turn a blind eye, days and nights we lost to weakness

[returnvoid]

The thing about being scattered across time and space, it turns out, is that your sense of time (and space) gets warped. A year a minute a moment an eternity a blink of the eyes.

This particular Gaster has been absent a good while, as far as linear time is concerned. Whether this registers or not isn't particularly clear, since he seems to move through the castle as if he belongs there, observing and collecting and recollecting what he knows about the place. Every so often a room he's unfamiliar with or hadn't seen before gives him pause, but for the most part he moves relatively confidently despite preferring to stick to the shadows.

You might be able to find him... just about anywhere, really, though he's partial to the gardens and the music room. His method of traversal isn't necessarily always mundane, however; sometimes rather than walk from place to place he'll slip through the walls or ceiling (or floor) instead. Or even assemble himself out of nothing, particle by particle, bit by bit if his target destination is across the castle and he has to rewrite his location parameters, or something.

Hopefully this doesn't surprise anyone too much.

If nothing else, by the end of the day he'll be found in the kitchens, where a flurry of hands would probably be flitting around collecting ingredients and tools and mixing bowls. Simple hobby, whim, or stress baking? Who knows.

Comments

apologies for inevitable slowness

[dustless]

There's something strange going on in the castle. The world is papered in what looks like Gyftmas decorations, among others.

There's a tiny kid that covered themselves in ribbons they tore down from walls, sitting tearfully in front of a lit fireplace. They'll be Frisk one day (in a few days, in fact), but for now they're four and missing their mama.

When another ghost-skeleton slips through the wall--they've gotten used to some of the weird monster things of this castle place, but that doesn't mean they like it. With a tiny whining noise, they crawlscramble away to try hiding behind a torn-up chair.

no worries, no worries~

[returnvoid]

He startles and freezes at the sound and flurry of motion from the corner of his eyes, parts of him around the edges already beginning to dissolve in reflex. He isn't quite so terrifying to look at, is he? Though perhaps for a figure as small as the silhouette at the corner of his vision had been before it slipped into hiding...

Well. Goodness. A great first impression already.

He resolves immediately to pull himself together in more ways than one, but remains in his current position. No need to scare or menace the child even accidentally by looming or approaching when they already are so frightened.

Part of him had been good with children once, parts plural, even. Surely he can call the relevant memories to mind now, but he wonders if his assessment may have been a bit premature. More than a little bit overconfident, perhaps, enough to be considered significant. His br▒▓h░r▒so▓▒experi░▒▓▓█--

right, no good. Well, they had been of accommodating dispositions all the same, so maybe it spoke less of him and more of them. Still, the line of his mouth flattens out, and he pulls most of himself in and down even further to appear smaller, less threatening, most of the shadowy, gaseous material comprising his form funneled towards billowing out into a gently fluttering cloak and train instead. Perhaps he could simply leave to set them at ease if it was only his sudden appearance that frightened them, but if it wasn't just that alone, because they seem tearful and he certainly hopes it wasn't him who caused that...

He clears his throat a little, more to stall slightly longer as he casts around for the right sounds in his head.

"Ah. Child?" he begins haltingly, slowly. Unsatisfied with his own delivery, he attempts to inject more calm and steadiness into his tone. "I am sorry. Please, do not be afraid. Are you all right?"

[dustless]

One eye is peeking around the corner of the chair's arm, waiting to see what he'll do, and they make another funny noise at getting a proper look at a melt.

For a minute. And then he starts looking like he's made of a blanket.

They sniffle, failing to retreat further. So...they met a real skeleton, a real ghost, now...a real skeleton ghost? With another funny accent.

If everybody else is good to go by, he's probably actually nice... Even so, they don't want to move--and they realize they abandoned their toy firetruck out where they were sitting.

Little Frisk sticks an arm out, reaching for it, but it's way too far. Their hand hovers awkwardly in the open, and then they decide to point at the wall he came from instead. Look, look over there!

[returnvoid]

Upset child, upset children. A combination of several things that really just amount to 'upsetting,' in the end, because he never wanted to (neversometimesdid) mean harm; it is one of the furthest things from what he wants.

His gaze flickers back and forth between the child and where their arm is reaching out towards a few times, but lacking visible eyelights unlike certain others of his kind (outside of certain scenarios) this perhaps is a little hard for someone else to notice and track. After a moment of this he smiles in what he certainly hopes is a reassuring expression- then nods tightly and spins himself around with perhaps a bit more of an exaggerated motion than necessary, making a bit of a show of it as it sets his cloak to fluttering again. Look, look, he is not looking.

But even if he is not looking, he may sort of nudge that truck back towards them, a little, with the pulling cling of Purple. Not- overtly, obviously, not with hands or anything like, but given the cling of the softly curling shadows it isn't too much to think that the nudges have something to do with his trailing, wisping coat-- or perhaps blanketcape, as it were.

[dustless]

Frisk sniffs and wiggles their finger in impatience before he turns. Come on already!

And then, he does! He's been japed tricked! They're so smart.

...Though when the truck moves almost on its own, they're a little suspicious. Is this a trick back? a ghost-y trick?

They tug it nearer...and then they slam their hand on a siren button. WOOOO-WOO-WHOOP! See what he does now!

[silvermists]

The castle probably isn't the best place for small children, so of course there's another one running around. He's drawn back to the kitchens by the feel of alien magic in the air. It's not Gaster, he's the alien here, but he has no way of knowing that!

Small boy with silver hair, feathers poking out and tinsel woven in because it's pretty and he likes it. He also has a furry monkey's tail and apparently a complete lack of fear of very odd strangers who have hands flying all over the place.

"That's really good magic. How'd you do it?"

[returnvoid]

The whirlwind of hands continues their movement through the room without faltering, and in fact a set gets to whisking something in one of the mixing bowls- it looks dark and smells sweet; chocolate perhaps- but Gaster himself does jolt slightly to look over toward the child in the doorway, eyelights blinking to life very briefly in his surprise.

Small humanoid not quite human child, by the looks of things? He does not remember there being this many small children in the castle, but quite honestly he doesn't trust his memory to be good for much anyway, so he might as well accept the reality of this.

(Though something distant in him does twinge with some concern: who exactly is looking after them, then?)

It takes a brief moment of concentration to make sure his attention is sufficiently divided, but it's really no time at all before he comes to focus on actually responding properly. It's rude not to when one is addressed, after all, though he can't quite help but chuckle indulgently at the praise for something he's come to find... not quite mundane, but pedestrian enough for him that he doesn't think much of it. It would be impressive to another, wouldn't it? (The sound comes out more as a rolling buzz of static.)

"Plachts-" A frown, some slight readjustment, he may be rusty but he's fairly sure that didn't come out quite right- "Practice," he says, warmly, "A good deal of practice... as well as some talent in multitasking."

[silvermists]

The person looks unlike anyone else, but at least he's talking beyond telling Kuja to shut up like the weird grabby kid did. That's good!

"I don't know how to make shapes without breaking anything." Sure, he can make fire or ice, burn or freeze anything it touches... it's not good for much except killing monsters. Hm. Probably not a good idea to try and imitate it right here. (But brand new magic! Magic he's never seen before!! So tempting.)

[returnvoid]

Better Gaster than other monsters, really. He'd gladly volunteer himself for playing test subject anytime if it spared others!

"Ah," he says, with something of an electronic undertone to it. He looks thoughtful, drawing himself up and tapping at the side of his cheekbone. "You have not yet learned how to cast outside of direct bullets or attacks, correct?"

That part was normal enough for younger monsters; perhaps it applies here as well. For most it took some doing to learn how to utilise coloured magics, or form their magic into stable, inert constructs like the hands he's using are. Speaking of, in the background it seems they're finishing up with all the actual preparation, and now all that's left to do is place the various tins and containers in to bake...

"Well. There is... plenty of room in the castle. Perhaps we can find somewhere more suited. For you to try to practice?"

[silvermists]

Silly Gaster, he's not a real monster. Monsters don't have nice conversations or cook.

"I can do some other things. Like cure and scan and protect. Not... bullets?" No idea what style that might be. His tail swishes slowly. Sounds like something fun to do. "Alright."

[returnvoid]

But of course they do. You've been acquainted with the wrong kinds of Monsters if they didn't.

Hm. So that covers Check and... something akin to the skillset held by those capable of green magic, he supposes. It'd be foolish and hasty to presume the way SOUL traits mapped out to the various coloured magics was universal, but it is food for thought.

"Bullets," he says, waving one of his own two hands languidly through the air. A trailing arc of fine bone dust glitters across the path the hand just traced, a few larger bone shards floating in their midst, but the display dissipates fairly quickly, devoid of intent as it is. "More volatile, unstable. Predisposed to falling apart on contact with another entity, possibly causing damage. Whether intentional. Or otherwise."

(Some will never know the joy of receiving a bullet-pattern birthday card, alas.)

He glances over to the brick ovens speculatively. It would probably be prudent to remain there and keep watch, but surely nothing should burn down in their absence if he is careful...

"Just a moment, then."

Decision made, his summoned hands float into the air and begin the process of cleaning up. A few handfuls' worth of pies and cakes and assorted sundries are set into the oven before he settles, peering down curiously toward Kuja. He doesn't quite properly remember all the tells of more mammalian monsters (at least, the sorts with expressive tails), despite the few he'd employed in the labs, but it wouldn't do to rush into things if he was reading the child wrong.

"Hmmm. Do you already have any places in mind, or. Shall we need to explore together?"

[silvermists]

That's an awful lot of bread for himself and all three of the people he's seen so far. Huh. Maybe everyone else is hiding somewhere.

(What's a birthday card?? Some people don't get any at all and never will.)

"Oh. I thought you knew where I'm supposed to. There's a room with giant golden chairs?"

[returnvoid]

"I had a few ideas, yes. But I thought I would ask, in case you already had a preference. A room filled with chairs seems as appropriate as any."

If nothing else, the pastries can be stored away for later. His inventory is probably as removed from causality and the regular flow of time-space as he is... Or for the less-quickly-perishing, left there for whoever might need or want any to stumble across.

But the castle does seem a little more sparsely inhabited than he remembers. Hmmm. Regardless, he makes another once over of the room for any potential hazards, then a mental note to check on it periodically just so nothing burns or catches fire, and sort of glides his way over.

"Lead the way, if you will."

[silvermists]

He may be staring a little bit, because whoever this is, they're moving without any feet so far as he can see. Why is everything here so weird, like he's trapped in a dream?

"I don't really care. I hope it hasn't gone away."

Anyway. Enough staring, he's going!

[returnvoid]

The answer is because the best way to describe him is in fact 'skeleton-ghost', as bitty Frisk apparently puts it. From the mouths of babes.

The sentiment Kuja expresses, though, pulls a short burst of actual laughter from him- what passes for it, anyway, given that the noise he emits is more akin to a high and sharp crackling of static.

"Well. That is a most practical attitude to take. Never fear. I have memorized a few of the places on the way here, if it comes to that."

He's following! No need to worry about leaving him behind.

[silvermists]

He twitches at that noise, like one of the very oldest computers breaking, and yeah he's staring back again for a moment, sir. But Gaster doesn't look angry, so it must not mean anything. He'll keep on leading them towards the last place he saw the throne room...

"It's too big and everything moves. I don't think I've seen it all. Do you know how to get back to Bran Bal?"

[returnvoid]

He's had worse done to him than staring, but the reaction does remind him to be mindful of his, ah, general state around those who may be unsettled by it. Hmm...

"I am afraid. I do not know precisely how to get back to anywhere outside, from here. Not willfully, in any case." And by the sound of things, it's fairly likely he doesn't mean either just the gardens or the open grounds outside the castle, even if his demeanour otherwise is fairly lax.

His hands which had been folded behind him wave a little, casually, at the walls of whichever hallway or corridor or wing they're making their way down.

"This castle seems to have... more than a few oddities to it, metatemporospatially speaking."

[silvermists]

Hallway with stone walls and doors and bedrooms behind each door he's peeked through so far. He doesn't really think blowing up beds is the best idea. Giant chairs, though, who needs them?

"Met..." Kid. Baby, really. Well, he gets the idea. "Is there something else I'm supposed to be doing?"

[returnvoid]

He doesn't like to lie, but his head tilts in a vaguely curious sort of manner.

"I think. If you are looking to get back to somewhere... You will find yourself where you need to be. Exactly when you need to be," he says, breezing along without pause.

"But if it is something you are actively looking for, then the castle seems... uninclined to oblige. It is a little strange that way, regarding time and space and how it relates to outside."

[silvermists]

"...I have to want it, but I can't be looking for the way out?"

Huh. He hasn't slowed down, he's still moving along.

"I wasn't looking very hard anyway." Too many neat things. Like tinsel. And the sky looking all funny.

[returnvoid]

"That sounds about right, yes." Unhelpful, yes. It isn't as if he's much tried, himself, given that he personally doesn't have much to go back to, but... "If it helps at all. I daresay you could explore all you like. And not have to worry about actually looking for a way back?" His hands lace again, after another brief, offhand wave. "So by all means. Feel free to do as you will."

[silvermists]

Neither does Kuja. He just doesn't know it yet. It's all he's ever known.

Stairs. How does the legless wonder handle stairs? He's staring, actually grinning a bit and not in a mocking way.

"Exploring and looking for it are the same thing."

[returnvoid]

The legless wonder handles stairs in a disappointing way, probably. The shadowy cloak drapes, despite its mutable, gaseous nature, so really the floor length darkness just... stretches somewhat, before returning to normal, something like an overlong nightgown or robe would, if an overlong nightgown or robe wisped away little bits of itself with any motion. There may possibly actually be some semblance of legs in there? Who can tell, really. The way the blackness morphs and reshapes itself seems to indicate the presence of something articulated, in any case... But in actual response... "No, no. They are of different purposes, different intents. They are very different things, even if sometimes the outcome of the pursuit is the same. It is the goal in one, and simply. A happy accident, for the other."

[silvermists]

The grin fades away. Now he's just going down the stairs, no longer watching.

"...but I can do both at the same time."

He doesn't really know why he's trying to protest. Sort of. Pointless, when he's already been given permission... and he didn't need any from someone not Garland.