![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ifyoumustblink posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
castle_perraultHe wakes up in the garden.
It feels a lot like sleeping, actually. He knows he died. He remembers it in terrifying clarity, and he guesses he must have ended up here. How much time has passed? He's got no idea, but he's face up half-way in the dirt and covered in vines like he's been sleeping for ages. There's lots of flowers. Lovely little blooms of white. His eye, it should be destroyed beyond repair but it's not damaged in the slightest. Brighter, maybe. Stronger. But not damaged.
His wounds. Kubo struggles to lift out of the rest of the dirt, vines and roots snapping, grass and dirt pushed aside to give way to his rise. Everything looks relatively the same, unless someone has been maintaining the garden for years. Hurriedly he brushes off the dirt, probably unnecessarily meticulous about it, but he doesn't really care--these robes seem repaired, thank the Gods, but his wounds.
His elbow, his shoulder, his chest, his side. When he pats them, checks them, he finds flowers. White flowers. Strangely unsmushed and lively, like they weren't smothered under silk robe and heavy dirt or anything. Right below his eye and his thumb were small enough damages to have healed without scars--must have been, if there aren't any flowers. He has no idea why they're there, but most of them hide under his robes anyway, so it's not too big a deal. They only show across the line on his neck. Tugging them out hurts. He leaves them.
He's also avoiding any and all hints of sharp knives or red eyes. Turn-tail-and-run-slash-sneak-and-hide kind of avoiding. He's not eager to repeat that accident again.
[ yep ]
Kubo, of course, is hungry. And thirsty. He makes a careful beeline for the kitchen.
Anyone will find him cooking, with fire and pot and water. He's pulling generic things from the cabinets, rice, eggs, chicken--having had to essentially raise himself, he knows very well how to cook.
It feels a lot like sleeping, actually. He knows he died. He remembers it in terrifying clarity, and he guesses he must have ended up here. How much time has passed? He's got no idea, but he's face up half-way in the dirt and covered in vines like he's been sleeping for ages. There's lots of flowers. Lovely little blooms of white. His eye, it should be destroyed beyond repair but it's not damaged in the slightest. Brighter, maybe. Stronger. But not damaged.
His wounds. Kubo struggles to lift out of the rest of the dirt, vines and roots snapping, grass and dirt pushed aside to give way to his rise. Everything looks relatively the same, unless someone has been maintaining the garden for years. Hurriedly he brushes off the dirt, probably unnecessarily meticulous about it, but he doesn't really care--these robes seem repaired, thank the Gods, but his wounds.
His elbow, his shoulder, his chest, his side. When he pats them, checks them, he finds flowers. White flowers. Strangely unsmushed and lively, like they weren't smothered under silk robe and heavy dirt or anything. Right below his eye and his thumb were small enough damages to have healed without scars--must have been, if there aren't any flowers. He has no idea why they're there, but most of them hide under his robes anyway, so it's not too big a deal. They only show across the line on his neck. Tugging them out hurts. He leaves them.
He's also avoiding any and all hints of sharp knives or red eyes. Turn-tail-and-run-slash-sneak-and-hide kind of avoiding. He's not eager to repeat that accident again.
[ yep ]
Kubo, of course, is hungry. And thirsty. He makes a careful beeline for the kitchen.
Anyone will find him cooking, with fire and pot and water. He's pulling generic things from the cabinets, rice, eggs, chicken--having had to essentially raise himself, he knows very well how to cook.
(no subject)
Date: 2016-11-27 03:53 pm (UTC)He also had a bad habit of following people - which he thankfully didn't subject poor Kubo to. He does, however, use that same ability to suddenly just be behind Kubo before he announces himself. You know, like he was just there the whole time.
"What's for dinner?"
(no subject)
Date: 2016-11-27 05:15 pm (UTC)JESUS CHRIST SANS, DO YOU JUST DO THAT TO EVERYONE YOU MEET
At least it's a voice he recognizes, deep and familiar and friendly. Last he ran into him was in the same room--funny how that works.
"Whoa--! Oh. Hi, Sans." For being recently-unkill, he seems pretty chipper. "Rice mostly, with salted chicken. See if I can find a use for eggs, maybe fish."
Maybe he's upbeat because these kinds of foods weren't exactly commonplace for him back home--in fact, most of what he ate was just rice. (It's really not much of a wonder why he's so lanky.)
(no subject)
Date: 2016-11-28 03:55 am (UTC)Fate has a funny way of bringing people together in kitchens. Especially when one of those people is a slob. Sans tilts his head and steps to Kubo's side.
"Hey, that sounds pretty good. I don't think I've ever had anything like that before. Back home, I only ever get spaghetti," He chuckles, apparently at some inside joke he's never explained to Kubo yet. "You making seconds?"
(no subject)
Date: 2016-11-28 05:26 am (UTC)He has no idea what spaghetti is, but he can figure out that it's a dish. He doesn't trust Sans to show him how to make it.
"I can make seconds if you want," he offers. "It's not hard." For only two people, anyway. He's done it before.
(no subject)
Date: 2016-11-28 05:59 pm (UTC)"That'd be great. Thanks, kiddo." He tilts his head, taking note of the visible flowers. "Nice, uh... necklace?"
He thinks it is??
(no subject)
Date: 2016-11-29 05:34 am (UTC)Right, that exists. He doesn't know if Sans knows what happened, decided not to assume anything.
"Um, thanks." Now that he thinks about it, for all of his expertise in origami, he never really figured out how to weave. Oh well.
He works the fire and the pot with practiced finesse. "Do you, um, actually need to eat?" Because sorry, but he, uh, doesn't exactly see any flesh.
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:oh boy
Date: 2016-11-27 09:47 pm (UTC)They breath for a moment, then another, holding the knife to their chest and listening at the door. They don't even seem to have noticed Kubo, for a long minutes, before they turn and nearly jump out of their skin at his presence.
They look like shit really, eyes red as rot sunken from long nights awake and they hide the knife behind their back quickly. Their mouth quirks into a smile that doesn't quite reach they same level of maniac he'd seen before. They don't want to do this again. They're so tired. They can't even inject that much forced cheer into their voice.
Oh. Hah. Its you.
They don't really remember much of what happened back then, except that when they'd given the body a lookover, they hadn't found the knife they thought they saw. They shift on their feet and look down, but still watch him out of the corner of their eye. Maybe he'll run. That'd probably be the smart thing to do. They could just take his food and go then.
(no subject)
Date: 2016-11-27 10:29 pm (UTC)Red eyes red knives he bites his teeth and pretends he has claws. His breath picks up and so does his heart. He begs himself to flee--he cannot. Chara blocks the way.
He picks reason over panic, but it's not like the fear disappears--no, it is there, but he keeps it mostly contained and controlled. Reason. People come to the kitchen for food. The demon is hungry, too.
He hasn't properly cooked anything yet, dry rice grains having just been dumped into a pot of boiling water over stove fire. Raw chicken meat, preserved in salt and with the feather-plucked skin and bone, sits in a nearby bowl. He'd only gotten enough for himself, but…
well, they look plenty unwilling to fight. He searches cabinets, and as he does, keeps a paranoid eye on Chara. The castle is clearly magic, always seems to have the ingredients and tools he wants or needs. If he makes something for them too, he thinks, scooping out more rice and more chicken, perhaps he'd be at less risk of being murdered. Again.
He talks while he cooks, giving Chara very occasional glances. "You're hungry."
why are you being so nice to me? =/
Date: 2016-11-27 11:06 pm (UTC)Oh. Food, yes that's why they came here. They quirk their grin harder. ]
Um, uh, yeah.
[Not the confidence they were going for, but he has them off balance. He's acting like nothing happened, did anything happen?? Where is the anger, the fear? They don't know if his lack of reaction is more terrifying or comforting.
They sit down by the door rather then deal with that, watching him over their knee. Gathering more food, so they cannot have any? Fair, but then why add it to his pile......they start with realization. ]
Wait. No. I killed you.....hah. You don't owe me anything.
[They don't want his pity. They'd just take something and go, but getting up takes quite a bit of energy. They haven't slept well in a while. ]
(no subject)
Date: 2016-11-27 11:40 pm (UTC)His movements have picked up in acuity. Equally sharp as they are careful. No, he has not forgotten, he's clearly still wary, still fearful, still angry. A thumb brushes the flowers growing out of his thankfully undamaged throat. Are they holding him together? (Probably.)
"No," he says. A terse answer that shows off vague anger. No, he doesn't owe them anything. Of course not. It's not very difficult to make a little more. It's very very difficult to be nice. He tries anyway. He's trapped in this castle with them as much as they are with he, and he hasn't the mind to be running the whole time he's here.
(no subject)
Date: 2016-11-28 12:30 am (UTC)Good. Because it'd be really fucked up if you did.. [a pause a bit of a more genuine grin. ] Ah! You do hate me. That's more comforting, they can predict hate.
Their eyes flick to the flowers. Huh. That's new. ]
You magic or something? I've never seen nobody with flowers. You didn't have 'em before.
[ They've seen plently of death but never any with flowers. They look rather nice actually, but Chara wouldn't say that (maybe when he kills them, they'll get flowers to? one can only hope) ]
(no subject)
Date: 2016-11-28 12:51 am (UTC)The curse word wanders up his back like a spider. That kind of language was very much not accepted at home, and he has no intention of changing that.
"Yes, magic," he says. He is magic, but not with flowers, not the way they're thinking. Kubo doesn't bother correcting, doesn't really speak to them while he works. He moves with practiced efficiency like he knows what he's doing, which is true.
He also looks into the way they speak, informal and untamed and rough and lilting. A feral cat, like they are. Unlike the formality of which his mother spoke, the voice by which he learned to speak, the example he lived by. A former goddess' tone, squashed in with the informalities of Kameyo and Hashi and the other villagers.
He misses home.
Kubo wonders if Chara does, too--if they ever even had one.
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:chara u oversharing fuck
From:TBH SAME
From:these kids :')
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:is this an empathy?
From:audible shrug
From:kubo is 2 good for this world :')
From:my bean son is too pure. too precious
From:protect the bean boy
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:after the above thread
Date: 2016-11-28 10:17 am (UTC)Then silence. For quite a while.
Some time later another Chara enters the door. They look like a particularly grumpy type of cat. They're here for the food. They're very much not expecting anyone else to already be in here, and they stop short a few steps in when they spot Kubo. Oh. It's him.
There's no flowers on them (how'd that happen), but the collar of their sweater doesn't cover the long scar going from one side to the other of their neck. They mentally prod Frisk for their brand of sign and after a brief moment of mentally transferring the words, Chara's hands start moving.
[Paper boy.]
Then they remember the blank look they got last time they tried sign language, albeit of a different breed. Oh well. They go over to a cupboard and start rummaging. That they keep him in their peripheral vision at all times is just par for the course.
(no subject)
Date: 2016-11-28 07:43 pm (UTC)There's a while where he contemplates poking his head outside to see what's going on, but sfter what sounded like yelling and a somewhat violet scuffle, he settled on staying in the kitchen.
He turns around, jumps when he finds Chara. Again. But, there were two, right, this one looks different in ways he can't describe, neck-scar aside. Nuances in expression, maybe.
He registers that the hand movements mean something, but he's never learned it, nor was it a thing back in ancient Japan. Sorry, Chara.
At least they seem significantly less aggressive than the other. He decides to leave them be for a while, before it occurs to them that the kitchen is practically all raw material (besides bread and fruit) and that not every child knows how to cook.
"Um, do you want something?"
sorry D :
Date: 2016-11-30 09:55 am (UTC)There it is. The kitchen seems to restock itself with similar things.They drag out another large jar of preserved fruit and hoist it up onto the table, climbing up to sit on the edge next to it, popping the lid and plucking out the plums one by one with their bare hands to eat.
After a moment of cocking the head, thinking, they sigh and push the jar in his direction a little. They know Kubo is already cooking something, but he can take one while he works, if he wants.
"ok google, what does a plum taste like"
Date: 2016-12-02 04:50 am (UTC)… that's some weird looking food. Can apparently be eaten raw without much trouble, unlike ginger. (For him, at least.)
"Uh… thank you."
He takes one out, looks it over. He can already smell the open jar from where he is, and it's not too bad--enough so that he takes a tentative bite out of his as he works the stove. Hey, taste isn't half-bad. Not used to it, but it's not bad.
… hm.
"I didn't know the castle brought two of the same person."
like prunes before they dried, apparently
Date: 2016-12-02 10:42 am (UTC)Chara continues chewing, watching him work intensely. Maybe a little too intensely. Don't worry about it Kubo, that's just their face. They lick their fingers to sign, remember, and then let their arms thud into their lap, a hiss of frustration escaping their lips. They chew the inside of their mouth and then click their tongue to get his attention, holding up three fingers.
There's more than two here. That's how stories go, isn't it, that things come in threes? It's something he'd perhaps like to know, given that Chara was just told he was also murdered by one. Speaking of, they lift their chin to tap their throat-scar with an index finger, before jabbing it at him. Spill.
*Don't want to bring up bad memories...
Liar. They want to know as much as Chara does.
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:^same
Date: 2016-11-28 11:54 am (UTC)And find that other kid entirely on accident.
They poke their head in. "It's you!" they exclaim softly. Frisk'd been looking for him before! But then they got distracted by trying to not have anyone else get killed. "Hi."
(no subject)
Date: 2016-11-28 05:18 pm (UTC)He turns around to a soft voice that sounds familiar, but to a kid he's pretty sure he's never seen before. He did notice that people went back to normal a few weeks ago, but didn't quite manage to figure out who was who yet.
"Oh! Hey. Are you hungry?"
(no subject)
Date: 2016-11-28 07:29 pm (UTC)"N--um, a little. 'S okay." They'd been looking for people as soon as they got up, for once skipping breakfast entirely. They can make something now, though.
It filters in that his voice is normal, and--their eyes fix on his throat. That's not a scar, what is that?
tfw u don't know how to cook worth shit but ur muse does
Date: 2016-11-28 08:26 pm (UTC)He got most of his panicking done in the garden. Right now, he's just hungry.
The flowers are small, but if Frisk cares to look more closely, they'd probably manage to see that they're growing out of his skin. Well, at least they don't seem to bother him that much.
"Are you sure? I could probably make something."
He doesn't notice Frisk's view flicking to his throat, courtesy of their weird habit of permanent passive squinting.
extreme bullshitting and/or google
Date: 2016-11-28 08:36 pm (UTC)"'F you want to, um, make extra...stuff you're making? But I can make my own. Are you--how're you doing?" they ask, shifting on their feet awkwardly.
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2016-11-28 04:23 pm (UTC)This place is not Arkham, but it is still a prison of sorts. The Batman (of a sort) is here too.
He smells the food before he even turns into the kitchen. He can't cook-- never learned well enough, got a taste for raw meat with the chops to handle it too fast. There's a kid puttering around the pot, and there's a whole raw chicken settled on the counter.
He'll take that, thank you very much! When Kubo turns, the chicken is gone and Waylon is cleaning the grease off of his claws.
did you know a croc's mouth has almost no opening power if held closed
Date: 2016-11-28 07:52 pm (UTC)"Uh--"
And then he sees Waylon. Okay, wow. Yeah, no, he isn't in the mood to get murdered again. (Hey, doesn't he look a lot like the dragon he met earlier? Yes he does.)
… he has the feeling he'll be cooking for a lot of people today.
"Do you… like it raw?"
yes. big toothy
Date: 2016-12-01 09:20 pm (UTC)"Don't knock it 'til you've tried it."
...and/or gotten the corresponding bacterial infection.