[backdated to nov. 22] i don't know much about your life beyond these walls

[ifyoumustblink]

He 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.

Comments

[trombones]

Sans was perceptive. The visible flowers around Kubo's neck were as obvious a sign as any, but even without it he had a gut feeling that something was up.

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?"

oh boy

[characlysmic]

Somebody else was making a beeline for the kitchen to, slamming the door open, knife in hand and then bracing it closed. Finding food was still a priority, even for horrible demons hiding from their resurrected victims.

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.

after the above thread

[itstheend]

So immediately after his killer left, Kubo may have heard noises outside the door. The sound of an apple smacking into a wall. A set of suddenly sprinting feet, and another, following it.

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.

^same

[dustless]

They are a little stressed. But nobody else's died, nobody else is probably gonna die, so...so. Yeah. They're just going to...wander and calm down.

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."

[vvaylon]

Waylon's not much one for venturing out into the castle these days-- he keeps to the underground lake and sneaks into the kitchen for the sides of meat he finds in the cabinets sometimes. It's usually not cooked, and sometimes it's still frozen solid, but once it's thawed it works perfectly well. And it's not pushed through a tiny slit in a cell door.

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.