[slightly backdated revival post] good morning sunshine!

[dustless]

 It's too bright. Sharp stuff prickles against the back of their neck, and something else smothering weighs down over most of their body. They're lying down. They were being carried, but then they fell. Got dropped. Something. Their eyes hurt and they're not even open yet, it's awful.

Frisk flings their arms over their face to block out the first thing. In doing so, they discover the weird weight is, in fact, their shirt and probably also their pants.

Right. They died, and they forgot just how unpleasant the castle's revivals are. Not nearly as nice as just reappearing at the last SAVE point. Everything is...a lot. Like waking up for real, except the nap was three days, and their body hadn't felt anything in that time--

There's a weight in their chest. They can feel the very shape of it right now, the diamond. Her. She's not gone, and they're--they're torn. That's bad, that's not a fix, but it's good they don't have to go see Judgement to get infected again.

They peek out of the space between their arms and find themselves staring at the morning sky in spaces between flowers. 

Between...sunflowers. 

The castle woke them up on top of their first grave.

...

They're tired. They don't like any of this. The most important people can find them by their SOUL.

Frisk rolls over, shuffles deeper into the flowers' shadows, and doesn't move until they fall asleep.
 

☼


Later--a lot later--they're heading in the general direction of their room when they find...a door. The door itself isn't weird, but when they look closer, there's a strip of cloth sticking out from under it.

The room they find behind it is magnificent. To them, at least, now that they're feeling well enough to run around. It's full of wardrobes, and the wardrobes are full of robes and suits and dresses and capes and crowns and necklaces and ruffles, and they are going to take advantage of this by trying on everything that catches their eye, yes they are.
 

Comments

[silvermists]

Their killer doesn't seek them out. He's beaten them to the new room, though. Jackpot. It'll be nice to have some variety again, like he did in life.

He's already wearing an interesting new suit when they enter the scene, and collecting a wide range of other pretty outfits, filling an entire wardrobe with just what he wants. Greedy, greedy, greedy. The whole thing is going to end up teleported back to his room. What does it matter? The castle always provides more.

"You're feeling better." he says, barely glancing at them. They'll... probably not mind him sticking around.

[dustless]

Frisk doesn't falter skipping into the room. It feels too nice to be able to do that without much of a catch in their chest, even if they think they should be feeling a little bad about making him drop them off the edge. Even if Kuja himself might not care very much.

They stop and chirp "Buttons!"

What a genius greeting. But really, that suit has so many extra ones.

[silvermists]

"Buttons." Bland, with a ghost of a smile. That almost never happens. Savor it--he's prettier when smiling. (The sickness is just barely starting to show, he looks fine.)

He can feel his crime against them crawling on his back, as he says not another word and handles a dark green dress instead. First person in this world to say men shouldn't wear dresses goes off the edge... fuck society, he does what he wants. Takes what small harmless pleasure he can before he starts sleeping his days away again.

[dustless]

They're glad to see it! It's barely there, but it's real and seems nice.

Frisk heads sort of in his direction, but there's a bunc of wardrobes with half-open drawers sticking out of theirs fronts and sides side. They yank out and put on a bangley purple necklace from one, and then by the time they're over by Kuja they've somehow found a bracelet with pale feathers hanging off it. "Here!" They hold it up--it matches his hair.

[silvermists]

Funny, it does match his hair and the dragon feathers there. Almost like it was deliberately created or placed there for him, as well as where Frisk would see it. How interesting. Does the castle have a mind?

He's never found a place where its soul might be hidden.

"Very nice, thank you." He even puts it on--and then goes for the drawers of jewelry himself.

[dustless]

Frisk has plenty of thoughts on that, but he'll have to actually ask.

They clap in delight. "Welcome! And, um. Thank you too." Kuja should know what they're talking about there, right? But dwelling on it might be uncomfortable, so they immediately switch tracks right back: "Are you looking for...stuff? Something, or just anything that looks nice?"

time means nothing

[voidster]

Someone else's rebirth, too. No black and white gooman here, only... a skeleton. One with a familiar cracked face.

Sometime even later, he's in there too, because he desperately needs something to wear. Right now, his entire outfit is a blanket... heaven forbid someone seen naked bone. Outfit. Food? Maybe he'll run through the halls, simply because he has the ability to be quick again, not a shambling mass of goo that sticks to itself and must be willed into shape. Nice and light on his feet, due to weighing next to nothing!

He's smiling. And humming eeriely, because control over his own voice was something he missed. And he's oblivious, as he digs through shirts for something appealing.

correct!

[dustless]

There's a nice dressing room hidden in the back corner, which is where Frisk was before Gaster came in.

They amble out wearing a cool dress. (It's not the first they've tried on, but it is the one that they managed to get on. A lot of this room's dresses have an absurd about of lace in the back.)

And then Frisk pauses.

That feels... like Gaster. But it doesn't look like the one they know.

"Hi?" they try.

[voidster]

The face. The hands. The pink eyelight. The satchel he always carries. It could be him?

He's too rusty with it to try speaking out loud, yet. Best practice alone first. Signing is far more pleasant, anyway, especially since it's so easy to move. Effortless and quick. [Hello, Frisk.] 'Frisk' as the other says it in sign: 'jump-search'. It's endearing. [You look surprised.]

[dustless]

The pink eyelight's hard to see. The satchel, maybe. But the rest...the one they know is mostly black goop, after all, even if he makes himself more skeleton-shaped most of the time.

But that's their name! There's far slimmer odds of different Gasters coming up with the same sign name for them, they think, than just having a different one show up.

"...It's you! You're all boney!"

[voidster]

[It's me, not another.] He knows to reassure them--he and they both know there are others of him out there who no one wants to meet.

[I don't quite understand it myself--I'll explain another time. Priorities. Clothing.]

Because there's so much bone to cover up. He resumes digging for a good shirt...

[dustless]

Frisk's expression flattens. He better not've done something stupid to himself.

"...What're you looking for? There's lotsa good dresses in that one." They point to a wardrobe right of him.

sunflower kid feat. old man

[dunwhale]

Daud's found a better sheath. It's almost like the one he had back in Dunwall, actually, and his blade is a reassuring weight against his hip.

As he's made a habit of he's making his way down to the courtyard in the gardens to strike at nothing, and to scan the castle for any way to escape. The pull of the void is strong, here, and he's started the makings of a shrine that he always seems to find no matter how the castle's arranged itself, but the Outsider has so far refused an audience.

Bastard.

Daud doesn't quite make it to the courtyard. Instead, he sees a small body coiled up under the cheery heads of sunflowers.

Frisk is in for a surprise when they wake. Daud, cross-legged and a few feet away from them with a book open in his lap. Ports of Call, it is, dog-eared and well-loved.

"I was wondering where you'd gotten off to."

not an easy flower crown to make

[dustless]

Frisk twitches as soon as he sits. They can tell there's...something, but whatever it is, it's not important. Not enough to rouse themselves fully, barely enough for them to shove their face deeper into their arms.

Threats rarely matter to them at any point; waking from a hideously unpleasant death ironically leaves them worrying even less. No matter what someone tries to do at this point, it couldn't be worse than what happened three days (almost no time at all to them) ago.

They wake again much later, once Daud is fairly deep into his book. They cover their eyes with their hands.

"Sorry," they mumble. "Was busy bein' dead." They must've missed something, if Daud actually noticed. That or it's just bad timing for him to bring it up. They haven't been avoiding him on purpose.

[dunwhale]

"Funny." He doesn't sound amused. "Dead, you say?"

People could come back, here. It was hard to wrap his mind around. Even in the Void, he'd only seen the body-- the note, YOU KILLED HER scrawled over and over again in a frantic hand-- and the blood. Nothing else. Nothing except him.

He closes the book and settles it on his knee, then offers them a hand to sit up. "And what is that like?"

[dustless]

Dammit, Frisk thinks. Shouldn't have said that. It's a secret.

Feeling something above them, Frisk glances at his blurry offered hand between their fingers, then put them back together. Right now, they're perfectly fine down here.

They at least give the query some real consideration. It wouldn't be too fair to ignore him completely. "Nothing. Then you wake up, and everything's weird an' loud."

[dunwhale]

"Hm." Good to know. He hasn't tried to die, not really-- not here, at least. He doubts Corvo will be pulled here, as well. He doesn't know what he'd do if he was. Frisk signs to him that they'd rather stay on the ground, and so he puts his hand down onto the book.
"And how do you feel?"

[lyseandpurge]

They are not free of her. Some wounds cannot be simply healed; some wounds only heal into more terrible wounds. But Judgement waits, almost courteously, until they are alone and without distraction, before she makes herself known.

The fragment of the cell they have inside them beats with a vibration through their bones, and soaks their insides with an uneasy wave of warmth. Thick, blinding static fills their mouth and their head and worms its way out of their nostrils: Judgement.

She is much smaller this time—barely more than a few motes of black oil forming around them, slipping through their fingers as easily as a stream of bubbles on their way to some surface far above. Brief glittering flashes of pink, uncomfortably bright, are all they can see of her eye as these traces circle around them. She is near yet distant, oppressive yet not unbearable.

i'm sorry, she says. you fell. Her intrusive voice heralds another rush of heat and resonant noise.

[dustless]

Frisk was waiting for her. Or at least wondering if they should--if she was going to stay withdrawn and ignoring them. They wouldn't have been sure what to do if that had been the case.

It's been a while since they woke-slept-woke-again, but parts of them are still sensitive, and the feelings make it worse. Frisk drops the circlet they'd picked up and smash a hand over their face, trying to brush the hideous static-sensation off it.

Judgement's light draws lines where she flickers, too, and on top of it--they're wearing a weird pale blue suit, fancy and nice, but there's lace around the edges and there's a sudden, jarring awareness at how scratchy it is against their neck and wrists.

But she's trying, they know she is, so they don't let the snarl that's building in their throat loose.

"It's..." and Frisk bites back not your fault, since that would be the most idiotic lie that would ever leave their lips if they didn't. They use the hand that's not over their face (pressed right beneath their nose, it feels like it's bleeding even though it's not) to start digging at the lacy edges. They're going to ruin the shirt and they don't care. "It was gonna happen. 'M fine now."

[lyseandpurge]

it was gonna happen, Judgement softly echoes. A single bubble of black liquid slows, hovers in front of Frisk's face, and then pops with a sharp, deep sound. The air pressure in the room shifts, subtly but noticeably, and the light seems to dim. Here comes the heartbeat of the cell, heady and nervous.

but you came back, Judgement continues. i didn't know. i don't understand. you told me, but i still don't understand it.

Thick tendrils tear out of Frisk's mind like a tree being forcibly uprooted. With each one another bubble pops; something comes loose; she is trying to tear away, pulling on them like a trapped animal. you aren't free. what happened? i don't know what to do. what happened?

[dustless]

Her mimicry's not enough to make them laugh right now, but they still make a tiny startled noise. The way Frisk says words doesn't suit her...even though they're pretty sure she's sorta young, like them.

Thought-tendrils aren't the same as the static on their face; the latter feels real, the former's something deeper and more distant simultaneously, but they jerk their head to the side like Judgement's ripping at their physical brain even so. It feels gross and weird and there's something about to tear and that's gonna be bad.

Frisk slams their hand into the side of their head where it...feels...most.

"I wasn't lying! Stop it!" Too much, their usual patience is out of reach. They start tearing at their sleeves with their teeth instead. "It's magic! Nobody knows how it works!" Monsters know monster magic and some know Determination, but the castle isn't monster-stuff and if it's Determination then it's stuff used for other people, and that means nobody must know how that might work either.

hi i'm back finally!!!

[lyseandpurge]

She struggles for a little longer, but her motions grow smaller and looser, like a fraying knot, as they spread through Frisk's head and become a buzzing mass of numb, futile irritation.

no no wasn't lying she babbles, i don't get it i don't get it not lying and not dying and i am still here— the sound of her words rips open inside their head and a starburst of screaming static spills out, flooding into every sense for the horrible second it takes Judgement to suppress it into silence.

The bubbles of darkness surrounding Frisk pop, one by one, and the air becomes thick and cold. Something rumbles: Judgement draws closer.

you should be dead she enunciates, word by word, much more slowly and carefully. what will become of you if you don't die? A strange ringing rises in the room, shrill and faint.

The wood of the furniture groans gently. how badly will i hurt you if you don't die?

Judgement pleads. magic! why is this happening?

so late

[realkidswearstripes]

MK opens doors with their mouth, which would be gross if monsters could catch anything from a germ. That would be why their parents never told them to cut it out, and that’s how they’ve gotten in.

Neat. Dress up.

“Hi Frisk!”

no biggie

[dustless]

A friend!

Frisk's response is to fling a giant, sparkly, pinkish poncho-looking thing at Monster Kid's head.

[realkidswearstripes]

That’s so not how you play dress up, Frisk.

Ever clumsy, they try to snag it out of the air with their mouth like any good Snowdin dog would and... end up leaning forward too far and hitting the floor. What else is new?

(They caught it, though. Barely.)

"Umm! I think it’s too big."