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castle_perraultThere's no sensation of time having passed.
No game over screen, in which a small voice they now hate tells them to hold on, help is coming (it never does.) It doesn't quite feel like reloading. There's just pain, impact, and blackness, and then... sensation. A heartbeat, suddenly roaring in their ears. Their fingers twitch, curl, and then they lie there, boneless, just waiting for the brat to come down and try and finish them off. Their position is prone, but they'd have the element of surprise. They listen, ears pricked, for footsteps, counting their breathing. Frisk is silent; they're straining to hear too.
Could be five, ten minutes. No sound but them. Nobody comes. A red eye slits open, and their head tilts up a little to see the empty staircase. They gingerly push up on fingertips and toes, scanning the room. They're alone. Well, as much as they ever are. There's no pain. In fact, they feel physically better than they have in a while. So much for a vacation.
*They're... gone...? Frisk's thoughts sound as muzzy as they feel, with adrenalin started to ever so slightly ebb.
That's right. Time has wound backwards, hasn't it? They're not here because they will be here. Only... that doesn't make sense. They don't remember saving here. They are almost entirely certain they would have. They definitely weren't in that position before. They grind their teeth when they remember. Castle magic. Three days. They need to find out what precisely has happened in that time.
They stand, fully, and look up the stairs, lip curling a little.
"Coward," they spit upwards, and the word is warped, flanges, sounding a little like it's been put through one of those voice distorters at toystores. It brings with it a twinge of pain.
*Easy, easy!
It makes them think of hands with holes in them and they hiss through their teeth. They automatically bring a hand to their throat, fingers landing on a seam of raised scar tissue which they trace all the way across it. They don't remember that. Maybe not such a coward after all.
They turn from the stairs and exit the room. They have someone they very much would like to talk to, and this time, they're going to pick up a better weapon than a book. Some armor would not go amiss either. And food, yes. The last of their stocks.
They're going to search the entire castle and grounds if they have to, even with Frisk's deliberate unhelpfulness, and an extremely pissed off and newly alive Chara can be found pretty much anywhere.
No game over screen, in which a small voice they now hate tells them to hold on, help is coming (it never does.) It doesn't quite feel like reloading. There's just pain, impact, and blackness, and then... sensation. A heartbeat, suddenly roaring in their ears. Their fingers twitch, curl, and then they lie there, boneless, just waiting for the brat to come down and try and finish them off. Their position is prone, but they'd have the element of surprise. They listen, ears pricked, for footsteps, counting their breathing. Frisk is silent; they're straining to hear too.
Could be five, ten minutes. No sound but them. Nobody comes. A red eye slits open, and their head tilts up a little to see the empty staircase. They gingerly push up on fingertips and toes, scanning the room. They're alone. Well, as much as they ever are. There's no pain. In fact, they feel physically better than they have in a while. So much for a vacation.
*They're... gone...? Frisk's thoughts sound as muzzy as they feel, with adrenalin started to ever so slightly ebb.
That's right. Time has wound backwards, hasn't it? They're not here because they will be here. Only... that doesn't make sense. They don't remember saving here. They are almost entirely certain they would have. They definitely weren't in that position before. They grind their teeth when they remember. Castle magic. Three days. They need to find out what precisely has happened in that time.
They stand, fully, and look up the stairs, lip curling a little.
"Coward," they spit upwards, and the word is warped, flanges, sounding a little like it's been put through one of those voice distorters at toystores. It brings with it a twinge of pain.
*Easy, easy!
It makes them think of hands with holes in them and they hiss through their teeth. They automatically bring a hand to their throat, fingers landing on a seam of raised scar tissue which they trace all the way across it. They don't remember that. Maybe not such a coward after all.
They turn from the stairs and exit the room. They have someone they very much would like to talk to, and this time, they're going to pick up a better weapon than a book. Some armor would not go amiss either. And food, yes. The last of their stocks.
They're going to search the entire castle and grounds if they have to, even with Frisk's deliberate unhelpfulness, and an extremely pissed off and newly alive Chara can be found pretty much anywhere.
(no subject)
Date: 2016-12-06 12:44 pm (UTC)They place it on the bench next to the sink, sliding it towards other-Frisk with a push of an index finger. When the other Frisk glances over their shoulder they take the opportunity to sign before their attention has to return to what they're doing.
[I see. Is the Castle tea like monster tea, then?]
That is, having some healing magic in it, no matter how small.
(no subject)
Date: 2016-12-06 12:58 pm (UTC)So they just...shove the best-looking leaves into the kettle. By best they mean the ones that looked most like leaves. That was right, probably. If they're wrong...well, they'll just add a ton of sugar after to drown out any weird flavor.
"...I think it's just a thing. Tea's good for when you're sick. If you get food made by a monster, though, even if it's just this stuff or soup or something, it has a little more...good to it. Even if it's not 'zactly Underground magic."
(no subject)
Date: 2016-12-07 07:03 am (UTC)*Oh. Okay.
*Maybe it has a spout that strains...
Chara watches a frankly ridiculous amount of sugar go into the pot. They're not complaining, but they are very close to making a quip about if this is tea with sugar in or sugar with tea in when the other-Frisk starts answering the question.
[So no HP boost.] That's mildly disappointing. They start to hum and rapidly stop when it jars horribly, a small single cough. Then they make the comment about the sugar.
(no subject)
Date: 2016-12-07 07:37 am (UTC)They drop the kettle on the stove, finally, and duck down to open the side. They have used the castle stoves before, all the different kinds--this is an old wood stove. Already filled with wood, thankfully.
"Nothing's wrong with sugar an' tea," they chirp, ignoring the messed-up hum while they get into a nearby drawer, feeling around--there's the matchstick box, good. Frisk lights one, slipping it into the door, and keep crouched as they wait for the fire to get going. It won't take long. There might be magic in it, really, since the matches had a weird gleam to them.
(no subject)
Date: 2016-12-07 09:31 am (UTC)*Maybe they're there because you were having problems?
Thank you Frisk, for the further existential dread of what it might mean to live in a place that can read you as a person would. How helpful.
It's unlikely, anyway. The universe does not revolve around them. The simplest answer is just it's a different kitchen.
[There is if you have to drink it with a spoon,] Chara snarks, stepping over to the rangehood to give the other-Frisk a decent view. [I suppose I can settle for a 'sick thing'.] If it helps, it helps, even if it's not monster magic.
(no subject)
Date: 2016-12-07 09:39 am (UTC)They may be acting deliberately obtuse here. Maybe. Frisk's a pretty weird kid.
They let the door swing shut once the flames seem sufficient, letting the heat build up as well, and gesture to the cupboards above the counters. "Pick some cups?"
(no subject)
Date: 2016-12-11 09:28 am (UTC)They open up the cupboards and after some rummaging procure two mismatched mugs; one a chipped blue, the other with a picture of a kitten on it that is missing a lot of it's handle. The caption says 'hang in there', because of course it does.
They slide the blue one along the bench to other-Frisk. Sue them, they like cats.
*Sure it's not going to ruin your cred?
Shut. They set the cat mug aside to free their hands.
[Do you know where S-4 lives.]
(no subject)
Date: 2016-12-11 09:46 am (UTC)They don't know how long to leave the tea on. They'll just. Let it boil until it smells strong enough, they guess? That could be a couple more minutes.
"S-4-Papyrus? Yeah. Can bring him over here if you need a heal," they offer, brow wrinkling slightly as the words slip from their mouth. "Ask him, I mean." They're not one of his lab scientists. It's not his fault he's the only one they can find easily with healing magic.
*writes self into corner* *bluffs furiously*
Date: 2016-12-13 04:14 am (UTC)[That... it may be required.] They absently run a hand up and down their throat. Even if it doesn't restore their voice, it'd likely do something about the blood still running down their gullet. [There is no particular urgency.] They're willing to see if the tea helps first.
They cock their head, and then less than enthusedly relay a question.
[Frisk wants to know why he's 'S-4 P-A-P-Y-R-U-S' instead of 'S-4']
(no subject)
Date: 2016-12-13 06:19 am (UTC)And then they pause. That's...a question. Unexpected. They forgot not everyone...knows stuff. "He likes both." That's a non-answer, and they know it.
They take a long breath in, visibly reigning in anger. "...he came from somewhere bad. Serif too. A bad lab. That was his weapon name. Don't like just calling him S-4 now that he's got a real one, you know," they say evenly, unclenching fists they don't remember moving in the first place. "Is here."
(no subject)
Date: 2016-12-13 09:12 am (UTC)*Oh.
Chara begins smiling cheerfully at the news. [I see.] They're beginning to miss vocal tone. Still, perhaps the movements come across as frosty and dangerous enough.
[And who was it, that decided this was a good idea?]
Who, if they ever came here, would be an acceptable target for a child murderer?
(no subject)
Date: 2016-12-13 11:07 am (UTC)Frisk turns their head away, checking the tea as an excuse to think. They've still got blood on their knife. They don't want any more murder...even if there's a tiny, tiny speck inside them that thinks they'd need to be hurt.
The kettle's lifted. Kinda heavy.
"Some scientists. Didn't really ask for names." Though they know one of them was a Gaster. But not a Gaster that's a current resident. "Nobody who's here right now."
Quick, a distraction. They pour a bit into their own blue cup. It's a...slow stream. And sludgy. Too many words that began with 'S'.
"...Um, wait a second." They'll try it first. A few puffs of air to cool it off and dispel the steam, and they take a quick sip.
Their face doesn't quite scrunch up, but their lips draw back and they cough. The sugar's okay, in their opinion, but the tea bit they can taste is...weird. Raw? Bitter. Too much. Probably not supposed to be like that.
"Actually. Think you might not want this." In spite of this statement, they take another sip. No, not any better.
(no subject)
Date: 2016-12-13 09:04 pm (UTC)[Some... scientists.] It's something to file away for later.
They watch other-Frisk pour the... well, they're pretty sure calling it tea might be a little bit of a misnomer at this stage. There's a pang of nostalgic pain from Frisk's end of things, but they don't elaborate on it.
They'll give it a try anyway. They wordlessly swipe the kettle and pour some into their own cup, setting it down and taking a sip. Their face does scrunch up, and then the hot liquid hits the sore part of their throat and sets it on fire, and the taste becomes the least of their problems as they slam the cup onto the bench, coughing and hacking, uncaring of the liquid spilt out.
(no subject)
Date: 2016-12-13 11:24 pm (UTC)"Chara--" They said they might not want this! Shoulda said they really definitely wouldn't want it instead, maybe they would've listened.
If they don't stop coughing soon, Frisk'll probably resort to back patting. It's just instinct.
(no subject)
Date: 2016-12-14 09:49 am (UTC)The coughing is ongoing, to the inner Frisk's similar concern, Chara bracing themself on the bench and wheezing air back into their lungs. They slap away the hand reaching to pat their back; that's just instinct too.
Eventually they have it back under control, even if every time they swallow now there's further pain. They wince, one hand cradling their throat - in Hands, fingerspelling can be done with one hand.
[S-4 P-A-P-Y-R-U-S.]
That would be good right about now, please.