feels like a year every minute (forward dated a bit)

[voidster]

He'd settled in, with an extra blanket, a comfortable plush chair and plenty of canned supplies for one average height skeleton who tends not to each much. The cans remind him of the sort that floated down the Waterfall when he was young: nuts, vegetables, various fruits and other things, something he doesn't realize is baby food.

And when he was done, he simply stopped leaving the room. It feels like he's aging five years per day, which adds up even for a long-lived skeleton monster. He sits in his chair, hobbling up to eat occasionally before that was taken from him, always wrapped in a thick blanket to hide what's happening to his bones underneath. Discolored, pink-tinged twisted mess he's becoming. No one needs to see, and he can't say he wants to know himself.

And when he can no longer do that, he uses his magic hands to bring food or whatever else he needs to him. He hasn't left his room in a month...

Visitors are always welcome, of course. There are sure to be some, just as he's sure to downplay it all. People don't change overnight.



((Tag in for now like normal, I think I'll add top levels updating things later on though!))

Comments

[dustless]

One of the earliest visitors is Frisk.

If they couldn't feel his stillness, they might not've noticed his absence for...who knows how long, with how they spend most of their time alternating between sleeping and wandering and never in the same place twice. But he was always in one part, always in his room, any time of day, easy to center on no matter what they were doing.

They knock on the door. There's a bag of fresh tomatoes slung over their shoulder.

[voidster]

He can also tell who is knocking, before they even do, having felt their approach. Good time to come say hi. The window curtains are open, he has enough light to sit in that squashy chair and read under his blanket, covering ribs and spine and legs as if his usual outfits wouldn't be enough for modesty. It's a decent illusion of normalcy.

He opens the door with a projected hand instead of getting up, nodding to them. [Hello.]

[dustless]

Decent, not great, and they're scanning for what might be wrong as soon as they can see the room.

It's not cold enough for a blanket yet.

"Got more food," they say, tromping over to sling the bag onto his desk.

[voidster]

Nothing on his fairly calm, if tired, face. And the blanket, when skeletons don't feel the cold at all.

[Thank you.]

'Don't worry' or 'you don't have to' would be meaningless.

[dustless]

Absolutely.

"...How're you...feeling?" There's not one reason to dance around the subject, but they half go for it anyway.

much later--

[voidster]

Not much changes, as he's brought lower and lower by Her sickness. He sits in his chair, continuously exhausted and hurting, he eats a little, he sleeps.

It doesn't get much more pathetic than being too weak to lift a container of nuts, to even hold on to them. There he is, having spilled them all over the floor, knowing it's just about over. Someone's going to see, for he's too tired to try and scoop up the mess with magic.

[aghostinthemachine]

Someone does see, unfortunately. Mettaton seems to have a knack for showing up at just the right (or wrong) moments. There's a soft knock at the door before the glambot peeps inside. Gaster's condition has him very worried, for obvious reasons. He's been visiting him everyday, several times a day just to make sure he's doing okay.

Today though, when he sees the mess and how tired Gaster is, his stomach sinks. He enters the room and quickly brings himself to the skeleton's side. M-maybe he just fell asleep?

"Gaster..." he says softly, not wanting to disturb him. "Gaster, darling. Are you alright...?"

[voidster]

Not sleeping. Not with his eyesocket open. He raises his head just a little, going with what seems to have been his default answer. (Because he won't mention pain, of course.)

[Tired. Just... tired.]

Even signing is difficult.

[aghostinthemachine]

"Do you need anything...? Would you like to lie down?"

Although moving him probably isn't the best idea, it's worth asking. A bed would be more comfortable. Or at least in his opinion. He wishes there was an easier way for Gaster to communicate as he definitely notices the struggle as the monster replies to him.

Re: much later--

[panaceaa]

Guardian hasn't seen him.

Guardian hasn't seen Gaster in- in a while, now, a very long while, and it was easy, at first, to not notice. To pretend that their paths just haven't crossed lately. But...

Something is wrong.

Guardian isn't sure which room belongs to their friend. It's why they only offer a few quiet knocks before they crack the door open enough to see inside. They almost dismiss this one as another empty, abandoned room before they see that the chair is actually occupied, and that the mess isn't just a sign of neglect.

Well. It kind of is, really.

"Gaster," they say, voice about as quiet as their knocks had been as they announce their presence. "Can I come in?"

[voidster]

Speech and sign are both difficult. He weighs the pros and cons of both for a moment, stringing sounds together when he's so groggy versus actually lifting his arms. Life is hard.

Dying is hard.

"Yeh. Yes." he says, finally, slumped in the chair and trying to get his rusty voice to carry. "Fine."

[panaceaa]

...Ah.

Guardian steps over the threshold carefully, the way one does when they're careful of breaking something. But there's very little left in in the room that isn't broken already, albeit in different ways.

They settle down beside Gaster's chair, not much caring what they sit on as they do. It's not important. Doesn't matter as much as being able to be here.

It's not exactly like sitting down at someone's deathbed, but it feels enough like it that Guardian can't speak for several long moments.

"I don't have anything to offer in the way of help," they start, getting as much to the point as they're able, "except my company. If you'll take it."

It's obvious that Gaster is dying. Guardian doesn't know what else to do.

before he's really bad, probably (orz so late)

[mettaton_rex]

Mettaton probably would have stayed away. Maybe he should have. He doubts that Gaster actually wants to see him.

But there's something that's bothering him, and it'll bother him all the more if he doesn't do it now.

He knocks on the door. There's a photograph held carefully in his other hand. He's making an effort not to grip too hard. Wouldn't want to damage it.

o7

[voidster]

Everyone knows, don't they? Word spreads, even though there's no phone calls or texting here. The door seems to open by itself, with a ghostly hand on the doorknob before it fades.

He's still properly skeletal, dressed nicely and mostly hidden under the blanket anyway, even his legs, curled up against his ribcage. No black and white putty. Otherwise he wouldn't be in this situation.

[Hello.]

[mettaton_rex]

Mettaton steps cautiously into the room, bracing himself for - he doesn't know what. Gaster looks ...fine, mostly.

So did Shyren's sister, he remembers. One day she was fine, the next she was lying there motionless, alive in that she wasn't dust yet but already gone.

"Hello." The word catches in his mouth. He swallows. "...how are you feeling?"

[voidster]

It shouldn't be that unexpected. He's a skeleton, he can't be any thinner or paler. He just looks... tired in the face, and faintly pinker.

[Exhausted. Uncomfortable.] Hey. Why shouldn't he be honest with this Mettaton?

this is so late. vigil funeral revival all in one

[voidster]

Not long after he's helped back into bed, he simply falls asleep and... doesn't wake back up. Coma, then death, it's how monsters tend to go.

So, not long after that, he's nothing but dust. (Pity he hadn't told anyone what he wants done with it. Nothing, perhaps.)

And when he comes back... he winds up in the exact same spot he first appeared in, months ago, under a tree near a swing Frisk built for other kids to play on.

He's no longer a skeleton. Good to know he won't become ill a second time. Disappointing all the same, to be a useless gelatinous mess.

[lyseandpurge]

Judgement stirs the stone and ancient timbers, parting them like a string curtain. Her formless mass shines through the floor as he rests, swelling it like a bruise, like sickened skin breaking out with light.

She comes no closer than this, her heartbeat thrumming through the floor and through Gaster's hollow chest. She comes no closer and says, tight and spiny as a headache:

you're going to die

did you get the answers you wanted?

do you regret it?

[voidster]

He's simply a plain old skeleton under a blanket, not very remarkable and not really surprised. Stranger things have happened and surprised takes energy.

You act as if this is really the end for me. he tries to think at her, distinctly imagining speaking and signing the words at her. It's not the end, it's only temporary. He'll be back.

And that's not really an answer at all.

[lyseandpurge]

Her voice is not whole and consuming as it was when Gaster entered the immortal cell; it is a haphazard mimicry of language, a shuddering heap of memories lashed down into the shape of syllables.

it is an end but maybe it isn't yours
do you have ends?
it seemed not

The cell pulses through him.

i thought you wanted power
but it seems you traded poison for questions?
do you have any questions left?

Having returned to him at last, she doesn't seem to know what to do.

cw suicidal ideation

[voidster]

I wish I did have an ending. he speaks, only inside his own head, only to her. It doesn't seem like he can be honest about that very often. Not around people who would actually be upset about him wanting to rest. Forever.

Plenty. But I did this to teach you about the world... not learn from you, really. I only wanted to see what you were and if it was dangerous.

Remember that?

And this is only a small interruption. You'll still be with me, I think.

[antitemporal]

Change doesn't happen overnight, but he has to assume that change is hungry work. So whenever that pile of food even starts to get low, Serif scurries off to go find replacements, any replacements. Gaster will find him a frequent visitor, even if at first being around him when he's like this is...hard. He doesn't really understand what's going on, just that it's something similar to what happened to Frisk once. So he's angry at no one he can reach and upset that Gaster is in pain, but he tries to put on a happy face whenever he's visiting. Hopefully the scientist will understand if the boy occasionally has to cut visits short before he bursts into tears and makes a mess of things, though.

"today i got you..." He squints a bit at one of the cans. "...pie? you can put pie in cans?"

[voidster]

As he tries to behave as if this is all perfectly normal—worrying Serif even more helps no one. Let Serif thinks it’s only a transformation. It’s plausible, he’s slowly becoming less of a normal white color and more abnormally... pinkish. No way to hide that.

“✡⚐✞ 👍✌☠ 🚩✞❄ ✌☠✡❄☟✋☠☝ ✋☠ 👍✌☠💧📬 ⌖☟✡ ☠⚐❄ 🚩✋☜✍”

It’s nice to be able to speak normally to someone.

[antitemporal]

"but...but you can't!" He gestures at the can as if it's personally offending him by existing. "pies are big and round! cans are small and round! it'd get smushed!"

He knows he should probably be speaking back to Gaster in the same way, but it's easier to default to the language he knows best when he's feeling so wound up. And he's spent longer in the castle now than he ever had the chance to in the lab or the Underground.

Serif sets the can down before he remembers himself and grabs the can opener instead. "sorry. did you want pie? think i found some peas instead. they're small and round, too. won't be smushed."

[voidster]

It really doesn’t matter, this is just how his voice comes out. It doesn’t stop him from understanding everyone else at all.

"❄☟✌❄🕯💧 ☼✋☝☟❄📬 ✡⚐✞ 💧💣✞💧☟ ✋❄ ✋☠❄⚐ ❄☟☜ 👍✌☠📬 👌☜✋☠☝ 💣✌💧☟☜👎 👎⚐☜💧☠🕯❄ ☼✞✋☠ ❄☟☜ ☞☹✌✞⚐☼📬" he says with a bit of a grin. "✡⚐✞ 💧☟⚐✞☹👎 ❄☼✡ ✋❄ ✡⚐✞☼💧☜☹☞ ✌☠👎 💧☜☜📬 ✋ ❄☟✋☠😐 ✋🕯👎 ☼✌❄☟☜☼ ☟✌✞☜ 🚩✋☜📪 ☠⚐❄ 🚩☜✌💧📬"