P-gio - P.Gio

“I really like this character from this thing and I also really like that character from that thing…but what if they liked EACH OTHER?! WHAT IF THEY KISSED?!”

And that’s how crossover pairings happen. Beautiful, just beautiful.

A crunch beneath his boot stopped Pinocchio in his tracks, his curious gaze dropping down to see a small bloodied music box, a note or two of its chime playing as it was disturbed. The lid lay open, a mirror inside reflecting the edges of the clouds above, tinted in a multitude of dusky oranges and yellows during the last remains of daylight.

To the right stood a shelf full of similar music boxes lined together under a sign detailing how many tickets each would cost to own. Some were decorated with images of happy clowns, their strange colored hair and exaggerated faces a symbol of the eccentric entertainment the park offered. Others bore images of dogs and cats, graceful ballerinas and daring gymnasts.

This was just one of many collections of prizes he’d come across since entering the park. The further he’d explored, the more the upset from his previous battle with the Stalkers distanced from him.

He bent at the knees and grabbed the box he’d stepped on, slow to notice its frail condition, so willed an uncommon gentleness to his legion arm when a piece broke off and returned to the ground. The lid fell shut with a snap as the puppet held it up close to inspect, a pleased lift in his spirit when it revealed to sport a cat design. What a shame for the tabby’s face to be hidden by splatters of red though..

To rectify that disheartening find, he tugged the edge of his sleeve over the pad of his palm and gingerly wiped away what he could, none will notice the additional stain among copious amounts of blood covering his clothes anyhow, fresh and wet in a manner he attempted to believe didn’t bother him.

Dwelling on discomfort he’d prefer to rid himself of wouldn’t do, if for nothing else than a refusal to let it steal a second of passing leisure he seldom earned.

He worked his brain to remember how to make the song play. Lady Antonia once played a music box in her study for him, promising to locate sheet music she’d stashed away in a drawer somewhere to later teach him the piano rendition. He weaved through the memory until the part came where she’d turned a tiny crank in a circle, then shifted the trinket to repeat the motion himself.

His hand stilled at the empty hole where the crank should be, and his eyes flicked back to his feet, scanning for the missing piece in pebbles of gravel stone. Regrettably, it had either traveled too far or kept a strong wish to remain hidden. Pinocchio’s shoulders slumped just a bit.

Another, more intact box on the shelf could be chosen, but some part of him was reluctant to abandon the one he held. It was damaged, yes, and the white paint still clung to a faint shade of red, but it was resilient too. The puppet admired the devices eagerness to play when his shoe had stressed it, determined to incite joy despite the misfortune faced, and the striped cat on the lid didn’t seem affected by what it had been through either, pawing gleefully at a purple ball of yarn.

He did spare a thought that the sense he was meant to meet this specific one tread on irrationality, only a fleeting acknowledgement however, not enough to prevent him swiping a crank from one of the shelved trinkets and slotting it into the vacant space.

It clicked in perfectly, as if it were the original. He gave it a few delicate turns, his eyes sliding closed to listen while the song played out in full. There was no familiarity in what he heard, but the jolly tune claimed a spot for itself among the songs he’d come to enjoy the most. He turned it again to listen once more, then another when the notes tapered to an end.

The sky above grew darker as the warmth of sunset began to weaken, taking on a somber blue hue. Strings of lights on the distant Ferris wheel flickered with an effort to illuminate the oncoming nightfall, yet pitifully failed as a result of the destruction done to them, fading to a dull glow that did little to accomplish their purpose or going out completely and blending in with the rest of the dying day.

Pinocchio fantasized about what the park might’ve been like before the puppets tore the city to ruin, he’d only come to life after their attack was well into effect. But even with the carnage that marred the area it was clear it had once been beautiful, a place where one could be carefree and adventurous, take in the extravagant sights and try their hand at playing games for the chance of a memento to take home. Inwardly, he hoped when his task was completed and each attraction repaired he could visit again, to see for himself if the beauty his imagination conjured possessed any accuracy. 🎭🦋

// If you're interested in the song I had in mind, there's a video on YouTube by mrspuick titled: Porcelain Roses on a Music Box-plays "Everything is beautiful"

Gustave ♥️

I wrote this for a puppet btw, a puppet who was never supposed to feel. 🎭🦋

🎭🦋

"I found this in a chocolate shop, the owners must have run away when the puppet frenzy began," Pinocchio explained, holding a heart shaped box of fine gourmet chocolates, adorned with a red silk bow, in a trembly hand. "I've seen people giving these to others around Krat today, so I wanted to give one to you."

Though obviously trying to will himself confidence, he seemed a bit shy of doing so. Like many things the sly brunette kept inside, perhaps he knew more than what he let on about the meaning of Valentine's Day, the notion of which stirred the butterflies in your stomach all the way to your fingertips as you accepted his gift.

"How kind of you! Thank you, P." You said with a grateful smile, trying to calm your swift beating heart.

He smiled back in that sweet way he does, gave a polite bow and began to take his leave before you stopped him. "Wait!" You called hastily, and he obliged, turning to look at you again, his head tilted in interest as he waited for what more you had to say. "I made something for you too." You admitted and showed what you'd kept hidden behind your back. It was becoming easier to understand his shyness, your nerves akin to a rabbit in the road as you revealed it.

His eyes lit up at the intricate metal box of chocolates, moulded into the shape of a heart, painstakingly crafted by your own hand at your bench whenever you knew he'd be away long enough for the surprise not to be spoiled by a glimpse of it. The project had taken every bit of talent you've built over years of practice and working with metal, and the care you'd put into it showed that very well.

The box was a work of art. A shining antique gold finish, accessorized by little iron gears soldered in clusters onto the top and sides of the heart. A pattern of roses melted in rose-gold, the most difficult and time consuming part of the design, starred at the center, with the words 'For Pinocchio, with love' etched daintily above the symbolic flowers.

The shock on his face was rather cute in how genuine it was, and it filled you with pride to have been such a successful sneak, it was clear he'd never expected you to reciprocate the gesture. "You...made this? For me?" He asked, the surprise that you'd go to this amount of effort apparent in his voice as he carefully took the box from your outstretched hand.

"Of course I did silly boy, do you see anyone else I'm handing it to?" You chuckled, amused.

"So there's...no one else you'd rather give it to then?" The question was quiet and tentative now, seeking confirmation that you intended to celebrate a day for lovers with him alone, that there wasn't another vying for your affections, he most certainly was aware of what this day meant. Your heartbeat all but roared in your ears once you realized that.

With courage you weren't aware you had, you stepped closer and kissed his cheek softly, placing your hand on his to feel it tighten around the precious metalwork he held. "No one else, that's why I put your name on it."

If the puppet possessed the blood required to blush, his face may rival the bow tied to the confections he'd given you. An affliction that would only worsen as he leaned forward and returned the kiss to your cheek.

"Thank you, ____, I'm fortunate to receive such a thoughtful gift from one so lovely as you." He said, his expression tender, a look of pure adoration velveting his eyes.

And just like that, it was you who matched the red bow almost too perfectly, right down to the knots your nerves were so skillfully tied in.

// Happy Valentine's Day, from a puppet to you. 🦋

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.

My beloved 🤎