W.D. Gaster (
voidster) wrote in
castle_perrault2017-09-03 06:35 pm
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feels like a year every minute (forward dated a bit)
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!))
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!))
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It's not cold enough for a blanket yet.
"Got more food," they say, tromping over to sling the bag onto his desk.
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[Thank you.]
'Don't worry' or 'you don't have to' would be meaningless.
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"...How're you...feeling?" There's not one reason to dance around the subject, but they half go for it anyway.
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They're in this together, Frisk and himself, as he doesn't know Guardian well enough to really include them. So he asks: [How are you feeling?]
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"Me too. Jus' tired. This time's not bad. For me." Frisk's actually taking care of their body. And there's a little bit less to worry about--although looking at Gaster resting there, that thought inspires a prickle of guilt.
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[Let us hope it stays not too bad for a little while longer.] Long enough that he goes through his own reset, and perhaps... Well, he may not return as a living skeleton, after all. And 'goop' doesn't fall ill. He has an out, and they don't. How unfair.
(A pair of magic hands are taking all those tomatoes out of the sack in the backround. So many delicious sandwiches in his future.)
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"Think it will. For me," they add again.
And then they just...watch him. Intensely, uncomfortably, like he's going to dust on the spot--for all they know, that's going to happen instead of a coughing fit that feels like death rattles.
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[I could make a couple of sandwiches.] he offers.
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"Um, yeah. Or-or I can," they add, glancing to the side awkwardly. Said he was tired.
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[It's about as much 'cooking' as I ever could do.]
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"...Do--does magic--how does magic feel?"
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Real bones say that while the 'bullets' continue their work elsewhere.
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Two centuries is a damn long time, and he needed the extra hands. Most monsters wouldn't bother.
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He's...going to die anyway. And they'd hate not to be able to do anything on their own, even if it did make them worse a little faster. Being helpless is miserable, just like when they were sick before Judgement.
"Never had jus' tomato sandwiches before," is what Frisk says instead.
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[They're good with garlic, butter, and toasted bread... which I don't have.]
Heh.
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"I can get some stuff, look for a kitchen," they say, gesturing at the door.
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[If you'd like. They aren't bad, just plain.]
It helps that he really loves a good, sweet tomato.
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"No such thing as too much food," Frisk says firmly, and they sign [Be right back] because they can, and then they're on their feet and out.
Not running, though they'd like to. Being better than last time doesn't mean they're healthy, and they don't want to waste more time having to sit down for ages.
They look for a kitchen.
...They look for a kitchen.
...They keep looking for a kitchen.
They find a room full of just cloves of garlic, and Frisk realizes they're now about five floors away from Gaster's room because they weren't paying attention to anything else.
They make it back eventually with a small bagful, looking wry. "Found a little." It smells pretty strongly, and they doubt the scent's going to get off them for at least a couple of days.
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[Thank you. Do you still want to eat?]
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They absolutely do, actually, but their expression slips into habitual flatness. They're not going to make him when they just woke him up.
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[Are you sure?]
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"...I can make some. You...can sleep."
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See! It's not so bad, right? Ha. Ha.
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"Go to sleep. 'Ll work on the weird garlic." They only knew it in powder form before this.
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