black then white are all i see in my infancy [closed + open]

[determinedest]

Who: Frisk and a few closed prompts + a few open ones!
Where: Alphys's lab, by the vendors, maybe more?
When: 11/01 - 11/08-ish (may be subject to change)
Rating: PG-13 for children in peril, suicide ideation, depressive mindset, and bad decisions
Summary: Shit happened. Someone give this cast an intervention.
The Story:

[A hot oil-slick of numbers running through their mind in a burning cacophony does not lend itself to anything but pain, bright and blazing. It cuts into their teeth and their tongue and the inside of their cheeks - or maybe that is simply them biting deep into the flesh in their mouth to taste the warm tang of it to remind themself that they are not simply numbers they are not simply numbers they are not simply numbers they are real.

It crests in a burgeoning wave. There is no tide there is no pattern there is no regularity there is no respite it simply is and it tears through them, every jerk and wrench of their body shuddering in its place like hot marks shearing them open.

They can taste blood.

Is it yours?

Or mine?

It does not matter.]

Comments

[sciencelizard]

[Hope. She feels like she's been running most of her life on hope. Blind prayer that everything's going to work out in the end, because everything she touches crumbles and dissipates into nothingness. Heh. Not even, in this case. Determination kept it all too real, too present, too... this. Everything she is, and was, and is re-creating.

If this works out... she should probably start studying determination in other worlds. See if other humans know about, or have SOULs, and if they can access that magic. In case this happens again.

Provided there's going to be an again. And once more, her SOUL feels like it drops to the very bottom of herself.]

Yeah. I... I g-guess so. I wouldn't do this, if it wasn't... I mean, what other choice d-do we have?

[She puts a hand on her face, presses between her temples, blinks back tears.]

All I can hope is that this works and... and that it's okay, a-afterwards. That Frisk is ok. I don't... I don't want to hurt t-them. Especially not like this.

[punful]

[It's a nightmare, honestly. This whole thing is a nightmare. It all even has that tinge of unreality to it, the sort of floaty, distant sensation that's been there since Frisk mentioned an image file.]

[He's been doing a very good job of not thinking about that.]

[He heaves a sigh and rubs the spot between his eyesockets.]

damned if we do, damend if we don't, right?

[The only other option would be to kill Frisk, and that's simply not an option at all.]

yeah. i know what you mean. next time something like this happens...we'll be more prepared.

[He tries to mentally steel himself. It's an old, unfamiliar sensation. The deep breath before diving into an intense project and a heavy workload.]

well. let's get to work.

[sciencelizard]

[She takes a breath. Looks over the parts, slowly amassing. Smells the coffee starting, the feeling of balling her fists in her coat, things that weren't foreign but feel so long ago. Maybe it's the surreal nature of Sans standing there with her. It feels like everything in her life has been shifted a little to the left. Though maybe it's more like everything being thrown into a dryer while she tumbles along with it, the dizziness amassing behind her eyes and rattling her SOUL around in a hollow chest.

His words wash over her. She flexes her fingers.

It's time to work.]

Yeah. Let's get started.