entrancelogs | [OPEN] "These shallow waters never met what I needed. I'm letting go; a deeper dive."

[Things are always the same here. The Lost Ones are always a biting, pecking, self-digesting group that are simultaneously the closest of family members and the bitterest, cruelest of enemies. Things are the same, and they recognize it as a pattern. Day in, day out. Unchanging. Stable.

It's when things get different that they really get scary.

So now Stan is missing, and Rick has sheathed himself in ironclad silence, and that means that they're going to have to break one of Frisk's rules. But that's all right. It's worth it if they can get him back. He's important to them, all of them. He's their family.

They've got their branch on hand, sharpened to a point - not dosed with dreamshade, but useful in a pinch. His silhouette is dark and forbidding, unmistakably an adult, and based on the description of him from Stan, they know exactly who to be looking for.

Frisk darts Rick a fleeting look before moving around to flank their target on one side, branch upraised.]

[Maybe he should be noticing the tiny rustlings coming from the brush... but he doesn't. It's been a completely exhausting day and frankly, he should probably head closer to the water, find some rocks, and get some sleep. In the absence of coffee, unconsciousness was beginning to sound more and more appealing.

Oblivious to any impending danger (for the moment), Ford yawns.

The next day would bring more opportunities to try and get through to Stan.]

[This is why he likes Frisk. They know what to do. They move to flank without him even needing to signal them. They make a good team. Maybe they should do this more often, go hunting together or something. You know, for food, or for adults. Whatever.]

[In the meantime...]

[He hates the man's face. Hates everything about him. Hates how he pretended to be Stan's brother, messed with his head (it had to be pretend it had to be). What kind of brother takes half a century to come find him?]

[He wants to kill him. He has no dreamshade, because he wants it to hurt more. He won't kill him. He'll try not to kill him. The plan is...the plan is to capture him, use him as ransom. Trade him for Stan. That's the plan. He has to stick to the plan, much as he doesn't want to.]

[He moves slowly, carefully, silent, until he's within pouncing range. He grips his spear tighter, raising it.]

[He doesn't make a sound until he's already midair, until he's already halfway to the adult's face. It's only then that he snarls, more like an animal than a kid. He's not aiming to stab--he's aiming to slam himself into the adult's head and them get the pole of his spear across his throat. Choke him out, then drag him away.]

[The sound of the leaping lice child pouncing off the ground kicks Ford's instincts into high gear. He jumps out of the way, lands on his ass and rolls to the side and up again, kneeling with his gun aimed right at Rick.]

What the HELL do you want?!

[He wheels around with a gun aimed at their fellow, and Frisk springs into action from behind.

'Sup Ford? How do you like their knife knife knife knife knife stick?

Okay, so it's just a stick. But it's heavy and sharpened, even if Frisk is the one who brings it up more like a club than anything else. They swing it heavily for the side of Ford's head, aiming for the area of the ear more than the temple to keep from killing him outright, so they can clock him solidly - at the very least disrupt his aim should he fire.]

[Distracted by Rick, Ford doesn't even hear Frisk. The heavy stick crashes into the side of his head, making a more metallic sound than it ought to. He isn't knocked out, but he reels and his ear is ringing.

Ford stumbles back and tries to take stock of just who is attacking him. At the moment, it appears to be just Frisk and Rick.

Perhaps it's a mistake to do so, but he holsters his gun. He doesn't want to actually shoot them, not even Rick. For all intents and purposes, Rick is a child right now and Ford isn't going to murder a kid.]

I don't want to hurt you!

[Ford runs a hand through his hair. HE'S DIZZY. THANK YOU, FRISK.]

[He adjusts as Ford dodges, shifting his weight so he can land on all fours on the ground instead, then whirls and snarls again. He moves forward, spear raised, but freezes in place when he sees the gun.]

[He knows guns. He hasn't seen one in a long time, but he knows guns.]

[But Frisk has his back. They're kind of amazing, even if they don't want to kill anyone for some reason. He pounces as soon as Frisk's attack lands. That looked like a good knock to the head; Ford will be disoriented. Rick thrusts his spear toward Ford's middle.]

[He doesn't want to hurt them, does he? Well. Good. 'Cause that means they've got the advantage here. The gun goes away, probably since he doesn't, as previously mentioned, want to actually hurt them.

But their strike hits true, even if it clangs oddly (why's it clang? a problem for another time - ), and then they time their next strike to trade off with Rick's. He strikes home, and they lunge for Ford's legs, attempting to unbalance and bring him crashing to the ground.]

[Between the hit in his gut and the child lunging at Ford's legs, there's no hope for Ford to stay upright. He does crash to the ground, the wind briefly knocked out of him.

He wasn't properly reeling before, but he certainly is now.]

[He gives an animalistic little snarl of triumph when the adult finally goes down. It's like seeing a wounded deer or antelope or something. Rick leaps onto Ford's chest, landing as heavily as he can, hoping to maybe crack a rib or two. It's not a guarantee, considering he weights about fifty pounds soaking wet, but at least it will knock his wind out a bit more.]

[He crouches, raises his spear and drives the point downward, aiming to try and sink the crude blade into Ford's shoulder.]

[Pinning down a fully-grown adult isn't easy when you're little more than a pair of scrappy kids, but they've caught him unawares and Rick has a sharp spear. Frisk has a stick that they brace over his throat, threatening to press down and choke him into oblivion if he tries to fight Rick away.

They're not sure if they know when's the best time to release to keep him alive, but they'll figure that out when it comes to it. That's not what's important right now.]

[Ford is lying flat and winded, and the only thing that hurts worse than his injuries is the fact that Frisk is one of the people inflicting them. He knows it's not their fault, he knows it's Wonderland... but...

--He attempts to catch his breath what that lice-infested shitheel crouching on his chest and Frisk pressing something to his throat. His desperate struggling to get away means the spear misses his shoulder, thank God, which would've otherwise meant certain death.

If Frisk wants to choke him, that's fine, but Ford's first instinct is to seize the spear while it's in Rick's hands and use it as leverage to fling him off.]

[Rick gives a yelp of surprise and loses his footing as the adult grabs the spear. He goes rolling away, managing to kick the adult in the nose on his way by, and lands heavily on his back, knocking his wind out. He lost his spear. He's weaponless, and the adult is probably going to use it to stab Frisk or Rick in the next moment, and then they'll lose.]

[He is not going to lose. He's sick of losing.]

[There's a large, jagged rock nearby and Rick sees red, a terrible grin coming to his face. A spear is only going to cause a little wound that won't mean much to an adult anyway. A rock, though?]

[He scrambles forward and grabs the rock. It's the size of the adult's head. Perfect.]

[Rick hoists it over his head, adrenaline giving him all the strength he needs, and he whirls. Frisk still has the adult pinned. A sitting duck, and what's the saying about birds and stones?]

[Rick snarls, and it turns into a roar as he surges forward and brings the rock down with all his might, aiming for the adult's head.]

[He misses.]

[The rock smashes the adult's upper arm instead, striking with a wet crunch. Rick can actually feel the bone break. That's fine. It's hard to use a spear with only one working arm, anyway.]

[Oh, there's blood. There's a lot of blood.]

[He starts laughing and raises the rock again.]

[Smash.]

[Smash.]

[Smash.]

[They've seen worse. They know they have. And the adult is pinned, but then he thrusts Rick away. Frisk scowls, applying further pressure to the stick over his throat as recompense. They just need to make sure he locks off into unconsciousness, too winded to follow them.

Rick, Frisk realizes far too late, has other ideas.

Their mouth parts in a stunted cry that doesn't arrive in time to prevent the arc of the heavy stone downward. They anticipate the crunch of bone, the splitting of the bowl of a skull where the gray and glistening brains will slop sickeningly out. Instead the rock closes over the adult's outstretched arm.

Frisk flinches at the initial impact. They can't help it. They need to look away. They need to do something besides stare, but the sound is horrifying and there's dark, thick red spattering them now, the salty tang of its scent ripe in the air.

They can hear the groan and snap of breaking bone, the juicy squelch of bruised meat.]

Rick.

[They hiss the word out swiftly, a dark warning, though they don't dare reach out to touch him. They're not putting any focus into pinning the adult down anymore, but they're not sure they need to at this point.]

Rick. Stop. Stop.

[But he just keeps going. They can't bear to look at his face; their stomach rolls, threatening to spill last night's dinner across the poor bastard's front. The expression painted on Rick's face in blinding scarlet is awful to witness, that wide, wild grin and the rolling eyes, and the pinkish-red stump of the man's arm is an image that, Frisk knows, will be burned into their mind for the rest of their days.

They cry out again, one last time:]

Rick, stop. We need him alive.

[Ford gasps when his nose is kicked in, spluttering under the stream of blood. There's hardly any time to react to Rick hoisting that rock over his head. It swings down and tears into his arm with an ugly crunch.

Ford screams, but it's not even the worst of it. Rick doesn't stop and Ford thrashes under Frisk's stick, digging his fingers into the nearby ground. He grits his teeth and desperately tries to ready himself for each bone shattering blow and they just keep coming and Ford just keeps screaming.

The pungent, sickly smell of human flesh overtakes Ford's olfactory senses. He feels as though there are shackles binding his ankles and wrists, and when he looks up to Frisk and to the sky he sees neither of them; just a large eye gazing down impassively heralded by a chorus of raucous laughter.]

Edited 2016-11-15 01:35 (UTC)

[It's like he goes away. Like there's nothing but red and a roaring sound in his head as his laughter and Frisk's yelling and the adult's screaming all mixes together. He can't think, can't see, and he's splattered with something wet and hot, and all he knows is he needs to keep doing this, keep hitting until the threat stops, until it goes away and no one can hurt him or anyone he cares about ever again.]

[Something loud and desperate and terrified cuts through the red fog and he freezes, the rock raised above his head. His eyes go wide. He blinks. He looks down. There's a mess beneath him. Oh. He did that, didn't he? He looks up. Frisk is staring at him in horror.]

[The adult is still screaming.]

[He's made a huge mess.]

[He drops the rock and it rolls away.]

Yeah. Okay.

[The screaming is almost too much to bear. They've heard stuff like this, they've seen stuff like this, they've been the cause of it, but most suffering - most suffering is silent. Most of it is carried out in quiet bedrooms, in cupboards beneath staircases. But this - this.

This was explosive, and loud, and so messy. They can feel the warm, coppery red soaking the front of their shirt, staining their arms and their face. They scramble off the man that they know isn't going to run away - who could, when they're bleeding out and screaming and lying there with their eyes glazed over?

Frisk breathes out. The air tastes sour with blood and fear.

Think rationally. Process.]

Let's...we should get him back. We can hold him in the cages.

[Ford trembles and tries to sit up, chest heaving painfully. The world is spinning around him and the crushed remains of his now useless right arm dangle painfully like chunky tangled ribbons. Through the pain, Ford's eyes focus on Rick.]

Fine. I'll go with you.

[His voice is in a hoarse, low monotone. Overcome with adrenaline and rage, Ford stumbles to his feet, shaking. It's a messy affair and he refuses to give any thought to the idea of giving up. The Shadows whisper to him and crowds of interdimensional demons and schoolchildren mock him from the forest. They jeer at him and urge him into taking revenge for the destruction of his arm-- and they also tell him to lie down and accept his fate.

He can only do one of those things, and in the heat of his painful haze, Ford makes his decision.

Without a second thought, he rushes Rick and seizes him by the greasy scruff of his neck. Before Frisk (or Rick) can do anything about it, Ford heaves Rick back and throws him, not unlike a football, over the nearest small ravine that an island stream carved into the earth. The deed being done, Ford falls to his knees and starts to laugh.

He's fairly certain he's going to throw up or pass out, or both.]

Yeah. The cages.

[He steps away, staring down at the adult with absolutely no expression. No emotion whatsoever in his eyes.]

[He wonders distantly if Stan is gonna be mad at him.]

Get up, old man.

[There's nothing in his voice, either. He just watches through a fading red fog as the adult stands up. Watches as Frisk stands there like they think the world might give way beneath their feet.]

[And then there's a hand around his neck. And then his feet leave the ground. And then he feels something again, just pure white terror, because he hurt an adult and now that adult has his hand around his neck and this is when the punishment happens.]

[He goes flying, and it's actually been awhile since he fell this far, and he forgot about that horrible lurch in your stomach and--]

[He hits a rock, then another, then a third, bouncing down the side of the ravine. His head strikes stone and everything goes white and ringing. He finally comes to a stop in a mud puddle at the bottom and just lies there, the world spinning away without him.]

[They'd expected compliance. Not this. The adult totters to his feet, and Frisk stands there with their stick in their hands (their trembling hands), and then the adult hurls him, sending Rick ragdolling across the clearing and into the ravine. Their heart skips, painfully. Falling that far and that hard - they know what that means.

Something hot and dark and angry worms into the heart of them. They glare at him, all sympathy and fear on his behalf dissolving under the unremitting pressure of what he's just done.

They understand, now. They understand exactly why Rick did what he did, and how he did it.

Frisk's teeth flash in a snarl as they surge forward.]

Don't touch my brother.

[The butt of their stick whip-cracks into the adult's gut, and then swings around to smash into the back of his head. Maybe he'll make another bell-like clang sound! Who knows? They don't care. They just want him down and out for what he's just done.]

[The stick does make another clang but the impact itself after being winded again knocks Ford out cold. He falls flat on his face.

It's probably more merciful this way.]

[OPEN] "These shallow waters never met what I needed. I'm letting go; a deeper dive."

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CW: VIOLENCE INCOMING a billion years later sorry guys

NO WORRIES also cw continues

VERY VIOLENCE MUCH CW (and for ptsd)

VIOLENCE CONTINUES

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finally a reason to punch a child

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