[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

[voidster]

Always showing teeth, not always with a smile. His face is still impossibly flexible.

[You did. I'm going to need more, and so is he.] A jerk of the thumb to Runester, who looks far less cheerful about all this, somehow, because he doesn't have a proper face. [We can't just have one outfit each.]

[dustless]

"Well, you sorta can..." See: Frisk's striped shirt and the pants and the green scarf. They've been wearing those for literal years now, and it's amazing they're so intact still--maybe it's castle magic...though when Frisk was tossing them off in the back room, the blue was starting to look awfully faded.

"...but more's nice." They clap their hands once, sharply, rocking more on their feet enough to make the skirt ripple. "What's your favorite color...s?" The copy might have a different favorite.

[voidster]

[Dark purple, I suppose. To be honest, I almost always wore black and white.]

He can join the 'single outfit' club, rather like they have. Always the sweater, always the black labcoat and pants, because wearing all white when you're made up of bleached bone is just ridiculous. (And because he's a skeleton--he doesn't need to bathe every day.)

[More is just fine. I'm sure everything we take will be replaced, so there's no excuse not to.]

The copy says nothing. They're exactly the same in all but two respects, Frisk is bright enough to know this.

[dustless]

"Why?" they ask, wandering over to a wardrobe he and his copy--and they, for that matter--haven't looked into.

There's a lot of green stuff in this one, not purple. It's neat, though, stuff from light seafoam to neon to forest to almost-black, all arranged in a row from lightest to darkest. They grab a ruffled seafoam shirt and toss it over their shoulder--it's going to be Frisk's later.

Frisk about-faces and goes back to the one from before, pulling out the robe. That one...that one's held out for Runester, since he doesn't have anything swooshy yet.

"...Do you like bracelets and stuff?"

[voidster]

[Thank you.] he says, accepting it and starting through the whole changing-behind-the-blanket routine. He does not want to be here, he doesn't want to be forced into playing dress up with a child--

Gaster's aware, despite the fact that Runester can't frown at him. And he's ignoring it.

[Because it's professional, and I suppose you could say I lived at work. Black, because a skeleton wearing all white is pitiful. And yes.]

[dustless]

What a killjoy...

Or he would be, if Frisk was paying more attention to the jackal-copy than the first Gaster.

"Huh? Pitiful? 'S just a color." They pause and tap their chin, looking him over. "...but you probably woulda looked like a ghost," they say decidedly.

[voidster]

[Pitiful, because if I walked into a white room they'd never be able to find me again.] he goes on, gestures more expansive and happy than they have been in weeks--since 'his' Sans's departure. And he's teasing. Silly, stupidly silly. [They'd send out search parties. Days and days of searching while I stood there trying not to laugh.]

[dustless]

Oh. Ohhh.

Frisk keeps their face straight. "But then you woulda been the best at hide-an'-seek! Good...good tradeoff."

[voidster]

[And pranks--as long as I stayed in a room with white walls, I'd be unstoppable.]

Pfft. He's still being Looked at irritably by Runester, who is now properly swishy and prettied up.