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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: 2016-12-13 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.