if you're lucky too
Nov. 8th, 2017 06:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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locked to
voidster /
lyseandpurge /
antitemporal &
sansational
//warning for general feeling bad and a bit of disordered eating mention.
Looking at it, their room is nice enough. A good size. Good bed. A pile of strange clothes and objects in the corner, like ballerina shoes that can't fit their feet. A strange pile of branches stripped of bark by a fireplace and forks with bent tines.
Stone walls are papered with nice drawings--mostly of a Chara, Frisk...another Frisk, how strange. There's a kite carefully mounted on the wall, adorned with a white kitty face. A desk covered in crayons and paper, though both seem barely used. The bed has a book on the pillow with musical notes on the cover.
Frisk's not looking at any of it. They've been in here since they could stand once they woke up. Nobody can find it easy, it's hidden behind a tapestry in a hall that's lined with the things, and they've never appreciated the fact more than they do now. They don't want to be near anybody, they don't want anybody near them. They don't want anything. There's food under the bed, lots of it all wrapped up in crappy paper and well-sealed boxes, they had a hoard 'cause they felt they needed it just in case, just in case, but now they can't eat most of the time even when their stomach's growling. Least water's a few rooms down. Least there's rain and the windowsill gathers it well when they don't wanna risk that.
They hate the castle, that's not gone away at all. They hate the sensation of bones and blood and ash down their throat every time they get three bites into a meal. Their skin feels stretched out every time they move, some of that's burns (maybe they hate other-Frisk too, sometimes, just a little, just a bit, just just just), some of that's just memory, every single time they think they're going to change again. All their muscles ache from being tense, their head too, tongue littered with bites when they clench their jaw and mess up where it is, and the blood-taste makes stuff worse worse worse.
Frisk doesn't hate themselves, not really. Still. They should've been stronger. Shoulda been more careful. Shoulda done something, shoulda thought of something, shoulda stayed away from everybody before when it really mattered.
They're in that big bed, all of then buried under the blankets. They've thrown up barriers in their head, telling her to STAY AWAY. They're alone now, they want to be, they need to be. Just. Leave them alone. Leave them alone. Leave me alone.
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//warning for general feeling bad and a bit of disordered eating mention.
Looking at it, their room is nice enough. A good size. Good bed. A pile of strange clothes and objects in the corner, like ballerina shoes that can't fit their feet. A strange pile of branches stripped of bark by a fireplace and forks with bent tines.
Stone walls are papered with nice drawings--mostly of a Chara, Frisk...another Frisk, how strange. There's a kite carefully mounted on the wall, adorned with a white kitty face. A desk covered in crayons and paper, though both seem barely used. The bed has a book on the pillow with musical notes on the cover.
Frisk's not looking at any of it. They've been in here since they could stand once they woke up. Nobody can find it easy, it's hidden behind a tapestry in a hall that's lined with the things, and they've never appreciated the fact more than they do now. They don't want to be near anybody, they don't want anybody near them. They don't want anything. There's food under the bed, lots of it all wrapped up in crappy paper and well-sealed boxes, they had a hoard 'cause they felt they needed it just in case, just in case, but now they can't eat most of the time even when their stomach's growling. Least water's a few rooms down. Least there's rain and the windowsill gathers it well when they don't wanna risk that.
They hate the castle, that's not gone away at all. They hate the sensation of bones and blood and ash down their throat every time they get three bites into a meal. Their skin feels stretched out every time they move, some of that's burns (maybe they hate other-Frisk too, sometimes, just a little, just a bit, just just just), some of that's just memory, every single time they think they're going to change again. All their muscles ache from being tense, their head too, tongue littered with bites when they clench their jaw and mess up where it is, and the blood-taste makes stuff worse worse worse.
Frisk doesn't hate themselves, not really. Still. They should've been stronger. Shoulda been more careful. Shoulda done something, shoulda thought of something, shoulda stayed away from everybody before when it really mattered.
They're in that big bed, all of then buried under the blankets. They've thrown up barriers in their head, telling her to STAY AWAY. They're alone now, they want to be, they need to be. Just. Leave them alone. Leave them alone. Leave me alone.
(no subject)
Date: 2017-11-09 12:14 am (UTC)Naturally he's assuming something terrible is happening again. A broken leg. Being too ill to move and too far away for anyone to hear them calling. Being held prisoner--there are probably things he's not even considering. It's not like the underground had crime. Monsters do not think of such things under normal circumstances.
He pushes right past the tapestry without hesitation, not giving a damn about privacy when they need help. It doesn't matter. All he sees is a lump under the blankets that their connection tells him is Frisk. They're alive, they're being quiet, there's no blood and no sign of anyone else in the room...
He can't even clear his throat to announce himself. Best he can do is lay a hand on the Frisk-lump and wait for a reaction.
(no subject)
Date: 2017-11-26 07:33 am (UTC)Someone is near. Too small to be her. Someone who isn't allowed.
By the time he's in the hallway, they're shaking, teeth gnashing against blankets, rage let out in a low hiss. No, he'd better not. No. No.
His hand presses against their shoulder.
They lash out through the blankets and shove.
"GET OUT."
(no subject)
Date: 2017-11-26 07:50 pm (UTC)Has to. Failing once was enough.
So he leans forward and touches their shoulder through the blankets again, undeterred.
(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-03 09:13 am (UTC)The kick throws the covers off their face. They're oddly gaunt, definitely tired, expression twisted into ugliness with the heaviness of their fury--but otherwise, they seem fine.
"Get out of here! This is MY room!" Frisk shrieks.
(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-04 04:22 am (UTC)[Soon. Soon.] he says, now that they can see him, and then holding out his hand. Come out of there? Or keep screaming, and get it out of your system.
(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-04 04:29 am (UTC)Frisk retreats again, dragging the blankets above their head again until they're just a pair of glinting almost-yellow eyes. "Now. This 's supposed to be a secret!" they growl thickly.
(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-04 04:58 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-13 10:59 am (UTC)No addressing the food. Forget the food. Forget Frisk. Forget this. They're gonna have to move again, and 'cause of that they hate him.
(They won't, they don't. Later, they'll think right, and then they'll only get a lock.)
(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-13 05:38 pm (UTC)[Do you have food in here that I can get for you?]
(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-14 11:40 pm (UTC)Can't out-shout him, can ignore him.
(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-15 12:11 am (UTC)So he settles down against the wall, taking out a book from his satchel. It's about American history, from the 1600s on. He doesn't have the faintest idea if Ebott was in America, though he knows America existed in his world at least. It's one of the most fascinating books he's found in the library... and he doesn't need to eat, drink, or sleep. He could sit on Frisk's floor for days.
Haha.
(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-15 01:47 am (UTC)"Why're you here." They're not really asking, they're still under their blankets. "This is my room. Mine. An' I'm not really sick, only a little bit." Judgement's been reset.
(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-15 01:53 am (UTC)Obviously, no reply that they can hear. He looks up, sees no eyes peeking out at him, and so continues to read.
(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-21 07:09 am (UTC)The blankets shift. "I'm...not...You, you can't do anything," they inform him, peering out with one eye. He can't shove food down their throat. He can't--no, he won't knock them out, he's too nice even though he's being so mean and dumb staying where he shouldn't be right now.
(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-22 02:22 am (UTC)[Being alone does not seem to be doing you any good.]
(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-22 02:30 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-22 02:38 am (UTC)May as well be a rhetorical question. They're bound to say no.
(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-22 03:06 am (UTC)They shiver and yank the blanket over their face again.
(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-22 04:06 am (UTC)He can guess (again) that they'll lash out. It doesn't matter--the thought may count in hindsight. They might appreciate all this later.
(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-26 07:38 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-26 07:55 pm (UTC)slams into this again
Date: 2018-03-05 07:55 am (UTC)When they jolt--visibly--back to wakefulness, the first thing they do is look again, and give him a nasty glare. "Should--should just. Give it up."
:O
Date: 2018-03-05 06:21 pm (UTC)He hasn't moved, hasn't done a thing besides keep on reading, only looking up when he hears their voice again.
[It's not good for anyone to be all alone. I will leave when you're well. Not now.]
time is fake my dude
Date: 2018-03-11 01:11 pm (UTC)"I won't be ever. You should know that. An' you're not my parent," they hiss.
outlaw time
Date: 2018-03-11 07:05 pm (UTC)Some juice would be a good start. Anything for them to drink, really. After all, humans are mostly made of water, as monsters say. He's eyeing their supplies as he waits.
[No, I'm not. That doesn't mean I don't care.]
i would love to
Date: 2018-03-21 10:49 am (UTC)Frisk barks "There's nothing to help!"