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Mar. 3rd, 2017 10:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mercybutton posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
castle_perrault They're tired of being alone. (With only Flowey.)
They know they did this to themself. They isolated themself with him and refused to talk to anyone they passed by, sleeping in ridiculous places, in strange enough places in strange enough positions to have given themself aches and kinks in their bones, though they know they'll all fade. They're tough. Very elastic.
It's been months. They still haven't quite gotten over October--they were so lively. They felt like the forest. They felt like spring gusts and fresh flower sprouts and fire and clean air, and even better? They could see. Not perfect, but it was a degree, and they felt air in their lungs fresher and freer than they ever knew before.
That was fun, but that was months ago. Nowadays, they just feel like stale fog. It's heavy. It's still. And they walk through the halls sick and still, they haven't had an appetite in upwards of a month, they feel so static, they feel useless. They feel so awful, blind and disabled and drained of all want to do anything.
Flowey has calmed down much, and for once, they thank his soullessness--his lack of caring gives him endless patience to deal with them, thank goodness. They know it's bad of them to be happy that he lacks a soul, but they can't help but be just that. It's selfish. They can't bring themself to care. He's still very much mad at Asriel, but his fervent temper has cooled enough so that he won't strangle his counterpart upon sight. He ropes Frisk into helping him cook things (a flower can't do much on his own in a kitchen, unfortunately) to pass time and hone his own skill. Frisk is his critic, of course. These are peace. Or sometimes Flowey reads to them in private rooms, both laughing and joking and making fun of the text or each other, or discussing morals and philosophy. Those conversations are especially interesting between a kid like them and a soulless little blossom. It's moments like these that they cherish, that feels enough like home that they calm just a little, just a little.
They don't last long.
Frisk leaves Flowey near the Edge and the Forest, with a pile of philosophy books to pore over, as they retreat into the castle. They should socialize--reckon it's how they'll stop feeling so quiet and blobby. They don't want to, not at all, but they should. They should at least try. As a solace, they decide to let people engage them, instead of listening for people and tracking them down and starting conversation by themself. They don't start conversations, they commentate.
So they linger in places, sitting on windowsills and swinging their legs, or running hands across shrubbery in the gardens, or mumbling poetry and quotes to themself as they stroll down halls. Lots of poetry, lots of quotes. Thomas Paine and John Locke and Matthew Arnold and, and...
They know they did this to themself. They isolated themself with him and refused to talk to anyone they passed by, sleeping in ridiculous places, in strange enough places in strange enough positions to have given themself aches and kinks in their bones, though they know they'll all fade. They're tough. Very elastic.
It's been months. They still haven't quite gotten over October--they were so lively. They felt like the forest. They felt like spring gusts and fresh flower sprouts and fire and clean air, and even better? They could see. Not perfect, but it was a degree, and they felt air in their lungs fresher and freer than they ever knew before.
That was fun, but that was months ago. Nowadays, they just feel like stale fog. It's heavy. It's still. And they walk through the halls sick and still, they haven't had an appetite in upwards of a month, they feel so static, they feel useless. They feel so awful, blind and disabled and drained of all want to do anything.
Flowey has calmed down much, and for once, they thank his soullessness--his lack of caring gives him endless patience to deal with them, thank goodness. They know it's bad of them to be happy that he lacks a soul, but they can't help but be just that. It's selfish. They can't bring themself to care. He's still very much mad at Asriel, but his fervent temper has cooled enough so that he won't strangle his counterpart upon sight. He ropes Frisk into helping him cook things (a flower can't do much on his own in a kitchen, unfortunately) to pass time and hone his own skill. Frisk is his critic, of course. These are peace. Or sometimes Flowey reads to them in private rooms, both laughing and joking and making fun of the text or each other, or discussing morals and philosophy. Those conversations are especially interesting between a kid like them and a soulless little blossom. It's moments like these that they cherish, that feels enough like home that they calm just a little, just a little.
They don't last long.
Frisk leaves Flowey near the Edge and the Forest, with a pile of philosophy books to pore over, as they retreat into the castle. They should socialize--reckon it's how they'll stop feeling so quiet and blobby. They don't want to, not at all, but they should. They should at least try. As a solace, they decide to let people engage them, instead of listening for people and tracking them down and starting conversation by themself. They don't start conversations, they commentate.
So they linger in places, sitting on windowsills and swinging their legs, or running hands across shrubbery in the gardens, or mumbling poetry and quotes to themself as they stroll down halls. Lots of poetry, lots of quotes. Thomas Paine and John Locke and Matthew Arnold and, and...
(no subject)
Date: 2017-03-09 03:33 pm (UTC)Why would they want to.Mettaton, being the self absorbed celebrity he is, doesn't notice Frisk avoiding his gaze. He does hold out his hands as he draws nearer though, oblivious to the fact that the child can't see what he's doing."Asides from some minor issues, I've been fabulous. No surprise there, am I right?" Because, really. "You look good. ... Have you gotten a bit taller?"
(no subject)
Date: 2017-03-09 09:43 pm (UTC)Nor do they know he's holding out his hands, but they do hear the clank of his boots against the stine pathway. So they keep standing there.
"Maybe. It's been a few months. I'm glad you're doing well, though; anything new and exciting happen?"
(no subject)
Date: 2017-03-18 03:34 pm (UTC)He pauses, lowering his arms and moving a bit closer to Frisk, studying them for a moment. Frisk can more than likely hear him move and lean over, then feel him perhaps a bit too close for comfort. Because what are personal boundaries?
"... Did you get a haircut?"
(no subject)
Date: 2017-03-21 05:12 am (UTC)Haircut?
"Uh… no. It's been growing out, now that I think about it." It's probably long enough to wear in a bun! Ooh.
(no subject)
Date: 2017-05-16 06:23 pm (UTC)Longer hair means styling and who better to do that than him? Just think of all the adorable things he can do with it.
"It looks lovely! You know, if you ever wanted me to style it for you..."
Hint hint.