we must be killers, children of the wild ones [open]

[determinedest]

Who: Frisk and YOU
Where: All throughout Neverland
When: October 21st - 25th
Rating: PG-13 for sad mad bad kid thoughts probs
Summary: I've Got A Dark Alley And A Bad Idea That Says You Should Shut Your Mouth, a memoir by Frisk
The Story:

the beach; you were there, you were tearing up everything

Frisk has a lot of policies regarding what should be done about the influx of adults and people who don't belong here, trespassing on the land where all the lost children belong. They might require a firm hand and a heavy stick, but there's no reason for anyone to die, or for anyone to use such lethal methods as dreamshade on any of them. But Frisk knows they're nimbler than a bunch of clumsy grown-ups, so it stands to reason that they try something like reasoning. Something diplomatic. Politely telling them all to buzz off, and never bother any one of them.

Enter Frisk, the self-proclaimed ambassador of the Lost Ones, ready to negotiate. Their expression is tighter, darker than you might remember. Their brows are clearly curved downward in a glower, their mouth a hard, stern line carved across the features of their face. Anyone who's not part of the ranks of the Lost Ones is welcome to approach them, but be wary - if you try to pull anything funny and steal them from their home, they do not come unarmed.

They come with knives. And they have a great deal of them, even if you can't see.

the woods; the silver tigers in the moonlight running

[Negotiations have failed. No one, it seems, is intimidated by a small child wielding a disproportionate number of knives. Frisk's non-killing policy still stands, but they are not above using said knives to get what they want. They will beat you into submission if they have to, because a wild animal, when backed into a corner, will do whatever it takes to survive. It will writhe upon itself, bite into itself, destroy itself to tear itself out of the corner you have created for it.

It did not take long to prepare. They've streaked their face with paint and mud and grime, the darkest pigments they've got available to them, rolled about in the underbrush to mask any familiar human scent they might have. All the better to blend in with their surroundings.

Frisk waits on a hefty bough, months of stalking silently through the undergrowth having given them all the skills to lie patiently in wait that they require. And they are patient. They will stay there all night, for hours at a time if they have to, slowly and imperceptibly shifting and tensing their muscles to prevent cramping over long periods of time, until some unlikely, unsuspecting adult comes along.

Then? Then, they will drop from their hiding place, and they will strike.]

anywhere; and the wind in the trees singing, do you believe?

They keep feeling like they're being watched. Followed. It's an illogical fear, they know it is, they know it has to be, but there's no other reason behind why they keep twisting around, having sworn they heard something. A snicker, a laugh, a glimpse of something burrowing beneath the ground behind them.

And then they turn, and find that something is there. Something that - that looks familiar. Like a flower, but it has a face, a wide, impossibly toothy grin, its bright yellow petals dissonant splashes of color against the otherwise uniformly dark landscape.

"Howdy!" it shrills cheerfully.

Frisk lunges. Their knife passes harmlessly through it, as though it's made up of nothing, nothing at all.

"Gosh," chirps the flower with a prolonged cackle, "that didn't take long at all! I knew you had it in you!"

They stare at it, long and hard. This isn't right. This...it seems familiar, but that's impossible. They can't have seen this before in their life. They'd know if they had. And people - people sometimes see things in Neverland, they know that well enough. But not Frisk. Never Frisk.

"Aw, c'mon," says the flower, soft and cajoling. "Don't tell me you don't remember me!"

"I don't," Frisk hisses, forgetting too late the advice Pan gave them, all of them, upon their introduction. Never speak to things like this. Never acknowledge them. They're echoes, whispers of a life that's no longer yours, nothing more. To recognize them is to forfeit your home, your family. It acknowledges that you do not truly belong to the Lost Ones. It acknowledges that your fealty is false.

With a strangled cry, they lunge at it again, slashing wildly. But it seems to appear everywhere they look.

"I'm disappointed," the flower tuts from behind them. A halation of white bullet-like projectiles materializes above its head as its smirk abruptly solidifies into something horrifying, empty, cruel. A smile with too many teeth and blackened, pitted sockets for eyes. "Sure you remember y̸͔̦̎ọ̶̾ur ̶̱͍͆̀b̵̻͝e̷̟̺̿̈́s̸t̶ ̵͂fr̷͉̃̈́i̶̯͘e̴̼̭͆n̷̢̞̉d̶̺̺͗?"

Frisk screams, and dives at it again.

lost one encampment; and we all know what we have done

[They're tired. They're so, so tired, and sleep has never come easily. The thought that there are people creeping about here that might snatch them away, specters of memories that don't exist and must not ever have existed, that just keeps them awake even more. They stay around the fire that crackles in the center of the place where they've made their home, watching it spit up yellow-and-orange sparks, belching wisping flakes of ash.

They're on their guard, hyper-vigilant. If anyone happens by, be they Lost One or trespasser or simple hallucination, Frisk immediately stiffens, brandishing whatever weapon they have on hand, whether it be a knife or a big stick. The flower's bright laughter still echoes cruelly in their ears, and you might find them taking a swing at shadows, formless shapes cast by the flickering flames. They look horribly on edge, and surprisingly vulnerable. If you have the goal of capturing them, now might be the best time...]

wildcard; and we all know how to fake it baby

[Don't have an idea that jives with these prompts? No problem! Hit me with whatever you've got. I'll match any format. Feel free to ping me over at arrpee for any questions!]

Comments

[catchacold]

I know.

[He doesn't mind fighting, he isn't used to seeing life as anything but a fight, but he knows them. They know each other, somehow.]

I'll fight for you. When I can.

[determinedest]

You don't have to.

[He shouldn't have to, rather. They can take care of themself, and they already have when it's required of them. Talking hasn't worked. Nothing has worked except to fight.]

It's not gonna work like this forever. There's more of them, and they're all bigger.