Aaron Barnett (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
exuviiated) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
castle_perrault2017-01-07 08:45 pm
exuviiated) wrote in castle_perrault2017-01-07 08:45 pm
Entry tags:
[event][open] past brought forwards
note: due to not wanting to hurt myself too much emotionally, narration will be correct. aaron still looks very much like not a boy though.
He wakes up somewhere he's never seen before. He's not even in a bed-- he's in a pile of blankets in what appears to be a giant library. There's a backpack next to him, a sketchpad filled with notes, and...
nothing much else. He picks himself off of the blankets and adjusts his shirt, and then makes his way out of the library and through the halls. It's early morning, early enough that the sun isn't gracing the horizon in more than a pale blue glow visible through the windows. Handling stairs is a struggle, as always, with his bandages-- he manages to reach each open room with little more than strained breath. He ends up in the kitchen. No surprises there; it's warm and as clean as a castle kitchen can get, and it's more likely people will filter in throughout the day. He grabs himself a cup of some sort of juice (cranberry, a sip confirms) and sits himself down on a stool in the corner, and waits.
He wakes up somewhere he's never seen before. He's not even in a bed-- he's in a pile of blankets in what appears to be a giant library. There's a backpack next to him, a sketchpad filled with notes, and...
nothing much else. He picks himself off of the blankets and adjusts his shirt, and then makes his way out of the library and through the halls. It's early morning, early enough that the sun isn't gracing the horizon in more than a pale blue glow visible through the windows. Handling stairs is a struggle, as always, with his bandages-- he manages to reach each open room with little more than strained breath. He ends up in the kitchen. No surprises there; it's warm and as clean as a castle kitchen can get, and it's more likely people will filter in throughout the day. He grabs himself a cup of some sort of juice (cranberry, a sip confirms) and sits himself down on a stool in the corner, and waits.
what are you, twelve?
They reach up and... grab the tablecloth and slowly begin to pull it. A great deal of objects start inexorably moving to the edge of the table.
Frisk makes a small wave with the hand not currently occupied with this. "Mmhm. Same." The tone on the last word is a shade warmer than the usual blunt stolidness they've been employing. He seems nice so far, even if he's human.
no subject
It is, however, an unspoken invitation to join him.
(they're a bit antisocial whoops)
Invitation to join him or not, Frisk has lost interest already. They wave a farewell, and it's friendly enough, but rather preoccupied. They're making their own entertainment, as it's so often put.
They keep tugging, and the first few harbinger pieces of cutlery begin to fall before the entire thing comes down in a crashing waterfall of cloth and tableware. And with that, everything they can think to do in this place has been done.
They come out from under the table and head out the door.