may he live in interesting times

[voidster]

Gaster and Gaster sitting by the wall, in the hall...

One is solid, the usual skeleton-in-coat-and-sweater form. One is less so, rounded, a torso with no arms or legs. One comes with no accessories. One has a satchel that slipped off his shoulders, a golden wristwatch lying by his base. And one, the properly formed one, has pink runes where eyesockets and nasal bones and mouth should be.

The other cannot think. The world is a haze, thoughts moving at the speed of molasses, bent over and burying his face in his hands. He hasn't moved in quite some time, lacking the will to do anything, and neither has the other. Neither knows what to do, really. They must stay together, and Gaster is ignoring Gaster's signs.

One of him shouldn't exist, let alone two. It's bound to attract attention sooner or later, isn't it?

Comments

[voidster]

[Up.] says Runester, hands in front of Gaster's line of sight and sticking to the simplest one word instructions. He's catching on... slowly. [In.]

He stands a moment later and indicating the wheelbarrow. Get in. It seems to click for the poor fellow after a few seconds and he heaves forward, guided to sit inside it by Runester. Who clearly means to push it himself now that it's here with them. No sense in forcing a small child to do it, it's heavy.

[dustless]

There's a kick of discomfort in their chest. Simple orders, but orders, not...asking. Frisk guesses he might not be able to understand 'asking' right now, but that doesn't stop the feeling.

Their eyes dart between Runester and Gaster, reluctantly letting go. They're already strained, and if this copy can do it, fine. "To his room," they say, positioning themselves on one side of the wheelbarrow, Frisk on the opposite.

[voidster]

(Neither of them likes the other and that really shouldn't come as a shock. One's a fool, dooming everyone including a child for the sake of not killing, and the other is a soul-and-mind-sucking abomination. Go figure.)

He lets go of the handles long enough to say one more thing. [Thank you. Sit with him--on him, if you want. Talk. It may help.]

Because the two children apparently care about helping Gaster, who was an idiot even before he ran into the dog. And because sitting on him is fairly comfortable and won't do him a bit of harm.

[dustless]

"Huh?"

Well. They kind of do need to sit on him, if they're not just going to be pacing alongside him--they really should've took the time to pull the rest of the loose splinters out.

They exchange a look with their other self, simultaneously shrugging and clambering up. It may help is better than nothing.

Frisk settles cross-legged onto his...stomach? Place where a human's stomach would be. (And Frisk sits on where his legs should be, facing away. Their face might bother him.)

"Gaster. We're going to your room right now," they tell him. "D'you still have those pictures?"

[voidster]

He's the only beanbag marshmallow waterbed thing in the entire castle. The best chair, really. Couldn't be less bony.

With hands on the handles, Runester is very much shutting up. It's all up to Gaster and his fraying thoughts now. Damn kids, not murdering when he says please...

[Yes. Yes. Two in the bag.] Which Runester thoughtfully is carrying himself. Too important to be left behind.

[dustless]

In the bag--? Oh.

They eye it, and they eye Gaster. They'll have to stand up or climb him to reach it--asking Runester to pause and hand it over doesn't occur to them.

"Not all on your wall? Got pictures on mine. My friends drew them." Chara and Frisk--Frisk and Chara, more like, Frisk more than the latter, though every picture is equally precious.

[voidster]

[No.] No, again. He can't remember what his reasoning was for not placing them on the wall. [Safe. In a book.]

Medieval scrapbooking with 21st century photos. Life is strange like that. Being in a wheelbarrow with a faceless freak pushing you and two children sitting on you is weirder.

[dustless]

"A book? Like...they're flowers?" Pictures tend to be digital back home--flower-pressing obviously can't be, though they don't have too much firsthand experience in that.

Frisk's just going to talk about anything and everything that pops into their head. To ground him, they hope. "Do you like flowers?"

[voidster]

[Flowers? In a book?]

Considering the extreme lack of types of flowers in the Underground... no. Echo Flowers are too big and Golden Flowers far too important.

[I like Asgore's flowers.] Flower-King is his rendering of Asgore's name. They'll understand.

[dustless]

"In a book. You...make them flat in the pages, so they stay good. Somebody tried that with some library books an' got in trouble." Or so they heard. It was a weird, sort of boring story their mama told them about her days in high school.

"You--" Oh. Oh. They do understand, but only after a panicked moment of thinking of Asriel. "--yeah, those were pretty. Never got to have the tea he made with them."

[voidster]

[Like that. With the photos.]

Oblivious, their discomfort flies right over his head. It was too fast. [It's delicious. I wish I were with them.]

Even in this state, he knows he'll never be. It's the first time he's said 'I wish' out loud...

[dustless]

"The flowers?" they ask foolishly. No, probably Asgore, right? Or...monsters?

...they wonder if there are golden flowers here. They haven't seen the exact type from underground in the gardens, but maybe that was because they never bothered to look. Frisk can't say they really like them.

[voidster]

[Asgore. Toriel.]

Pie-queen. She thought it was adorable... or did he imagine that? So hard to be sure what was real before everything was rewritten.

(The castle hasn't lead them to stairs yet. That's good.)

[dustless]

Pie-queen. That is adorable, and it leaves a funny ache in their chest.

She's not their mom, but they still love her.

Frisk takes a deep breath.

"She used to be here. She might come back," they posit quietly.

[voidster]

They're not the only one who loved--loves--those old goats. Family. He hardly had a chance to keep his long... by monster standards.

[I'd like to be there. Not here.]

Except... except... there's someone he should remain for, isn't there?

[dustless]

This is veering into a different sort of upsetting territory.

"Here sucks sometimes," they agree, even more quiet. They can't lapse into silence, though, that won't help.

"Did--did you ever garden?"

[voidster]

Rattle rattle along...

[No. Not interesting to me. Only nice to visit.]

Asgore's garden, he means. Beautiful to look at, and far too much work when he has so many things to learn...

[dustless]

Frisk isn't even paying attention to where they're going right now. Hopefully their replica would warn them if Runester was about to do something like dump them down a set of stairs.

"...We should try it sometime. 'S something to do."

[voidster]

He'd never do that to two harmless children, that's unthinkable.

[Tomatoes.] he says, unable to even keep an intelligent conversation going. Fear. And disgust with himself. Frustration, anger, hate... this is all his fault, he's aware, and that isn't enough to stop him being terrified of how he'll end up when it's all done.

[dustless]

"We can do that. I've seen a lot before."

Frisk's not sure what else to do--and they think a lot of it's exhaustion, not an absence of self. Though exhaustion still sucks. They hope they can get him to at least lie down...if he can stay on the bed.

"...are you gonna melt more?" they ask, glancing beneath themselves.

[voidster]

He might, with the help of himself herding him and forcing him to stay on the bed. The sooner he stabilizes, the sooner the pair can do something about this Judgement mess. Almost to his room.

[Hard. Hard to resist.] So, so hard.

[dustless]

They bite their tongue. Frisk knows this is his fault, but pushing that on him like this wouldn't be fair. After he rests, then.

"...m'kay. Sorry."

On impulse, they lean forward and give him a hug. Carefully, as much as they're able, and they'll stop if their arms start sinking into him.

[voidster]

They do not. He's attempting to 'hug' back in an awkward strange way, and so he's holding them up and preventing them from 'sinking'. And he doesn't let go of them. Not until they reach his door, Runester recognizing it from copied memories. He opens the door with a free hand (can't summon helpers...), wheeling the three passengers in backwards and stopping beside the bed.

[Alright. Are you going to stay?]

[dustless]

At least he's responsive enough for that much.

"Yeah. Don't have anything else to do. And. Thanks. For...helping." Just because he's sort of...programmed for helping doesn't mean he shouldn't be thanked. In fact, he should be extra thanked.

Frisk jumps off, sidestepping somewhere closer to Gaster's copy. Frisk's somewhat more reluctant, but they wriggle off the wheelbarrow's side as well, opposite the bed. "Should get on there," they say, pointing. If he can.

[voidster]

Being thanked certainly is good--he may be more than a little frustrated with the situation he's been 'born' into. And the fool's reaction. Kill him, really?

[Do. Onto the bed.] And if that's not encouragement enough, he's heaving Gaster out of the wheelbarrow, which is fortunately mostly level with the bed, his hands shoved under the original's 'bottom' and scooping (or shoving) the goop out. So undignified. Dirt and splinters that failed to stick everywhere.