#• [ ǫᴜᴇᴇɴ ᴏғ ᴋʀᴀᴛ ]) 👁 ([ antonia ] •

[miratenebrarum]

• [ ᴛᴏʀᴍᴇɴᴛᴇᴅ sᴏᴜʟs ]) 👁 ([ tertiary / muses on requests ] •

• [ ʏᴏᴜɴɢᴇsᴛ ʀᴀʙʙɪᴛ ]) 👁 ([ bonnie ] •

[ sᴀᴅɪᴅᴀ ǫᴜᴇᴇɴ ]) 👁 ([ amalia ] •

• [ ʙᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ʀᴇᴀꜱᴏɴɪɴɢ ]) 👁 ([ the queen ] •

• [ ᴛᴇᴇɴᴀɢᴇ ɢᴀᴇᴀ ]) 👁 ([ scp 166 ] •

• [ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇʀᴏ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ]) 👁 ([ oersted ] •

• [ ᴘʀᴀɪsᴇ ᴛʜᴇ sᴜɴ ]) 👁 ([ solaire ] •

[ ᴇᴀʀᴛʜᴇɴ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ]) 👁 ([ lei ] •

• [ ǫᴜᴇᴇɴ ᴏғ ᴋʀᴀᴛ ]) 👁 ([ antonia ] •

[miratenebrarum]

Antonia was generally a quite refined lady. You can get a lot with a little bit of kindness and charisma in Krat, especially when you have the fame of the eccentric rich lady who took over a haunted castle for your personal hotel. Be polite. Be nice. Be snarky if you have to, but always with the sublety necessary to not come out as unnecessarily cruel or petty. Many mantras she had to repeat to herself over and over in her long journey to be seen as a respectable figure in town. Of course, they all seem like small things to worry about now, but she still clinged on the bright days of the past in any way possible - perhaps, in a desperate way to pretend things weren't so dire for Krat.

For herself.

However, Geppetto was different. Not like she considers him lower than the rest of her companions in the past years, far from it: exactly because he's one of the few she could consider a genuine friend, he should be allowed to see a part of her she so often managed to keep under control. So, yes. He should move his sorry ass to painting room, and if Polendina couldn't manage to bring him down she would find a way to go upstairs, with or without her beloved butler.

Hearing his steps over the constant rain, then, makes her feel way more relaxed already. The discussion they're going to have will be heavy on their own, she didn't need to be more assertive than she had to.

"And there he is. Here I thought you didn't want to talk to me anymore!" she chirps, jovial and delighted despite everything. Her voice alone was enough to light up an entire ballroom, and she isn't going to restrain it now! "You barely left your room since you arrived here. Your old bones need to move more, my dear, or they'll grow mold."

He doesn't move, but neither does she, her eyes remaining on the painting representing her good old days. Before the pietrification disease, before the massacre of the puppets, before age took its toll on her.

...this won't do.

"Please, do come closer. I made sure to ask Polendina to make us tea, and it's still warm." she continues, waving at the fuming teapot on the nearby table.

"...besides, I'd rather keep this conversation for us."

The slightest tilt of her head, her only working eye looking for his.

"Sophia probably knows more than I do, but I'd rather keep poor Lorenzini out of this talk." a smile "And I'd much rather not hurt my throat yelling."

Heavy rain has been beating uncessant on the windows of Geppetto’s room for a few hours now. Geppetto stands near it, eyes wandering through the darkened streets of Krat. Every once in a while, a sudden beam of light illuminates one of them, for but a second: puppets causing another fire, or perhaps his son breaking them down. His fingers beating thoughtful on the frame, trembling ever so slightly, he truly hopes for the second one.Be careful, he whispers in a thought, his love clashing against the guilt of an opposite force. I’m the one who sent him out there. He suffers because of me. Slowly, his fingers bend to form a fist, tighter and tighter until he feels his nails deep in his own skin. He’ll be fine. He’ll be fine. Eyes close, suddenly, just as tight. It’s going to be fine. Forehead leans on the wood. It feels as cold and liveless as a coffin. He’s a good boy. He is…

« Master Geppetto? »

Polendina’s voice comes as sudden as a shot in the dark. It blocks the flow of clashing thoughts, giving him an abrupt break from the voices. Geppetto doesn’t flinch, but only because his body and mind feel to numb to externalize his scare, only his heart jumping in the chest in fright for but a moment. He turns his head ever so slightly, almost refusing to turn to face the puppet. The creator watches him in silence for a moment, looking at his reflection in the window more than directly at him: Polendina is standing right past the threshold of his room, just enough inside to show him his presence, hands neatly held in front of the metallic chest, head turned in his direction and an unblinking stare pointed at him. Geppetto takes a long breath in; exhales slowly. « My apologies, Polendina… but I’d like not to be disturbed. Can this wait? » « I’m afraid not, master Geppetto. Lady Antonia sent me to deliver a message. ». Hearing Antonia’s name tightens his heart in a clench cold as steel. His eyes unwillingly return to look outside, almost yearning to be distracted by the light of the fires and the explosions. Polendina waits for a few seconds for an answer from him; when it doesn’t come, the puppet simply continues on his own. He’s getting undisciplined. Not like my son… « She has told me to tell you she desires seeing you in front of her painting. » Geppetto swallows. His throat suddenly feels dry. « Tell her that I’d rather avoid at the moment. » « She told me you might have replied this way, master Geppetto. And if it was to happen, she told me to use force and drag your sorry ass down the stairs. ». For the first time, the creator turns, and their eyes lock: his own with surprised confusion, the puppet’s of mechanical apathy. « Her words, master Geppetto. » « … I don’t doubt. »

Geppetto sighs. He is tempted, for a fraction of a moment, to insist on staying on his room; but despite knowing that hardly Polendina would have actually dragged him down the stairs, the thought that Antonia would absolutely climb them even on a wheelchair just to get to him makes him change his mind. He nods at the puppet, heading for the door. « Very well. » he murmurs, a whisper sounding much more exhausted than he pictured himself to be. He casts a weary look at Polendina, preparing himself to pace the same way. « … I know the path, Polendina. Thank you. You can return to your chores. » « Very well, master Geppetto. » comes the immediate response of the puppet, and after a rapid, rigid bow, he leaves the room first; the creator sees, though, him stopping at the end of the corridor, and turn to keep an eye on him. It’s only when Geppetto actually leaves the room that Polendina fully returns to his duties.

The way to Antonia’s room feels extremely long, yet way too short. Geppetto gets to the threshold too fast, hands trembling by his sides, his spirit not ready for whatever the conversation might be. Would she want to talk simply about the weather, it would be a conversation too hard for him. The safety of his room feels too distant, this room cold and hostile. He doesn’t move inside of it anymore - he can’t do it. Staying on the threshold, he simply calls with weak voice.

« I’m here, Antonia. »

@miratenebrarum / antonia.

[miratenebrarum]

He enters the room, and Antonia feels a weight being lifted off of her shoulders already. He's never been the chatty type, even at the peak of his popularity; and yet, back in the golden days of Krat, he always had a moment to share with her whenever she demanded it. Some things change - he changed, and she wouldn't blame him one bit for that -, but some other don't, it seems.

"Always the gentleman..." she smiles - or, rather, half smiles, the pietrification disease making her unable to move a single muscle on the right side of her face. Quite the situation. Painful, ugly, rather unfortunate; one that makes even taking a slow sip of her tea a potential mess, if she by any chance forgot where to position the cup.

Antonia drinks, giving Geppetto the time to find the words she knows well won't come. No, no. She'll have to be the one to break the silence, won't she?

"I'd invite you to take a seat, but... I know you well." a soft chuckle "You can't stand still, don't you? Exactly like that boy of yours."

Which one? Maybe both.

Maybe both...!

A well curated nail taps on ceramic, again leaving her old friend enough time to speak up before she sighs, dropping the act. Her voice remain kind and collected, not without a hint of worry in it, but there's no need to beat around the bush.

"That puppet of yours..." Antonia starts, her eyes now looking up at her portrait "He's quite the charmer. A bit... quiet, compared to the original model, but very polite. He looks... almost exactly like him."

Antonia was generally a quite refined lady. You can get a lot with a little bit of kindness and charisma in Krat, especially when you have the fame of the eccentric rich lady who took over a haunted castle for your personal hotel. Be polite. Be nice. Be snarky if you have to, but always with the sublety necessary to not come out as unnecessarily cruel or petty. Many mantras she had to repeat to herself over and over in her long journey to be seen as a respectable figure in town. Of course, they all seem like small things to worry about now, but she still clinged on the bright days of the past in any way possible - perhaps, in a desperate way to pretend things weren't so dire for Krat.

For herself.

However, Geppetto was different. Not like she considers him lower than the rest of her companions in the past years, far from it: exactly because he's one of the few she could consider a genuine friend, he should be allowed to see a part of her she so often managed to keep under control. So, yes. He should move his sorry ass to painting room, and if Polendina couldn't manage to bring him down she would find a way to go upstairs, with or without her beloved butler.

Hearing his steps over the constant rain, then, makes her feel way more relaxed already. The discussion they're going to have will be heavy on their own, she didn't need to be more assertive than she had to.

"And there he is. Here I thought you didn't want to talk to me anymore!" she chirps, jovial and delighted despite everything. Her voice alone was enough to light up an entire ballroom, and she isn't going to restrain it now! "You barely left your room since you arrived here. Your old bones need to move more, my dear, or they'll grow mold."

He doesn't move, but neither does she, her eyes remaining on the painting representing her good old days. Before the pietrification disease, before the massacre of the puppets, before age took its toll on her.

...this won't do.

"Please, do come closer. I made sure to ask Polendina to make us tea, and it's still warm." she continues, waving at the fuming teapot on the nearby table.

"...besides, I'd rather keep this conversation for us."

The slightest tilt of her head, her only working eye looking for his.

"Sophia probably knows more than I do, but I'd rather keep poor Lorenzini out of this talk." a smile "And I'd much rather not hurt my throat yelling."