Eyes immediately fall upon the figure of her fallen friend. This doesn’t come by as much of a surprise for her, the hallucinations have talked before, she remembers his voice so well—so clearly. Thinking of it every day whether a haunting comes to join her or not. Gaze remains dead and cold, it has to, she has to remember it’s not real. It only hurts more if she doesn’t. Even still, Undyne remains fixates on his form, watching his every movement and breath. Every small noise he makes. Every scuff of his boots against the broken pavement. Though she remains completely still for fear of ruining the illusion that had so graciously been given to her. No matter how nightmarish who is she to defy this gift? A show of what once was or what could have been—had she just been strong enough to protect that which was most important to her.
Undyne lets out a breath, it’s harbored and rigid, expression changing to something softer. She looks as if she’s about to cry even with how hard she tries to keep her features. Perhaps in another, simpler reality, the King would be re-modeling his floral throne room—the one she so graciously torn into desolate pieces. These illusions were getting more and more complex, easing her into a daydream where everything was okay and everyone was alright. Perhaps she’s already drifting without much notice of it.
Oh. There it was. That snap back into reality. Those imaginary flowers that had seemed to start blooming once again in her imagination quickly wilted as Papyrus moved closer, lecturing her on sitting on the throne while offering her a bundle of petals. Undyne closes her eye feeling like the adventure in the furthest and darkest corners of her mind were coming to an end. After all, you can’t touch an illusion no matter which was you shake it, but she could have sworn she felt the bump of his glove to her head when he placed the flower behind her fin. They twitch, her eye opens once more, the image is still there.
As if only to the mention of the little drops that accompanied her solemn state she peers down at her shoulder, watching as a drop teeters and slowly falls over the curve of her arm. Normally she doesn’t interact with these figures but today she shakes her head, if ever in the slightest nature, it looks as if it hurts to move after sitting still for so long.
Taking another slow breath Undyne releases the grip she had on her ankle, the leg stationed up on the throne slips out of it’s position and swings over the edge of the seat, her hand comes up to touch at the buttercup settled between the side of her head and her fin.
She looks up at him. Lips part, voice breaks when she
tries to speak, palm shoves it’s way against her cheek to
battle the tear that dared to fall over her battered cheek.
It felt so real. It sounded so real. It looked so real.
I hate this. I hate this. I hate this I hatethisIhatethisIhatethis.
The leg that fell quickly recovers back into its protective cocoon form
to the front of Undyne’s body, both of her hands come to her face,
pressing over her eyes as claws rest against scales.
“GO AWAY! Leave me alone!! I can’t do this anymore,
I can’t do it. Please. Stop haunting me.. I.. I miss you too
much… It’s hurts Papyrus. It hurts so much I’m so sorry
I failed you. I want you back here with me but I can’t do it.
I can’t bring you b a c k so please..”
-The newly-ushered desolation that had draped over the throne room in shades of recent evacuation seemed oddly awry, even though he’d wandered through his share of Waterfall’s caverns and hidden grottoes just as empty and wet. Yet the longer his gaze lingered along the stone walls laden in jagged marks only the fiercest of claws could have carved in concentrated fury, the more Papyrus realizes that some empty areas had always been hollow, but still harbored the hope the extra space could be filled with light and laughter when passing through. But the emptiness of the throne room he now found himself circling in confusion was comprised of a lonelier conclusion. Having already been filled with life that no longer lingered, the room imparts a feeling of loss in the wake of ripples spread by the raindrops striking the flooded areas of the floor like piercing projectiles that infiltrated his battle-body without even puncturing through the plastic where his soul leaked its light through his chipped cheekbone. This gutted place did not suit the bare-bones look when his budding memories of the King’s garden still glint green in the reflection of the deeper puddles, all concentrated around the throne as if everything he once knew about this sacred section of the kingdom had sank through to some subterranean level of low through the choppy surfaces of moistened mirrors. Through the suffocating veils of the barrier’s run-off, the aquatic occupation of the throne room settles heavily on his shoulders as if he’d fully submerged underwater where each movement became more strenuous than the last, but he finds this weight far less disconcerting of a change compared to the sight of her bent broodingly over the throne as if she’d claimed every burden left in the world to bear on her shoulders, a ruler reigning over long-drowned entropy. Undeserving.-
THERE WAS SOOO MUCH STUFF IN HERE BEFORE...DID YOU REALLY MOVE IT ALL? -He inquires, persistent as always, the hint of doting amusement lingering along the edges of concern. She’s one of the toughest souls he has the pleasure of knowing beyond simple “hellos” and distantly draped adoration, but even if he’d claim himself the loudest of her supporters, even he had to admit her faults in forging ahead against her better judgement. Sparing him a tedious night of toting boxes who knows where certainly had her signature staining the corner of her decision in ink that had yet to dry and smudged under his thumb as he inspects each angle of his assumption for any details he dare not miss. Of course this was all her doing, he decides while noting her fresh exhaustion she’d spilled along with her scales onto a throne large enough to swallow her with the slew of whale-sized problems soaking through the patch of waterlogged padding situated under her seating arrangement. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d went out of her way to ensure he wouldn’t hurt himself, but it’s not as if moving a few boxes is anything like climbing ranks in the Royal Guard; at least, the rookie in him doesn’t think so.- WOWIE! HOW SELFISH--NOT EVEN LEAVING YOUR BESTIE SOME BROWNIE POINTS! WELL, EXCEPT FOR THE SPOT YOU MISSED BACK THERE, BUT THAT’S HARDLY A BROWNIE. IF YOU THINK ABOUT IT, IT’S MORE LIKE A CRUMB. -Great, now he really has a hankering to bake some brownies! In fact, he’d probably have to in order to make up for his slack around the King; god--he sincerely hopes he didn’t drool in front of his majesty!
With the frequency of the falling sky drops streaking away any signs of spilled saliva as his armor glints with each proper dowsing, he doubts he’ll figure that mystery out unless Undyne had already uploaded a Vine of him snoring away among the excavated buttercups. The flower behind her fin seems to be holding up quite well, a sprightly sprig despite the thicker raindrops rolling along each petal of a mane that bobbed a little lower with each floral tear shed. Yellow had always suited her scales and fins’ primary colors, an observation he’d slyly mention whenever he happened upon the Captain mid-cuddle with a certain scientist who sported sunnier scales he wouldn’t mind seeing now weaving through the patches of night and rain, and the occasional rumble echoing throughout the higher stalagmites. Spying her fist as it grinds what he assumes is a stain of overexertion she’d try to hide from him even in plain sight in the hopes that his tendency towards flighty conversations would saturate his better judgement, Papyrus doesn’t prune back his restless rebuke of her selflessness, finding that a fish being soaked under a little black cloud is less pitiable than any other monster without the gills.- TIRING YOURSELF OUT LIKE THIS...I DON’T EVEN WANT TO KNOW HOW MANY LAPS I’M GOING TO HAVE TO RUN TO CATCH UP TO YOUR LEVEL OF EXHAUSTION SO WE CAN MATCH! -Because of course, swolemates would swell together...in even the most painful of post-workouts. That is, if she’s still his swolemate after snapping like that.-
WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN’T DO IT? IT’S JUST ONE MORE FLOWER! AND EVEN IF YOU CAN’T DO IT, TELLING ME TO GO AWAY’S NOT GOING TO GET THE LAST SECTION OF THIS ROOM MOVED WHEN YOU LOOK LIKE YOU CAN BARELY MOVE YOURSELF! -The loud protest leaves him prickled as if his battle-body were bursting with pine-cones, but they shatter into harmless shards as the crack in her voice suddenly sends his senses into a tail-spin. Is she really that upset he’d tried to help her? Thinking she’d over strained herself like usual, Papyrus moves in, voice a shade softer as he tries to shush her through his teeth.- ...WHAT DO YOU MEAN I’M RIGHT HERE! STOP MISSING ME ALREADY, YOU NERD. IT’S NOT LIKE WE’RE TRAPPED IN DIFFERENT ROOMS TALKING THROUGH BEAN CANS AND YARN. -Though he can’t say playing can-telephone with her when they were kids was all that upsetting of an experience.- HEY NOW...IT’S GONNA BE OK. YOU’RE JUST TIRED IS ALL, RIGHT, GRUMPY-GILLS? WE’LL GET YOU SOME ICE FOR THOSE SORE BICEPS AND A CHAIR THAT’S NOT SO HARD, AND THEN YOU’LL FEEL WAY BETTER, I PROMISE! -Sockets stained with concern, he leans in, taking the backs of her hands splayed shakily over her face as he gently pries them apart as if parting curtains to let a ray of sunlight steal through his smile.- DYNE...DON’T WORRY, OK?