because they took our LOVE and they filled it up [open]

[determinedest]

Who: Frisk and YOU
Where: All over Quor'toth
When: 12/2 - 12/5
Rating: PG-13 for suicide ideation, self-harm, and child endangerment THIS KID IS IN A ROUGH SPOT
Summary: After being empty and dull for almost a month, Frisk has begun to feel things again. Since feelings are dumb and sad and difficult and they want to continue feeling nothing, Frisk embarks on a quest for LOVE. Chaos ensues.
Story:

settlement; so don't stop, don't stop until your heart goes numb

The air is raw and arid, bright against their skin. The lack of moisture reminds them fleetingly of Hotland, but they press the association numbly aside. Numbly because - because they continue to feel nothing at all, don't they?

Nothing. Nothing at all.

Frisk gathers sticks from the withered and stark black skeletons of trees so they can use them to reinforce the roofs and walls of the simple huts. They don't say much, not even to the resident monsters that seem friendly and amiable enough, and seem to appreciate the help. They tuck their chin low to their chest and work quietly, diligently, staying out of the way, always out of the way like they're meant to.

Every so often they break away from their work to scan the skyline, the bleak and bone-dry horizon, with an expression that's not so much disturbingly blank as it is almost contemplative.

acid river; i'm just a problem that doesn't want to be solved

[A small child crouches at the bank of a river. The river is not what you would call a typical one - it is, in fact, a frothing, bubbling current of acid that drifts sluggishly along. Frisk occasionally drops a stick or a leaf within and then watches the fluid eat into its defenseless victim. Their features are blank. Their face is empty.

Frisk unwinds the bandages from around their one hand. And then, slowly, almost curiously - they skim the surface of the liquid with the tip of a finger.

They watch the skin blister and redden impassively. It doesn't feel like anything.

Then they reach forward to dip their finger into the acid again.]

* flee; i said one day the valley's gonna swallow me whole

The further out Frisk wanders, the more they begin to glimpse things that defy common explanation. Something that looks like the malformed product of a badger and a great scaly lizard-beast. Things with tentacles, things with too many teeth, things that should inspire thrills of terror in the pit of their chest. Mostly, however, Frisk feels that, if they were still Frisk, they'd be trying to wiggle their hips and ask all the monsters if those claws were natural.

But they're not really still Frisk anymore. They're just a hollowed-out SOUL of a human with nothing but a vague sense that, upon being faced with a horned ram-thing with a string of pinkish intestines trailing from its jaws, its fur soaked crimson, they are better suited to run.

And run they do. They aren't very fast, nor is their heart truly in it. The thing bounding after them will soon catch them. That's not enough to get them to run any faster.

* fight; i am your worst, i am your worst nightmare

[It's while Frisk is scrambling over charcoal-streaked hills and weaving around copses of shriveled-looking trees that something occurs to them, a sparking idea. There's still something shivering in their SOUL, the scabbed-over remnant of a sense of remorse or regret that won't go away. And then, as they gaze out over the twisted landscape, their eyes alight with the closest thing to life than they have in almost a month.

They reach over to one of the trees and snap a stick off. Actually, they snap off several sturdy, thick boughs. A round rock lets them sharpen the tips, muscle memory from their time in Neverland lending a studious ease to the movements.

They rebandage their slightly burned hands and set off with their makeshift spears until they come across something that hisses and chitters and resembles a spiky, oversized beetle.

Without hesitation, Frisk brings their first stake down in a swift arc, severing one of its segmented legs from its body. It bellows at them with a shrill wail and rears up, clearly ready to impale them on the spot.

Frisk braces themself for the FIGHT. If they kill it, the LOVE will bubble into them and fill their SOUL with the hollowness they miss, the emptiness they crave. If it kills them -

Well, it feels like sleep anyway.

wildcard; in the truly gruesome do we trust

[Got a prompt and an idea? Hit me up at arrpee or with a PM! I'll match prose or brackets, no problem!]

Comments

[eatsyourscience]

Will it come back?

[determinedest]

I don't know. That's what Alphys says.

[Sans too, but Alphys would know more about how DT works than he does, they think. They're not sure. Sans never tells anyone anything.]

[eatsyourscience]

Do you want it to?

[He asks despite their claims of not wanting anything.]

[determinedest]

I guess. That's what Frisks are supposed to be.

Determined.

[Do they want it to? Possibly, yes, in a vague and abstract way. They don't particularly desire it, nor do they lose sleep over it; in fact, for this entire month, they've never slept so easy in their life. Rather, they think they should want it, simply because there's the lingering expectation that this is what Frisks should be. Frisks should be determined, and they always are - determined.

Without it, they aren't really a Frisk at all.]

[eatsyourscience]

[Frisks.

Are they an archetype? He knows about those. But he doesn't think of them that way. He's not sure he can.]

What about this Frisk?

[He points at them.]

[determinedest]

Not sure I'm really a Frisk anymore.

[Frisks are supposed to be determined, after all. And what are they now? Barely anything at all, hah. Barely anything or anybody. Just...a child, a nameless vessel.

A thing, scraped and hollowed out, ready to have whatever trait is most convenient poured into them.]

[eatsyourscience]

I hope you will be again. I miss this Frisk.

[He's had all of ten minutes to start missing them, but it's an acute feeling.

He pushes down the feeling of guilt because really, this (whatever it is) has nothing to do with him in terms of its origin, and probably in terms of its solution as well. The latter makes him feel helpless in turn.]

[determinedest]

Everyone does.

[They don't sound bothered. They don't sound interested at all.

It doesn't hurt. Nothing hurts.

Whatever they are now - the empty vessel, the lantern waiting for the bead of light to enter its cylindrical container, the porchlight lingering as it waits for someone to come Home. The person who really lives there, perhaps.]

[eatsyourscience]

[Souji's silent for a moment.]

Frisk?

[What can he possibly say?]

Whatever you do...do your best, okay?

[determinedest]

I will.

[No hesitation to the words. They will do their best to cut the tumor out of them, the nascent, rippling rise of something akin to a painful emotion they've been trying to viciously tamp down since it stirred in their chest.

They will try their best.]

[eatsyourscience]

[Souji nods. He lingers for a moment, wishing he could do something that would really make a difference, and wishing he knew what that was.

But after a moment, he drifts away with the lingering feeling of failure.]