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vampimich · 2 months

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Some of my Carlo’s HCs

This is just a HC I wanted to share regarding Carlo and his interests. The idea came to me as I was playing and wearing the Workshop Master’s Workwear and realizing that maybe that is just how Geppetto always dreamt of seeing his son. And then the thought that Carlo probably dreamt for the same as a child hit me as train.

(This is basically just me rambling about how Carlo initially wanted to be a Workshop technician, and why he never confessed his feelings for Romeo.)

Being Geppetto’s son, I believe he was born with a huge curiosity, creativity and imagination. I clearly see him tinkering with every toy, radio and device in his house. Pulling them apart just to see how they worked and then putting them back together as they were or even creating new things in the process. BUUUT (and a big but) he was also interested in the stalker’s life.

He loved stories about their achievements, their great deals and how they saved others or hunted for treasure.

And I fully think that Carlo had all the potential to be an overachiever child. If life had been different for him, he would have pursued both careers. Living as a Stalker but using everything he learned as a Workshop Technician to create gadgets, weapons, equipment, anything really, to help in his line of work.

But we all know that wasn’t how the story ended, right? And that was mainly because of his old man.

I would say that when still living with Geppetto , his father used to praise him and encourage him whenever he created something or tinkered with any stuff around the house.

But even this “support” and “praise” he offered his only son was half-hearted because the famous craftsman was obsessed with puppets. And even if Geppetto himself worked in any other invention or craft, it would revolve around puppets one way or another.

And being the self-centered person that he was, he very much expected for Carlo to follow his exact footsteps. So yes, he was proud of his aptitude for craftsmanship, but he would always threw comments like: “What if you created your own puppet, son?” Or “Maybe if you modify this here, we could give a boost to puppet’s strength”.

And when Carlo stood his ground stating that his invention’s purpose was something completely different or that he was not interested in anything related to puppets, Geppetto would just be dismissive, losing all of his interest in his son’s projects and just throwing him empty compliments so he could back to his own work after that.

And this of course strained the father-son relationship even more and made the young child to come to hate puppets, since they were not only keeping his father from him, but now he also wanted to force them upon his life. And we have been told how stubborn the boy was, so I can clearly imagine him creating more things non-puppets related , or pretending he was a stalker and had completely ditched the idea to go the workshop technician route just to spite Geppetto.

Because, even if deep inside of him he craved for his dear father love and approval, there were some things for which he was not willing to back down, like his interests and passions. (But without realizing he would let his father to have some small wins like his hair style and what he was allowed to wear for example, which didn’t bother him that much and it gave him the move needed approval he was looking for).

So at this point and despite the differences in opinions and the constant bickering between the two because of Carlo’s projects, he was still on his way to become a technician-stalker but it all changed for good once Geppetto abandoned him in the Monad Charity House.

For the first few nights, in which Carlo must have been completely hopeless and heartbroken, I’m sure he considered just doing everything he could to make his father happy. Maybe if he used his talents to work on puppets, maybe if he promised to became a technician specialized in puppets, his father would take him back… spend time with him… tell him that he loved him.

But before he could completely give into this this idea he was introduced to Romeo, a boy who shared his same interests in the Stalker’s life. And for once, Carlo felt that he was not alone anymore and that his dreams were valid. There was someone else who shared his passion, and who didn’t try to change his focus. Romeo just accepted him and his ideas and plans as they were. He sometimes offered his own point of view, but he was never dismissive and he always considered what Carlo created or came up with.

So during these days Carlo’s interest in the stalkers path grew bigger and bigger. And the relationship the boy had with his father strained even more. I can imagine the old man visiting his son sporadically or taking him out of the Rose State to take him to social gatherings and special events (because of course he would be the kind of father that brags about having the perfect child even if he doesn’t even know what or how exactly that child is doing). And in those few encounters they had, Geppetto surely would throw comments expressing how he could not wait for his son to graduate and become a technician so they could work together, and this finally broke the final straw in Carlo.

His father didn’t care for his own interests. Now he was sure that it didn’t matter if he changed his focus completely to please the technician master, Giuseppe would never take him back home because he was completely focused on his own work. He just wanted to avoid parenting by so he would have more time for his puppets. It would be ideal of him if his only son became a technician as well so he could brag about how much he was like him.

And now with these feelings in his heart, Carlo would do everything in his power to go in the complete opposite direction of his progenitor’s wishes, even if that meant denying a part of himself he knew he was, and he knew he loved as much as his dreams of being a stalker.

Romeo noticed the very exact moment when this decision was taken as Carlo came back to the charity house and threw all of his prototypes and creations into the trash. And even if he tried to pretend it was only so he could focus completely on becoming the best stalker in the world, Romeo saw right through him and tried to convince him not completely ignore that passion of him, but Carlo refused. And even if he always died inside to tinker with stuff he found or to bring to life an idea he had, he forced himself to forget about it, which pained him, but at that point he just wanted to have zero common ground with his old man. (Not really, tho as he still wished things could change between them, after all he was still just a child looking for his father’s love.)

And as part of this long HC I can also add that Carlo had really strong feelings for Romeo. He kinda noticed Romeo had feelings for him too, but he didn’t acted on these feelings.

Why?

Two reasons mainly.

The first one: when he was younger, he was afraid of what his father could say about it. Geppetto had voiced time and again how he was supposed to marry a high class lady, since they were part of the high society too, and give him wonderful grandchildren.

Carlo couldn’t care less for girls at that age but it was an idea engrained so deep into his mind that he felt his father would distance himself even more from him or abandon him completely if he knew he was in love with a boy, who happened to be an orphan with no social status whatsoever. So he just pretended the feelings were not there.

But the feelings were there and they grew stronger as the spent more days together. And with time (and all the fights he had with Giuseppe) he decided that he didn’t give a damn about what others or his own father would say about him having a relationship with whoever he wanted.

But his graduation was coming closer and he needed to focus on finishing his studies. After all he needed to become the best stalker in the world so he could forge his own path and ensure that him and Romeo would not have to deal with the Stalkers faction’s bullshit going around. So he would wait after graduation to confess.

And here is where reason number 2 comes in.

Graduation drew nearer and he was all grown up now. And even if he had such a horrible relationship with his father, Carlo was still desperately looking for his approval. He wished they could somehow patch things up. He desired that Geppetto finally saw him for whom he was now, and not for who he expected him to be. Then maybe he could go back to creating and fixing stuff again, then maybe his old man would see it was worth spending time with him.

So when the date came closer, they asked Carlo what he wished his necklace to be engraved with, to which he decided to leave it blank. His first thought was to give it to Romeo, but he also wanted to give it to his father, as a token of a new start for them. He almost had it engraved with a message for the famed workshop technician but something inside of him was telling him the man would disappoint him again.

So he would left it to fate. His heart harbored hope until the very last moment, but his fears became true as Geppetto didn’t show up. This enraged Carlo to new levels, and in a fit of rage he quickly engrave the necklace himself with the famous. “To Romeo, Your friend C. Thinking that when his father found out about this, he would feel jealous and miserable for having been denied such a precious memento.

He then proceeded to give the necklace to Romeo, who was over the moon with the precious memento. He was happier than Carlo had ever seen him. And in that moment it dawned on him, that even if he had initially thought of giving the necklace to his dear friend and love interest, he had actually given it to him because he wanted to hurt his father.

And that pained him. Romeo didn’t deserve that. He thought he didn’t deserve being with someone with so much daddy issues, someone who constantly put up messing up with his father as a priority, instead of making the guy he was in love with and that made him so happy, happy as well.

So he decided to hold onto his feelings a little longer.

He promised himself that he would become more than a legendary stalker, and once he did, he and Romeo would flee Krat. They would go somewhere where he was not the son the son of Geppetto, master technician; where there were no more puppets, no social classes, no anything. Somewhere where he could forget about this burdens, somewhere where he could love his friend and live together with him, the adventures they dreamt as kids. Somewhere where maybe, he could allowed himself to be that creative child that he once was and that he craved to be.

Once he did, he would be ready to offer Romeo what he deserved. And so he made that goal his new purpose in life.

But we all know how this story ends. With a tragedy. Both taken by the petrification diseased, but both being given a second chance by that which Carlo hated so much, puppets.

And while P will never be Carlo, I believe that besides his personality he inherited some of his “feelings”. Like how he was so keen on getting Geppetto’s love and approval, or how he reacted when Romeo’s ergo called him Carlo, (or even how he proved the boy inside his P-organ wrong when he could feel his ergo feeling awashed by sadness when Geppetto died, when Carlo had tried to convince himself he couldn’t care if his father died.)

And if I might add, I think P, would spend a lot of time with Eugenie and Venigni after the alchemist’s defeat , learning everything he could from them as inventors and craftspeople, because this as well, is part of Carlo’s personality shining through and finally being able to do through a proxy what he denied himself for so long during his first life.

Well that was long but it’s finally out of my system. Thanks for reading till the end! (Also, sorry for any mistake, English is not my first language :p)

#lies of p #lies of p carlo #Carlo #lies of p geppetto #giuseppe geppetto #carlo geppetto #romeo #a bit of carmeo #carmeo #HC #family angst I guess #just me rambling about something

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turnupswritessometimes · 1 month

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Geppetto's Boy - Lies of P - Ch2

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54517777/chapters/138571591

Summary: A collection of oneshots set throughout the game, mostly exploring P and Gepetto’s relationship. (But exploring P’s relationships with most of Hotel Krat too.)

First | Next

Chapter Two

P sat in the chair again. Again, he was covered in oil from fightig the puppets at Venigni works. Not just oil, he knew, but blood again.

Geppetto used a wet brush, to clean his hair. It eased the gunk out, as he sat and did not flinch as his hair was tugged. This was all part of being kept kept - he needed to be kept clean and in one place, to stay functioning. His hair fell in front of his face, separating the room with dark strands, like prison bars. It was a wonder Venigni hadn't been terrified of him; a puppet, splattered in oil, approaching him.

But then, he'd thought he was a stalker.

He'd met three. The fox and the cat - the cat, who'd conned him out of his ergo for a useless book. They'd been loud and confident and intriguing to him. He'd wanted to linger, but he'd had his orders to obey; he'd had Venigni to save. And then the third: the mouse. The man who had been scared of him.

The man he'd-

“I killed a human,” he said. He wanted his father to know that. Perhaps because he remembered the Grand Covenant. He shouldn’t harm humans.

“Yes, you killed a human to save me, on the bridge,” his father replied. He brushed more of P’s hair forward, working at the back. The brush snagged on the oil dried there. “You protected me.”

“A different human,” P said. “At the factory.”

His father didn’t pause, and didn’t seem shocked by the news. He continued with his work.

So P continued, “He was scared.”

He was sure he heard Geppetto sigh. “Explain what happened.”

“He was scared,” P said. "He attacked me."

"He attacked you with the intention to kill you." It wasn't a question. P supposed it was true. "You had no choice."

P realised he hadn't explained - not properly. He hadn't explained that the man was afraid because his friends had been killed. Killed by puppets. He hadn't explained that the man had attacked him because he'd heard springs inside P. Because P was a puppet, and he was scared P would kill him, too.

He didn't explain that when the man was dead, P hadn't wanted to leave him. Not in a hidden room of Venigni ironworks, by himself. He'd dithered, unsure what to do - sure the Fox and the Cat would not care about this dead man, since they didn't care that much about Venigni, as he was still alive.

In the end, he had knelt down, and eased off the mouse mask. It revaled the face of the mouse - the stalker. He had been young. Very young. Perhaps he was not even considered a man, yet.

"May he rest in peace," Gemini had murmured, at P's side. It sounded like the right words.

Now, Gemini flickered in his lantern. Almost erratically. But he kept silent. P moved carefully, so he wouldn't jog his father, and dimmed his light. For a reason he couldn't pinpoint, he didn't want his Father to know about how vocal Gemini was.

"He heard my springs," he tried to explain again.

"In that case, I'll see what I can do to make them quieter." Geppetto combed the back of his hair into place. Returned to the front, and brushed his fringe back to how it was. Freed P from that prison of dark hair. He was careful - deliberate - as he continued to style it back to how it was meant to be.

Frowned, just slightly, at P, as he examined his expression. He wasn't aware he was making one - how could he, when he was only a puppet?

"Does it bother you, to kill humans?"

"I don't want to hurt humans." P risked taking his hand off the arm of the chair, to graze his fingers against the glass of Gemini's lantern.

"How interesting." His father put the brush away, picking up the damp cloth again. He paused, the line between his brows increasing. "Do you feel guilty?"

It sounded like he was teasing him, again. P couldn't understand how his guilt would be funny, or how his killing could be of such little concern. He watched the line between Gepetto's eyebrows, and how it wrinkled his forehead.

He could still feel his own springs ticking - was that feeling?

"I don't know," he said.

The line deepened. That was the wrong answer. Surely, the right answer couldn't be no, that he felt no guilt. But he shouldn't feel anything at all, because he was a puppet, so the right answer couldn't be yes, either. He didn't know the tight answer.

"That is..." His father paused. He pressed the cloth to P's cheek, and dimly, he knew it was cold. Knew it was wiping away the oil there. "Interesting, but unnecessary. I daresay many more humans will attack you on your travels. You will have to defend yourself, and those close to you. Even if it means killing."

That was what P had been doing all along - he'd been killing to stay alive. He knew that saying that would be the wrong answer for his father. So, he nodded, instead. He stayed silent, dipping his chin slightly, so his hair fell back in front of his eye. That feeling was comforting; that he could hide, even a small part of his expression. He waited until Geppetto had finished cleaning his face – talking whilst he did so irritated him – to ask, “What if they don’t attack first?”

He heard the smallest sigh from his father, as though he was dealing with a precocious child. Did P count as a precocious child? He tilted his head to one side, to allow his neck to be wiped clean of blood and oil too. There was a scorchmark, there. He hadn't moved out of the way of that giant puppet's flamethrower fast enough, and had felt the sting of heat.

“Then you have no reason to hurt them.”

P’s springs ticked. He knew, in that tick, that what he was going to say would be wrong, and it would make his father angry. He also knew that he needed to say it - he needed to know would be said after.

“Unless you ask me to.”

The cloth came away from his neck. Geppetto washed it in the water, and did not look at him. P sat there, feeling restless, feeling his springs ticking like a clock, and waited. He was supposed to listen and obey this man – his creator. That included attacking who he was asked to. Not because he was forced to, only because he was asked to.

When Geppetto looked up, his blue eyes looked sad. He moved as though he was five years older, brushing P’s hair back, and cupping his cheeks, gently. It made him feel trapped; he didn’t think he liked it.

“I know I keep asking you to commit violence, and to put yourself in danger.” His fingers didn’t twitch. His gaze was searching. He wanted something from P, but P didn’t know what it was, or how to give it. “I cannot tell you enough how precious you are to me, and I am sorry that you must keep fighting like this.”

He waited. He wanted a response.

But all P could think was that he hadn’t answered his question.

Venigni had made himself at home in the hotel.

P knew he was safe - knew he was good and honourable, and on their side - and yet, he wasn't sure he liked Venigni being there. He was so - much. He moved so much, and spoke to much and touched him, much too much.

When he saw P again, he hugged him.

Actually shouted, "Mi compagno!" His arms were tight around P's torso - as though he wasn't worried about breaking him. It was so different from the way his father handled him; from Sophia's soft, barely there touches, and the way Eugenie avoided him completely. It made him freeze. He waited, until Venigni had pulled away. It was hard to read his expression properly, when the gas lamps were reflecting off his gold-rimmed glasses.

"Compagno?" he echoed. His voice sounded barely there in comparision.

"I see Geppetto didn't programme you with language skills." Venigni still smiled. P's own mouth twitched - what would be the need? He wasn't built to talk. "It means companion. You are mine. A companion, and a friend."

P wasn't sure about that. Gemini was his companion. He didn't have the chance to discuss further; Venigni was already circling him, looking him up and down. Examining him, just as closely as his father would. P glanced back, and caught Eugenie's eye, from where she was adjusting a sword handle. Her eyebrows twitched at him, and she went back to her work.

"Amazing. Astounding," Venigni murmured more words in his circling, until they were face to face again. P looked at the floor. He flexed his fingers, focusing on how it felt. "I did not notice before - not with all the-" He waved P up and down; meaning the blood, oil and burns. "But you are truly a masterpiece. Truly the old man's finest work. No offence, Pulcinella."

The puppet stood not too far away from them, and yet he hadn't turned to the commotion. He inclined his head. "None taken, Master Venigni."

P didn't know what to say. It made him feel like a very ornate clock.

"Magnifico," Venigni decided. "And bello too."

"What do those words mean?" P asked, though he could make a good guess himself - it was more to see if he would be told. He stared at Venigni's mustache, instead of his smile.

"I shall let you discover that for yourself, I think." Venigni patted his shoulder. Much more roughly than the reverent way his father would do it. P couldn't tell if that was irritating, or a relief. He glanced over his shoulder, to Eugenie again, and saw her biting her lip. She seemed to be trying not to smile. "Now, I know Giuseppe Geppetto is the puppet man, but if you ever have a problem with that arm of yours-" And Venigni caught P's hand, tilting it, so it caught the light. So the arrow with the wire pointed dangerously at him, but he didn't seem to notice. "-You can always come to me. In fact, I have many ideas - ideas I would love to try."

P stepped forward, to look at the blueprints Venigni had already been drawing up. His arm, he realised, was just like a sword; another weapon to customise.

"To destroy," he said, as he looked at them.

"To protect." Venigni tapped a blueprint that showed a shield attached to the forearm. But then he looked up at P, from across the worktable, his eyebrows serious over his glasses. "To kill, yes, or to save. The thing about weapons is you choose what to do with them."

P stared back at him. Actually met his eyes, for once, and saw that he was serious. And yet - a weapon was still a weapon, wasn't it? Wasn't P himself, still a weapon? But Venigni made it sound pretty, so he nodded. So he picked out a new arm for the man to make him, and wondered how it would feel to go without one at all. He let Venigni talk, and found it somewhat of a relief for his mind to focus on the chatter. Found that the more he listened, the more questions he asked, the more Venigni treated him like a person, and not a fancy clock. That felt even more of a relief.

Though none as much of a relief as when Polendina came by to announce that he'd finished preparing dinner. Venigni waved him away, too intent on his project, but Eugenie put down her work. P said he would accompany her to the dining room - it gave him the perfect excuse to escape from Venigni. He walked with her, even though he would not be able to eat anything at dinner.

"So-" She tucked her hair behind her ear. "What do you think of Venigni?"

P paused. He wondered if he should lie. For once, he thought it better not to. "He's loud."

Eugenie laughed. It was a merry sound that reminded him of Gemini's lantern, when it was fully glowing. "That's true."

"But his heart his good."

She didn't laugh that time. She smiled instead. "Also true. And I think he would like to be your friend, if you let him."

P also didn't laugh, but he felt as though it would be appropriate. (Could he laugh?) He settled for smiling, and nodding.

But it didn't seem as though he had a choice in the matter.

P was starting a collection.

He had very little to put in his own room at the hotel. (There seemed little point in giving him his own room, considering he couldn't sleep, and he rarely stayed long.) All his weapons were kept downstairs, along with his spare legion arms. He did have spare clothes, which he folded and left the chest of drawers. It felt almost like a portrait gallery; a dozen different versions of him. Weapons and clothes were a necessity. He could understand having them. They didn't feel any more personal than the borrowed bed and furniture.

But there were things he’d acquired which weren’t a necessity; things he’d seen and slipped into his pocket, as he'd wandered through abandoned houses and streets. P was drawn to them. He'd been programmed to read, he supposed, and he found that fascinating; how much had been written, and for so many different purposes.

His father had found one of these papers, when he’d been helping to clean his legion arm - to keep it functional. His fingers had brushed against the slip of paper in P’s pockets. He’d slipped it out, without asking.

P didn’t even think to protest. He watched his father read the note he’d found on Elysium Boulevard. The note written by a father with the petrification disease, speaking about his wife and daughter.

Geppetto’s expression became difficult to read; his eyebrows and lips twitched, as though he was reading it to himself.

“Why did you keep this?” he asked.

P had kept the note because it made him feel – strange - made his springs tick in the way which could be feeling. When he’d read it, he could imagine the man holding the quill; imagine the pain and fear that he felt; he’d understood the emotion behind the words. As much as a puppet could understand emotion.

“To remember,” he said. He’d wanted to remember a dead man: to preserve his last moments, even if he was the only one who could. It seemed to be becoming a habit.

Geppetto’s eyebrows twitched again. It shifted his monocle. “Remember?”

“Him.” P pointed to the note.

“But this is just a scribble from a sick man.” And Geppetto moved to toss it into the bin.

P jerked. His hand raised before he realised – his legion arm – and for a moment, it looked as though he was about to attack. He folded his fingers back, looked up, and said, “Please.”

Geppetto still stared at him for a long moment, his gaze calculating, if not, slightly disapproving. But then, he held the scrap of paper out. It wilted, the black lines like lines of ants on the page. P took it, and smoothed it out. His fingers tracing over the words he'd memorized, by now. He folded it, once, and slipped it back into his pocket.

“I never thought that you’d…” Geppetto trailed off.

P tilted his head to one side, looking up again. Did he never think that he’d be curious about humans? That he’d want to know more about the emotions that he wasn’t supposed to have?

“Be so meticulous.” Geppetto finished, but there were lines either side of his mouth that suggested it wasn’t the word he’d first thought of.

P nodded, because he wasn’t sure what else to do. Nodding always seemed a safe reaction.

His father smiled, tightly. “Thank you for remembering to say please.”

It wasn’t a chide, not quite, but it was enough to suggest that P had not been as obedient as he should have been. He hadn’t meant to, but he didn’t know how to explain that. He was a puppet; he was supposed to obey his creator.

But he wasn’t bound by the Grand Covenant. That was beginning to feel like more and more of a relief.

So he kept his scribbles from a sick man. He put the slip of paper in the same drawer as he had the other things he’d collected; the poster for the parade puppet, the figurine of the police officer puppet; the ruined guide to Krat. He sat, at the desk, when it was night, and looked through his little treasures by Gemini’s yellow light.

They were precious, to him, as relics of how Krat used to be. Of who lived there. Of what people were. His father had said the city wasn’t like how he remembered it, but he didn’t remember it at all. His first memory was waking on the train.

P asked Gemini: “Do you remember?”

The shadow of the cricket moved in the lantern. “Bits and pieces, but nothing in particular. It feels more like facts than real memories. Sorry, pal.”

P gave him a small smile. He ran his finger around the lid of the lantern, and kept looking at the parade puppet poster. What would the poster for himlook like?

'So lifelike you won’t believe he’s not a real boy.'

Why did that bother him?

#lies of p #giuseppe geppetto #lies of p player character #lies of p pinocchio #lies of p p #fanfiction #fanfic #multichap #turnupswrites #pinocchio

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