castle_perrault | let it snow, here we go! [age event: begin]

Entry tags:

undertale

let it snow, here we go! [age event: begin]

//Everyone seemed down for it! Any thoughts or questions can go here~

The air sharpens and chills, frost crawling from the top of the tallest towers and branches to creep along the castle grounds. The trees with leaves quickly fall bare; the sky bubbles with clouds not long before they start sprinkling snowflakes over it all. Winter has finally settled in.

It's not all iciness and faded colors--in fact, it's quite the opposite. While outside is snowy, sparkling winter, inside changed to match. Most of the rooms alone can't keep out the cold, but fireplace after fireplace spring up to crackle merrily and invitingly. Someone (or something) set a mood for celebration, decking the halls with evergreen branches and baubles, glimmering ribbons and candles, color and cheer! And the kitchens have feasts to match, any sort of roast and pie one could hope for, paired with mashed potatoes and puddings and cookies and drinks.

Even the halls ring with celebration. In the distance, voices are caroling their hearts out. It's a pity they always seem to be moving too far away to meet.

All this will greet the castle denizens when they wake up in the morning...as well as changes to themselves.

Not that they'll always know. The child who will one day be Frisk certainly doesn't.

All they know is that it's cold, and Mama--who just cut their hair for reasons they don't understand--is nowhere to be seen.

...There's doorways inside, but they make themselves heard long before they get all the way to the big walls. They've got a toy firetruck in their hands with tons of buttons, and they slam their fingers on them to make the siren go off.

WEE-OO WEE-OO WEEE-OOO! Mama's gonna hear that no matter where she is, and they don't even need to open their mouth.

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What's that sound?!?!

It's like nothing he has ever heard before in his (short) life and it draws him in like a moth to a flame. What kind of freakish monster makes a noise like that instead of a perfectly good roar?

There's a boy down the hall peeking around the corner in case the weird monster charges, as they tend to do. It'll buy him enough time to throw spells its way. He looks about eight, or perhaps a smallish ten or eleven. (In truth, he's less than six months old, living in a place where the light never dims and keeping track of time is hard. He doesn't have a clue.)

No monster. Just a small, unfamiliar person?? All the genomes look alike, except for him, and that's obviously not Garland. The person doesn't have a furry tail either, like all the fleshy people who don't look like Garland do. How bizarre.

So. He's in a strange new building, he has no memory of being brought here, and there's a new experiment down the hall wailing at him... what is going on?

By the time they're inside, they've progressed to holding the firetruck above their head. Maybe if it's more towards Mama's height, she'll be able to hear it better. And see it, 'cause one of the lights on top is working and flashing bright when they remember to push that button, too.

There's so much to look at. They keep stopping every few steps, staring up at candles and ribbons that're hanging on the walls just out of their reach.

--And they notice kinda late there's somebody moving to peek at them. They don't know who that is. Someone short. Someone...old? They don't know any non-old people with white hair (yet). Cop? Hospital person? Frisk takes a few steps further away from that corner through the hallway and starts moving quicker, just gonna walk past.

Too bad for them that he scampers out right into their path. Have to know what that thing they're carrying is. It's weird and fascinating, and there hasn't been much of that in his life.

He has a fuzzy fluffy silver monkey's tail that matches his hair perfectly, swishing behind him and long enough to brush the floor. If it's fake, it's sure moving in a very realistic way.

"...you have a noise machine."

Settling the toy right on top of their hair, Frisk gives him a filthy look. It's not a noise machine, it's a firetruck, stupid.

Then their eyes slide down and land on the tail, and they...do stop one more time, staring, just like they did at everything on the walls.

They stop pushing the buttons, and they make a noise from their mouth. Something like--Hmuh?

No one has ever looked at him like that before--the genomes have no souls, so no emotions, and Garland isn't much better. It's very disconcerting.

But the longing to make some noise wins out. He wants the Very Interesting Noise Machine so bad. The words 'toy' and 'boredom' aren't really in his vocabulary... he just wants it. Or wants them to keep using it.

"I can work it for you?"

A tail. It looks so soft. Softer than their bee shirt, which was supposed to be from pajamas and not being outside (not that it matters).

But--no! They jerk their head and clutch the toy to their chest. It's not his, it's theirs! And they don't need a stranger! And Mama doesn't either! What if she finds him instead of them? She might think they've gone away forever too. Frisk tries to skitter around him.

Sure, they can run, but they can't stop him following. Which he does. What's wrong with this one? None of his kind utterly refuse to respond when he speaks. They must be broken. Maybe it has something to do with the lack of tail.

"Where are you going?"

There. A question even the soulless ones understand. He expects an answer. The genomes have no personality, and they don't ignore him any more than a computer that responds to voices would.

Some people might call them that. Some people would get that toy rammed directly into their nose if they said so to their face, too.

Noise locks up in their throat, but they don't want to answer anyway. They glance back just to stick their tongue out at him.

His eyes widen in sheer astonishment--they're never going to be rid of him now, this is far too interesting and new. And he's a good mimic, it seems, because he's sticking his tongue out right back at Frisk.

And huffing one little laugh out. At least he knows how to laugh, if not to 'play' and 'have fun'.

"What's wrong? Did someone put Mute on you?"

And in all their childish wit, they do it back again, with a raspberry noise this time.

A few months in their future, they would maybe nod or shrug, but this is Frisk's 'now', and they don't know that word. He's just calling them weird or dumb, isn't he.

Their gait changes. A good way to hurry isn't by running, it's by skipping. Just feels faster, and funner.

One such change to one particular denizen is that he's back in the castle at all.

...well, that's not so bad. At least now he knows it's not forever. And a quick fly around the place has shown him that there's more kids that need looking after than ever. Like this one! Jack's first reflexive thought from twenty feet off the ground as he hears the sirens go off is alarm, because he's lived long enough to come to associate sirens with alarming things. Then he catches himself - last time he checked, the castle didn't really have anything capable in and of itself of making that kind of noise.

Then he floats down enough to see what the ruckus is about and smiles to himself. Ah. And then he's mildly ashamed of himself that he, Guardian of Fun, couldn't recognize an obnoxiously noisy toy when he heard one.

"Nice truck," he says, floating down to the kid in a languid sort of sitting position.

A year has passed since the last time the castle took on this particular festive mood, and so that means that this child appears a year older than he did last year. A lot can happen in a year, and so he's...calmer than he was. Less fragile. Stuff has happened. He has hope that he didn't before.

So even if he's scared to have suddenly found himself here in this strange castle, even if he's obviously been kidnapped by villains, this child refuses to give up and cower! He runs instead from hallway to hallway, chasing carolers and checking on people.

So when he hears the sirens, he makes a sprinting beeline for them, thinking that they must be a real firetruck come to find them. Needless to say, he's a little disappointed when he comes upon a littler kid standing and holding a whirring, screaming toy.

"...oh."

Sans does not technically have ears. Or eardrums. That doesn't mean he appreciates this racket. He supposes he'd probably appreciate it even less were he a tiny babybones, and so is glad that this particulr stunt seems to have passed him over this year.

Of course, being Sans, he set to work seeking out others of his friends who might have been affected. Frisk was about at the top of the list of priorities, so it's not too long into the morning of the first day when he finds them. The sound of the little truck's sirens are the first thing to hit his earholes as he materializes behind them out of a shortcut - Sans claps his hands over them.

"yeow! what the heck, kid?"

Those big almost-empty eyesockets and teeth are not a reassuring sight once the kid whirls to address another stranger. They have a lot of fast growing up to do (in ways a child shouldn't need to) before they can turn their determination into near-fearlessness--

So their entirely graceless response is a hoarse shriek and launching the truck at the scary thing's face.

Jack Frost isn't a name they know, but they still believe in some kinds of magic, and maybe fairies count close enough to the Castle; or it's just how things are and should always have been--but Frisk sees him immediately and stops dead.

They barely even hold the truck close to themselves when he notices it. It is a nice truck. Big enough for their tiny arms to find it awkward to hold and missing the rubber from one of the wheels, but it still works and has lots of shiny plastic.

"...Mm-hmm," the kid agrees.

It's a very, very good thing that Sans ability to teleport is not entirely a conscious thing. Introducing himself to Frisk's younger self by turning to dust on the spot would not be a terribly good thing to do, even by Sans' standards of making friends. As long as he's aware of danger coming at him - like a big red truck thrown at his face - the instinct can trump simple emotions like shock or nerves.

Unfortunately, unconscious teleportation has a bit of creepiness built into it, making sure he never appears where anyone can see him if at all possible. It's a good defense mechanism, in terms of making sure he's away from whatever danger necessitated the hop in the first place.

But it does mean that, while the child might feel a moment of relief as the scary thing disappears, that will probably only make it even worse when the skeleton speaks up from right behind them again.

"o-kay, then. let me start over. my name is sans. as you can see, i am in fact a skeleton."

Jack offers them a cheerful wave, smiling a bit broader. He's still not used to the rush he gets whenever kids look directly at him - especially when they look at him as intently as that. Maybe he never will, and maybe that's not a bad thing.

He leans a bit closer, tilting his head to examine the toy, and subconsciously nods his approval. It's a nice truck, big and shiny and loud. He catches himself thinking that North would be proud of this truck - even the missing rubber is a sign that it's been played with, after all.

"Where'd you get it? Late Christmas present?"

They're getting mad now. Mama was right there and now she's walked off someplace, and Frisk wasn't even trying to look at the pretty stuff like that time at the mall and those times in the park and that time they scared mama and papa by hiding in a trash can behind the building. It's not their fault. They just wanna go home!

When somebody comes running and it turns out not to be Mama either, their eyes spring with tears and they glare anyways. You're not who they want.

Well, this escalated...a little quickly. Kotetsu has just enough time to take in the fact that he's looking at a little kid, and then that little kid is crying and glaring at him and this older boy looks panicked because oh god what did he do.

"I-I'm sorry!" he stammers, looking down at his feet, shifting from foot to foot a bit in case he accidentally stepped on something like another of their toys. Seeing nothing, not even after he's checked the bottoms of his shoes, he risks looking up at them again. "Um...I didn't mean to scare you." It's a wild stab in the dark at what might have upset them, but it seems the safest bet at the moment.

Sorry, Frisk, but here's another spooky stranger.

He's also been looking for family, or friends, or anyone who can explain where he is and how he got here. He was just at the dump, hoping to find something new for the next fanclub meeting, and now he's - wherever this is. The decorations look familiar, but it can't be Snowdin, there aren't any buildings this big in Snowdin, and it's not the right time of year for anyone else to -

- what the heck is that noise?

He heads toward the sound, passing through the nearest doorway and not the wall so his - companion, he guesses, the little blue boxy machine that's been hovering after him since he got here - can follow. He doesn't know why it's following him, but it seems harmless enough, and he wonders whether it's one of Alphys' inventions. If she's here too... well, that would really only raise more questions, but at least he'd have a friend to ask them with.

And then he sees where the shrieking is coming from, and freezes in mid-air, eyes going wide.

ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod IS THAT -?

Traditionally, ghosts are supposed to go 'ooooooooo...'

Frisk might be surprised to find that this particular ghost goes 'eeeeeeeee!' instead.

No! Things shouldn't just disappear like that--it must be some sort of freaky ghost thing, and ghosts can just be invisible--!

Or maybe it went through them 'cause it's behind them now. Frisk sort of hears the words, and they don't sound mad or spooky, but they still don't like it!

They let out a tiny shriek and sprint forward, away!

Except then they need to duck down to scoop their truck up so the ghost doesn't get it, and they're not always good on their feet at the best of times.

They trip and land right on top of the truck instead.

And now they're just crying. It's not even that quiet.

Sans winces as he sees them trip, sees them fall. He does try to catch them, acting on impulse - Frisk might feel a bony hand fumble to close on the back of their shirt, trying to pull them back, but too slowly to prevent them from faceplanting hard.

And now they're just crying. That is...this is fine. This is not fine. This is one of the single most upsetting sounds he's ever heard oh god. Sans' first thought is that he should go find Frisk to help him deal with this crying child and then he remembers that Frisk is this crying child. Which just means he should go find Tauriel. Or maybe Serif.

"keep it together, pal," he mutters to himself, slapping both his hands against his cheekbones. What is good for crying children?

Frisk might see Sans flicker in and out periodically in the corner of their vision as he tries a few different things. He sets a cupcake down on the snow in front of them. And then a small wooden horse. And then their vision will go dark as he just tosses a heavy blanket over them, as if to belatedly make up for their hard impact into the sharp edges of the toy truck.

And then he kind of just...sits down with a sigh.

"i'm not gonna like...eat you? is that what you're worried about? where i come from, people think skeletons are, y'know. soft and cuddly. and full of calcium." Calcium is important for humans, right?

Now they're hurt (not badly, but they're already bruising a little underneath their shirt when they roll off their toy) and scared and cold. This is just how it is now, curled up in a snowdrift and wishing they were at home. Why'd Mama get lost? It's not fair. It's bad.

When the ghost thing gets closer, they shove their hands over their face, they're not here.

The blanket gets another sad noise and they flail upwards, half-sitting up before they see what it is--they're cold, so they pull it around themselves anyway. And then they look to see the...presents on the ground.

You're not supposed to take things from strangers. You're not supposed to talk to them, either, but they don't want to talk now anyway.

They draw the blanket up higher, hiding half their face. Maybe he's lying, 'cause at least he's not soft. But--eating kids, that's what zombies and vampires do, right? Not...ghost skeletons. They've never seen a skeleton ghost on TV.

Can't stop crying, but burgeoning curiosity makes it less body-shaking. And they have a whole blanket to wipe the snot off with, and they didn't take it, so that means it's good.

He's never seen skipping. So much newness. This person is definitely broken, and Garland is going to come and...

Well. Take care of it. Shame.

He's still following and he's not going to stop. He can't sense any magic on them, they're just not talking. He was talking right away when he first became aware...

"Did he forget to teach you to talk?"

He can really only guess at what's going through their head, here. Frisk certainly didn't react like this the first time they met him, but...he wasn't the first monster they met. They must have known what to expect, under the mountain, but knowing and seeing can be two very different things.

He's even only mostly sure that this is his Frisk - their soul is still basically the same, but it's like the one he's familiar with is compressed down into and hidden beneath this younger, small soul. It's incredibly distracting.

Still, he's not about to leave them here. It seems like he's making progress, even if only because the shock is wearing off or whatever bruises they're developing are more painful than he is scary. Moving as slowly as he can, Sans moves around to sit down in front of Frisk, though he keeps the cupcake and the toy between the two of them as a metaphorical wall.

He taps a fingerbone to his teeth, obviously thinking hard, before clicking his fingers. Ah!

"hey, kid. why do skeletons hate winter?"

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let it snow, here we go! [age event: begin]

I don't really have icons for this. HAVE A FRIEND ANYWAY.

:>!

oh wait I have one??

th youth

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