#pvp drabble

"Alright, let's see it," Pinocchio waved a hand out as he stepped into the room. "It is nothing," Pino had insisted yet again. His springs reacted to the lie, he thinks, but he was too distracted by the approaching puppet. “It is just a record.” “Nothing, huh?” Pinocchio pressed. “Yes. I enjoy listening to them?” “Yeah—and you always listen to them downstairs in the lobby, not in one of the furthest rooms away from where everyone else sleeps. You don’t even have Gemini on your belt.” “He is resting.” “Right.”

A long silence passed between them.

Wood was lighter than metal—that was just a simple fact. While Pino had become very light on his feet, the weight difference could not be ignored as he tried to keep the record album cover out of reach. Standing up only helped so much, despite the height difference. Instead, Pinocchio simply jumped on the bed, and without hesitation snatched the record album cover from Pino’s hand.

“…’Love Sonnets of Krat”…?” Pinocchio squinted as he read the title out loud. The two puppets exchanged looks. “Oh…buddy…” his brows raised as Pino shrunk back a little. “…don’t tell me this is about Lampwick.” At that, Pino finally slumped back to sit on the bed again. Pinocchio plopped down beside him. “He…makes me feel. He has been kind…and he teaches me things I never thought I would learn.” “You really need to get out more,” Pinocchio sighed as he lounged back. He grimaced. “Oh…fuck me, I’m starting to talk like Anthony.” He hung his head back with a groan. “Great…” Something about the look Pinocchio gave him made his springs and gears tighten. He assumed this was…irritation? “I really care about him.” They stared at each other. Pinocchio nodded, sympathetically. He pushed himself off the bed, and Pino watched the puppet rummage through the drawers and cupboards of the extravagant room. He made a satisfied sound at some point, pulling out a bottle of…if he recalled, the old woman by Venigni’s factory called it a ‘tipple’…?

He heard a popping sound, and Pinocchio walked back to sit beside him again.

“You’re in love,” Pinocchio concurred, and he held the bottle in his direction. “—have a drink.” Pino shook his head. “Can you drink?” “Yes—I can drink things, it’s the eating that I can’t really do.” “Do you wanna try?” His gaze shifted. “…I don’t think Father would approve,” “You have to go anywhere?” “Well…no, Venigni has to decode a—” “Just take a swig.”

He took the bottle, looking over the label before hesitantly raising the bottle to his lips. The flavor was strong, strong enough to make his joints jolt. He looked at the label again, quietly feeling a warmth fill his stomach. It felt somewhat similar to the warmth that would come when his springs would react to a lie, but…something told him this was different. “Good, yeah?” He stared at the bottle in wonder. “An old woman asked me to bring her some, once,” “She said that it was important for her to have.” Pinocchio snorted. “Oh yeah? “…Why not talk to your Geppetto about…what you’re feeling?” “…I…do not think Father would approve…” “Yeah? That a fact…” Pinocchio watched as he took another sip from the bottle before scooting back to lean against the pillows. Pino mimicked him, and the two sat side by side. “…Which song was it?” “The last one, I think.” Pinocchio flipped the album cover over in his hands, looking through the lists of songs. He looked up at Pino as though he were a sodding wet puppy lost in the storm that currently raged outside the hotel. “…’Aimer’…?” When he got a nod for an answer, Pinocchio heaved a long sigh. “Yeap, I’m gonna need a drink, too.” “It’s a nice song,” Pino insisted as he watched Pinocchio stand and walk over to the record player to place the needle at the beginning again. “I like it a lot.” “Ain’t that just the way,” Pinocchio sighed. “What way?” “It’s a metaphor, kid. Grimme that bottle.” Pino silently handed the bottle over to Pinocchio as he plopped back down on the bed. It surprised him, a little, that he could handle such a thing so palatable despite being a puppet. Wasn’t the feeling overwhelming?

The two sat in silence for a while, listening to the music that played while passing the bottle between each other.

By halfway through the second listen-through of the album, only a little less than a third was left. “Have you ever been in love…?” “Oh yeah,” Pinocchio scoffed loudly. “Lots’a times.” He took a long drink. “Fuckin’…fuckin’ sucks,” he said as he passed the bottle. “What did it feel like, for you?” “Like…like…you’re gonna throw up your insides,” Pinocchio gestured vaguely. “Your insides an’ butterflies an’ flowers…get all…warm ‘n fuzzy—just wanna curl in their arms all the time, feelin’ safe ‘n warm…” Pino was thoroughly confused, and he frowned. “But that doesn’t sound bad at all…” “You ever throw up before?” “No…I don’t think so,” Pinocchio was insulted. “Oh—oh he jus’ keeps on winnin, don’tcha?!” He said, snatching the bottle when it was held out to him. He glared into it. “Get to look all…human on the outside, like a…perfect pretty-boy,” he turned the bottle end upright when he drank. “—even the  people tryin’a kill you think yer…all hot, an’ now he’s sayin’ he never even…puked on the sidewalk,” he slumped back in a huff, and considered. “Well…just wait ‘till mornin’—you’ll change your tune then. Probably, if you actually can,” Pinocchio grumbled, absently tugging at the necklace under his shirt. “‘Ssat…?” Pino asked, gingerly taking back the bottle. “Whus what?” “Ssat—“ Pino poked at Pinocchio’s chest. “Keep my ‘gagement ring on a necklace,” Pinocchio said, pulling on the chain to hold up the plain gold ring attached to it. “Lose it if I didn’t—doin all…flips an’ stuff fightin…” “Who is she?” Pinocchio snorted. “His name is Razel. Think you’re the only gay…puppet twink?” He waved Pino over. “Gimme that, ‘m gettin ‘nother sip,” Pino pouted as he handed Pinocchio the bottle. “Don’t gimme that look,” “You…don’t like me, do you.” It came out more like a statement than a question. And for what it was worth, it did catch Pinocchio off guard. He stared at the automation for a long while. Eventually, he sighed. “No, I…didn’ ever say that—I don’t…not like you?” “You get angry at me all the time…and…everything about my…being, seems to upset you,” Pinocchio hung his head with an even longer sigh. “No, I…fuck, okay, look,” he pacifyingly handed the wine to Pino. “—allathat…it’s…that all ‘cause’of my own problems, got nothing to do with you,” he watched as Pino took a tentative sip before glancing away. “Ah…I dunno…jus’…jealous of you, guess...even if it’s all gone to hell here, you’ve still got it somehow made here!” He gestured widely. “You live in this fancy five-star hotel, you’ve…got friends, and actually manage to keep ‘em, your papa actually seems to like you…you didn’t even really have to learn to fight, allathat came natural!” He grimaced at the ceiling. “Then…there’s me—stuck in this…block’a wood, just about every friend I came across as a kid pretty much died…an’…papa…my papa’s…gone. Not that he liked me much, anyway…” Pino looked around the extravagant bedroom, his gaze settling on the window. He stared quietly at the raindrops that slid down the glass. “…You…can feel things,” Pino said, his voice quiet. “You always could have…you never needed to learn. You…can get angry, frown, and smile,” “You can do that too, though,” “Not smile. Smiling is…difficult. It looks…’uncanny’, that’s what I heard.” Pino looked down at his legion arm, flexing his fingers. “Appearances only go so far…when people hear my gears…they usually turn. I’m…not a who—I’m a what.” "'...s'all stuff you can learn, though..." "You can cry." "Can't you?" "I don't think so—I don't think I have tear ducts." They looked at each other, something in that silence making the two sober up a little. Pinocchio glanced away. “Right…guess…there’s always gotta be somethin’,” he mumbled. “I don’t like killing things, all the time…” “Preachin’ to the choir,” Pinocchio said. “What do I do after this is done…?” “Fuck if I know that answer—I barely knew what I was doing when I was actually a human.” They both grew silent again, somehow feeling drunker in those few minutes than when they had gotten halfway through the wine bottle.

“Bah, that’s it—sober moment over. Where…where is your lover-boat, anyways?” Pinocchio snuck in an extra sip before Pino had clumsily taken the bottle. “He…he’s…he…” Pino struggled to finish the thought. “Treasure.” He decided on. Pinocchio hummed. “Right, yeah…s’a…thing here, yeah…” Pino peeked into the bottle, fascinated by the way the red liquid rolled inside. He swayed side to side. He looked at Pinocchio as though he had suddenly sprouted butterfly wings from his ears. “…Huh?” “I said—” Pinocchio stopped, briefly forgetting just what he had said. “I said—what kind of market does this place even have?” “Oh, it’s…it’s…it’s…” Pino’s brows furled as he absently drank from the bottle. He had downed half of what was left without even realizing he had done it, for he was too focused on thinking. “Hey, hey—” Pinocchio swatted at his hands, managing to pry the bottle away when they became unsteady. “—you gotta…gotta take it easy, you can’t jus’ go an’—” “…s’like…jus’ one…” Pinocchio squinted at Pino as if he had suddenly sprouted the ears of a jackass. “Huh?” “Only…really…see one…” Pino motioned vaguely. “’ryone’s…i’side—inside…houses,” he made a box shaped gesture. “Windows’all…shut…’cept for…sometimes,” “Like tipple lady,” Pinocchio concluded. “Yes,” “Yeah,” “Mmhm.” “Got it.” Pinocchio took a sip, and then another. “Okay so…treasure…guy…” “Lam’wick,” “Yeah, that guy,” Pinocchio passed the bottle back, and heaved a deep sigh. “I wish Anthony were here…he’d know what to do—what to tell ya. He’s’a cricket, so ya know he’s real smart an'all, an’ gives good advice an’ stuff…” “Cricket…” Pino said, moodily staring down the bottle. “…Glow.” “Nope, not mine,” “No glow?” “No glow. He’s…” Pinocchio gestured high above his head. “..s’all tall an’…an’ he’s a doctor, he's…doctor, so all extra-smart…” They both grew quiet. “…I don’t…think he’d…like me,” “Wick,” “Mm-mm. Doesn’t like…puppets. Calls Father an me…devil,” Pino frowned. “’M notta devil, m' a…puppet,” “Preachin’ to the choir,” Pinocchio chorused. “Cross a bingo, take a shot—nobody ever likes us wherever we are,” Pino turned the empty bottle upside down. “Fox…an’ cat,” “Oh you got a pair too, huh,” “Cat…called me…dumbass,” “’bout right.” “Wick wouldn’…want a dumbass,” “Fuck that cat,” Pinocchio slurred aggressively. “You’re not—you’re…smarter n’…probably any version of us out there,” he shook Pino, drawing his attention away when the automation tried to use the wine bottle like a telescope. “’Sides, bein’…bein’ kinda a dumbass is our personal brand’a specialty. If Wick don’t want that then…then…he can…stick…” he squinted, trying to concentrate. “…’m too drunk to think of a insult, but…but that’s what you should think if that’s how he gets,” Pinocchio concluded as he flopped onto his back. He waved a finger in the air, mumbling something, but Pino was having a hard time concentrating on much else, at this point. He blew into the bottle, the loud sound coming from it startling him.

Polendina knocked before entering the room, Gemini in hand. “Excuse me, but your lantern keeps requesting to be with you, and it is important to not leave your items unattended…” he stopped short, watching the pair of raven-haired puppets snooze away while slumped over one another. “What the heck happened here?!” Gemini cried as Polendina stepped around to get a closer look. “Ah.” He picked up the empty bottle, having long since been abandoned at the bedside. “Ohh, I don’t think Geppetto would like this one bit,” Gemini said. “There is no need to say anything,” Polendina concluded. He set the empty bottle on the dresser, and placed Gemini at the bedside table. “After all, there are seldom moments of rest.” “True…I’ll keep an eye on them, regardless.” “I shall come by later to check in.” Polendina said, leaving for the door. He stopped, thinking for a moment before closing it.