#❄ ⤚ ᴘᴀᴄᴇ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ ʙᴀʀs ( ic. / riga. ) ⇾

[dikiyvter]

He's looking down at a journal gripped between his claws; leather-bound and devoid of any decor, but clearly well-loved by the rough edges of papers spilling out from between it's covers.

" I... don't suppose..."

" I~I'm not certain that the poetry celebration will accept your Hex and Hound fanfiction, Rigachka. It's for poetry, not novellas!"

" ... Oh... That... That makes sense... " With a disappointed- and somewhat embarrassed- look, Rigatello slides the journal back into an inner pocket of his coat with careful claws.

[dikiyvter]

old asks | @snowtombedstar said:

get out of my way .  i won’t tell you again . // to Riga (-:

FAR BIGGER DOGS have bared far nastier teeth to the beast; and they, too, had been met with the lidded and unblinking gaze that now stared downwards at Tem ( not, of course, in an act of superiority - it was merely impossible for Rigatello not to be gazing downwards at whomever he was speaking to )

" ... " there's a long stretch of silence between them; whatever thoughts there are rattling in the beasts mind lie hidden beyond that ever-impassive expression; shielded beyond slouched shoulders and arms laying limp at his side.

Until - sudden, the gesture, if only by the sheer size of the automaton - metallic claws twitch, shoulders straighten, and head raises; the statue come to life. Moving with stiff little bursts like a poorly jointed doll, Rigatello clears a way for Tem to move past him ...

But if the hand pulling his shortsword from where it sits sheated at this back is any indication, he doesn't intend to let her pass on alone. He only agreed to get out of her way, after all -- not to stay put.

[dikiyvter]

" ... What... What about--" he's halfway through pulling out another journal from underneath his coat "Princess Mina, of the Fallen Nation..."

"You are missing point. Poetry, Riga. Poems. Rhymes!" Giacomo accompanies these words with wide gestures of the hands, as if that would help to get his point across.

" ... There... there are rhymes. Like... " squinting, scouring, flipping through old papers lined with water damage and ink blots. "... Bloom, and... and Scratch."

" ... Bloom, and.... In the COMMON tongue, Rigatello, words that rhyme in COMMON! "

[dikiyvter]

UNPROMPTED. | @drolliic said:

Amvrosiy is too small to reach anywhere near their face ( maybe if she really stretched herself or jumped she would ) so, instead, she wraps her arms around Rigatello and presses her face against them.

She's so small, compared to him. It is what he is most aware of, when she's close like this. The fragility of that which is closest to him is something he has always forced himself to be conscious of. How easily skin would break underneath his claws, how the bones would snap if he were to grip too hard. Be careful; Be careful.

Rigatello wraps her arms around her like one might cradle glass; Fearful both of holding too tight and so too of letting go, hyper aware of where his claws lay as he hugs her, of how much pressure he applies.

" Is... everything alright...?"

[dikiyvter]

dangles a string in front of tau. is this how you play with kids? like cats?

" SERIOUSLY ? Do I look like a cat to you ?! I'm not so undignified as to-- "

A golden-clawed hand shoots out to smack at the string.

"... Stop that. "

" ... Apologies... young lord. "

[dikiyvter]

UNPROMPTED. | @snowtombedstar said:

hands reach carefully up to their shoulders, then the crook of their neck. she has to really extend her arm, given the robot's size, but she manages. after assessing the riskーnot of harm; Tem isn't concerned about that. but of irritating them, or bothering them in some way. cleared, she moves her hand to their face and uses a finger to push at their lip, revealing the teeth underneath, and the inhuman point they come to. gently, less to avoid harm and more on inflicting discomfort, tem uses another finger to tap at the tips of those teeth, staring in awe.

THE TOUCH COMES AS A SURPRISE - though not an unwelcome one, per say. Dual-tone eyes fix on the hands touching their shoulder, widen and flick instead to the face that they belong to as they wander upwards. Mechanical heart skips a beat ( if it were possible to ) as the tips of Tem's fingers grace their neck, raise hair on ends with a shark intake of breath, the inkling of confusion knitting Rigatello's brows together - but they do not stop her .

Heat flushes their cheeks as that hand comes to their face. Instinctive , the way they still so entirely, claws grasping at the edges of their coat in search of grounding. There are certainly moments Rigatello wishes emotions might come clearer across Tem's face -- or perhaps that they themself might find it easier to read them. What thoughts cross her mind ? What fleeting intrigue ?

They relent under the touch, lips parting at unspoken request, as pallid cheeks tint soft pink in their fluster. They've bitten clean through far sturdier materials than Tem's hand. They've made grown men tremble in fear of that threat. Their fangs alone are guilty of the same countless crimes their clawed hands are.

So why does Tem so boldly toy with them , those weapons of war?

Rigatello notices a few moments too late that they are shivering. That their claws are wearing holes into the edges of their coat, with how they worry the fabric between their sharpened metal tips. That they've been staring so openly at Tem, eyes wide in an uncharacteristic display of emotion on a typically monotonous face. They inhale deep to try and still themself, their racing heart, the shiver of their form, the fear that writhes in their chest ( caution; caution; caution; every aspect of them designed as a visible warning flag to instill terror, this great hound of Dottore's; How dare such gentle touch strip them bear? Does Tem not know the dangers of sticking ones fingers in a the maw of a bear trap ? There's reason for the metal and leather that awaits them back home, custom-made to fit their face like a muzzle )

They'd dare question it, were they not so afraid even the slightest moment might find Tem slicing her finger against the edge of their teeth. They'd dare look away, were they not so entranced in the look of awe; in the absence of fear.

When had they given her such reason to trust them?

[dikiyvter]

𝐔𝐍𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐃 ./ * @snowtombedstar​​ said:

points. “what the fuck is that thing.”

       A LONG, LONG STARE. Confusion laced at it’s edges in brows furrowed and mouth pulled to a thin line. A moment of silence. ( He’s feeling rather . . . self-conscious, suddenly. )  Fidgety as nervous fluster sets in, glancing side to side and then inevitably off at the horizon above Tem’s left shoulder. Avoiding eye contact.

       “ . . . I don’t know what you mean. “

[dikiyvter]

       “I... I play... pot of greed, which allows me to draw two cards--”

       “Wrong card game, Telechka. ”

       “ ... There are... different card games... ?”

[dikiyvter]

UNPROMPTED. | @snowtombedstar​ said:

sneaks up behind riga and hops on his back :3c

       RIGATELLO -- by virtue of being several times Tem’s width, height, and density -- does not so much as sway under the sudden addition of weight to their back. They stand perfectly, perfectly still, casting an awkward glance over their shoulder and waiting with quiet patience for Tem to get settled . . .

       And then, after a brief moment of thought, Rigatello carefully, carefully lowers themself to the ground, flopping unceremoniously into the dirt face-first.

       “ Oh, no ...

              I’ve been crushed... “

[dikiyvter]

       Everyone is being mean to him today ! Look how sad he is. If he had cat ears , they would be drooping right around now !

[dikiyvter]

 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓. ./ * @curiouskinetic​ said:

[CARRY] ( for riga! )

       GIVEN WHO HIS SUCCESSOR IS , Rigatello really should come to know by now that strength is oft not confined by ones physical form. Just the same as Giacomo had come to beat the beast in battles long past - surely should the automaton come to realize that such hidden strengths may lie in other allies of his . . .

              Somehow, still, he hadn’t really expected this.

       Surprise laces his expression, followed quick by concern as he flails a bit -- the difference in their size only serving to further his nervousness, as no clearly area to GRIP to prevent his inevitable fall can be found - Attempting instead to settle perfectly still, panic present in breath and expression.

       “ Down -- Put me down , please ! “ does his voice squeak a little in how high it rises? “ I-- You must’n’t -- Strain nearly so hard ! Don’t - Don’t hurt yourself . . . ! “

[dikiyvter]

       His dignity ( what little of it he had, at least ) is apparently in the process of being slowly carved into nothingness by this -- little icicle...!

[dikiyvter]

𝐔𝐍𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐃. / * @curiouskinetic​ said:

She's starting to feel kind of bad for being unintentionally mean to Riga's horse, and so she will bring said horse a gift to make up for it! The gift is half of a watermelon and some peaches, which she places on the ground in front of him.

She has no idea what horses like to eat, but most animals with hooves seem to like fruit from her experience!

       UNDER TYPICAL CIRCUMSTANCE, Rigatello would be eager to warn one of the dangers of approaching Lada unsupervised - even with such supervision, one would never quite be safe under the gaze of the beast - Least of all when one was willfully within range of the things teeth -

       BUT ALL THAT SAID, Sora is a bit of a special case, is she not? Though she may be put off by the creature ( and his rather unnerving appearance, for not even Rigatello could deny that those dark and unblinking eyes were oft described as piercing ), the automaton could not think of a single soul least likely to be bitten by the thing ( perhaps Amvrosiy, but there was something special to be said about those most frequently around Lada; For him to be so kind to a relative stranger, however, was most unheard of. )

       Still, he sits atop a rock not too far to notice, where he can watch carefully as she offers up a gift of plentiful fruit; Where he can watch Lada raise his head slow in curiosity, look to her and then to the fruit - and quietly begin to munch on the food in quiet acceptance. Sharing food is, after all, the friendly-tongue of the worlds more sentient predators, is it not?

       “He seems to like you,” Rigatello idly comments, closing his pencil between the pages of his journal.

        “Either that, or he senses that he can’t eat you.”

[dikiyvter]

       “ Lada is a purebred war horse. . . a smokey black Shire stallion . . . Excellent temperament for his rider . . . “

       “ He ate my forearm once.”

       “ . . . 24 hands tall . . . almost one thousand eight hundred kilos . . . “

       “ He just swallowed it whole . . . cut my circuitry clean . . . ”

[dikiyvter]

... He has something in his mouth. Something that isn't food. Ignore the intermittent sound of a sharp and snappy crunch, crunch, crunch.

[dikiyvter]

... RIGATELLO, ON THE OTHER HAND, quite likes a good ( humorously small in his larger-than-average claws ) cup of tea...