I Am The Eighth (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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castle_perrault2017-02-12 01:54 pm
itstheend) wrote in castle_perrault2017-02-12 01:54 pm
[Post-Event Post] I don't need safety, I've grown up
They wake up.
They wake up, and for a moment it's a confusion as two sets of impulses try to sit up, try to roll over, what is this why can't I move-
It all comes flooding back, and the thrashing, twitching body goes still, glassy eyed, panting.
*...
*Hi Chara.
Breathe. Breathe.
Chara groans and presses their palms to their eyes. There's a dual storm of self-loathing here, turbulence kicked up by the past crashing into the future. Things that neither wanted to come to light, exposed. Breathe.
Well then. Damage control. Lock this all away and focus on getting up. They've been sleeping under a bench in the chapel this past month - they touch the back of their head with their fingers where they just cracked it on the pew. Didn't notice, in the heat of the moment. It seems that the Castle always shoves Frisk back into Chara.
They get up, and start walking - no particular destination, but places they are avoiding. The library. The balcony. The swings, certain spots in the garden, the kitchens. They just need to run, and they do, and when running's not enough, when their legs burn and their lungs are filled with knives from the cold air they screech to a halt and scream and punch a window, bright glass shattering, before turning on a vase. Anything inanimate nearby is getting destroyed.
Frisk makes no move to stop them.
For Poke-Frisk and Sparks:
There's something that needs to be done, and it has to be done sooner rather than later. Frisk would prefer to give the apology in person but... that would raise some questions they don't think Chara would particularly want to answer right now.
While they do have control over the body (it aches - Chara themself has retreated to a ball at the far back, spent) they spend some time making enquiries - they don't know where the Frisk with red eyes and the dog monster live, and need to to slide this under a door. They've written an apology letter (and not a Bureau of Communication one).
They feel terrible about attacking Sparks - they're pretty sure that was Sparks, even if he looked different - and it profusely says so.
no subject
...A monster, this human says.
Sparks is not a monster.
He begins by informing them of that.
Hush's pupils contract to slits.
In their head: a Moldsmal, since they thought of them already; a Snowdrake; a Froggit. All so very tiny, Sparks dwarfing them in a way he can't in reality, something far more solid, as well as the creature in front of them himself. Solid. Strong. (Smells like red.)
He advances in deeper than that, a soft breeze brushing across their mind--minds. There really is more than one human in here. He wonders why, but that's not what he's looking for--they're looking for his human and Sparks, and he needs to know why that is. In return, he filters a memory from just a few hours ago, silent and vivid:
Sparks lying down, Frisk sitting with their back against his side, a few other indistinct-yet-solid creatures huddled around them too. The air is filled with something buzzing--static, emotions fear-rage-confusion echoing and feeding into itself. Frisk is covering their face, red eyes wild and barred by their fingers, Sparks periodically jerking his head to look at them and back to glaring daggers in the wall.
Hush doesn't give them the information they seek--all there is is they're somewhere dark. The walls are stone. That could be anywhere.
no subject
This is familiar. The type of communication Frisk has been using ever since their resurrection - they mentally come forward in interest as the other presence shrinks back, suddenly spiky and dense with armor, dragging at Frisk before doing dark.
(Chara has had enough of resonance. You're not getting anything from them if they can help it says this warning. (Not that they can really prevent Hush, but they're unaware of this fact as of now.))
Frisk forgoes speech in favour of returning concept, unperturbed. Curiosity - that's right, not monsters but pokemon, dislocated childhood memories returning. Red, though... that's new. It makes them think of Spark's strange blood, shed by Chara. As well as... something else.
(But they don't like thinking about the True Labs at the best of times. And this isn't really the best time.)
They flood gratefulness at what he gives them, that he can give them something, delight that he knows who they're looking for, apprehension and concern at the fact they don't sound-feel-think? so good, and in return ping a concept of a letter, delivery and the... somewhat smothered shadow of guilt and a small fist hitting a green dog, behind it.
They don't mind the sparsity of the location details. It's more than they've gotten all day. There's an idea forming, nascent, but they don't look at it just yet - the idea that they could give Hush the letter to take there.
Chara sends a pulse of mistrust and suspicion at it, and then goes back to glaring-from-behind-the-sofa style watching.
no subject
Fist strikes Electrike. Stick sinks into Manectric. Both from this set of eyes--this person's eyes, this--Frisk? Frisk.
He hasn't gotten this close to one of their counterparts before. They aren't the same, even with the doubled-up life in their heads, though there's something familiar in the center of them, pulsing out. Nothing he's going to touch; he neither needs nor wants to go in that deep and risk damaging them both--them all.
Frisk. And...Chara. Neither offered their names, but it permeates them enough he couldn't miss it if he wanted to.
A memory: sitting in a lap, blue-and-pink stripes wrapped around his sides, concern spilling over.
You're so quiet. 'S been weeks.
Homesick? No?
Is...is the team being mean to you?
Too loud?
You're too loud, everyone! Quiet! Shh, shh, hush!
Hush?
You like that sound?
You?
...You're Hush?
His own in return.
On the outside, Hush puts a hand up to his mouth.
More memories. Of battles, Sparks', some of which Hush saw.
Manectric tearing his way through vines in a forest, intent on strangling him.
Electrike with massive red fangs piercing his torso, fitting on either side of his spine.
Manectric, enduring a full waterfall launched at his side and coming back for more.
Electrike with a huge thing swinging its hand into his face, sending him flying into a cliffside--directly contrasted with Frisk's tiny, tiny fist making him yelp in mostly-surprise, dragged out of the shadows (pick a card, any card) without effort.
Ha Ha Ha.
Not real laughter, but the same tingling sensation of warmth and amusement. That's very nice of them, but can't they see? Frisk didn't do anything worth apologizing for!
no subject
Not that Hush couldn't smash through that as well, but as stated - probably a Bad Time.
*Hush! Frisk thinks, happy to know the name, that Hush decided to share this memory with them - there's an intimacy to this exchange that means it means a lot when something is chosen to be shown in full, a sort of trust. There's a shadow of a memory - that's a nice name that gets written on top over with a *Nice to meet you!
The happiness fades to horror at the memories that play next. They have their own echoes - a chest pierced by glowing blue spears, burns across a body that make it stiff and less able to avoid more, acid tears, beams of searing light, lightning and lasers and bones - they flicker faster until they're rapidly cut off, the leaking tap spotted and turned off.
*That's not okay! Sure, a fist and a stick may pale in comparison, but that doesn't mean it was right to hurt them. It doesn't mean that was fine. The next memory they give in full - Tiny Frisk, angry and upset in a way they didn't understand then, shouting at them to stop.
It's not okay that Sparks got hurt all those other times either. It's not.
Even if it was just a game.no subject
Memories, their own--no, Chara's, plucked easy as a berry from a tree. Rain and lightning, stick sinking into fur, burning metal against their own skin. That was a fight. That was fun--
Sparks is laughing, it's easy to tell even without the amusement Hush can feel ringing. His muzzle is pressed against the ground, hidden by grass and flowers and his own furry paws.
[They got me below half. Half! Can you believe it?] He's got a snarl in his 'voice', but it's put upon. Hush knows from years of experience, and so Frisk and Chara do as well. [Nasty little strategist!]
"Don't," says a voice to the side, "try for a rematch."
[Yes! I will!] Sparks' face rises. [It wasn't fair last time, they didn't know what they were doing. I thought they were going to be pathetic. We'll face off in that giant room with the human food--]
Frisk is burying something small in the earth. "No, you won't. You're really that bored?" they ask mildly, not looking up. "Everyone else so hard to challenge? You know, Needles would go for a fighting match if you find a...yellow gem, triangle. She's missing that in her stash. She could use some more toughening up, and you could use the agility training."
[No.] Staunchly. [The strategist was actually interesting.]
"Don't be so rude. Humans are m--!"
The viewpoint shifts, Hush numbly dancing out of the way with the blue-and-yellow blur that's Sparks tackling his trainer full-on, crushing them facefirst into the dirt.
Laughter. [I can always fight you instead~!]
...Bones and lightning, acid, spears, and Hush packs it all away into his mind for...later review. It was all real, or enough to feel, but not all of that was possible to survive. Not for a human.
no subject
Chara bristles at the brief taking of the memories and claws at them to try and drag them back, suspicion and hackles rising before everything bleeds into the other perspective, the sort of thing that can't not be watched, and they cease, if only for the moment.
They weren't expecting a fight - not one that couldn't be ended by throwing a stick. It was terrifying in it's unexpected escalation and... underneath that, the same dual thrill of fear and excitement as facing the Undying, was a laughing exhilaration, a rush like nothing else.
And in a sunny hall far away from such things, it has more ability to come to the fore despite itself - the same smug pride as a dog trotting back to its owner with a scrap of the mailman's coat in its mouth. The strategist. That's right. They did give Sparks a run for his money, didn't they? Not bad for a first try. Not bad for no time to prepare. Not bad for LV1 against... that impossibly high number.
(They are... somewhat tempted by the thought of a rematch, against better judgment. Maybe the same redness that unknowingly beats in both is a factor. They could pick a better place, they could bring better equipment, they - the next thought is deliberatly garbled as attention flicks to the eavesdropper, but Hush can probably hear it ring loud and clear - h̸̬̄a̵͖̿v̵̛͕ë̷ͅ ̶̱̾m̴͚̌ă̷̻ǵ̸̢i̵̳͑c̵͍͛ ̴̙͒n̸͙̏ö̴̯́w̷͔̔, they definitely think they stand a chance of winning even with Sparks knowing more of what they're capable of.
Frisk's reaction is largely an '-_-' expression, as well as a replay of the sentiment of the Frisk in the memory.
*Please don't.
Chara kind of pulls back, ruffling their composure in place, because they're not some ruffian who just picks fights (this is the biggest lie they've ever thought), but they do idly turn over scenarios in the back - almost purely unconscious.
Frisk's attention turns back to Hush, still impressing the thought that they don't like the fighting, even if it's apparently liked and normal; it just doesn't sit right with them. They also ping another memory - hitting Tiny Frisk with shoes. An enquiry and apology all in one. Are they okay, and they're sorry, and will Hush pass that along with the others, please?
no subject
Frisk doesn't want a fight, and they remind Hush of his Trainer--but Chara does, and this is their body--and Sparks and his Frisk can never resist a challenge if it's outright offered to them.
Hush can't predict Sparks' choice, nor Chara's--that's one realm of Psychic his kind isn't skilled at. It doesn't take such ability to believe this is being laid to rest so easily.
Magic. The attempt to hide it does nothing but catch his attention further; it, too, is packed away. They don't feel magic, but he's not as in tune with his Fairy side. Frisk might know. They certainly know more about monster magic through experience.
Are they okay?
The same memory of before, the group huddled together wild-eyed and afraid.
"You were gone."
Frisk isn't moving their mouth, yet it's still their voice.
"You were gone. Almost...all of you. And I didn't even know. I was--I was--"
Their not-voice is thickly laced with horror.
No, they're not okay, but it has nothing to do with the shoe strike.
Hush bows, and sends an image: Himself, bending to Frisk's ear with a hand cupped against his mouth. A whisper, a secret. He'll tell.
no subject
Frisk presses forward into, curiosity mixing with concern. It's good to know that the shoe didn't have any lasting effects, but the same can't be said for the source of the other Frisk's distress.
...they're pushing just a bit too hard, aren't they? That urge to know so as to fix, utterly ingrained in them. They pull back, even as Chara cursorily scans the memory and notes the eye colour - seen by their younger self and with the same automatic classification popping up like toast - demon - before being folded away.
Frisk's rush of gratitude pours over it like an ocean wave when Hush relays the second concept. They trust Hush will do it, and project as much thanks as a mind can, because they appreciate the action even if the actions of shame might not seem all that important in the scheme of things to Hush.
Both participants seem to expect the mental conversation to draw to a close, pulling away a little, although on Chara's end it's rather more territorial, and on Frisk's they're amenable to being called back.
no subject
Demon? Hush doesn't know that word, and he notices negative echoes. No need to dig in right now, though; Frisk's worry about his Trainer and worry that they're overstepping their bounds--those scrape against him, and he chooses to show them what 'gone' was.
Images:
Frisk. Sparks. Hush. The silhouettes of Needles and Prince and Maud, because hiding the unknown is second nature when it could be used in battle.
Tiny Frisk (the image is a little fuzzy), tiny Sparks (much less so, since Hush knows what Electrikes look like without having to tug from memories). The rest of the shapes, Hush included, slowly falling and fading and becoming a batch of colorful Eggs.
The Eggs are mostly hatched, noises and limbs leaking out--except the cracks heal over, time's on rewind, until they're smooth and perfect.
And then they're gone, leaving the small Frisk and Sparks wandering through the snow and laughing, not knowing who and what they've missed.
And Hush only leaves a cursory impression of existing but not existing, being locked inside the Egg he was supposed to break out of but couldn't, traces of confusing emotions he can't understand from the teammates he doesn't know yet trapped in the nothing-space with him. No need to torment the pair with a fuller experience.
Outwardly, Hush curtsies this time and sends a rush of warmth in return, both of them, and an image of Hush and Sparks and Frisk and these two relaxing in the grass.They're very welcome.
And then Hush's eyes glow
and all of him flares bright white
and
he
disappears.
Perhaps delivering the message will bring his Trainer Frisk back out of their shell.
; ; oh no the pokes
At least they knew how they got there, and had only themselves to blame. They're making it about themself, aren't they?
The sunshine and smell of grass chases that away, and outwardly they smile a little. Yes, they'd like that.
He disappears, like Sans, only in a flash of light instead of dark.
They wave at the space where he was before going anyway, Chara's step lighter as they head down the hall, moot paper apology still crinkling.