[ He may have given his father-slash-creator a headache very nearly barging out of his office stripped to the waist following maintenance, once, and been given a lecture about propriety.
The lesson hasn't stuck. ]
But they are.
[ Besides the flat little circles of sealed foil packages, those are the only pieces of clothing he's been able to locate in this matchbox of a bedroom. Making the choice himself, he starts pulling on the white one, the hem of which falls just shy of mid-thigh. Better than nothing? Actually, no, nothing was probably better.
He turns his head sharply. ] I hear voices beyond the door. Perhaps they'll know what's happening. [ Holding out the remaining black shirt to her, he nods, serious despite how ridiculous their situation is becoming. ] Come on.
[ If it's any consolation, there's potentially a yellow Casino-branded tracksuit or robe in their future, after the staff usher them off to get cleaned up, that is. Which will eventually lead the pair of them (and many more confused people) to other questions, like who made reservations for them at a casino, let alone got them there without them knowing. ]
[ She winces. There is no way he is doing this to be annoying. ]
Wait, wait, switch with me, please.
[ Except at least on her the black shirt looks like a joke. On him, it could invite-- She's bright red. ]
Nevermind. Is there anything for the bottom?
[ She turns her back to him and pulls the shirt on. It's huge, which isn't the worst thing, but she's tempted to put the robe back on over it. She presses past the boy, digging in the bag. Containers of...very tight shorts that may as well be underwear. It's still better than nothing. She hands him one and gets the other out before shimmying them on. ]
We need to stick close together, if this is what this place is leaving out for us. [ Her voice is a lot tighter. ] If anyone tries to touch you, assume they're hostile. [ She looks at that arm again, and thinks of Barrett. ] So we try to leave or stun them, okay? Hopefully this is just a mistake.
[ She holds her hand out for him. It might help, to look together, and she doesn't want him to wander off. ] I'm glad we aren't doing this alone.
[ They're both from different cultural backgrounds dealing with circumstances that are quite extraordinary; in his, small clothes or underwear are more like long johns in hers, and so he doesn't recognize the abbreviated, folded-up fabric lying at the bottom of the basket as clothing. He would be, on some level, appalled to realize he could be annoying someone in his earnestness to be helpful.
Fortunately, he has ended up in the company of a most charitable human. Following her lead, he steps into and pulls up the snug, abbreviated shorts, with a small wrinkle between his thick eyebrows that suggests volumes of his own, understated confusion.
Pinocchio turns to her a piercing, but not unsympathetic stare. ] You're worried. [ His gaze searches hers, distantly concerned, while his metal fingers splay over the door behind him without opening it. ] Do you think we're in danger?
[ Stun them, she instructs. She has no idea how vital that guidance is. Where Pinocchio is from, danger is best stopped in the most final and fatal of exercises of force.
The puppet looks at her offered hand, unsure of what to do with it. ]
...But you're not afraid of me. [ Pinocchio lifts his eyes from her hand. ] Why?
[ Yeah, she doesn't love how revealing these are either, but it's better than being ass-naked.
Though, based on how he's staring at her -- again, her heart sinking as it reminds her of Cloud -- he's more confused than upset. Even the way he seems unsure what to do with friendly touch feels like her childhood friend, and for a moment her calm mask threatens to break.
Were the others here, or was it just her, alone again?
She drops her hand, crossing her arms over her chest. Embarrassment, rejection. The memory of months and months alone in the city. ]
Should I be? My friends are all dangerous, but they wouldn't hurt me. You seem that way too.
[ And she can hold her own, but he doesn't need to know that. He's heavy; his arm is metal. If she does need to get away, surprise is something she wants on her side. ]
But yeah. I think anyone powerful enough to bring us here, sedate us, undress us, and make these watches is dangerous.
[ Surprised, Pinocchio lifts his chin, his dark eyebrows lift, and his mouth parts slightly. Maybe he's seeing something that isn't there — that someone who seems so gentle can call her friends dangerous, but without fear, like she accepts these friends not for what they can do for her but despite the things he expects others to view as flaws.
Even if there are other things she has said that bring with them new knowledge and new questions (so this thing on his wrist is a watch, though it's unlike any he's ever seen), he realizes he's holding the unique circumstances of Krat against someone who has never heard of it. It isn't fair to her, he thinks.
They've met under extraordinary circumstances. Pinocchio can't guess why anyone or anything would kidnap people from entirely disparate places, take from them everything they have (or in the case of his arm, almost everything), only to give them a warm bed, a roof over their heads, and a basket of strange gifts. It's clear to him that Tifa is adding these up to the suspicion that it's nothing good, and he is grateful for her caution.
The wariness that had sharpened his scrutiny softens. He lifts his hand and, after a moment, turns it over to offer his palm to her. A soul kind enough to think of her friends even in a frightening situation is someone he believes can put his trust in. ]
I suppose not. I don't want to hurt anyone. [ Not even when the circumstances demand violence. Only once was a single-mindedly vengeful act — one that did nothing to balm his heart — mark an instance when he wanted nothing more than to kill. ]
[ She squeezes her arms tighter, looking at her feet, mouth pressed together.
If it would help, she could have his hand.
How is this happening? How is she in this situation again, an ignorant little girl while everyone else knows what to do? How is she showing how vulnerable and needy she is when she's trying to be the one helping.
But. She doesn't want to be alone. At all. Not again. Not after having finally had people to depend on. Not after losing Biggs and Jessie and the bar and...
She makes an effort to relax her shoulders, look up and smile -- hollow as it feels -- but she does reach out to take his hand. She wishes she'd taken Cloud's or Aerith's the million times she'd wanted to. Now she might not ever be able to.
She can't think like that. But she's going to let herself have a little weakness right now. She squeezes P's hand, his fingers warm and real. She really wants a hug, but, that's weird to ask. ]
We don't have to hurt anyone. [ She's assuring herself as much as him. ] If we have to stun them, I can do it, okay?
[ Even if the power in him reverses his condition to the last moment he was whole when he succumbs to too much damage, he remembers the hundreds of times he's been shattered and broken. Although he sees no cracks, no blood, and nothing appears to be broken, the way Tifa holds herself reminds him of one such moment.
How cold the rain, the cobblestone beneath him. His body — cracked and split in too many places — could no longer support its weight, let alone a weapon. He'd never questioned how long a puppet could leak oil before its systems started to seize. He learned that day it takes a very long time. There was little use in crying out because no one could hear him who'd want to help. No good could come of complaining since Gemini would only worry more than he was already. The cricket guide chirped from his lamp words of encouragement and sympathy. Although it was kind, what the puppet wanted more than anything was to feel his father's hands on his shoulders. It didn't matter that Geppetto only did it when he wanted something.
Pinocchio doesn't want anything of Tifa. She has folded in on herself and it seems like a posture as lonely as he'd felt at that time. Moved to comfort her, his metal hand leaves the door and settles over the back of her hand, the other fingers closing carefully around hers as if cradling something precious.
She is gentle. Thinks of others first even when the situation seems perilous. Following a silent nod, he releases her hand to close his over the slopes of her shoulders. ]
Yes. [ He looks terribly serious as he says: ] We needn't search or fight as though we are alone. Are you ready?
[ She would argue she hasn't been through anything close to that, but Pinocchio would be right; has she not had herself pushed to breaking, her heart shattered a thousand times, and every time, it bring up the memory of who she was, who she should have been?
She worries now, as she has before, if this is the time that finally breaks her. What if she can't pick herself up this time? What if she doesn't want to again? She's so tired, and everything she builds gets taken away.
So that hand is like an anchor. It's real. It's warm. It's kind. If that keeps her moving right now, then she'll keep it close.
It still makes her self-conscious when he cradles her hand in both of his. It doesn't matter that it's metal; the touch is gentle and reverent.
And then he's put them on her shoulders. She blinks, startled, and for a moment is tempted to just crumple into him, let the tears come -- for Sector 7, for Shinra's bullshit, for whatever they'd done to Cloud and Aerith and Red -- and hug him.
But he's talking about fighting again. She nods. She needs to be strong for both of them. ]
Yeah. Come on.
[ She opens the door, holding it for him. Nothing but a long hall. Thick carpet, sconces on the walls. A hotel, she thinks. They pass someone else in a shirt like theirs, but she doesn't stop to ask questions, not yet. A second pair is dressed in golden tracksuits, their eyes undeniably checking out either her or P's or both their legs and assets. ]
Well, they aren't keeping us on a tight leash. No security so far.
[ It's brighter here than he's used to. Bright like it was in the light of the Stargazer in the lobby of Hotel Krat, like the opulent Opera House, all white marble and gold gilding. The floor feels soft under his feet, the carpeting smothering the sounds of their footsteps.
Pinocchio is curious about everything and everyone they pass, but in an abundance of caution, keeps it to glances, only holding the gazes of those who take the time to appraise them in an unconscious challenge. No one carries a weapon. Nobody tries to start a fight. His hand sits dry against hers despite the palpable tension.
Someone else — a staff member, emerges in the hallway and sprints down it past them, where he encounters another wearing a similar outfit. They hurriedly exchange words and begin making their way back up the hallway.
Warily, the puppet leans into Tifa to whisper, watching the pair proceed. ]
What say we follow them?
[ They seem like they've got somewhere to be and while he doesn't recognize what they're wearing as an indication that they 'belong here', their sense of urgency has piqued his interest. ]
[ She notices the staff too. Agitated. But surprised. Something's going on they don't know about either, and she's not sure if that makes her feel better or more anxious.
Pinocchio looks to her for...what? Leadership? Permission? Who is she, a voice whispers, to make decisions for others. It's not like her life has gone anywhere good.
Stop it. She can't think like that.
She nods, as much to clear her head as to answer. ]
I think that's a good idea.
[ She keeps her hand firmly in his, determined to walk down the hallway and not give into the panic screaming at her to run, to cry, to --
No. Calm. Breathe.
They round a bend and see two more employees, one with a linen bin. Okay. Definitely a hotel. That's...something. ]
[ Concurrence. They are equals here, she should be as much a part of the decision on their next course of action as he is. Satisfied with her nod, he continues with her down the hallway, his stride as regular as a metronome.
The hallway curves around a bend. He finds it disorienting, perhaps because he's only accustomed to spiral staircases doing something like this, and the effect with floor-to-ceiling walls and matching carpets is alien and confusing.
He had seen a similar bin when Polendina was doing something with the hotel rooms, back at Krat. Turndown service, he had said. It's worth his curiosity anyway, but it's Tifa who commands it.
Glancing aside at Tifa, the puppet wonders if he's only projecting his tension onto her, or if she's trying to be brave, too.
A high-strung voice impatiently breaks his concentration: You two mind moving it along?
The staffer sighs when Pinocchio's blank expression is his only forthcoming answer. He waves them down the hall.
Keep going that way and get cleaned up. We're on a tight schedule!
The puppet doesn't speak again until he's sure they're out of earshot, and even then, at a whisper: ]
[ She should have said something, should have asked, but her throat had closed up, her mind wanting to reject that this was happening, and before she'd gotten ahold of herself, they'd been shooed down the hall.
Answering his question is easier than thinking about herself. And maybe if they can come up with a plan, she can follow that. ]
I think we're in a hotel.
[ A really big, fancy hotel, dealing with a sudden influx of guests. ]
We should ask the next ones we see.
[ It isn't long, and this time she squares her shoulders. Before she gets three words out, though, they shoo her.
Go meet in the lobby with the others. The hotel is working on it -- you should have food and clothing vouchers on your watch. ]
Something tells me they don't completely know what's going on either.
[ And that leaves a very chilled feeling in her stomach. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sonicstriker) wrote2021-12-23 02:02 pm
no subject
The lesson hasn't stuck. ]
But they are.
[ Besides the flat little circles of sealed foil packages, those are the only pieces of clothing he's been able to locate in this matchbox of a bedroom. Making the choice himself, he starts pulling on the white one, the hem of which falls just shy of mid-thigh. Better than nothing?
Actually, no, nothing was probably better.He turns his head sharply. ] I hear voices beyond the door. Perhaps they'll know what's happening. [ Holding out the remaining black shirt to her, he nods, serious despite how ridiculous their situation is becoming. ] Come on.
[ If it's any consolation, there's potentially a yellow Casino-branded tracksuit or robe in their future, after the staff usher them off to get cleaned up, that is. Which will eventually lead the pair of them (and many more confused people) to other questions, like who made reservations for them at a casino, let alone got them there without them knowing. ]
no subject
Wait, wait, switch with me, please.
[ Except at least on her the black shirt looks like a joke. On him, it could invite-- She's bright red. ]
Nevermind. Is there anything for the bottom?
[ She turns her back to him and pulls the shirt on. It's huge, which isn't the worst thing, but she's tempted to put the robe back on over it. She presses past the boy, digging in the bag. Containers of...very tight shorts that may as well be underwear. It's still better than nothing. She hands him one and gets the other out before shimmying them on. ]
We need to stick close together, if this is what this place is leaving out for us. [ Her voice is a lot tighter. ] If anyone tries to touch you, assume they're hostile. [ She looks at that arm again, and thinks of Barrett. ] So we try to leave or stun them, okay? Hopefully this is just a mistake.
[ She holds her hand out for him. It might help, to look together, and she doesn't want him to wander off. ] I'm glad we aren't doing this alone.
no subject
Fortunately, he has ended up in the company of a most charitable human. Following her lead, he steps into and pulls up the snug, abbreviated shorts, with a small wrinkle between his thick eyebrows that suggests volumes of his own, understated confusion.
Pinocchio turns to her a piercing, but not unsympathetic stare. ] You're worried. [ His gaze searches hers, distantly concerned, while his metal fingers splay over the door behind him without opening it. ] Do you think we're in danger?
[ Stun them, she instructs. She has no idea how vital that guidance is. Where Pinocchio is from, danger is best stopped in the most final and fatal of exercises of force.
The puppet looks at her offered hand, unsure of what to do with it. ]
...But you're not afraid of me. [ Pinocchio lifts his eyes from her hand. ] Why?
no subject
Though, based on how he's staring at her -- again, her heart sinking as it reminds her of Cloud -- he's more confused than upset. Even the way he seems unsure what to do with friendly touch feels like her childhood friend, and for a moment her calm mask threatens to break.
Were the others here, or was it just her, alone again?
She drops her hand, crossing her arms over her chest. Embarrassment, rejection. The memory of months and months alone in the city. ]
Should I be? My friends are all dangerous, but they wouldn't hurt me. You seem that way too.
[ And she can hold her own, but he doesn't need to know that. He's heavy; his arm is metal. If she does need to get away, surprise is something she wants on her side. ]
But yeah. I think anyone powerful enough to bring us here, sedate us, undress us, and make these watches is dangerous.
no subject
Even if there are other things she has said that bring with them new knowledge and new questions (so this thing on his wrist is a watch, though it's unlike any he's ever seen), he realizes he's holding the unique circumstances of Krat against someone who has never heard of it. It isn't fair to her, he thinks.
They've met under extraordinary circumstances. Pinocchio can't guess why anyone or anything would kidnap people from entirely disparate places, take from them everything they have (or in the case of his arm, almost everything), only to give them a warm bed, a roof over their heads, and a basket of strange gifts. It's clear to him that Tifa is adding these up to the suspicion that it's nothing good, and he is grateful for her caution.
The wariness that had sharpened his scrutiny softens. He lifts his hand and, after a moment, turns it over to offer his palm to her. A soul kind enough to think of her friends even in a frightening situation is someone he believes can put his trust in. ]
I suppose not. I don't want to hurt anyone. [ Not even when the circumstances demand violence. Only once was a single-mindedly vengeful act — one that did nothing to balm his heart — mark an instance when he wanted nothing more than to kill. ]
If it will help, please take my hand.
no subject
If it would help, she could have his hand.
How is this happening? How is she in this situation again, an ignorant little girl while everyone else knows what to do? How is she showing how vulnerable and needy she is when she's trying to be the one helping.
But. She doesn't want to be alone. At all. Not again. Not after having finally had people to depend on. Not after losing Biggs and Jessie and the bar and...
She makes an effort to relax her shoulders, look up and smile -- hollow as it feels -- but she does reach out to take his hand. She wishes she'd taken Cloud's or Aerith's the million times she'd wanted to. Now she might not ever be able to.
She can't think like that. But she's going to let herself have a little weakness right now. She squeezes P's hand, his fingers warm and real. She really wants a hug, but, that's weird to ask. ]
We don't have to hurt anyone. [ She's assuring herself as much as him. ] If we have to stun them, I can do it, okay?
cw: mention of death
How cold the rain, the cobblestone beneath him. His body — cracked and split in too many places — could no longer support its weight, let alone a weapon. He'd never questioned how long a puppet could leak oil before its systems started to seize. He learned that day it takes a very long time. There was little use in crying out because no one could hear him who'd want to help. No good could come of complaining since Gemini would only worry more than he was already. The cricket guide chirped from his lamp words of encouragement and sympathy. Although it was kind, what the puppet wanted more than anything was to feel his father's hands on his shoulders. It didn't matter that Geppetto only did it when he wanted something.
Pinocchio doesn't want anything of Tifa. She has folded in on herself and it seems like a posture as lonely as he'd felt at that time. Moved to comfort her, his metal hand leaves the door and settles over the back of her hand, the other fingers closing carefully around hers as if cradling something precious.
She is gentle. Thinks of others first even when the situation seems perilous. Following a silent nod, he releases her hand to close his over the slopes of her shoulders. ]
Yes. [ He looks terribly serious as he says: ] We needn't search or fight as though we are alone. Are you ready?
no subject
She worries now, as she has before, if this is the time that finally breaks her. What if she can't pick herself up this time? What if she doesn't want to again? She's so tired, and everything she builds gets taken away.
So that hand is like an anchor. It's real. It's warm. It's kind. If that keeps her moving right now, then she'll keep it close.
It still makes her self-conscious when he cradles her hand in both of his. It doesn't matter that it's metal; the touch is gentle and reverent.
And then he's put them on her shoulders. She blinks, startled, and for a moment is tempted to just crumple into him, let the tears come -- for Sector 7, for Shinra's bullshit, for whatever they'd done to Cloud and Aerith and Red -- and hug him.
But he's talking about fighting again. She nods. She needs to be strong for both of them. ]
Yeah. Come on.
[ She opens the door, holding it for him. Nothing but a long hall. Thick carpet, sconces on the walls. A hotel, she thinks. They pass someone else in a shirt like theirs, but she doesn't stop to ask questions, not yet. A second pair is dressed in golden tracksuits, their eyes undeniably checking out either her or P's or both their legs and assets. ]
Well, they aren't keeping us on a tight leash. No security so far.
no subject
Pinocchio is curious about everything and everyone they pass, but in an abundance of caution, keeps it to glances, only holding the gazes of those who take the time to appraise them in an unconscious challenge. No one carries a weapon. Nobody tries to start a fight. His hand sits dry against hers despite the palpable tension.
Someone else — a staff member, emerges in the hallway and sprints down it past them, where he encounters another wearing a similar outfit. They hurriedly exchange words and begin making their way back up the hallway.
Warily, the puppet leans into Tifa to whisper, watching the pair proceed. ]
What say we follow them?
[ They seem like they've got somewhere to be and while he doesn't recognize what they're wearing as an indication that they 'belong here', their sense of urgency has piqued his interest. ]
alright post holiday tagging resumes
Pinocchio looks to her for...what? Leadership? Permission? Who is she, a voice whispers, to make decisions for others. It's not like her life has gone anywhere good.
Stop it. She can't think like that.
She nods, as much to clear her head as to answer. ]
I think that's a good idea.
[ She keeps her hand firmly in his, determined to walk down the hallway and not give into the panic screaming at her to run, to cry, to --
No. Calm. Breathe.
They round a bend and see two more employees, one with a linen bin. Okay. Definitely a hotel. That's...something. ]
happy new year!
The hallway curves around a bend. He finds it disorienting, perhaps because he's only accustomed to spiral staircases doing something like this, and the effect with floor-to-ceiling walls and matching carpets is alien and confusing.
He had seen a similar bin when Polendina was doing something with the hotel rooms, back at Krat. Turndown service, he had said. It's worth his curiosity anyway, but it's Tifa who commands it.
Glancing aside at Tifa, the puppet wonders if he's only projecting his tension onto her, or if she's trying to be brave, too.
A high-strung voice impatiently breaks his concentration: You two mind moving it along?
The staffer sighs when Pinocchio's blank expression is his only forthcoming answer. He waves them down the hall.
Keep going that way and get cleaned up. We're on a tight schedule!
The puppet doesn't speak again until he's sure they're out of earshot, and even then, at a whisper: ]
Cleaned up..?
Re: happy new year!
Answering his question is easier than thinking about herself. And maybe if they can come up with a plan, she can follow that. ]
I think we're in a hotel.
[ A really big, fancy hotel, dealing with a sudden influx of guests. ]
We should ask the next ones we see.
[ It isn't long, and this time she squares her shoulders. Before she gets three words out, though, they shoo her.
Go meet in the lobby with the others. The hotel is working on it -- you should have food and clothing vouchers on your watch. ]
Something tells me they don't completely know what's going on either.
[ And that leaves a very chilled feeling in her stomach. ]