castle_perrault | thunderbolts and lightning

Over and around one half of the Castle, the skies are filled with grey and rumbling thunder, growing greater and louder until--

Lightning explodes, throwing the edges of everything into sharp relief. Not from the sky, from a tower, the very top of one, something stands. A beast--a dog larger than any dog should be, blue and yellow, roaring a challenge at the clouds. Lightning arcs from it, back to it, and all that does is seemingly make it angrier.

If anyone comes close enough to check, that is.

If they do...

A child wearing a bandanna isn't far, off on the--roof, they guess, where they could walk from that tower to another without having to step a foot inside.

Not that Frisk's about to do that. They're not in any mood to be running, they've had enough of it, they're aching all over from when they fell. All the times they fell. Undyne's spears weren't easy to avoid; like Papyrus, like...Toriel, she wouldn't flee from a Roar.

And they wouldn't let Sparks fight her, either. He wanted to--still wants to! But she's a monster, and they don't want another death on their hands or his paws, which would inevitably be the result. Especially since she's something near water-type, according to Papyrus.

Who's gone again, but they're less worried about it this time around, that's just...the Castle. He didn't know they'd left in the first place.

It's good that they're here. It's giving them time to rest, relax--they're sitting down, digging into some of their Berry stash, watching Sparks direct his rage at the sky, which is also helpful. He's getting his aggression out, which means less risk of lashing out, and again, less death. And less worry about their team wanting to battle each other, which is possible but doesn't end well--or end, leading to friendly-but-real fights being reignited at random intervals for months.

Frisk doesn't expect to be here longer than a day and a half again; they're just going to hang out up here until they're brought back.

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If. They insist. Perhaps he's being rude, intruding upon them. His head tilts back in silent laughter and delight that he cannot control--which beats melting in front of yet another person--and he shrugs again. What a worrywart the human is. They resemble what Frisk might look like when older, come to think about it.

He waves a hand at the sky a second time, smile not fading, and turns to go. ...Away from the door he exited from. Gaster is more than willing to give the human space. Not to miss the rain. The respite could end at any moment, he must seize the day.

"Not in the storm!"

...Sparks is laughing at them. They give him a glower that is, unsurprisingly, completely ineffective.

"There are clouds up here. The lightning's gonna spread. Which'll hurt and probably kill you if it hits," Frisk says, jabbing a finger at the sky. Does he get it yet?

Hahaha. Ha. Do they think he's a child? He waves his free hand through the air, shaking his head quite firmly and splaying long fingers across his chest. No, not me. A finger jabs towards them, as he tilts his head simultaneously--you? How do they plan to survive the lightning?

"...He won't hit me," they nod to Sparks who's still laughing with obnoxious crackling half-barks, "but he might strike you. Not too happy with monsters. And the lightning won't hit me if I'm near him." They'll be perfectly fine. So go already.

A low buzzing sigh. Not too happy with his kind? Then the doglike creature must not be his kind. What else he could be, Gaster doesn't know and can't ask.

He repeats his first gesture again, touching his chest and shaking his head resolutely.He's good, really, and it would be a long walk down to see the storm from below. Stop nagging, you're not his mother.

(Or a large goatman with the tendacy to carry lighter smaller people off over his shoulder. He finds himself smiling.)

"Why can't you ever listen?"

You as in you monsters, never getting out of the way!

"If you die, it's your own fault," they say tightly.

E v e r ?

Has he met them and proceeded to not-listen before? Go figure. It's getting to be routine, re-meeting people.

He presses a finger onto the watch for a moment, then begins his gestures. Hand on his chest, a firm shake of the head, and that same hand flipping over, palm facing upward... followed by both fleshless index fingers jabbing at each other as he shakes his head a second time.

I can't die. No pain.

Please, please understand.

They don't. They really don't. Or care.

They respond by lifting their hands up and making another rough shoving motion. Not sign language, but the meaning's probably clear.

"Then just--go away."

It was worth a shot. Short of actually being hit by lightning (which he has no control over), what else can he do to prove he's safe? Ah, well. It'll be a bit of a trek, since the corridors keep shifting... but he'll find another way out and watch the weather there. Because the nagging up here is a bit much.

He turns to glide back inside, with a parting shrug. Almost as an afterthought, he tosses the ruined book over the edge. Note to self: find something to write on--a notebook, if nothing else--and try not to ruin that too. This must not happen again because he's too distracted to be properly prepared.

Later on, he'll be roaming the halls with a Convenient Portable Mini Chalkboard, looking for more useful things, one room at a time. (Of course, he avoids all bedrooms.)

Things've calmed down after a while. The storm itself for one, settling into a simple shower with lightning; Frisk and Sparks for another, now that there's been a 'battle'.

Frisk rounds a corner and spots the monster, expression falling blank. Sparks greets him with a laughing bark. Fearless one, foolish one.

Ah. Them again. Now he has a businesslike flat satchel hanging off his... shoulder area... to go with the golden watch plucked out of a piece of cake. Plenty of room for anything useful, if there is anything, and also a way to distinguish himself from the other himself.

He pauses, holding up a finger (one moment), and takes out the chalkboard, writing away. It's rather rushed handwriting. Holding it up:

'Functionally immortal. No pain felt. It has been tested. In no danger.'

Frisk is still clearly skeptical.

"You're...what? Not a monster? Don't look like you knew what rain was." How could he test being lightning-proof?

A wry smile follows. He erases the first message and continues.

'Yes and no. Unique monster, long story. Have not seen a storm before. I apologize for worrying you.'

"Yeah. Don't do that again. You might think you're that, but one hit can turn you into ashes--" wait, no, the monsters have another word for it. "...Dust. Even if you think you're tough, or not a monster," they rasp.

(Toriel, they're so sorry.)

Write, erase. Write, erase. It's so much slower than sign--he can't say he missed this.

'Don't worry if I do. Please. Would take some time to write down a full explanation.'

A shadow flickers across their face.

"...We got time here." They're not going to let it go so easily. "Or you could just say you won't do anything that dumb in the future. Then we can be all done with this."

Poor thing. It seems a good half of the people he's met here seem to be chronic worriers. Why they think he would lie, he doesn't know...

Possibly because he's going to lie.

Scratch scratch of chalk on board.

'Very well. No more stupidity.'

"...you'd better not."

Fine. As good as they can get. And Sparks isn't planning on starting any more outdoor battles, so there won't be much of a chance after this anyway.

They dip their head to him...and then they march around him, intent on getting back to their exploration.

thunderbolts and lightning

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forgive slow, rly working out voice here

ayyyy don't care

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why are they like this