#gerbilmade

“Mmm.”

“Not but a few moments more.”

“Nnn.”

“A few more moments.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Venigni muttered through tight teeth, trying not to wince as Polendina daubed the cut.

“Puppets may not experience such emotions, Sir.”

“Puppets with an ego can!”

Then.

An old memory. Something he hadn’t thought of in ages, something he was sure he’d forgotten, but something that flashed through his thoughts nevertheless.

A sun splashed afternoon. He remembered his mama cleaning his knees after he’d fallen while playing in the yard, when he was little. He’d sat there on the table wailing in the way only children can, with no shame and pure abandon, as the ointment stung across his bloody and battered knees.

“It has to hurt, Lorenzini. That’s how you know it’s working,” she’d said, and then she swept him up in a huge hug and kissed him all over ‘til he stopped bawling. “All better! Thank you, Pulcinella,” she said over her shoulder.

“Of course, Madam,” the puppet said, mechanically. He held a tray of ointments and bandages and other bits and bobbles from the first aid kit, and he stiffly bowed and walked away, the tray held so perfectly steady that not a single needle rattled or bandage shivered.

Pulcinella had been new, then. Fresh off the assembly line. Puppets then weren’t particularly advanced, quite new things really, but he’d been an expensive investment, commissioned by the Venignis. Perfectly tuned, perfectly polite, perfectly precise as only a puppet could be.

But there was another day.

That day.

When they’d finally let him go home, blood still on his shoes, his glasses cracked in half and held in shaking hands. They shouldn’t have let him go home. He was too young. Too alone. But the murder of the Venignis was huge, and terrifying, and he’d said through hysterical tears that it was a puppet that did it, and that was impossible, impossible, surely the lad was just in shock, and rumors were already scraping through the office, through the city, only hours later, and...

In truth, they hadn’t let him go home at all. Pulcinella had arrived and taken the boy by the hand and walked out the door with him. They wouldn’t realize he was gone until later, and that would start another panic, young heir lost in the night after watching his parents…

Well.

That day.

When they pushed through the door of the Venigni estate, into the hall. Closed the door and the night and the rain and the fallen leaves behind them. Lights glowed cheerfully. Music played on a gramophone quietly. The tea on the tray was ice cold and forgotten on the table beside the book Mama would never finish reading. The newspaper with the puzzles Papa had been working on was folded over and half-filled. The three of them were supposed to come home after an errand and enjoy the evening together and now they never would again.

When they pushed through the door, Pulcinella and Lorenzini, the last Venigni...

When Pulcinella, a puppet, mechanical and programmed to serve and nothing else...

Hugged the child.

It was metal, it was cold, it was stiff, it was unsure.

Lorenzini fell into the embrace and sobbed.

“It has to hurt, Lorenzini.”

It didn’t have to hurt this much.

But Pulcinella, a puppet, wasn’t exactly a puppet from that day on. Was something else. Something more. Venigni would never voice his suspicions. He’d seen that puppet in the alley. He knew something could happen to puppets, to their programming. To their personalities. He hadn’t been believed. The idea was too big, too scary. If it was true, they’d destroy Pulcinella, because they would fear him too.

He knew to to keep this to himself. Even when rumors of egos and personalities started to whisper across Krat later, he would keep it secret. Pulcinella was his. Was family. Was the only family he had left. And he would protect that, and wait for Pulcinella to confess his blossoming ego on his own terms. Would wait to be trusted.

He really should have picked up on Polendina’s ego much sooner, he thought, as he studied those blank porcelain eyes. Someone had painted those. They were detailed, and there was a gloss over them to catch the light like a human eye, but they were still paint, with holes in the center for the mechanics to peer through. He knew how the construction worked; he’d designed half the puppets in the city himself.

On the one hand, easy shoulder movement, I have no problems moving in this jacket. Other hand. I’m between sizes so I went up, thinking “oh, vest, lining, I need space” — but truly it’s too baggy, I need to go down.

But. Having seen how it assembles, it TRULY is not made for stripes. I have a theory that I may be able to assemble it in test, line it with sharpie, then disassemble and line the sharpie’d pieces up with the true fabric. Hopefully. Stars the precision that takes.

But. Is it worth it to buy the same pattern a size down, retrace the pieces, reassemble a test again (another tablecloth sacrificed, this test took up all of my tablecloth lol) and Hope my stripe idea will even pay off?

Is that worth it???

I love cosplay dearly but this is, as predicted, a pain.