bombero

[mercybutton]

Anyone who has encountered Frisk as of late will have noted they seem awfully angry. Perhaps their temper had been like this before October, or maybe it was their transformation that amplified it--but either way, they have been stalking through the castle and the woods, the strike of their hooves creating sparks and smoke, their hollow eyes emanating a dry heat.

They're a cervitaur like last year, but something is off. Their antlers look more like branches burned to charcoal, curved like horns. Their fur is dark and gray, and the patterns on them seem to be little more than white ash with the peek of red embers underneath. Their hooked staff is of black iron and ravenous red fire. Their hands are coated with soot. Their teeth, fanged, numerous, carnivorous, are shaped to always be bared. Blood and ash and bones.

Also, they're missing a hand, black ash at the end like a cigarette stub.

They radiate heat. Their scowl seems etched on their face. Frisk has been irritable for seemingly no apparent reason--maybe something's wrong? Someone should investigate before they burn something down.

Comments

[oldmantiger]

Someone does eventually realize there's something to investigate. Kotetsu notices the scorch marks and charred curtains and follows the trail they make throughout the castle, even if he has no idea who or what is waiting for him at the other end.

He finally rounds the corner and sees Frisk up ahead, and puts on a burst of speed to catch up. "Hey! Hold up a second..."

It's only when he actually catches up that he realizes who he was inadvertantly chasing. The body is different. The face is very much the same.

"Frisk! Wh-What the..." There are a lot of details to zero in on - the lack of a hand is at the top of the list. His gaze snaps to it and a hand flies to his mouth. "Frisk, oh my god. What happened?"

[dustless]

Even closer to themselves instead of the wolf, they recognize that scent.

The bottom drops out of their stomach. They quit chewing on the bone in their mouth, filled with revulsion.

The beast that isn't a brother is somewhere ahead. Frisk dithers, bare feet slapping against the floor stepping forward, stepping back, forward again--they want to run, they did something terrible, but they're not a coward.

...But maybe the bone-deer-thing isn't heading their way in the first place.