#rigatello

[isnotanoctopus]

thoughts & concepts

[dikiyvter]

@snowtombedstar replied to your post “I think there's a certain tenderness Rigatello has...”:

what if she gently touches his teefs

​Riga would sit there looking at her like she single-handedly pulled the moon outta the sky for him and then he'd write poetry about the incident for literal weeks afterwards

[sercphs]

@dikiyvter asked: Rigatello seemingly manifests from the shadows -- plopping their heavy coat on Fischl's shoulders without a word, like the fussy nanny-bot they apparently are. "... You will catch a cold," ( the rather long pause makes these words sound quite ominous for a moment ) "... if you were to get caught in... inclement weather like this. Does preparedness... mean little, to Mond citizens?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Achoo!

⠀⠀⠀⠀A frigid sneeze... Gosh, when did this cold roll in? Had winter come early? Ah, she really should have brought some kind of heavy coat...

"Ah-?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀Suddenly she finds herself with the desired and required heavy coat... Suffocating her! Where had this come fr-

⠀⠀⠀⠀Ah. Every bone in her body tenses at Rigatello's voice, and she turns toward Riga like a startled cartoon character. She's still not sure if he holds her crashing into him against her or not, but..!

"A-ahem, one's divine form grants her a certain resilience to thine worldly ailments! Ahem, n-not that thou ist troubled by such things...!"

[steadfastspirits-a]

@dikiyvter​

          “ My apologies... I’ve never seen Prince react so strongly. Are you alright? ”

It had taken more than a few moments to drag Margaret’s black cat away from the stranger — the mischievous creature had once again run away from home, and Jean found herself hunting him down to return him safely. Even after getting the hissing, writhing mass of black fur away from the towering man before her, the cat had bolted from her own arms, disappearing down one of Mondstadt’s many alleys.

She’d have to retrack him down, however... making sure that this person wasn’t terribly injured came first. He seemed mostly unharmed at first glance, but that didn’t mean she could shirk her duties.

[mcuntainbcrn]

@dikiyvter​ replied: "Smoking is bad for your health," Riga says before putting a gummy worm in her hand.

The candy was immediately crushed in her hand, head turning almost unnaturally far to stare at the blond ominously, “And so is choking...choking is very...very hazardous to your health...and if you enjoy being healthy, I suggest you not toy with me further.”

[melodicbreeze]

💎💎💎 for,,, for both bots mayhaps?

Send "💎💎💎" and My Muse will say three things that comes to their mind when Your Muse's name is mentioned

"Ah, the both of you, hm? Well then, let's get to it! I'll start with Giacomo, as I've known him longer."

"The words I'd chose for him.... indulgent, sharp, and strong willed. Yes, I think those are quite fitting. As for Rigatello..."

"I would have to say woolgatherer, estrangement, and private."

[adversaryss]

@dikiyvter:​

Grabs Aias by the chin, tilting his head upwards and pressing a thumb lightly against his lower lip, a slow spoken command of, "...Let me see your fangs," muttered out without so much as a hint of context. Ah, yes. Perfectly normal comrade activities.

"Hmm?" Aias doesn't balk at the sudden touch, relatively gentle for the blows they can afford each other; only a small curious hum rises in the back of his throat as he peers up at Rigatello. What could he be thinking? Seems interesting, so he'll oblige him, just this once.

Dull eyes squint shut in amusement as his lips curve and part into a toothy grin, pointed canines exposed, as requested.

"Ah~"

[sylvctica]

@dikiyvter​   ➤ unprompted

Rigatello is looking rather intently - Not nearly so much as Sylvie, but rather . . . " How do you keep your hair tied back so . . . neatly? " claws reach idly to tug at one of the many frayed strands of his own hair, dangling messily in front of his own face ( as they are so oft prone to do )

" . . . I assume it is . . . much work. Tedious. "

     “Hm?” The sound naturally left the god at the inquiry, hand subconsciously reaching up to touch the base of their ponytail before dropping next to their side. 

     “Well, to be honest, I kinda cheat by using roots to keep up my ponytail, so it’s like having a hair tie that’s always just perfectly tight enough to keep strands from hanging ... I also only do the back half of my head for these”—their fingers played with their own side bangs—“are far too short to reach back.” Words followed by a little murmur under their breath of, ‘Well, kinda sucks when they still fall into my face...’

      Green eyes focused upon Riga, head tilted slightly to the side for a few moments ... followed by a little mischievous wrinkle forming at the corner of their eyes as their hand came to rest upon their own chin. “... would you like me to give an attempt at taming your ... unruly hair?”

[rebelliousties]

. . . Rigatello's solution, on the other hand, is much more simple. Mindful of sharp claws, he grabs Kazuha by the back of his shirt and heaves him off the ground, locating the nearest surface that one could reasonably sleep upon and. . . quite gracelessly dropping him onto it. Quick to follow is the automaton's coat, tossed on top of wanderer for a makeshift blanket-- and then the automaton himself, who sits himself down nearby.

Try to get up? He'll push you back down.

The sentiment is simple, but unspoken: Go the fuck to sleep.

-ah, and just as suddenly he is hoisted in the air like some sort of barely alive kitten pulled up by the scruff of its neck, like he truly weights nothing. And there he goes, dropped... somewhere, some sort of weak, exhausted sound that may have been supposed to resemble a groan as the coat was dropped just as gracelessly on top of him. A blessing in disguise, in a way, considering the alternative mere moments ago was far too much like psychological torture for his own comfort.

Perhaps he shall just be dead to the world for a few hours and keep weakly hoping it might end up becoming more permanent. Now that would have been nice.

[tartabinger]

@commediia​ posted a letter:

“I cannot believe that I am writing a letter to you, but I suppose— oh, whatever. I do not want a gift for myself - but please get Childe a proper set of clothes that fit him. I have enclosed some money; hopefully that shall be enough. That boy grows like a weed. For Giacomo and Rigatello and dear little Qiqi, I shall pass on gifts myself, but I think Childe would not be pleased if he knew it were me — so his must be sent secretly. He cannot know. He must, like all others, believe my wretched heart be made of ice. But perhaps a part still fragile yet remains, enough to recognise a need for warmth. Ah, fare thee well, Ded Moroz, and thank you. - Signora”

Event: Voices Carried Across the Tundra

Ah.

Restless fingers tap at the oak desk in front of him as Tartaglia reads over this particular letter. The tables no longer turn in the presence of this letter from The Lady herself. No, they collapse; broken pieces thrown into the ocean of his soul and left to sediment as lies.

This lie, concocted through good intentions for those less fortunate now backfiring in the form of spilled secrets. A sword has two main components, and only now does he find himself gripping onto the blade of a stunt gone wrong. Deceit dripping from both his quill and hands.

       If white lies got him into this situation, is it really so bad to use white lies to get back out?

As Tartaglia raises his quill one final time, he requests the soldier posted outside his quarters to purchase a rose brooch befitting of an elegant lady:

Dearest La Signora,       Thank you for your letter. While I appreciate you sending money to buy your colleague a new set of clothes, I cannot accept it so please find said money enclosed within the envelope alongside this letter.       In hearing of this tradition, I assume you were not informed of the individual that assists me? My assistant is the colleague in question but fear not for I shall not hand this letter to him ouside the envelope and I hope that my wax seal helps soothe any concerns you may have regarding him reading your words.       However, I have informed him of your writing to me and I hope you like the gift we discussed to give you. Sincerely, Ded Moroz

[wise-innocence]

❛   tap . - from riga!

Nonverbal prompts // Accepting! @dikiyvter​

"Rigatello! Are you finally in need of my incredible expertise?... wait, why are you here?" Yanfei would have expected to see him just about anywhere else; the harbor’s night market wasn’t exactly the place for anyone aiming to seek legal advise. Maybe the automaton was also trying to negotiate down prices in order to get the best deals. Unlikely story yet not impossible. 

Wait, this was good timing. While working through the finer details of Gio’s special case, many questions arouse that she was interested in finding an answer to.  "Actually I've been meaning to ask you about something concerning your... birth? No that's not the word I want... can you hold this for me? It’ll only take a moment.” She was already holding out her basket of produce towards him in favor of digging through her bag for a certain notebook- “Aha! Here we go! See, I would ask your ‘bizarre’ creator but he gives me the creeps. Anyways-- do you have a circuit core anywhere in your design? They're essential in the production of ruin guards but you’re way more complex than that. Similar to a life-sized work of art!”

[isnotanoctopus]

haha     tits

[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.

[lionfanged]

@dikiyvter sent :

Someone new has come to bother Atticus, it seems- further and further chasing all hopes of Mondstadt being a sleepy city. Rigatello takes a seat across from the man, a wide smile on his face as he does- "So," he begins, leaning forward to prop his chin on his hand, "you're the mechanic repairing Giacomo?"

a quiet evening. one, singular, quiet evening. it was all that he asked, no, begged for, in the midst of flaming swords, broken automaton clowns, and flirting bards with the faces of children. had he known mondstadt would be like this, he would have considered staying in liyue instead. paranoia may have eaten away at him, wondering if the next set of people to step off of a boat and into the harbor would be coming for him, but, at least he would have some peace.

more than what he had now, eyes slowly dragging up from his blueprint sketching to the grinning visage staring him down. at his feet, cairo growled.

‘ i haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re going on about, ‘ coolly atticus answered, eyes trailing back down to his work with practiced ease. lying came as second nature, and it would take baal herself descending from her immortal throne to truly bring him to a sweat. this was surely just some drunk who had caught snippets from the last conversation he had with giacomo, and was trying to see if it was exploitable.

this area was overwhelmed by treasure hoarders looking for a quick mora, wasn’t it?

‘ unless you are intending on buying my next ale, i am not interested in chatting. ‘

[wolvenfang-a]

Rigatello had been following for a while; Predators both in their own rights, and though he’s certain the young wolf must have had some awareness of his presence, he makes no attempt to reveal himself- Not yet. For now he follows, fascinated in his observation as he watches the young wolf hunt; And only then does he spring forth, butchering the boar in one sharp and electric swing of his claymore. A grin cast to the boy, and low are the words- “Care to share a meal with me, little pup?”

There was... someone in his territory. Someone dangerous.

All Razor could smell was the scent he couldn't recognize, even when he could almost feel their shared element in the unknown presence. Whether that was good or another threat, it was still to be seen.

Yet it still wasn't approaching just yet. Standing back, hidden away. With the element of surprise lost, Razor knew there would be no point in trying to attack, no, that wasn't how hunting works. He just didn't like this.

... Somehow, he should've expected this. It wasn't anything new, humans trying to tamper with his home and life, even trying to take away his prey at times, when the other wolves hadn't managed to scare them off.

And Razor didn't appreciate this at all.

Unflinching when the blade met flesh and the grass was splattered in red, Razor just growled, fur bristling with a crackle and sparks.

"... My prey."

He didn't appreciate strangers taking what was his.

[mcuntainbcrn]

@dikiyvter said: Ah. Great. Just Rigatello's luck to run into someone in a place meant to be uninhabited by humans. Getting rather used to the routine of trying not to start a new fight with every person he meets-- the automaton immediately raises his hands in a show of peace, looking... rather haggard, honestly. "I'm lost, not here to fight you."

How utterly exhausting - there really was no part of this god forsaken place without a human presence...though this one was lacking certain requirements of same; perhaps that was why she hadn't sensed him in time enough to vacate the area before there was no time left.

"I didn't assume you were, but even if you had, I hate to break it to you, but...you're rather surrounded at present." her tone was flat and mirthless, weariness all the more apparent as she chose to not elaborate further on the matter, eyeing them from her perch atop the stone ledge, "...where are you trying to go, then?"