(Briefly, and very briefly, he is aware that he's glad he'd managed to push himself to the forefront in time, rather than letting other souls reap the consequences of his less-than-sound actions.)
The wedge he'd shoved between himself and his other memories is gone. Compartmentalization was how he'd dealt with the effects of omnipresence, always observing never being, and granted sometimes the lines bled across themselves, especially recently, but never quite like this.
Gaster has to work at picking himself up out of the mess. Their memories bleed through but they are sorted. The most flagrantly out of line of his own are swept aside, discarded for later organization. The rest... is where it gets messy. He was, he was not, he was, was not...
Was W. D. Gaster as he'd thought himself to be ever real, or had he just vainly been scrabbling to hold on to the parts of him that made him feel less guilty for the things he had or hadn't done, shutting out and denying his worse aspects? Playing at being mild-mannered and well-intentioned and harmless when he is anything but. Perhaps it had been an accident, or perhaps W. D. Gaster martyred himself and no one dared remember him. Not even himself.
Ha, ha.
Perhaps the world had the right of it after all. 'W. D. Gaster' never existed. But he does, and he will cling to that, and that is all there is to it.
HP 6░6▒27/6▓█▓66
Intent isn't everything, they have that right. It can dull a blow but the blow still remains one regardless. Were he in a better state of mind he would have known from the start what KARMA would have done. But, in that same vein, were he in a better state of mind this would not have happened at all.
What was he thinking, really. It stands to reason he hadn't been at all.
They curl in on themselves and he extricates himself with the precision of an obsidian sharp scalpel. His form solidifies as he does so and he plaits his hands behind his back while he examines them.
LV 1, HP 18/20.
Their hands are stained with dust, but not in this iteration of the present. Whether temporary or not, the current clarion concord of his parts makes his thoughts and conclusions come more quickly and easily than they had for the past while.
They are a possible, probable danger, and he could end them.
They are a child, lashing out at those who have wronged them.
They are a fire raging impotently that should not be fed.
Then.
His eyes, lightless, shutter closed and he leans in over them, smile too fixed and too sharp.
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Date: 2016-10-26 06:17 am (UTC)The wedge he'd shoved between himself and his other memories is gone. Compartmentalization was how he'd dealt with the effects of omnipresence, always observing never being, and granted sometimes the lines bled across themselves, especially recently, but never quite like this.
Gaster has to work at picking himself up out of the mess. Their memories bleed through but they are sorted. The most flagrantly out of line of his own are swept aside, discarded for later organization. The rest... is where it gets messy. He was, he was not, he was, was not...
Was W. D. Gaster as he'd thought himself to be ever real, or had he just vainly been scrabbling to hold on to the parts of him that made him feel less guilty for the things he had or hadn't done, shutting out and denying his worse aspects? Playing at being mild-mannered and well-intentioned and harmless when he is anything but. Perhaps it had been an accident, or perhaps W. D. Gaster martyred himself and no one dared remember him. Not even himself.
Ha, ha.
Perhaps the world had the right of it after all. 'W. D. Gaster' never existed. But he does, and he will cling to that, and that is all there is to it.
HP 6░6▒27/6▓█▓66
Intent isn't everything, they have that right. It can dull a blow but the blow still remains one regardless. Were he in a better state of mind he would have known from the start what KARMA would have done. But, in that same vein, were he in a better state of mind this would not have happened at all.
What was he thinking, really. It stands to reason he hadn't been at all.
They curl in on themselves and he extricates himself with the precision of an obsidian sharp scalpel. His form solidifies as he does so and he plaits his hands behind his back while he examines them.
LV 1, HP 18/20.
Their hands are stained with dust, but not in this iteration of the present. Whether temporary or not, the current clarion concord of his parts makes his thoughts and conclusions come more quickly and easily than they had for the past while.
They are a possible, probable danger, and he could end them.
They are a child, lashing out at those who have wronged them.
They are a fire raging impotently that should not be fed.
Then.
His eyes, lightless, shutter closed and he leans in over them, smile too fixed and too sharp.
Then let them burn themselves out.
... HP 20/20.