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

[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.