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

[voidster]

Cluttered, with plenty of food he stored away for himself and the times to come. More than he needed, he hasn't been very hungry and skeletons don't eat much. Notebooks and actual books all over the desk, with loose paper to be found too. (He writes in shorthand. Probably not legible to anyone else around.)

And his satchel, on the bed out of reach. Pity. It has all his photos from home in it.

Absolutely nothing in here is breakable, except the twisted skeleton under the blanket. None of this would be happening if he weren't alive again, and with any luck he'll return to what he was when he first came to the castle. Durable goop, which doesn't fall ill and die.

"Temporary, you know." The words are slurred with exhaustion, but fortunately pronounced right.

[panaceaa]

Guardian notices very little of this. They have a knack (or a habit, or a curse,) for letting their world shrink down to what's right in front of them, and right now, they only have eyes for Gaster.

But the skeleton's words actually get something like a snort from them, short and derisive. "I know. Doesn't mean it doesn't matter." They press on. "I can leave, if you want. But I'd like to stay. You shouldn't be alone."

[voidster]

"Fine." he says again, fine meaning yes, they may stay. They're not a child, who shouldn't be seeing something like this. His fingers curl into a fist, a silent 'yes' sign, and then his arms sneaks back underneath the blanket. His bones are tinged with pink--his face and the one hand appear fairly normal. Goodness knows what the rest of him looks like.