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Peppino hobbled down the street, huddling himself in the cold of night, following what he could best describe as pure instinct. He had a vague idea of where he was going, as his feet knew where they wanted to be, but ever since the tower collapsed, he felt rather lost and confused… He glanced up at the empty cliffside, dread washing over him as he felt like he had lost everything he owned.
The lonely air didn’t do him any favors, either. No crickets chirped, and no cars passed by on the road. How he longed for the familiar sound of a car honk, or tires screeching across cement. All he had to keep him company was the wind, and the heavy clouds above his head.
His feet slipped over damp pavement, being sure to steer clear of deep puddles created from the rain. The cruel sky had momentarily ceased its fire, but dry skies wouldn't last long, as the smell in the air indicated that rain was soon to come back with a vengeance…
Finally, Peppino's goal came into view, the tension in his chest easing as he glanced up at the sign. Peppino Pizza! Although the face on the sign looked slightly off to him, and he found it curious that the 2 was missing (Perhaps it had fallen off? He really needed to get a better sign…), a relief as thick as a deep dish pizza warmed his chilled body, and his slow pace picked up rapidly.
The back light illuminating the alleyway was a shining beacon for the poor, weary man. But just a few feet away from the back door, the rain started again, beginning with a slow trickle, but quickly showing its fierceness by turning into a torrential downpour. Peppino yelped, the drops feeling like bullets against his skin. He started running for the door, his body dripping wet, and feet sloshing about as they stuck to the pavement.
He needed to get to dry shelter, fast! And flour… He needed flour!
His heart plummeted to the pit of his stomach when he realized that the back door was locked. In a panic, he instinctively reached for his pockets, but found nothing inside of them–just more fabric for his fingers to stick to.
Squelching onto his hands and knees, he started searching under the bins, the dumpster, and the mat, hoping to find something… Something…? What was it?
His dripping wet fingers finally found it, halfway hidden beneath the mat. Whatever it was! Lifting it to the light, he saw it was a key. He knew it’d be there!
But… Why did he know that…?
He shook his head and hastily opened the door, practically tumbling over the threshold. As he closed the door behind him, he could hear thunder rumbling in the distance. His body shivered, water pooling around his dripping feet. He was glad to be out of that rain… If the weather outside was like that often, he really was better off staying in his pizzeria all the time!
He wanted to place the key down on a nearby counter, hoping that he'd remember to replace it exactly where he had found it later, but the blasted rain left his skin soaking wet and dreadfully sticky. After a few minutes of frustrated grunting and getting his gooey fingers tangled, he resorted to shaking his hand rapidly to release the key from his digits. It landed on the ground, alongside globs of doughy flesh, with a clatter.
Running his hands along the wall, he started to search for a light switch. Although he did his best to keep his palms from sticking to the tile, his fingertips left behind a trail of sticky residue, like a snail… More to clean later, but without Pizzaface breathing down his neck, he'd have even more opportunity to put his pizzeria in the tip-top shape he always wanted it to be in! A gurgly giggle erupted from his throat at the thought. Finally, free from Pizzaface and his tyranny!
Peppino’s eyes squinted and burned slightly when he finally located the switch and flicked it on, blinking quickly as his eyes slowly adjusted. Boy, these lights were a lot brighter than he remembered! Regardless, he placed his hands on his hips and looked over his kitchen with pride… But, something was wrong.
This wasn't his kitchen.
It looked nothing like what he had gotten used to, and everything was positioned incorrectly. The floor tiles were all wrong, the walls were a completely different color, and it looked far more pristine than he had ever seen it. Something twisted inside of him, and his hands gripped the straps of his tank top… Now that he paused to really think about it, the sign out front was completely wrong, as well…
His form started to melt, his vision going hazy. Was he trespassing? Then why did this place feel so much like home? His legs were starting to form a large puddle on the tile… No, no! He couldn't fall prey to anxiety now! He needed to get some flour in him, instead!
He picked himself up, his body making sucking noises as he peeled himself off the ground. He would have wrung his hands together, but they were far too sticky for that… Deep breaths, in and out… Time to find that flour.
Although this kitchen wasn't familiar to him, for some reason he knew exactly where the flour was. There was a large pantry to the far left of the kitchen, and inside, as if expecting him, sat an unopened, fresh bag of flour. He greedily scooped it up into his hands and started pouring the powder into his mouth. He was starting to feel better already!
Once he’d eaten his fill, Peppino started to work the flour into his body, kneading his hands together and slowly regaining the gap between his fingers. After a few minutes, he had worked his sticky flesh back into a prime doughy consistency. It was as if he hadn't been caught in the rain at all! He was now covered from head to toe in a fine dusty layer.
Looking back to the bag, there was still a fair amount inside of it; enough to make a fresh batch of dough from scratch! Although this wasn't his kitchen, he was stricken with the urge and inspiration to bake a pizza. It would be a shame to let this last bit of flour go to waste, and maybe the owner wouldn't mind! After all, Peppino made a killer pizza, even with sub-par ingredients! He had a feeling that this place was well-stocked, so he'd be able to blow the owner's socks off with whatever he made.
He started collecting his ingredients one by one, wrapping them tightly in his lengthy arms. Yeast, sugar, salt, oil, and water... With a bit of garlic, to taste! He couldn't help but grin from ear to ear holding all of these fresh ingredients. He was elated, to say the least, to make dough from scratch, rather than pound and knead one of his clones into a usable crust. No eyes or limbs to mar his beautiful work, and it'd be all one smooth consistency!
Scrounging around the kitchen, Peppino procured a pair of gloves. They were a bit large on his hands, but they would suffice in keeping his own doughy flesh separate from his fresh batch. With everything in place, he was ready to bake! He clapped and rubbed his hands together, barely able to contain his excitement.
There was a spring in his step as he warmed the water over the stove, and he hummed while adding the yeast, oil and sugar. He couldn't wait as he watched the yeast slowly activate in the liquid, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Before long, he was combining the rest of the ingredients together, working the dough with the efficiency of an electric mixer and hook.
That was when he heard something at the door to the lobby. Peppino's heart nearly leaped from his throat when he cried in shock, but he quickly settled down. Filling the entire frame was the face of John the pillar, however he bore arms and legs, and wore a fancy pair of trousers. His expression was befuddled, but when Peppino gave him a friendly grin and pivoted his wrist up and down to wave, John returned the gesture, sticking his hand through the door.
As happy as Peppino was to see him, it did come as a shock, "!llew mees uoY ?nhoJ ,ereh gniod uoy era tahW" much better than he looked while working under Pizzaface, for sure...
His deep voice filled the kitchen despite his efforts to keep his voice low, "Isn't it a bit late to be making pizza?"
The chef frowned when John didn't answer the question, but he replied all the same, "!lla ta toN" he chimed, continuing his work on the dough, "!ekab ot--ylrae oot ro--etal oot reven s'tI"
John didn't reply again, simply scratching at his cheek. He sat in silence for a while, watching Peppino work his magic. Finally, after ten minutes of dedicated work, he had formed a beautiful lump of dough. Not too sticky, not too stiff, and covered in a light layer of flour, just like Peppino. He presented it to John proudly, the pillar man rewarding his work with a casual thumbs up. Peppino couldn't help but gurgle a delighted laugh at the reaction, wrapping his arms multiple times around the bowl that he had so lovingly placed it inside.
"!ydaer eb lliw azzip eht erofeb gnol eb t'now ti tub ,tsrif esir ot sah hguod ehT" Peppino hummed, "!ekil d'uoy fi ,yrt ot tsrif eht eb nac uoY" John continued to remain silent, and he could only assume that the fellow wasn't really much for conversation...
Once the dough had been lovingly greased and covered, John finally did speak up, "Could you please get me a glass of water?" he placed both hands on either side of the door frame, "I'm very thirsty but can't get to the sink..."
Peppino nodded briskly, but paused and placed his hands on his hips. He didn't actually know where the cups were... Eyes scanning the cupboards along the wall, it dawned on him when he saw the cupboard above the sink. Oh, of course! That's where the cups were! He opened it, discovering his hunch to be correct. Picking out a nice large glass for the pillar man, he filled it precariously to the brim and handed it over, receiving a quiet thank you, and a friendly-sounding goodnight.
Satisfied with himself, Peppino returned to his bowl of dough. He placed it on the ground and sat over it, watching it like a mother hen would her chicks. He waited expectantly for it to slowly rise to perfection, and was more than ready to wait as long as it took... Usually about a half hour. As he curled up on the ground, wrapping his arms around his legs and resting his chin on his knees, it finally hit him that he was quite weary. It had been a long day, and now that he had officially settled down, it caught up with him... He stifled a yawn with the back of one hand.
Before he knew it, Peppino had drifted off to sleep, images of toppins dancing around and his head.
As morning light trickled into the kitchen, cascading across the tiles, Peppino was met with a very rude awakening. A terrified scream, followed by a powerful tackle that sent him careening into the far wall with a loud splat. His body had flattened against the wall, flecks and globs of his doughy flesh exploding out from the force. He groaned, his eyes lolling about as his bearings evaded him.
"Get out of my shop, you freak!" a familiar voice shrieked.
Peppino reconstituted himself at a snail's pace, peeling himself off the wall with shaky arms. His mind still spun from the blow, and he couldn't tell up from down. Once his head had fully reformed, he turned to face the attacker. His heart lodged itself into his throat upon eye contact, and a surge of numbness and nausea completely overwhelmed his senses.
It was Peppino... The real one.
He looked furious, but the crease in his brow and tremble of his limbs read that he was equally full of fear. The portly Italian flailed his arms towards the back door, trying to nonverbally convince his doughy duplicate to hurry on out of the kitchen.
But Peppino didn't move.
As the stray globs of flesh finished returning to his person, the clone's own body began to shake. He felt like he was outside of his own body, looking at his own face like this. Even as the shakes turned into full body tremors, his body suddenly didn't feel like it was his own. He collapsed to his hands and knees, staring wide-eyed at the ground, unable to keep eye contact with the real version of himself.
He wheezed, his fingertips clawing at the edges of tiles. One arm flew to his jaw, and hit bit down on it hard without thinking, stars filling his vision.
Either he had genuinely forgotten, or he had pushed the memory out of his mind after the tower collapsed... But it had totally slipped his mind. That he was in fact a clone, and not the real deal. The feeling made him sick to his stomach, and out of pure stress, he moaned and groaned, his head receding into his neck. He covered what little could be seen of his face with his hands, his fingers now digging into his own scalp.
Gerome had entered the kitchen, alerted to the sound. "Good heavens," he started, surveying the puddles and stains that Peppino had left behind the night prior, "What happened here? The kitchen is quite a mess!"
"Sure is!" the real Peppino growled, pointing an incriminating finger at the struggling Peppino, "Because that... That THING managed to break its way into my pizzeria last night!" he shook his fist, stepping back a few paces, clearly off-put by the display.
"Sorry," John cut in, "I didn't realize he wasn't allowed inside... I would have ushered him out if I did," he sighed, "But he kindly gave me a glass of water last night, so I doubt he has any bad intentions."
"I don't care what he did! I want him out of my shop!" the real Peppino wheezed, now pacing back and forth, unable to pry his eyes from his clone, "That thing attacked me in the tower, and nearly killed me!"
"Oh, we've all made attempts on your life at least once in the tower, Peppino," Gerome mused casually, "Even myself!" looking up at the man's face, he couldn't help but laugh at the shocked expression he bore, "I'm kidding! It was only a joke."
The real Peppino stuffed his hands into his pockets, "It's very hard telling when you're joking or not," he huffed, "What with that flat tone you talk in."
"Well regardless, he's certainly not trying to kill you now." Gerome corrected. He approached Peppino, who recoiled further "As a matter of fact, he seems rather distressed, don't you think...?"
"As am I," the real Peppino muttered under his breath. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his trousers, then produced a kerchief from his back pocket to dry his perspiring forehead.
"Now, let's be rational, here," Gerome continued coolly, placing a hand on the clone's shoulder, "He probably just came here seeking shelter. We can't fault him for that... And what's a mess in the kitchen?" he smiled at the real Peppino, his features creasing under his mustache, "Just something to clean. Let him calm down, yes? Then we can hear him out."
There was silence from the real Peppino, but he eventually heaved a sigh, his arms falling to his side, "Fine, fine, sure," he hissed, adding "It'll only give me heart palpitations is all," in Italian to himself.
Uncurling himself with slow and rigid movements, Peppino finally dared himself to make eye contact with the real version of himself. He immediately broke off however, pushing his eyes into their sockets and rubbing them brusquely. He moaned again, this time trying to rise to his feet. He wrung his hands together, breathing labored as he tried to calm himself down.
He hated that he was the fake. He couldn't stand the thought of it, but he couldn't be angry with the real Peppino. For it wasn't his fault that the clones were made, it wasn't his fault that Peppino felt the way he did now. If anyone were to blame, it would be Pizzaface.
Peppino's face was completely soaked. He pulled his tank top up to his face to rub it dry, leaving behind a floury stain in the middle of it. He looked to Gerome, who merely stared up at the clone with the gentle look of pity. He then looked to John, who seemed terribly indifferent to the whole affair. Finally, he dared himself to look at the real Peppino once again.
He didn't want to be a fake. But... He also didn't want to replace the real one, either. Was it possible for them both to be Peppino, and exist at the same time? Something twisted inside of him. He wasn't the biggest fan of that idea, either. So what was he to do?
... He may as well try.
Gripping his shirt and bunching it into his fists, Peppino slowly approached the real one, who looked up at him with horror; gritting his teeth and swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat.
Peppino pointed to the real one's chest. The man raised a hand to swat it away, but froze in place, his body shaking. His eyes were like daggers and needles.
".onippeP" the clone stated. He then pointed to his own chest with his other hand, ".onippeP" he repeated.
The real Peppino looked terribly confused. With a shout, he threw Peppino's finger off of his chest, and backed away, "I don't know what it is you want," he growled, "But I want you to leave my pizzeria!"
Desperate, Peppino folded his hands together and pleaded, "!rehtegot sazzip ekam dna ,emit emas eht ta onippeP eb htob nac ew--pleh nac I !yats em teL"
Gerome had since joined the real Peppino's side, pensively scratching his chin. He looked up to the clone with a serious eye.
Face contorted with discomfort, the real Peppino leaned over to Gerome, but kept his eyes planted on his clone, "Do you have any idea what he's saying?" he whispered through his teeth.
Gerome made a light humming sound, drumming a finger against his chin as if he had something to say. Instead, he shrugged and shook his head, "Nope, I haven't the foggiest. Do you, John?"
The pillar man gave a simple shrug.
",yats em teL" Peppino urged, trying to speak as plainly and clearly as possible, "!uoy wohs em tel tsuj ,sazzip gnikam ta doog yrev m'I !yats em tel esaelP"
The real Peppino scratched at his sideburns furiously, his face getting more nervous by the minute, "I have no idea what you're saying!" he groaned in exasperation, "This is getting nowhere, how can I convince you to leave?!"
Gerome snapped his fingers, "Oh, wait a moment, if I had a guess, he might be speaking in reverse!" John grunted in agreement.
Peppino placed a hand to his lips. He had forgotten that very few actually understood him, Noisette being one of the scant few. If only she were here now... But after the tower collapsed, who knew where she was... Off with her loud boyfriend, he assumed.
Scoffing, the real Peppino seemed incredulous. But his eyebrows perked up when he thought of something, "Oh, you know what..." he sighed, "I think my boombox has a tape recorder," he made way to leave the kitchen, John sidestepping to let him pass, "It ought to be able to play recordings in reverse." he continued from the lobby.
A few minutes later, he returned with an Indigo boombox and a cassette tape in hand. Placing it on the floor, he inserted the tape, hit the record button, and made a motion with his hands to signal Peppino to start talking.
“Please let me stay!” Peppino repeated once again.
Before the real Peppino could express his disdain and decline the request, Gerome spoke up, “Yes! That seems like a splendid idea,” he hummed, “After all, you were so kind to let John and I stay while we rebuild our home.”
“I–wait–what?! No!” the real Peppino sputtered. The Palm of his hand struck his forehead in exasperation, “I barely have enough room for myself in this pizzeria, much less FOUR people!”
”–h nac I ,esaelP“
“Hold on,” the real Peppino grunted, hitting record again.
“I can help around the kitchen," Peppino cried. He stepped closer to the Italian man, who stepped backwards in response. “I'm really good at making pizzas!”
“I somehow doubt that…” sneered the real Peppino.
“He seemed to know what he was doing last night,” John remarked.
“Last night??”
Peppino gasped, rushing to grab the bowl of dough off of the floor. Miraculously, when the real Peppino had tackled him earlier, he somehow left the bowl undisturbed. Peppino couldn't have been more grateful for that now, however, as he proudly displayed his handiwork to the others.
The dough had more than doubled in size, swelling out and above the lip of the bowl, but the saran wrap he used to cover it served its job well by keeping the dough contained. The real Peppino eyed it curiously, a mix of disgust and surprise taking over his face. Jaw slack, he pointed at it in disbelief, his eyes darting between the bowl and Peppino's face. The clone was grinning ear to ear.
“You made that?” the real Peppino asked. When the duplicate nodded in excitement, the real Peppino scratched his head under his cap.
“Want to give him a chance?” Gerome asked, “I'm sure you could use an extra hand around the kitchen.”
“Not like I'd be able to pay him…” the real Peppino whispered in Italian. A frown etched into his features. Now his eyes were darting between Gerome and his clone. He felt like he was stuck between a rock and a hard place, or like he was being strong-armed into this... What choice did he really have? If he declined, he wouldn't hear the end of it from Gerome, and he wouldn't be able to bear the judgmental stares from John!
Throwing his arms into the air, the real Peppino couldn't help but groan. “Fine. Fine! Alright! Go ahead, make the pizza.” he gave a dismissive wave to the clone, “Don’t care what toppings you use, just don’t clean me out, got it?” He stormed off, leaning against the wall beside the kitchen door and folding his arms. “Let's just waste fresh ingredients on this freak, why don’t we.” he added to himself in Italian. Did he think that Peppino couldn't hear?
Peppino did feel a little guilty, fingers tightening around his bowl. He didn’t want to make the real one upset… He had a feeling that sticking around would only continue to do just that… But where else was he to go? What else could he do? The longer he spent in this kitchen, the more he wanted to stay.
Well, regardless of how he felt, Peppino couldn't pass up this chance. With a smile on his lips, he started by preheating the oven and gathering ingredients.
“While he does that,” Gerome started, clapping his hands together, “I may as well clean up this mess from the rain.”
“No, no! You don't have to do that,” the real Peppino exclaimed, “I'll handle it later!”
“Oh now, I insist! Let an old man earn his keep.”
The real Peppino didn't really want to argue. He simply sighed and returned his attention to his clone, and whatever strange concoction he was going to cook up and parade around as a pizza. His fingers tightened around his bicep, images of rotting fish and peanut butter smothered on top of a burnt crust haunting him. He closed his eyes and shook his head, instead trying to focus on what he would choose if given free reign to make any kind of pizza he wanted. His mind immediately went to pepperoni, mushrooms, and black olives. Yes, that would be a good place to start. Blinking his eyes open, he saw the clone had made his selection, ingredients strewn on the counter. His body turned ice cold when he saw the array: a pepperoni stick, a punnet of mushrooms, and a jar of black olives.
It… It had to be a coincidence.
Feeling a pit form in his stomach, he kept a sharp eye on the clone. First, he rolled his dough, throwing it into the air with a skill the real Peppino didn’t expect. Then he added a fine layer of sauce, spreading it out in a circular motion with a ladle. Then came the pepperoni, cut into thin slices with a swift hand, and placed carefully in a spiral upon the crust.
The real Peppino tensed, pulling his shirt collar up to his mouth with a thumb, and chewing on the seam. It was hard to resist the urge to bite on his own fingertips, but it wasn’t as if he had any spare fingernails to chew after his trip through the tower. It wasn't a common thing to put the pepperoni underneath the cheese, but it was hardly breaking new ground, plenty of pizza makers did that… The real Peppino just so happened to be one of them.
Peppino piled on shredded mozzarella, then chopped the mushrooms and selectively placed them on top of the pie. Opening the jar of olives, he generously sprinkled them as the last topping. He seemed to know what he was doing, and that was the disturbing part… The real Peppino expected him to make unrecognizable slop, and yet… This was a legitimate pizza, at least by the looks of it.
Peppino seemed satisfied with his handiwork, throwing the pizza into the oven with gusto, the smell of melting cheese and baking mushrooms adding bounce to his movements. Much to the real Peppino's surprise, the clone started cleaning up the counter as the pizza baked. He frequently returned to the oven to peer inside, keeping a close eye on his handiwork, wringing his hands together in delight as the crust rose and the cheese bubbled. Twenty minutes later, with extreme care to keep distance between the heat of the oven and himself, Peppino pulled the pie out. He could barely contain himself as he waited for it to cool down enough to cut and serve, but once it had, he boldly proclaimed his pride and joy to everyone in the pizzeria.
The first to receive a slice was, of course, the real Peppino. Although it looked and smelled presentable, something inside of him did its best to convince the portly chef that something was wrong with it. Holding the slice in his trembling hand, he looked upon it with a weary eye… But knew the inevitable would catch up with him at an alarming speed if he waited too long. He lifted the slice to his mouth, having to regulate his breathing, hyping himself up to take the first bite. After a few puffs of breath, he finally dug in.
And it was fine.
More than fine, in fact. He chewed and swallowed the piece, feeling a surge of relief when he found nothing particularly offensive in its flavor or texture. He took another bite, wondering if the first had been a fluke. The second bite was just as good as the first.
However, he felt great discomfort as the clone hovered over him with a deep, unbroken expectant stare. The real Peppino shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat.
“Wh-what, do you want a review?” he asked timidly.
Peppino nodded briskly, folding his hands together and holding them close to his chest. His face only got closer and closer as he waited in bated breath for the man’s opinion. The pressure was on for the both of them…
“Well,” the real Peppino started, taking another bite to evaluate his thoughts further, “The sauce could use a little more flavor, and the pepperoni could be cut a little thicker… The rest of the toppings are fine.” a few more bites later, and he had reached the crust. Taking a big bite out of it, his eyebrows perked and he hummed in a pleasant way, “Oh, this crust,” he finished it off with a sense of eagerness, grabbing a napkin from a nearby holder to clean his fingers and lips, “That's the best crust I've ever had! Incredible!”
Standing tall, Peppino made a very strange and eerie sound that could have best been described as “delighted.” He bounced from one foot to the other, then ran a lap around the kitchen, unable to contain his joy. He then bolted back to the pizza and grabbed a slice of his own to eat. The real Peppino sighed with relief, tension easing out of his shoulders.
By this point, Gerome had finally finished his cleaning, “That certainly seemed to be a success!” he noted with a smile.
“Yeah,” the real Peppino rubbed the back of his neck, watching the duplicate, “I can't say I expected that, but what would a clone of myself be, if not skilled with pizza?”
“Mind if I help myself to slice?” the janitor asked. Peppino squealed and happily handed one over.
The real Peppino allowed himself to take another slice, still unable to get over just how well-made this pizza had been. He held it in the air, looking to John, “Hey, you want one?”
The pillar man lifted his hands, looking a little tired, “No… After what Pizzahead did, I feel a little sick of pizza…”
Both Peppinos jumped at the notion, and cried out in unison.
“Sick of pizza?!”
”!?azzip fo kciS“
John shrank back, his eyes wide when guilt washed over him. The real Peppino cleared his throat, and muttered an apology. If he had been in the same position as John, he had to admit that even he would have felt the same… The poor fellow had been so coated in pizza by the time the tower had been conquered, that he couldn't really blame him for feeling averse to it. Being coated in melted cheese and pizza grease wasn’t the most pleasant feeling in the world…
Peppino went to grab the boombox, having figured out what button to push by watching the real Peppino. He said, “So, if you like my pizza… Does that mean I can stay?” there was a hopeful glimmer in his crooked eyes.
The real Peppino tensed once more, but ruminated this over the last bit of crust he had. He crossed his arms and stared long and hard at the ground. Again, he didn't really feel like he had a choice in the matter… And truthfully, he had something he wanted to ask, first. It had been eating away at the back of his mind.
“First, uh…” he scratched at his chin, unable to make eye contact with his duplicate, “What… What made you pick those toppings?”
Pepino blinked. He sniffed, and furrowed his brow. Did it make a difference? What a strange thing to ask… After thinking about it while drumming his fingers against the boombox, he replied, “I really like those toppings!” he smiled brightly.
Tugging at his collar, the real Peppino felt slightly relieved, shoving any red flags under the rug, for now. At least the duplicate didn’t read his mind, or anything… It really must have been a coincidence. Yes, yes. A coincidence.
He heaved a sigh. The best he could do was to say yes, and allow the clone to stay while Gerome and John rebuilt the tower. After that, either he would convince Peppino to find a place of his own and work from there, or by that point he'd have gotten used to this doppelganger being around. For now, however…
“Yes,” the real Peppino sighed, “You can stay.”
Peppino squealed with delight, and without thinking, he threw his arms around his original, wrapping them around his thick figure a few times. The real Peppino instinctively froze, wheezing as he tried to pull away. He did his best to calm himself down, however, giving the clone a stiff pat on the shoulder. He bore his teeth in an awkward smile. Was this something he'd have to get used to...?
“Y-yes, yes. You're welcome. Just make sure to pull your weight around here…!”
“I will, I will! I promise!”
Finally pulling out of the hug, the real Peppino puffed and adjusted his shirts, “But what are we going to call you?” he wondered aloud, “It's going to get real confusing if I call you Peppino…” he pondered it for a moment, scratching at his sideburns, “Hum… I used to be called Peppy when I was a kid,” he glanced up to the clone, “How do you feel about being called that?”
Blinking while a smile slowly spread across his face, Peppino didn't understand why a warm feeling filled his chest. That name was strangely nostalgic for him, and for some reason, it made him feel joyful. Yes, he could be called that! It was certainly better than some alternatives, such as “clone,” or “fake Peppino.” He nodded merrilly.
The real Peppino’s shoulders sagged a bit, heaving a sigh, “Okay… Suppose that’s settled,” he made way for the lobby once again, “I guess I’ll open shop, uh…” he paused at the door, one hand at the frame, “Why… Don’t you just say in the kitchen for now, Peppy?”
Peppy gave him a thumbs up, then snagged another slice of pizza, feeling not only relieved, but also quite secure. Although this wasn't his pizzeria, he felt more at home being here than in his old place. And having been accepted by the owner, the man he was created after, only added to the warmth now flowing through his limbs.
Finally, he had a place that he felt he truly belonged.