not so dustless now

[dustless]

In one of the castle's many halls, a worn tapestry, depicting nothing in particular, succumbs to age and rot and falls.

Behind it lies a door.

Behind that door, should anyone decide to investigate, is a musty-smelling room with drawings papering the walls, corners gently curling in, and dust covering every inch of furniture; a desk, a chair, a bed. 

Despite it all, the bed is occupied. 

Frisk lies there on their side, half-covered in blankets, exposed skin and shirt just as dust-coated as the rest of the room. Their chest raises and falls shallowly enough that a spider's made a fancy web between the collar of their shirt and a hand curled close to their body.

It might take a little work to rouse them.

Comments

[voidster]

Well, it's not as if he has anyone else to watch over. Not in the castle. He looks up after a moment, seeing... they've actually moved. It wasn't his imagination. No more almost complete stillness, like a photograph. That's such a relief. He puts his book away and drifts over to them, watching for a moment to see if there's any more movement. And then he tries once more to get some of the dust and that nasty cobweb off their clothes. What a miserable thing to wake up to.

[dustless]

At first, no. After it all, still, that bed is incredibly soft and comfortable. More comfy than it was at the start, somehow.

The touch, however, has them twitch. His bones are still a different temperature than they are, and very differently-textured. Frisk shudders, one hand lifting up and softly batting at his. "Nnn..."

[voidster]

At least they're slightly more dustless. He doesn't make any sound, of course. But he doesn't stop--it's their hair he's brushing dust off next, stick fingers like the world's weirdest hairbrush.

[dustless]

Frisk gathers consciousness and just enough willpower to reach up and grab it.

...And now they're distantly aware that something weird is in their hand.

They open their eyes, take a deep breath, and sneeze hard.

[voidster]

Something that sounds like static comes from him. Seems that's his laugh now and forever. They've got two hands--have a dustcloth for the other hand, Frisk, so you can clean yourself off. Welcome back to this little pocket universe.

[dustless]

Frisk jerks back deeper into their pillows. Sure, monsters are friends, but Gaster's face is a somewhat alarming first sight after a nap.

...And then they scrunch up their own face, trying to lock down another sneeze.

"What's--what." They take the cloth, because wow do they feel disgusting all over their skin, even if they're not sure why quite yet.

oof I am sorry

[voidster]

That it is, though he doesn't realize it. It's his own face, skeletons are shaped like friends! He moves backwards, considerately. The rest of his body, below his skull, is not exactly as pleasant to look at. Very unseemly and unformed.

[Hello. Welcome back.]

np~

[dustless]

--And they fail.

"HAAH-CHOO!"

Ow ow ow. Yes, alright, they start brushing the dust off.

"Hi," they croak back, letting his other hand go free. This is...they know him, they know signs-- "Again?" Yeah. This is Gaster. It's coming back. A little.

"Why 'm I...what happened?" they ask again. Something's gone wrong, and when they try to sit up properly, they get a little dizzy. "Am I sick."

holy shit this is months late (but I miss frisk)

[voidster]

[Don't move just yet.]

Probably they are, in a way. He doesn't have the faintest idea what to do for a human, made of matter and flesh and blood, that's woken up from... something like falling down? Something odd, anyway. He pushes at them, very gently, in case they don't get the message and keep trying to get up.

[You were asleep. For months, I think.]