if you're lucky too

[dustless]

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.

Comments

[voidster]

They haven't moved in days, and it took him far too long to notice. Last time they stayed put for such a length of time... it was for horrific reasons.

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.

[dustless]

They're miserable, they're ill, they're exhausted, but they can still pay attention. They're trying to lock her out, but they can still feel.

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."

[voidster]

A startled sort of chirrup escapes him. He can't recall ever hearing them shout in the Castle... Still, it doesn't prove they're not injured or ill and he has to know.

Has to. Failing once was enough.

So he leans forward and touches their shoulder through the blankets again, undeterred.

[dustless]

This time they twist under the blankets and kick out roughly. So unkind, they don't give a damn.

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.

[voidster]

He's had young children before. It's not always the best thing, giving in easily when they're furious and demanding things, especially when it's obvious the child in question hasn't been eating or sleeping nearly enough. No, he'll just have to weather this storm of theirs and find out what is going on... see that they eat and rest. Nobody else is going to.

[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.

[dustless]

Questionable sleep and lack of proper feeding on top of their illness--no matter how recently it's been reset--leaves them without enough energy to keep screaming.

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.

[voidster]

Well. It's hardly a secret now that he's in the room, is it? He stares at them for a moment... and then shakes his head. [I will not tell anyone. But you must eat and sleep.]

[dustless]

"So what, you're in here! In my place! Get out!" Frisk's whole body is shaking. "An' I'm in bed," they add, accusing, as if he's the only reason why they're suddenly so awake now.

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.)

[voidster]

Again with the shaking of his head. No. He can do it, he can out-determine the determinator, because there's nothing they can do. Can't harm him, can't shove him out, can't shout him out.

[Do you have food in here that I can get for you?]

[dustless]

"I'm not hungry! Go away," again, again, and they shove their face down into the mattress. Just picturing his hands full of fruit or cakes has their stomach churning.

Can't out-shout him, can ignore him.

[voidster]

True, he's easy to ignore, except for that presence of his soul, even when they're not looking. And he knows it. That's what led him here.

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.

[dustless]

Patience isn't a virtue they've got much of, these days. If he's counting, he'll know they manage less than ten minutes.

"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.

[voidster]

(He's not. His sense of time is permanently broken. Five minutes, two hours, what's the difference unless the sky changes, or he's looking at his watch the whole time?)

Obviously, no reply that they can hear. He looks up, sees no eyes peeking out at him, and so continues to read.

[dustless]

No voice to hear, but they can feel him staying, they can hear his stillness. Sparks flicker again.

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.

[voidster]

The book rests in his lap for a moment--they're looking at him again.

[Being alone does not seem to be doing you any good.]

[dustless]

"Don't care. Being with anybody won't help either, 's why I'm here an' you're...trespassing." That's right, that's the word.

[voidster]

[Would you rather go somewhere else? Sit with someone else, if it isn't in here?]

May as well be a rhetorical question. They're bound to say no.

[dustless]

"No! I don't...don't want people--I don't want anyone with me," they say gracelessly, 'cause they don't want to talk about Halloween and the wolf badness either.

They shiver and yank the blanket over their face again.

[voidster]

Too bad, because he is not swayed. A few moments pass before a hand rests on their head. It and his 'skull' are the only parts of him that feel properly like bone, which doesn't matter much with a layer of blanket as padding.

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.

[dustless]

He predicts Frisk right; there aren't words this time, not even a sound, just their hands rising up to meet his and pushing him away--then rolling backwards until they're out of reach. Hopefully. They're not looking, but it's a big bed.

[voidster]

Not a single weird sound, no hums or buzzes or chirrups. He just blinks once, backing off to sit where he was. And wait. Keep on playing the patience game with his book to keep his mind busy.

slams into this again

[dustless]

He has time. More than either of them expect, 'cause even with him there in their space Frisk's been feeling terrible, and for a while, they slide into a doze.

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

[voidster]

[No.]

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

[dustless]

Idiot.

"I won't be ever. You should know that. An' you're not my parent," they hiss.

outlaw time

[voidster]

[You have been better and you will be better again. Sooner, if you allow me to help you.]

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

[dustless]

Lots of food only mostly under that bed, still, untouched. It's not like he can see where they're getting their water from, there's no cups or anything.

Frisk barks "There's nothing to help!"