadowed form and agreed to the task, hoping to spare her some of those bitter tears.

I set out to search near city hall as she instructed, the gears in my core quickened their turns at the puppets I found stalking the courtyard. Following an odd sense of urgency I dispatched them within a minutes time, the thought that I’d arrived too late to save her child from the gruesome ends the other humans had met loomed at the forefront of my mind.

Then, a flash of lightning exposed a fallen stroller close to a garden bush, and a small humanoid shape caught my eye amongst the wreckage. As I neared, there was something that could only be described as ‘fear’ in me, it gave a tremble to my fingers and I lost the grip around the sword I held, digging my fingernails into my empty palm without it there to stop me until a clearer picture came into view. My eyes narrowed at the discovery that was more welcome, but less expected.

No blood, no ivory bones stripped of their flesh. Tipped over onto the cold ground and halfway pulled from wet, lacy blankets…lay a plastic doll. The rain dripped into its painted blue eyes that reminded me briefly of my own, spilling down its expressionless face when another drop fell and caused an overflow.

Could this be her child? The way she had spoken of it implied it was real, did someone take the child and leave a doll as its trade? There were no other children here, anything once alive was long since slaughtered by mindless puppets and the consequent litter of remains consisted of adult humans.

I bit the inside of my lip as I pondered what next I should do. I didn’t want to disappoint the woman, although I stood alone her sobs returned to my ears and I made a choice then, this would be better than to leave with nothing. Gathering it up carefully, I pulled a damp blanket from the least sodden part of the stroller and tucked it tight around the dolls body. With it secure and warm like a real baby should be, I carried it back to the rainy window, still unsure if I had found the right one.

To my surprise, when the woman parted the curtains she looked relieved, crying tears of joy instead of sadness as she took it from my arms. “Thank you, kind one, my sweet Elena has come back to me, isn’t she beautiful?” The woman asked as she gazed at Elena with a fondness in her smile, petting the unmoving child with shaking, grey colored hands.

Though confused, I felt it wrong to inform her that this was only a doll, it seemed of such great importance to her.

So…I lied, “Yes, she is beautiful.”

The woman’s smile widened at my deceptive answer, stretching the bluish scales at her cheeks. She began to rock Elena back and forth, humming a tune in a wavery voice. I felt a strange pressure lift from my chest once her tears dried on her ashen face, as if I’d been weighed down by the small drops of water somehow.

Perplexity came forward to ensure my steps remained heavy and I left the window more troubled than when I’d happened upon it. The human woman clearly loved Elena despite that she wasn’t real. She was only a doll, much like me. The baby didn’t eat, didn’t breathe, didn’t smile, just like me. And yet the woman cared for her all the same.

How curious that someone could show affection so pure to inanimate beings, to love them as if they were the same as them.

I wonder of the difference in outcome should I have told her the truth, but the relief in her eyes appeared a rare gift to her. This time lying hadn’t been a necessity, not like the lie given to the doorman at hotel Krat that tricked him to let me in. I believe this lie was told as an act of kindness, and while I searched for it, I couldn’t find a trace of harm in that. 🎭🦋

//I just really liked this part of the game and wanted to write a scene from his pov, P is both a murder machine and a sweetheart.

I just really like this blurry shot of him in the trailer. 🎭

It had to be done. The masked man was given enough warning that he wouldn’t be permitted to harm Geppetto, sadly, warnings are not always considered.

The blood felt wrong on Pinocchio’s hands, viscous and warm before it began to cool in September’s night air. Made all the more unpleasant by the unease sinking into the pit of his gut like a jagged stone the longer he looked at it.

It’d never occurred to him that he might be required to end the life of a human in his quest to save the city of Krat, but it seems some have gone as mad as the barbarous puppets they so fiercely abhorred. No different in the ways they preyed upon innocents, therefore no different in the way they must be dealt with. However…

Killing humans, that is what the frenzied ones do. He isn’t like them, is he? Surely not, his actions were based in reason and he’d taken the steps to ensure they were a last resort, but his appearance after winning that fight diluted the sweetness of justice, smearing a film of acrid uncertainty to coat his tongue.

Bespattered with an iron scented crimson…Pinocchio appeared disconcertingly similar to those monsters responsible for the matching color on every brick and stone that was set in Krat, much of which he’d gotten an eyeful on the way to his fathers rescue.

Geppetto’s pride and gratitude as he stepped from his hiding place in the carriage made a grand try to relieve him of a smidgen of wrongness, as did the elder inventor’s certainty that should he have spared the man’s life there was little likelihood of the favor being returned to either of them. It was imperative he be subdued, and if Pinocchio had stopped after beating him within an inch, the brutality of the man’s death wouldn’t have been any less when left to be finished off by something else.

Pinocchio had granted the masked maniac the only mercy he’d allowed.

The puppet wanted to take the reassurance to heart, he really did, but the blood has since dried to a tight, itchy crust, different from the lasting slick of machine oil that typically covered him after he’s felled one of his own kind. And there was an unrest amongst the thoughts that brought to him, no longer calm and indifferent like they were after defeating the others.

He knew he didn’t like the blood on his skin, but lacked the comprehension to decipher whether that was limited to the physical aspect, and he’d yet to gain the emotional depth vital in telling if he felt strongly enough to consider it an active dislike. What a struggle to be so new to one’s emotions, so inexperienced in the ways of being, at least partially, a living thing.

Pinocchio lead his father back to hotel Krat with an ultimate understanding that disquiet wouldn’t stay a stranger.

Try as he did to pin the events of tonight as a necessary evil, throughout the return his mind forbade any stillness around the discomforting sensation on his hands, and most importantly, what it represented of him. 🎭🦋

// I have never enjoyed an exploration of any character’s psyche more than this one’s.