[ Now burdened with the gift of cursed knowledge, Pinocchio calmly attempts to put his new awareness out of his mind. This, of course, means questions regarding the day-to-day logistics of handling (no, not that word) living with such an endowment has a way of intruding. Along with thoughts like that looks like it hurts.
Barely has his name and already spending an inexcusable amount of time speculating on the quality of life impacts of—
He shuffles in his seat, starting to lift one foot in an attempt to shift, or maybe swing it over his other knee, but there's not much room in here now that most of the free space is presently taken up by a large, affable Wildcard. When Hung continues, pointing out that the staff are friendly in a way that makes one question it, he looks up at him with a reluctant nod. If he means he's suspicious of it all, he's in good company. Pinocchio doesn't trust any cage, gilded or otherwise.
Oh, that ear-lift is cute. He begins to smile a little, then it falls into something more guarded. (He didn't get the joke...)
Of course, those ears are sharp. The puppet has been lucky — barely anyone's picked up on the sound of clockwork and fewer still have concluded he's not like everyone else. Most look to his arm as the source and no further. ]
This? [ says Pinocchio as he lifts his metal arm, the rust-stained steel covering it glinting dully, ] It hasn't been maintained in a while, [ one lie, one truth, and now, one deflection: ] You have a horn.
no subject
handling(no, not that word) living with such an endowment has a way of intruding. Along with thoughts like that looks like it hurts.Barely has his name and already spending an inexcusable amount of time speculating on the quality of life impacts of—
He shuffles in his seat, starting to lift one foot in an attempt to shift, or maybe swing it over his other knee, but there's not much room in here now that most of the free space is presently taken up by a large, affable Wildcard. When Hung continues, pointing out that the staff are friendly in a way that makes one question it, he looks up at him with a reluctant nod. If he means he's suspicious of it all, he's in good company. Pinocchio doesn't trust any cage, gilded or otherwise.
Oh, that ear-lift is cute. He begins to smile a little, then it falls into something more guarded. (He didn't get the joke...)
Of course, those ears are sharp. The puppet has been lucky — barely anyone's picked up on the sound of clockwork and fewer still have concluded he's not like everyone else. Most look to his arm as the source and no further. ]
This? [ says Pinocchio as he lifts his metal arm, the rust-stained steel covering it glinting dully, ] It hasn't been maintained in a while, [ one lie, one truth, and now, one deflection: ] You have a horn.