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]

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.

[voidster]

[Very tired.] he says, simply. Tired and hurting. Not much else there could be going on--skeletons don't run fevers, feel nauseous, or cough.

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?]

[dustless]

Skeletons can sweat, though. Or something like that. Papyrus said so, Sans did it, but maybe there's something wrong with that 'cause of Judgement, or Sans only did it, or Gaster's actually not-too-bad-yet.

"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.

[voidster]

Well. He's trying to himself, but he's not human... and humans are superbeings compared to monsters, aren't they? Monsters are so fragile.

[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.)

[dustless]

They didn't do so well with that last time. Too much bad stuff happened, and it was easier to just...let it happen instead of prolonging it.

"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.

[voidster]

It's all tomatoes. That's sort of cute. More tomatoes than even he craves--too many and the taste sort of dulls.

[I could make a couple of sandwiches.] he offers.

[dustless]

A beat. They weren't expecting that?

"Um, yeah. Or-or I can," they add, glancing to the side awkwardly. Said he was tired.

[voidster]

It's not as if he's getting out of the chair, that's no longer a thing. Just hands, floating around, being busy. Slicing bread and tomatoes, that sort of thing.

[It's about as much 'cooking' as I ever could do.]

[dustless]

Frisk follows the hands with their eyes, faintly suspicious. Is this a good idea, or are they worrying too much?

"...Do--does magic--how does magic feel?"

[voidster]

[How do I hold and feel touch through magic, you mean?]

Real bones say that while the 'bullets' continue their work elsewhere.

[dustless]

Frisk shakes their head quickly. They hadn't even considered that. "Um--um. No, but I wanna know that too," they add. "Is it...feeling like doing a lot of stuff with your body? Like when humans pick up stuff or walk a lot, we get tired."

[voidster]

[Yes, at some point it does make one tired, if someone's not feeling well. But it's more energy efficient than walking around. I've had over two centuries to perfect what I do with my magic. It's not an attack, I put as little into it as possible and handle the magic very delicately.]

Two centuries is a damn long time, and he needed the extra hands. Most monsters wouldn't bother.

[dustless]

Gaster's not feeling well. He's sick...and they open their mouth to offer to do it again, until they really think about it.

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.

[voidster]

He's still far less helpless than when he didn't have a body, period. And it's frightening to think he may go to that place again, one of these days...

[They're good with garlic, butter, and toasted bread... which I don't have.]

Heh.

[dustless]

Well! That's something they can do. Mostly. Can't toast without a toaster, and doing it over fire...never ended well the last few times they tried.

"I can get some stuff, look for a kitchen," they say, gesturing at the door.

[voidster]

Aren't they sick too? He shrugs. The sandwiches are basically done, considering it's tomato slices and bread.

[If you'd like. They aren't bad, just plain.]

It helps that he really loves a good, sweet tomato.

[dustless]

They're fine. They think they're fine. They're better than last time.

"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.

[voidster]

Heck of a long time to wait for a sandwich already made, so. He ate it. Oops. And he's halfway to sleep when they return. A tired old skeleton.

[Thank you. Do you still want to eat?]

[dustless]

This doesn't surprise them. "Sorry. Um, no."

They absolutely do, actually, but their expression slips into habitual flatness. They're not going to make him when they just woke him up.

[voidster]

Yeah, he knows their expressions decently well. Uh huh.

[Are you sure?]

[dustless]

They sit heavily on the bed.

"...I can make some. You...can sleep."

[voidster]

[That is true, I suppose. You can, and I do enjoy being able to sleep again.]

See! It's not so bad, right? Ha. Ha.

[dustless]

They give themselves a moment of rest as well, at least.

"Go to sleep. 'Ll work on the weird garlic." They only knew it in powder form before this.