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ghosstkid · 3 years

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lonely is my hoping, empty is my sweet thing

title from the song ‘daybed’ by FKA Twigs

this short is a part of this series <3

Wet, slushy snow gathers on the stones in the courtyard. The rose bushes are skeletons, all thorns and ice. A grey sky hangs over the quiet house. There is no moon, no stars, only thick grey clouds and cold, wet snow.

The lady of the house watches the large, wet snowflakes land on the stones. She sits at her little writing desk by the window, her quill in hand but no words come.

The clock on the mantle ticks, idly counting down the seconds. To what exactly, she is not sure yet.

As much as she longs for a letter, she dreads what it might say.

She wants to hope for the best, that soon her home will be full of laughter, love and warm dinners once more. She wants to hope that the clouds will part and the warm sunlight will bring her lovely garden back to life. She wants to hope that a warm spring day is coming, and on that day, she will admire the roses, arm in arm with her two captains.

“How beautiful they are this year,” she imagines James saying. Francis will agree in his quiet way and she will smile, full of pride for her roses. She imagines them wandering through the gardens together to a blanket under the shade she had prepared for them, complete with a simple lunch and sweet treats.

“Yes,” Ann whispers to herself. “When they return, we shall have lunch outside every warm day.” She pushes aside the blank letter page in front of her and makes a note to remind the maid. That was what they wanted when they returned from Antarctica, she remembers. They had spent many afternoons in the shade, eating fresh fruits and drinking in the warm summer sun.

“Why would we ever go to such a hellish place when heaven is right here?” James had asked from where he lay with his head resting on Ann’s lap, pillowed by snow-white lace and ruffles. Francis merely smiled, lifting his wine glass to his lips. He sat beside Ann on the blanket, watching the birds in the trees around them.

Yes, Ann thinks now, wet snow falling on the dead grass outside. They would sit out there again, drink wine and make promises to one another that they would never leave.

Once they returned she would never let either of them go again. She felt like a girl again, hoarding her precious dolls so no one else could have them. She would lock them away in her dollhouse; only she would brush their hair and sew their buttons back on when they fell off.

The cold wind rattles against the window, startling her. The clock ticks. She dares to glance at it, sighing at the late hour. She slowly turns her gaze back to the blank page before her.

She does not know what to say. She knows her words will be read by the Admiralty before the letter is passed on to James, wherever he may be. The thought of someone other than James reading her letter sends a rush of anger through her.

“They do not care,” James had spat as he stormed into the room where she sits now, his anger unsettling her.

“W-Who does not care?” Ann had managed to say. James’s hands were trembling. She listened as he struggled to explain what had been said to him, his brow creased with pain, his eyes wet and hopeless; they had hope for the passage, rescue was only second. Her eyes welled with tears as she watched him sink to the floor in front of her. With a heaving sob, he laid his head on her lap, clutching her skirts tightly. She ran her hand through his curls gently. Tears slipped down her cheeks. “Go for Francis,” she managed to say. “Bring him home…”

She now grips her pen so tightly it might snap. She wipes her eyes. Maybe she should instead write to Francis, hope for his health and a swift return home. Or maybe she should write to both of them.

Or maybe…

She throws down the pen. Ink splatters onto the desk and the white, blank page. Feeling the pinprick of tears in her eyes, she pushes herself away from the desk and stands, wiping her hands on her navy blue skirt. Her hair escapes its bun, strands falling down the nape of her neck and brushing against the lace of her white blouse.

She stops in front of the window, staring out into the darkness. In the distance, she can see their pond and in the middle of it, two little islands. James had named them. Erebus and Terror, always side by side.

Like lovers.

She turns away from the window. She glances around her quiet sitting room. The candle burning on her desk flickers, illuminating the soft lounge chairs and the bookshelf. A vase on the side table is bursting with roses.

“I think I would read more memoirs if they were half as dramatic as this,” James had laughed from where he lounged on the brocade chair, the tails of his coat spilling out from under him. In his hands was a new book, its green cover glinting in his gentle hands. Francis leaned over the back of the chair, reading over his shoulder. He looked casual in his white shirt sleeves and red waistcoat.

“I think they are dramatic enough...” Francis muttered, earning a snort from James.

The rain suddenly patters on the window, making Ann jump.

She presses her hand over her chest as she turns away from the empty chair. She forces herself to take a deep breath.

The letter can wait a little longer, Ann thinks.

She reaches for the candle on her desk. Her step is quick as she flees from the room, finding herself in the long, dark hallway. Her glowing candle illuminates the large paintings on the walls. The darkness feels as though it might suffocate her, her candle doing its very best to fight it back.

She wishes for her captains.

She hurries for the stairs. She grips her skirts tightly in her free hand as she jumps up the stairs. Her candle flickers as she reaches the landing and the window there.

“How beautiful!” James had called up to her from the bottom of the stairs, his beautiful uniform dripping in gold. She had laughed as she spun around in her pink ball gown. The smell of roses was in the air.

“Yes, quite beautiful,” Francis had said as he descended the stairs to the landing, just as lovely as James in his uniform. He reached for her gloved hand.

Now, that hand clutches the candle shakily. Ann forces herself to keep climbing. Her slippers are silent on the steps. She reaches the top of the stairs. The hallway up here is just as dark. She almost runs towards their bedroom, her navy skirts swirling around her. She fumbles with the door handle, throwing open the door. She jumps when it hits the wall. She quickly shuts it behind her, leaning her head against the wood.

She never liked the dark.

She glances around the candlelit room. The ornate headboard looms over the bed. The small chandelier shimmers in the dancing candlelight. At the far end of the room, she can see herself in her vanity’s mirror, trembling and alone.

“It is always dark in the winter months,” Francis had said. Ann sat at her vanity, staring at him through the mirror with wide eyes as he gently braided her hair.

“That must be terrifying…” she whispered. Francis shook his head.

“We create our own light,” Francis said quietly. He secured the braid with a blue ribbon.

Ann slowly walks further into the dark, silent room. Rain and snow ooze down the windows. The clock on the mantle ticks. The fire in the small fireplace is dying. Her gaze drops to the trunk at the foot of the bed. Slowly, she sinks to the floor, setting the candle down beside her. She grips the lid and pushes it open.

The treasures inside are not the kind that one hears about in bedtime stories of pirates on the high seas but they are no less valuable to Ann whose greedy fingers clutch the heavy, navy blue fabric, the gold embroidery above the tails glinting in the candlelight. She pulls the uniform coat close, pressing her face into it. She can smell them; the salty ocean wind on a summer day.

“Ann… Why do you make that face?” James had said when he finally returned from the furthest south. She had run down the stairs to him, throwing her arms around him. He had picked her up, spinning her around with joy. When he set her down, her nose wrinkled.

“You stink,” Ann laughed. James frowned, looking down at himself. He ran his tired hands over his coat, an embarrassed blush rising on his whiskered cheeks.

“I, well… It has been… It is not easy to-”

“I will draw you a bath. It’s no matter,” Ann insisted and to reassure him more, she pressed a kiss to his stubbly cheek.

Yes, she thinks now. A bath. For both of them. They will have a warm bath waiting for them when they return home.

She sets the beautiful coat aside, careful not to wrinkle it and reaches into the trunk. This coat is heavier, worn and dirty in some spots. She runs her fingers over the loose, golden buttons and wonders if she should sew them on more tightly. She wraps the heavy greatcoat around herself, the large fur collar brushing against her cheeks.

How warm it is.

How delightfully heavy it is, as if being embraced by a lover.

Her fingers clutch the greatcoat tightly.

Slowly, she stands. The greatcoat is heavy on her shoulders as she bends to pick up the candle. She places it on the bedside table, beside a vase filled with pink roses. She falls onto the bed, pulling the coat around herself. The bed is too big for just her; too empty, too cold.

“Your feet are cold, my love.”

“Are they?”

“Yes, James.”

“How cold?”

“Stop it!”

There had been a flurry of pillows and quilts before they finally settled once more. Ann had giggled, hiding her face in the soft pillow.

“They are not that cold,” Ann laughed.

“Frank is just a dramatic old man,” James said as he curled his arm around her, narrowing his eyes at Francis over her shoulder.

“Ann how can you sleep with such a rude man in your bed?”

“How can I sleep with two of them?” They had been taken aback. She giggled again. “I sleep quite well.” The bed was warm, their arms gentle and heavy around her. “Quite well…” she repeated with a content yawn. James’s arm tightened around her. Francis pressed a kiss to her curls.

Yes, she thinks now, pulling the heavy greatcoat closer around herself. There will be a warm bed when they return home.

#my writing #the terror #annrossier #lady ann ross #james clark ross #francis crozier #posted this on ao3 yesterday lol #im creating the lady ann content i want to see in the world #also thank you so so much for supporting this little series it really means so much to me #im trying out new techniques and just writing what feels good and im so happy to see people enjoying it <3

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littlesparklight · 3 years

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Zeus’ Necessities

This short fic is a meditation on necessity and fate, kingship, and, also, infidelity, without discounting the personal responsibility of that. I love diving into, like, the metaphysical and supernatural side of worldbuilding, and while it doesn’t seem to come up much in most treatment of Greek myth, it is easily right there for the making of it.

So, this is a conversation between Zeus and Ananke, as much as one can have a conversation with the primordial deity of cosmic necessity.

Sitting up on Olympos' highest mountaintop, Zeus, the king of Olympos, ruler of the sky and thus one-third of the world, closes his eyes and stretches his awareness out. Up, out, in. Beyond. Ananke meets him partway, becoming like a shawl made of stardust around his shoulders, a crown wrought from the core of the Earth on his head, and no imperative of anything specific at all on his tongue.

It's a relief.

But he'd known that, for otherwise he would have known, would have had to, come up here. Today, he'd come up here because he'd wanted, because he had a question, and by Ananke's presence, they are willing to entertain him. Which means the answer doesn't matter anymore, it's over and done with, and he truly was as much at the mercy of Ananke as everyone and everything else.

It feels like betrayal, though that's ridiculous. Ananke can't betray anything, for they are threaded through the cosmos and will only as it may be. They have no care, no interest, no desire beyond what they are. It makes them even less of an individual than some of the other primordial gods are, like Nyx and Erebus, who barely concern themselves with the actual world as it is. It makes Ananke supremely straightforward, though that would be little obvious if one didn't have long awareness of working with them directly.

"Zeus," they greet, his name less a word than it is a feeling, a collection of sensations and phenomena (rain, the charged energy of electricity, driving need, radiant light, the taste-smell of ripe fruit and corn, force and arrogance and dogged determination, and at the edges, traces of cold, Chthonic mist). "What is it?"

They probably already know, since this has to do with them, or rather, what they are and what they have done, which is, in the end, the same thing. But they ask anyway, perhaps because that's how conversations works, perhaps because there is the tiniest of slivers of some individuality underpinning Ananke which means they can ask questions like that because it might amuse them to make him spell it out.

It is probably that. Zeus sneers, then sighs. Capitulates for the inevitable, like he always has to do, though this is a much smaller inevitability than the usual ones he is handed from Ananke.

"There were so many mortal women that caught my interest in such a short time, and then, as we drew back a little, I practically lost complete interest. Why?"

"You ask that, yet you already know, otherwise you wouldn't have asked." There's no obvious depth to his awareness of those words, no clear emotion carrying them, but Zeus can still swear they are shaded both with chiding and teasing.

"I don't like it," he says, mutters, low and reticent. Not quite accusing. "It makes me feel used."

A pause. Then laughter, actual laughter rings around him, echoing like any laughter ought up here on the mountaintop, being immediately snatched away by the wind. It also makes him quake down to the very core, threatening to spill him out over eternity, a far vaster distance of reality than any but the most primordial deities - and most of the time, not even them - could cover.

"Your lust is your own. You would stray with or without external forces. You proved that with the first one," they say, and there's a touch at his shoulders, dizzying and yet weighing more than the whole of the solar system and it keeps him rooted. That's not a lie, either. He would, and they both know it. He does have far more control over himself nowadays, however. "You move both gods and mortals as it will be, because it has to be, oh Father of Gods and Men, but you so often watch and ache for it, separate because you see what will be done and most often have little part in it. Perhaps it was you along with your brother because it was to keep you humble when you finally understood. In the meantime, there was always your wife's disapproval."

There's a kiss to his forehead, all the Earth and outer space in it, and Zeus closes his eyes and exhales. Annoyed, and at peace. No less displeased, honestly, and he feels a little duped when this is certainly a lot more than, say, only Leda for the necessity of Helen's existence in the greater chain of events that ended with the war. But it'd been more than that, hadn't it? And here he was now, understanding how part of his nature had been used against him for whatever the necessity of it was, and he can see why. A woman's (and thus a goddess') contribution to a child's existence is heavier, takes more time, resources and effort. Aphrodite took her turn in this, but that only emphasized the time it took, and if the goddesses should've done as he and Poseidon - and, in smaller contribution, his sons - had done to shoulder some of the responsibility, it would have taken a lot more time. And if the specific span of time was sensitive, it couldn't take a lot of time. In the end they are all related, tied as closely together as there are vast gulfs between them, and one of them joining with a mortal is, functionally for the effect it has on the resultant offspring and their potential effect on the world, the same as another.

So, then, the least amount of time and effort on the divine side of things to make it happen when and where it has to. When it's necessary it do. At least Poseidon had had to do it more than him, but Poseidon is not burdened by any of this knowledge, and even if he was - would he care? Would he actually understand?

Zeus sighs, tipping his head back to stare up at the darkening sky. There are stars peeking out towards east, with a line of disappearing fire still colouring the horizon to the west. It's as beautiful as it was the first time he saw it, looking at the sky as a day-old child. Whatever the need was it be done back then, the effect will keep echoing forward through the blood of humanity even if it is really only the direct offspring of a mortal and a god who will notice the effects of what having a divine parent means.

Ananke hasn't left yet. They are wrapped around him warmly, impressing no greater need on him than companionable silence. Still, it's they who speaks up first, gentling them past a vague question Zeus has never asked but has harboured for a long time.

"It's you because it has to be." That's reassuring, and damning.

"It's me because I marked myself, didn't I?" Zeus can't help the edge of sourness, understanding the chain of events that led to this, that both made him and had him make himself into what he is, and put himself here, one of the direct mediators of Ananke. The Moirai are as well, but they deal more with humans in specific, different ways. It's not the same, but they are both, well. Necessary.

"Few can become dying and rising gods," they whisper, Chthonic chill and life-giving radiance in the feeling of those words. "And doing so young leaves marks, yes. But if you weren't you, it might have been Apollo instead to hear like this."

Zeus knows Apollo almost does even as it is, so closely attuned to Fate and the ephemeral background works of cosmos as he is - what Zeus has to impart to his son by himself, Apollo understands with barely a nudge or two. Zeus is glad it isn't more than that, though. Apollo has enough work, his delightfully radiant son, and this is--- He freezes, frowning.

"Am I here merely bec---"

"Zeus." The ringing proclamation of his name could've shattered him and spread his essence out over the cosmos if Ananke hadn't taken care. "You would not have needed to be one of the rulers to do what you are doing; the power behind the throne can be more total than the throne itself. You are here, as you are and with your brothers, because of you."

"All right."

He sinks back into his seat, relaxing a little. So it wasn't ananke that he be the ruler of Olympos; that was reassuring, maybe childishly so. It was, rather, because it suited him, because he'd wanted it, because he'd thought it necessary and that he was one of the few that could do it. Because he'd thought it his right. So he was here because he'd searched it out, because it'd seemed reasonable to him, Poseidon and Hades that they divide the rule between them. Reasonable and fair, when there were three of them, though Zeus holds a sliver's edge of higher authority. Poseidon hates it like nothing else and always has to test him at every twist and turn.

That's something, at least. But so many things he's had to do were because it was necessary they were done, or made into happening, and no one that didn't know could know that (and if he told, they would most often forget anyway). All of this because it's not, after all, as if there is a plan. Zeus knows that more intimately than anything else, by, well, the necessity of the thing. One event builds on the next, some events get fixed in advance, in shape and form and thrust of them, because of past events, or because of the general flow of everything up until a point, but none of that is predetermined in its entirety. Prophecy for humans are as iron-clad as they might be possibility only, and human choices make or break them; building blocks that might make future necessity and fate, or were made into fate because of something past.

He sits there, watching night spread over this half of the world, and, slowly, smiles.

"It's beautiful."

Maybe he's a little annoyed still, but mostly it's fine. He just hopes there's nothing going on right now that has him acting unknowingly as willed, but if there is, he won't know until later, anyway.

"It is."

Ananke suffuses him, cosmic pleasure at the sight and meaning of it, and then they depart, leaving Zeus alone on the mountaintop.

#greek mythology #greek gods #zeus #ananke #lightart

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undertale-rho · 4 years

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Underearth: Book 5 - Chapter 4

The remainder of the trip through the Citadel was quiet for the most part, especially between Frisk and Chara, who didn't speak a word to one-another whatsoever. Along the way, Frisk had Toriel stop at the spider bake sale and get him a donut. Once claimed, they progressed onward through the last of the area, arriving at Toriel's house.

"Do you smell that?" Toriel asked soon after they entered. "Surprise! It's a butterscotch-cinnamon pie."

Chara's interests were perked at these words, though Frisk was too busy taking in the aroma to notice.

"I thought we could celebrate your arrival. I want you to have a nice time living here. So I will hold off on snail pie for tonight. Here, I have another surprise for you."

Toriel led Frisk into a nearby hallway off the foyer, stopping at the first door. "Here it is." she said. "A room of your own. I hope you like it!"

Frisk reached down and opened the door. Immediately, Chara flew through.

"Thank you." Frisk said.

"You are most certainly welcome. If you need me, I will be in the living room." Toriel then walked off.

Chara fluttered around the room, taking everything in, before coming to a stop in front of a drawing of a flower.

Frisk simply walked over to the bed and took a seat on it. The two remained that way, in silence, for a few minutes, before Frisk finally decided to break the ice.

"Lovely place, huh?" he asked.

Chara looked over at him, her eyes appearing disinterested.

Nice going, moron.

"Yes... It is." she eventually said before looking back to the drawing. "My first clear memories of Hades happened here, in this very room. Right on that bed you now sit on."

Frisk looked down at the bed, his memories shifting to that... dream? he had some time ago.

"Chrysanthe..." Frisk mumbled, still looking at the bed.

Chara's gaze shot straight at Frisk. "Where did you hear that word?" she demanded.

Frisk looked up, shocked at her sudden tone. "I, er, I remember hearing it in a... a dream I had when I slept here a few Worlds back. Chrysanthe was a word spoken, alongside..."

"Charaktiras." Chara finished.

"Yeah."

Chara floated over to the lamp in the corner. "I'm sorry I snapped like I did... It's just that, it's been a long time since I... since I heard my name spoken."

"Your... your name?"

"Yes. 'Chara' was a nickname given to me by Asriel. My real name is Chrysanthe. Named after my mother's favorite flower." she then gestured to the drawing.

Frisk stood up and looked at the drawing. It was of a golden flower; like those Frisk had fallen on, and those in various places within the Underground.

"It's beautiful..." Frisk said.

"Yes... yes it is."

Another few minutes of silence passed them by.

"So, was this your room while you lived down here?" Frisk asked.

"Yes. I shared it with Asriel. Though when we left Home for New Home, a great palace was built, and that was where I dwelled after."

"I see."

Frisk walked back over to the bed and removed his boots. Chara looked over at him curiously.

"Aren't you going to continue to Snowdin?" she asked.

"Nah. Not right now, at least." Frisk slipped under the bed covers and closed his eyes, quickly falling asleep.

Chara watched as Frisk quickly fell under Hypnos's spell. Once he was asleep, Chara left the room, heading off to explore the house. Within the kitchen, Toriel prepared the butterscotch-cinnamon pie for eating, cutting a slice for Frisk and setting it on a plate that she took and placed on the nightstand beside his bed.

With that task complete, Toriel turned off the lamp and went to the living room.

"And so here we are..." a soft, slow, deep voice echoed throughout the room.

Chara looked around. Nothing, the room was far too dark to see anything clearly.

"Frisk!" she hissed.

No response.

"There you lie, blissfully unaware of what you have done on the greater stage. The horrors unleashed by your determination. You blindly think yourself free from the consequences of your actions; as another I have watched. Despite this, the gluttonous Eaters of Pain and the arrogant beasts of Chaos make plans because of you. The great moths entranced by the flame you have lit."

A pencil scratching against a paper took the scene as the darkness finished speaking.

"Sleep well, young Frisk. Your peace is soon at an end."

The greater darkness lifted, and Chara could once again see her surroundings.

"FRISK!!!" she shouted.

Frisk bolted upright, alert by Chara's distressful voice.

"What!?" he said, somewhat slurred with sleep. Looking around, he found Chara floating near the door, a deeply frightened look on her face. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Do you normally have Skias speak to you when you sleep?" she asked.

"Skias?"

Something catching her eye, Chara pointed to the nightstand. Looking over, Frisk saw a paper sitting beside the pie. Scribbled on the paper were two words, both large and sketchy.

SLEEP WELL

"Whâ€”Who wrote this?" Frisk asked, a cold chill rising through his spine. "It was Toriel, right?"

"Toriel only brought in the pie. After she left, a great darkness; perhaps Erebus himself, appeared and spoke at you."

Frisk's mind flowed back a few Worlds, when a great darkness had enveloped him and spoke to him.

"What did it say?" he asked.

Chara recounted what the darkness said. Frisk shuttered when she finished.

"Do you know who the 'Eaters of Pain' and the 'beasts of Chaos' are?" he then asked.

Chara shook her head.

"I see..."

Frisk grabbed the pie from the table and began eating it. Once finished, he put his boots back on and got off the bed.

"So, shall we continue to Snowdin?"

"Sure."

Frisk turned to the wardrobe and opened it, grabbing the jacket and the bag from within. Stashing the donut in the bag, Frisk exited the room and walked to the foyer.

Approaching the stairs, Chara spoke up once again.

"What about the wooden knife nearby?" she asked.

Frisk gave her an odd look. "What about it?"

"Shouldn't you go grab it?"

"Why?"

"Non-warriors are less likely to attack when they're attacking someone who is armed. You wouldn't have to draw it, but just having the knife would keep attackers at bay."

Frisk chuckled a bit. "Yeah sure, why not."

Backtracking out of Toriel's home, Frisk walked to the balcony with the great cityscape view. The Helian Photon Gates had opened, and the light of Helios Station poured out upon the entire Underground.

"Over here." Chara called, pointing out the wooden knife.

"Thanks." Frisk grabbed the knife and stored it on the side of the bag. He then returned to Toriel's home.

"Welcome back, my child." Toriel said, walking through the foyer, when Frisk returned.

"Oh, hey mom." Frisk said. "Would you mind too heavily if I headed off to Snowdin?"

Toriel stopped walking.

"I'd just really like to get home, is all."

"This is your home now." Toriel said.

"It can't be that hard to leave, right? I'm sure I could find my way out if I left the Citadel. Could you point me to the exit?"

Toriel stood there, silent, for a few more seconds. "I have to do something. Stay here." she said, now walking down the stairs at the back of the foyer.

"Now you have done it." Chara said.

"Relax. All part of the plan." Frisk said, climbing down the stairs himself.

The hallway below was of the same purple as the majority of the Citadel. Toriel walked down it, making haste towards an unseen destination.

"Mom, wait up!" Frisk called.

Toriel turned a corner up ahead. Frisk quickly turned it soon after, finding Toriel had halted in front of a door.

"You wish to know how to return 'home', do you not?" she asked.

"Yes, that is what I asked."

Toriel gestured to the door. "Beyond this door is the end of the Citadel. The one way exit to the rest of the Underground." Toriel paused for a breath. "I am going to destroy it. No one will ever be able to leave again. Now be a good child and go upstairs."

"Not a chance. I can't let you destroy the way out."

"Every Human that falls down here meets the same fate. I have seen it again and again. They come. They leave. They die. You naive child... if you leave the Citadel, they... Asgore... will kill you. I am only protecting you, do you understand? Now go to your room."

"Asgore wouldn't stand a chance against me. Let me through."

"Do not try to stop me. This if your final warning."

"Let me through."

Toriel turned to face Frisk. "You want to leave so badly? Hmph. You are just like the others. There is only one solution to this. Prove yourself... Prove to me you are strong enough to survive."

Orange sparks flew around Frisk as a torrent of flame shot from him, engulfing the walls in flame.

Toriel stepped backwards, impressed by the spell cast and his level of control. She then ignited her own arms, launching a great wall of flame at Frisk, who simply summoned a shield and blocked the flame.

"You have great skill with magic, despite your tender age." Toriel said. "I... I believe you are indeed strong enough to survive."

Whoa, that was fast.

"You sure?"

Toriel frowned, extinguishing her arms. "I know you want to go home, but... must you go? We can have a good life here."

"I have no doubt, but I'm sorry... being trapped down here, it's claustrophobic. I'm... sure you understand."

Toriel slowly nodded.

Frisk extinguished the flames that coated the walls and approached Toriel, offering a hug. Toriel knelt down and accepted it.

"When you leave..." Toriel said as they embraced. "Please do not come back. I hope you understand. Goodbye, my child." she then let go of Frisk, stood up, and walked back up the hallway.

Frisk continued through the door ahead. Looking at the hallway beyond as he walked, small slits in the walls and holes in the ceiling caught his attention once more.

"Hey Chara." he said.

"What?"

"What are these holes?"

Chara looked at the holes within the hall. "Oh, those are fonosisme," she pointed to the holes in the wall, "and those are fonope." she pointed to the holes in the ceiling.

"Alright, what are they for?"

"Killing those within this hall. They're defensive features. This hallway itself is what is called a fonozone."

"Why?"

Chara looked aghast. "To prevent incursion." she said. "The Citadel is a great curtain that was built by Monsters absolutely consumed by terror. Its entire purpose is to protect those within, like Mount Teichos."

At this point, Frisk reached the end of the hallway, and entered the final chamber. Before he could continue his conversation with Chara, however, a familiar voice called to him.

"Howdy!" Flowey said. "Tell me something, Human. When did you get chummy with Calibri?"

Frisk looked down at Flowey with contempt, ignoring the question asked.

"Alright, well here's a better question. How many times have we 'first' met?"

"Oh, just a few times."

Flowey laughed a bit. "It always seems like just a few times."

"What do you want?"

"Oh, I'm sure you already know the answer to that question. I'd better not repeat myself. Be seeing you around, Human." Flowey retreated into the ground.

Frisk heaved a heavy sigh, then heaved the Citadel door open, exiting into Snowdin.

"Hey Chara," Frisk said, stepping through the snow that now surrounded him. "if the Citadel is supposed to be a protective fortress for all Monster-kind, why is the door to leave so small?"

"That door you just came through is the back-door, is why. The main gate is on the other side, and is much larger."

"The other side?"

"Over near New Home, at least the section the Palace was in."

"I see. Why have a back-door in the first place?"

"So castle inhabitants could flee in the event of invasion. An invading army would have great difficulty breaking through here, and would have a harder time inside. This tower is isolated from the rest of the Citadel, and all doorways to the City are hidden. You saw the fonozone within as well. That long hallway would act as a serious obstacle to bypass. The sharp turns and tight spaces within also make perfect positions to hold off attackers. Every part of the Citadel, especially the Royal Watchtower, was built in such a way to make invasion nigh impossible. And that's just in case an attacking force even finds it."

"Alright. I think I understand."

"Understand what?" Sans said from behind Frisk.

Frisk jumped upon hearing Sans's voice.

"What's the matter kiddo, it looks like you've seen a ghost. Sounds like you're talking to one, too."

"Can you not?" Frisk asked.

"Not what? Be absolutely hilarious? Sorry bud, no-can-do."

"Nevermind."

Calibri, who'd jumped from one of the many tall, thin trees around them, landed in some snow nearby. "Sup Frisk." he said upon regaining his posture.

"Not much. Just learning stuff about the Citadel from Chara before Sans popped by."

"Oh? Have you gotten to the part about how it's strikingly similar in design and defensive capability to that of a medieval European castle, or how the Monsters somehow managed to find all the stone to build it in less than a week?"

"Um, no. Why?"

"No reason. Just some strange stuff regarding it that I found interesting."

"I see."

Calibri slapped his hands together. "So," he said, "I'm going to Grillby's. Anybody wanna come with?"

"Sounds like fun." Sans said. "Whaddya say, kiddo?"

"Yeah sure."

A shrill, unintelligible noise sounded from further in the forest.

"Ah, right on time. Let's go get Papyrus and bring him with." Calibri said.

"You sure that's a good idea?" Sans asked.

"I don't see why it wouldn't be. Once he shows up just up here, we tell him that a Human has been located, and then the five of us can have a jolly good time before reaching Snowdin."

"Sounds great, let's go."

Calibri, Frisk, and Sans all crossed the bridge. Ahead, Papyrus walked full speed towards them.

"Sup bro?" Sans asked. "We were just taking the Human to Grillby's. Wanna come?"

"NO SANS, I DON'T HAVE TIME TO SLA— WAIT, DID YOU JUST SAY YOU FOUND A HUMAN!?!"

"Yup."

"REALLY!?!? WOWIE!!! GUESS I SHALL!!"

The four then started making their way deeper into the forest, Chara following close behind. The trip was short, especially with Sans telling the Canine Unit to go on break when their warriors were encountered. The trip would occasionally be somewhat elongated, however, when passing over a few of puzzle, which Papyrus insisted on putting Frisk through. When the group finally did reach Grillby's, Frisk hurried inside and flopped onto the booth near the entrance.

"H-h-h-hiya!" a rabbit in the opposite booth said before planting her face back onto the table.

"I'm sure she won't mind us joining her." Calibri said as Sans used gravity magic to move her to the wall-side of the booth. Those two then took a seat in the booth, with Papyrus sitting down next to Frisk.

"HOW CAN YOU TOLERATE ALL THIS GREASE, HUMAN?" Papyrus asked.

"Very carefully."

Grillby approached the booth table.

"Hey Grillby." Sans said. "Give us just a minute."

"We'll take three orders of fries." Calibri said. "That's it."

Grillby wrote on a notebook then walked off, into the back room.

"Fries?" Sans asked.

"Yeah, it's what Frisk ordered with you in the first few Runs. It's also what I'd've gotten, and you'd eat anything from here. Papyrus isn't getting anything."

"Wow, stalker much." Frisk said.

"Pays to have all the information."

Grillby returned from the back room with a small platter holding three bags of fries.

"Here comes the grub." Sans said, pulling a bottle of ketchup from an internal pocket. "Anybody want some ketchup?"

"I'll pass." Calibri said.

"Nah."

"More for me." Sans said, unscrewing the cap and chugging the bottle. Once finished, he replaced the cap and stashed the bottle back in his jacket.

Frisk ate a few fries before looking up at Calibri.

"So Calibri," he said, "I think I know the answer, but what's a 'Run'?"

"A Run through the Underground in a single continuous setting. It's the span of time between each RESET."

"Ah, okay. I know those better as Worlds."

"Worlds?"

"Yeah, it's what the Timepiece calls them."

"Interesting. May we... see the Timepiece?"

Frisk looked thoughtfully down at his pocket.

"GO AHEAD. THEY CANNOT DO ANYTHING." the Timepiece said.

Frisk reached down and pulled the pocketwatch from his pocket, placing it down on the table.

"Fascinating..." Calibri said, picking it up and looking at it. "Sans, have you ever seen this decal before?"

Sans looked at the front. "Hmm... it... it seems familiar, but I can't place why."

"I'm getting the same feeling..."

"What's going on?" Frisk asked.

Calibri looked from the pocketwatch to Frisk. "It's probably nothing." he said, handing it back. "So that's the device Flowey used, huh."

"Seems that way."

"WHO'S FLOWEY?" Papyrus asked.

"Talking flower, you've probably met him, Papyrus. Charming fellow." Calibri answered.

"OH, I KNOW OF A TALKING FLOWER! HE'S MY BEST FRIEND!"

"Yup, so I've heard."

The group went back to eating for the most part for a minute.

"I, ER, HATE TO BE THE ONE TO ASK THIS," Papyrus said, "BUT ARE WE EVER GOING TO, YOU KNOW, ACTUALLY CAPTURE THE HUMAN?"

"What? We already did." Calibri said.

"WE DID?"

"Yeah, he's right here, isn't he? All you need to do now is take him to Undyne so she can kill him and take his SOUL."

"BUT, UH, I KNOW WE NEED THEIR SOUL, BUT ISN'T THERE A WAY TO GET IT THAT'S LESS... MURDERY?"

"Nope, sorry. Can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs and all that."

"Actually—"

"Sans, please don't open wormholes inside the eggs again. You know what happened last time, we don't need a repeat."

Sans laughed nervously. "Yeah, alright."

"Why, what happened?" Frisk asked.

"Nothing." both Calibri and Sans said at the same time.

"Alright then, keep your secrets."

Frisk finished off the last of his fries.

"Say, Papyrus. Since you seem to be great friends with the Human now, why not take him to see Undyne?" Calibri suggested.

"WHEN DID I BECOME GREAT FRIENDS WITH THE HUMAN?"

"Right now. We're all hanging out, aren't we?"

"THAT IS TRUE, BUT ISN'T 'HANGING OUT' SUPPOSED TO BE ONE-ON-ONE, LIKE TRAINING?"

"It can be, but it can also be just like this."

"I SEE. AHEM. HUMAN!" Papyrus said. "WOULD YOU LIKE TO GO MEET MY BOSS, UNDYNE?"

"Sure. Sounds like a party."

"WOWIE! THEN LET'S GO!!"

Frisk and Papyrus slid out of the booth and, unceremoniously, exited Grillby's.

"THIS WAY, HUMAN." Papyrus led.

Frisk and Papyrus continued through Snowdin, approaching the Waterfall Caves. Within, the light of Helios grew dim, and the glowing crystals within the walls took over the heavy lifting in guiding entities through the darkness.

"Good luck, you two." Sans said from his station when they reached it.

"THANKS, SANS. KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK!"

The two advanced deeper in. Ahead, one of the strange boxes came into view near a river.

"Oh, Frisk. The gauntlets." Chara said.

That's right. "Hey Papyrus, gimme just a second, would you?"

"OF COURSE."

Frisk opened the box and pulled the gauntlets, which still stood the test of time, from it. Immediately, Frisk put them on.

"WOWIE, UNDYNE WOULD LIKE SOMETHING LIKE THAT. YOU CERTAINLY KNOW HOW TO PREPARE YOURSELF."

Frisk and Papyrus then crossed the river, Papyrus wading through it, with Frisk just freezing pillars of ice through to the bottom, walking on the surface.

"AHEAD IS WHERE I NORMALLY MEET UP WITH UNDYNE. IF, UH, YOU COULD JUST WAIT HERE, I'LL TRY AND... TALK TO HER."

Papyrus then went on ahead. Frisk, already knowing how it all was going to turn out, waited just a bit before advancing himself.

Emergence : Return to Sequence

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#undertale #undertale au #undertale rho #UTRStory #underearth #emergence

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