dustless: (quiet surprise)
[personal profile] dustless
The air it hot, the atmosphere heavy. Soon as the sun sets, the whole castle feels like a storm is ready to break.

It won't be a surprise to many, then, when there's an explosion of sound once the sky is dark, and blinding flashes through the sky.

And then more, and then more, and they're all sorts of colors...and as it turns out, it isn't lightning at all, it's fireworks. Flying from beneath the castle to explode high. Dropping from above the castle to burst just below the Edge where anyone who gathers can nearly touch them if they dare to get close enough to risk a fall. Some from the sides in a way that should be impossible--there's only clouds in every direction, isn't there?

It's not only the sky; here and there are piles of the stuff on the flat-topped towers, littering the grass along the Edge, with tinder and matches where anyone can reach. Simple little sparklers and poppers, too, for those who can't or won't risk anything larger.

 
[🎇]

It ends when the horizon begins to lighten...but the fireworks people can use on their own are still strewn about.

The sky sears again the next night, just as loud and bright if not moreso.

And the next, and the next, and the next...



//For a week, which irl will be from about July 23rd to July 30th, there'll be fireworks lighting the sky every night! Here's the post to have your characters hang out and enjoy them together! Or not.

makesdestruction: (escape)
[personal profile] makesdestruction
Time, [Pokémon] and other living things with life to absorb, long nights and room in the gardens enough for even something as large as itself to hide--all have done plenty for Yveltal's strength. It knows it will neither completely die or fall into a centuries-long sleep again.

Yet, still not strong enough to escape. No matter how hard it flies away from the castle, it never gets far enough to get anywhere else; the building and island are the only place it ever finds to land, even after hours of flapping and gliding. It can barely tell which direction anything is when the sun is down. 

It doesn't get it, nor does it like it. Yveltal keeps trying even so. 

If it didn't, then maybe it could've preserved its dignity.

If anyone is watching the skies or generally living in the area, they will witness a giant silhouette cruising across the sky, dipping down and down and down until it's low enough to clip the castle. A sharp turn midair and a careful landing directly on top of a tower, and it cuts an impressive figure, massive wings holding the edge like arms and claws digging in, sending bits of some sort of roof tile skittering down as it surveys its domain and prison.

For about ten seconds. 

There's a sickening crack followed by a dozen others. Yveltal barely has enough time to unhook its claws and screech its alarm, not enough to spread those wings, before the roof caves in beneath its huge body.

Strangely, it does not fall far. It lands in...branches. Atop a massive tree, though many of the branches shatter under its weight as well, so it ends up about a quarter of the way down before it stops.

Yveltal screams again, struggling to get itself upright instead of sideways, but it's drowned out by the angry calling of hundreds of birds now swarming the tower and flying out of the hole it tore open and--swooping to strike at its face, leaving it awkwardly twisting its unusual wings to block its eyes.

How embarrassing. 
boogerman: (pic#10455419)
[personal profile] boogerman
Something else new, a bit out of the way this time. It's a mirror, in between the two thrones in the dusty old throne room. It's cleaner than the rest of the room, and tall, with clawed feet at the bottom. Taller than anyone residing in the castle, in fact.

There are words inscribed along the top of the mirror: ERISED STRA EHRU OYT UBE CAFRU OYT ON WOHSI

Naturally, one is going to want to walk up and look at themself, aren't they? It's what one does with a mirror.





(( Yep, it's the real thing! Looking into Erised will show your character's truest desires. Make top levels, play with each other, and try not to smash the mirror.

Edit: And for the sake of making it interesting, everyone else can see what your character sees too. :> ))

gospel;

Jun. 27th, 2017 07:23 pm
encre: <user name="dashiroll" site="tumblr.com"> (𝓭)
[personal profile] encre
Some time has certainly passed. How long? No idea. How's he supposed to keep up with the schedule if there is no calendar, no clocks, nothing to go by? And still not a single familiar face from the crew in sight. Not even any of his fellow cast members. No, in all the long days he's been here, there hasn't been a single word from any familiar face at all. And that's more than a little concerning.

How is the show supposed to stay on the air if nobody's showing up to work? How is he supposed to follow a schedule if there is no schedule? What are his lines, what's the setup, what's his motivation and goals and especially his costars?

What's the point in any of this?

It's thoughts like that, that have been plaguing his mind not long after his arrival. And lately, it's becoming more and more likely that this - all this, this strange world full of strange people and strange sights - were not actually part of the show at all. That maybe, just maybe, this is real. And that's the troubling part. Because if all of this is real, then that means he's real, not waiting for the artist to get out the ink and brush and start making the magic happen with him and his costars. He's actually existing, in the real world, walking and talking with other real existing people. What in the seven Hells was Sammy up to?

As it consumes him, possesses his every waking thought and haunting his dreams at night, the mess starts to get ... much, much worse. The small leak at the top of his head was ignored for the longest time, but now, only the wide toothy grin is visible as the ink pours over the rest of his face. His long arms and legs appear to be melting, dripping black splotches of inky liquid to the ground, and leaving a very obvious trail behind. It starts out in the graveyard, wandering haphazardly between gravestones, before eventually heading back into the castle. Flashbacks hit him all at once, everything from the circular markings on the floor to the chanting and praising, that when he eventually reaches the castle's thrown room, he appears to be nothing more than a massive, grinning blob slinking across the floor.

It's not entirely clear what said blob is trying to accomplish. But, an existential crisis is an existential crisis.
voidsir: (Default)
[personal profile] voidsir
Birds are singing, flowers are blooming... and one useless old man is playing cards against another faceless (and useless) old man, outside in the gardens.

It seems the real thing has finally made peace with his double--or at least taken pity on him enough to stop ignoring him. It's wearying, carrying around all that animosity for someone who literally can't venture too far without being summoned back, and who can't help what he was created for. (To nag and nag him to murder a friend.) Life has been rough and he's... lonely, in a sense. It's good to have someone to play a game with nearby, and who has nothing better to do.

They've brought a little table and four chairs with them, on the off chance anyone wants to join. It's nice here, in the shade of a tree, sun shining through the leaves. Sit with them and wonder how in the world the rune-faced Gaster sees his cards without any eyesockets?
mettaton_rex: (realised I was... not the best)
[personal profile] mettaton_rex
It's been - a month? More? Time keeps slipping away from him - since Mettaton was last in the music room.

He's been here a few times, since then. Standing outside the door. But every time there was someone already inside, and he wouldn't want to interrupt. He could always come back later.

Later is now. There's no sound from inside.

There's no one inside.

Adam isn't here. Adam's gone. Not lying in wait, with his gun and his smile and his tools for dealing with a disobedient robot that wandered off all by itself.

It's safe now.

...

Just open the door.

...

How long has he been here?

There's a sound. High heels, clicking on stone. Getting closer.

That's me, Mettaton thinks, and his SOUL lurches in panic. The real me. Please don't let him see me like this. Oh, but he doesn't even think of trying to run. Running away leads to getting caught.

If he's very still and quiet, he'll be safe, won't he?
luckytobealive: (pic#11421522)
[personal profile] luckytobealive
(Well, not really. Eliza's no General--not of people, of armies and citizens and states. Keeper, perhaps, would be a better term; of stories and legacies, most of all her family's. But that's beside the point.)

Eliza's established herself a routine. Knowing where to go, when, how, is almost exactly the kind of stability she figured she needed after the past years. Some solidarity, something that wouldn't change without her permission. It's more than welcome after the past few years.

Of course, it doesn't stop her from furthering her work in furthering the family legacy. She has plans. Or. Well. She did (still does) until suddenly the gravestone in front of her was the wrong one. Until the whole graveyard was exactly the wrong one.

That's not good. 

Rising panic immediately floods into her chest, but she grits her teeth and (mostly) keeps her composure, looks around to see if she's made some mistake, but there is none. This is not the Trinity Church graveyard. There is no city, only--the bones of birds long dead, a forest, and... a castle. There is no castle in America. And this is nowhere in England, as far as she can tell, why would she be in England--why would she be anywhere but the city?

No, no, she can't be lost, she can't be gone, she has children, they need her, the oldest is not prepared to take on her duties in her absence (absence! how long will she be absent?) and there is--there is so much left to be done.


Breathe, one, two. A day to come home can be spared. The children will be concerned, but… while not fit for long-term, her eldest can take care of the house just fine for a night.

But she needs to find out where she is.

Eliza, dressed in black mourning dress outdated by centuries, heads towards the castle. 
dustless: (make like alphys and freak)
[personal profile] dustless
//big ol' warning for illness, blood, death, and the use of font shades.


[ for [personal profile] sansational ]

farewell )


[ for anyone who cannot or will not stop them ]


so long )


[ for [personal profile] silvermists ] 

have a nice day )
realkidswearstripes: (12)
[personal profile] realkidswearstripes
One week shy of someone's fifth month anniversary here in 'Castle Skyland', as they (and a certain Chara) are calling it. Alone. No parents. No big sister. None of their schoolfriends, human or monster, except a Frisk who doesn't remember the whole year they hung out together.

It's been...

Well. Not great. Not good at all, really, but they have to keep their spirits up! Which is easiest while keeping busy! And doing their best not to be alone--it's terrible, not to have anyone to chatter at.

Right now, there's no one. They're busy anyway, prodding and scratching at a slightly discolored stone with a toeclaw. This is Very Serious Business. It's a magical castle. There have got to be secret passages somewhere!!





((What if raptor feets.))
dunwhale: (Default)
[personal profile] dunwhale
Daud has found a sword in a small room that looks to be an armory.


It's roughly similar to the Whaler blade he left behind back in Dunwall, crosshatched shaft and all, but the castle can only offer up so much and so it is not a picture perfect reconstruction of his memory. It's light for a sword; their blades have always held a brutal simplicity, elegant and vicious in one, and Daud finds the balance satisfactory. He scrounges up a sheath for it and sets out to the gardens for some much-needed practice, but not before taking the one laying next to it—a rapier with a basket hilt, the guard extending up and back like the petals of a flower. It strikes him as gaudy and pretentious, but to others it would likely just seem a tad overornamented.


But it is a sword, and he has learned to respect them. He slips that one into the sheath and carries his blade in an easy grip, letting it drift near his leg. He dearly hopes that no one sees and follows him on his quest for the courtyard, watches his pacing through the gardens—they’re not as ostentatious as the ones at Dunwall Tower, but he sees similar fruit trees and cheerfully blooming flowers. Somebody’s been taking care of the place and so he carefully avoids stepping on anything. It takes five minutes of wandering before he sees an open-enough brick-studded area to practice in. He sets the rapier down on the ground at the edge and takes his place in the center, sword out in a guard position. The uneven ground is no bother for one used to fighting on rooftops, and so he takes a minute or two to practice footwork against the lips and dips of the ground. There is a technique he learned in Serkonos , as a boy, that kept him from kicking up dust, and he uses it now.


It’s only been a small stretch of time before he feels the telltale prickling on his back that means he’s being watched. He finishes his set—twirls the blade elegantly, a movement that Whaler blades aren’t meant for—and twists on his heel to point the sword directly out at his observer.


“Well? You’re not stealthy, you know.”


sansational: Sans, one eyesocket glowing, raring for a fight (You're gonna have a bad time)
[personal profile] sansational
Sans comes back to life on the floor of a dark, reeking cell deep in the bowels of the castle. The first thing he knows is that ribs ache fiercely. It takes him a few bleary minutes to remember why.

Once he does, Sans scrambles gracelessly back to his feet, summoning his blasters over each shoulder as he stares hurriedly around. Empty. No prisoners, no captor. No Adam, no Frisk. The chains hang empty, in a couple of cases ripped out of the walls. Was Adam dealt with? Or did he pack up shop, and take Sans' friends with him?

He needs to go and check.

But he realizes that there's something he needs to grab first, to keep the second verse from just being the same as the first

So unless anyone is down there in the cell when he first reappears, the first anyone is likely to see of Sans is him in the graveyard, hunting around the tombstones and open graves with a very intent expression on his skull. His blasters float lazily behind him. He's not sending them away for a while.

"where is it, where is it..."

Eventually, he manages to find a real knife, if not necessarily the Real Knife, somewhere in the castle. Finally. It feels heavy and cold as he curls his fingerbones around the hilt. But it also feels powerful. Let Adam try sawing him in half with this between them.

It's only then that he wonders if this is what the human felt like, as they walked down the hall for another round with him. Before they knew whether or not Sans could die at all. 

Either way, Sans takes a slower route through the castle, up and down and all around, trying to zero in on Frisk's location. He hopes so, so much to find his sense of their presence untainted by that other human's. But at least this way, he's prepared in case he doesn't. Concerned friends or people who are just generally concerned to see a skeleton with two blasters at the ready and a knife in hand can find him anywhere, poking around, checking for trap doors, flinching at loud noises or sudden movements.
einspine: (confident)
[personal profile] einspine
A. Up, Up, And Away...? [personal profile] einspine + [personal profile] sassifist

[Things have been... interesting for a certain skeleton and his human companion. However briefly, they were whisked from the castle back to their own timeline, just long enough to journey further. To experience the dangers and dread of Fort Aquarius, uncover secrets and history, and face off with those less forgiving of humanity's follies.

Now that they're back, though? Papyrus sees an opportunity to destress. An opportunity for some fun antics. Something bold! Daring! Exciting!

...Which is probably why he and his Frisk ([personal profile] sassifist) are gathering up rope, blankets, pillow cases, and other assorted supplies. Mostly at Papyrus' prompting.

They can be spotted dashing down the halls, with the occasional, boisterous NYEH HEH HEHS!!! to signal their arrival.

It's. Pretty silly.]


Now, Frisk, we must find an adequate fuel source!!!

Uh, wouldn't it be better to assemble the balloon first? Heck, we're gonna need something to tie it to before we even think about lifting off.

Yes, but in order TO lift off, we will need the ever important hot air!

Okay, okay. But I still think it'd help if we planned this out better.

[Evidently, this is a severe work in progress.]

B. Late Night Wandering ([personal profile] sassifist, Chara in control)

[Late at night, when good children should be asleep, a certain Frisk is not.

No, they are wandering. Almost shambling, really. Their motions are stiff. Lethargic. Their eyes have a dark, distant look to them. They are not sure what prompted them to do this. It's not that it was difficult; they'd seized control of Asriel's body once before. The same principle applied here, and with Frisk fast asleep, it was all the more simple for Chara to take to the wheel.

Ultimately? They know there isn't much they can accomplish. But the low rumble of hunger draws them toward a certain room filled with cakes and treats.

They have not eaten of their own accord since they hatched their plan that ultimately took their life.

So, with very little thought, they start to eat... and when they realize just how frivolous this all is, they laugh. It's haunting, really. Hollow and hysteric. Those in the vicinity might even mistake it for a sound of distress.]


This is absurd. What am I even doing here?

[They should be using their time to approach Papyrus- somebody, anyway. Flowey is not here, but there is no guarantee that it will stay that way. This is an opportunity to act...

Yet here they are, partaking in foolish pleasures.

Is it wrong that they missed this? They'd argue that it is.]

[ooc: Responses can come from Frisk or Papyrus or both in the first prompt! I'll just save space by writing them both out in a given duo tag if you request 'em both.]
oldmantiger: Kotetsu, his eyes closed and his head bowed (A moment of respect)
[personal profile] oldmantiger
((ooc: Feel free to approach Kotetsu, Frisk, or both! However, Please be aware that some of these comments might contain language/thought processes relating to sexual/emotional assault survivors. I forgot to add a content warning in the subject line of some of those comments, but will try to remember to do so in future. ))

Kotetsu is trying to dig a proper grave, this time. Two proper graves, actually.  Not just something to cover up the bodies so that the castle's bizarre magic can hopefully do its thing. He owes them both this much especially, after failing to stop this from happening at all. 

It's rhythmic and engrossing work, that lets him think about nothing very much so he doesn't have to look at the two bundles wrapped in sheets and laid carefully off to the side. One is human-shaped - adult human-shaped, specifically. One is...less so. There's no blood, at least. One corpse had stopped bleeding by the time Kotetsu arrived. One had never had any blood to lose, though there might be the occasional oil stain on the cloth. 

Sunflowers are piled off to the side, too, there to eventually be lain on the graves when they're filled and covered up again. Frisk had been responsible for gathering them, and now sits and waits for the work to be done. They had offered to help him dig, like he had helped them after Kubo died. Kotetsu had steadfastly refused. They hadn't been too badly hurt, by comparison. But welts and bruises ring their wrists and ankles from the shackles, and their mouth from the muzzle - signs of Adam's dislike and disregard, if not the utter loathing that Barnaby had earned. They don't need to be pushing themselves any harder. They don't need to be here.

But they are. And he's a little bit selfishly grateful for that. The only thing that really works to occasionally draw him out of his singleminded work is remembering that they're there, and hurt. It's enough to get him to glance back at them every so often. Neither of them say much, except to occasionally ask if the other needs anything. Otherwise, if there are words to be said...neither has found them yet. Even tears are a bit too much to give, right now. 

The shovel bites into the dirt. Kotetsu's shoulders ache as he heaves pile after pile of soil free. His powers won't help this go any faster. This shouldn't go any faster. This small pain is the least he deserves. 

This isn't how he's used to funerals going. Funerals are supposed to involve family and friends and pictures and an urn of ashes rather than a limp, bedraggled bundle. But with any luck, this won't have to be a real funeral. He's not saying goodbye. He's just...doing what he has to, in order to make the castle give them back

In lieu of a picture, he can leave his phone between Barnaby and Toshi when it's done. If all goes well - if this works - he can come back for it in a few days. 

Kotetsu will be at this for a while, in the little area of the grounds where the graves seem to be scattered. He's not trying to hide, so anyone passing by that area will likely see him at his grim work until after dusk falls. Frisk stays to keep watch and help where they can. Once he's done, once the bodies have been laid to rest and the disturbed soil replaced, Kotetsu tries to see them settled somewhere safe and far away from here. Then he returns to the graves and he's mostly going to just...sit and stare and drink, for a long long while. 
voidsir: (47)
[personal profile] voidsir
Gaster and Gaster sitting by the wall, in the hall...

One is solid, the usual skeleton-in-coat-and-sweater form. One is less so, rounded, a torso with no arms or legs. One comes with no accessories. One has a satchel that slipped off his shoulders, a golden wristwatch lying by his base. And one, the properly formed one, has pink runes where eyesockets and nasal bones and mouth should be.

The other cannot think. The world is a haze, thoughts moving at the speed of molasses, bent over and burying his face in his hands. He hasn't moved in quite some time, lacking the will to do anything, and neither has the other. Neither knows what to do, really. They must stay together, and Gaster is ignoring Gaster's signs.

One of him shouldn't exist, let alone two. It's bound to attract attention sooner or later, isn't it?

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Castle Perrault

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