[redacted]

W.D. GASTER. DESIGNATION: MALICE [INDIE ASK AND RP BLOG FOR W.D. GASTER. MAY HAVE GORE! WILL BE TAGGED APPROPRIATELY AND/OR TUCKED UNDER A READ MORE.]

[maliciousmaladies-blog]

((Sorry for the lack of things over here! I’ve been low on energy these past few days!

[maliciousmaladies-blog]

lastinggaster:

* …

Eight breaks out into a grin and wheezes. He’s a sucker for terrible jokes.

He shakes his head and shoves the door open, waving to the waiting fragment.

PG waves back. Softly. He looks a little concerned at the creature attached to Eights limb, but he doesn’t say much.

He approaches once they’re out of the door.

÷ Good to know you’re still alive! Empathy was getting worried, you know.

*I know.

÷ …We should get moving. I know a safe spot close by.

…There’s a smile there, somewhere.

* -.-. .- -.  .... .  .... . .-.. .--.  -.-- --- ..-  .-- .- .-.. -.- ..--..  ..  -.-. .- -. -. --- -  .... .- -. -.. .-.. .  - .... .  .-- . .. --. .... -  .- -. -.--  .-.. --- -. --. . .-. .-.-.- 

{CAN HE HELP YOU WALK? I CANNOT HANDLE THE WEIGHT ANY LONGER.}

*..  .- --  -. --- -  -... ..- .. .-.. -  ..-. --- .-.  - .... .. ... .-.-.- 

{I AM NOT BUILT FOR THIS.}

The creature shifts up, removing itself from holding Eight up and crawls its way up Eight’s body, settling on his shoulder, keeping a firm grip on his clothes so that he doesn’t fall off.

They begin to move away from the abandoned lab, as still and quite as it was before, not even dust seeming to mind their exit.

... Somewhere, someone grins.

[maliciousmaladies-blog]

lastinggaster:

* He won’t get the chance.

Freedom is in sight.

Lingering would definitely be a mistake. He heads straight for the door.

Outside the window, PG can be seen pacing nervously. How can a man look so worried with no face??

It’s a mystery.

Neither does the centipede-like creature.

It’s holding up just fine, at least, helping Eight get to the door- and once they’re out, he taps more! He hopes Eight’s friend wont be all too startled by his appearance.

*... --- .-. .-. -.-- --..--  -... -.--  - .... .  .-- .- -.-- .-.-.-  - .... .- -  ..  -.-. --- ..- .-.. -.. -.-  .... . .-.. .--.  .-- .. - ....  -.-- --- ..- .-.  .-.. . --. .-.-.- 

{SORRY, BY THE WAY. THAT I COULDN’T HELP WITH YOUR LEG.}

* ... *-... ..- -  ..  -.-. .- -.  -.-. . .-. - .- .. -. .-.. -.--  .-.. . -. -..  -.-- --- ..-  .-  .... .- -. -.. -....-  {BUT I CAN CERTAINLY LEND YOU A HAND-}

The fingers on the hands all shift- it’s the closest he can really get to a laugh.

[maliciousmaladies-blog]

lastinggaster:

He uses the keycard, hopefully without issue, and steps inside, leaning against the wall once they’re settled.

* Yes? You’re helping me. I don’t know what happened to you. But I’m not just going to leave you here after your assistance.

* I doubt he will take your betrayal well.

Eights morals are…generally flawed. But in this he seems adamant. He’s taking the creature with him.

He double-checks his phone before pressing the appropriate elevator button.

It’s certainly not going to argue about being taken from this place. It’s tapping more, for now, but it’s not really.. intelligible as morse. Instead, it’s more random. Anxious, even.

Eventually it stops and pauses, and taps out more.

*- .... .- -. -.-  -.-- --- ..- .-.-.- 

{THANK YOU.}

*..  .-- .- ...  -.-. . .-. - .- .. -.  - .... .- - .-.-.- .-.-.- .-.-.-  .... .  .-- .- ...  --. --- .. -. --.  - ---  -.- .. .-.. .-..  -- . --..--  --- -. -.-. .  .... .  ..-. --- ..- -. -..  --- ..- - .-.-.-  {I WAS CERTAIN THAT... HE WAS GOING TO KILL ME, ONCE HE FOUND OUT.}

The elevator reaches the ground floor, and the door opens to the familiar site of the ruined void space from before he was captured. It’d probably be best not to linger inside,

[maliciousmaladies-blog]

lastinggaster:

That’s not at all incredibly creepy!

Fine. He’ll go with it. This is fine. It’s cool. It’s fine.

He deposits his phone back into his pocket, takes the keycard and sets to limp towards the door.

* …This is a little weird,

* It…works, though.

* I’ve called a friend to pick us up. He should be able to get us both out of here.

PG is indeed, on his way to the coordinates Eight had sent. It shouldn’t take him too long to get there- but he does wonder how Eight manages to get himself in these kind of situations.

The creature taps more- apologetic, apparently. It’s tapping against Eight’s skin- where his leg once was. Probably sensitive, but it’s being mindful not to tap anywhere that could cause actual pain.

* ..  .- --  ... --- .-. .-. -.--

{I AM SORRY.}

.. It pauses. Hesitation- then taps more.

*.--. .. -.-. -.- .-.-.- .-.-.- .-.-.-  ..- ...  ..- .--. ..--..  -- . ..--..

{PICK... US UP? ME?}

As for finding the way out- well, it seems like it’ll be relatively easy. There’s an elevator almost immediately outside of the door, with a key card slot. A button leads to the ground level- likely where the exit will be.

[maliciousmaladies-blog]

lastinggaster:

* …It looks like you’ve had a lot worse.

* Assuming that isn’t what you’re supposed to look like.

The creature is…unsettling at best, but clearly fully intelligent. And obviously trying to help.

* Thank you.

Once his arms are free, he sits up, groaning quietly.

Eight sets to freeing the remaining leg and fumbles for his phone. Gotta get help…if anyone is willing to give it to him.

He keeps his tone hushed.

* Can you get us out of here? At least outside?

*I can’t really…walk by myself like this.

The pain is still there, too;

Eight is just as shaky as the creature helping him.

The creature contemplates for a few moments.

* -.-- . ... .-.-.-  ..  -.-. .- -.  .... . .-.. .--. .-.-.- 

{YES. I CAN HELP.}

* .... --- .-.. -..  --- -. -....-  ..-. .. .-. ... - --..-- 

{HOLD ON- FIRST,}

It shuffles off of Eight and down onto the floor, heading over to the desk and rummaging in a drawer, searching for something- it pulls out some sort of key card.

*.-- .  .-- .. .-.. .-..  -. . . -..  - .... .. ... .-.-.-  -.-- --- ..-.-.. .-..  .... .- ...- .  - ---  - .-. ..- ... -  -- . .-.-.- 

{WE WILL NEED THIS. YOU’LL HAVE TO TRUST ME.}

After returning to the table Eight’s on, tucking the keycard into one of Eight’s hands, then back down to the leg. It gently takes the tip of the leg in two of its hands and straightens itself out fully. It’s... roughly the size of a leg? More or less. It’ll do, for now.

* - .... .. ...  .. ...  - .... .  -... . ... -  ..  -.-. .- -.  -.. --- .-.-.- 

{THIS IS THE BEST I CAN DO.}

[maliciousmaladies-blog]

lastinggaster:

Bastard. He tugs at his restraints- then pauses, noticing the freakish little creature fixing him up. It takes a moment to realize what it’s doing…but after a few moments of it repeatedly tapping, it clicks.

Morse.

Of course he knows Morse. His favourite form of code. He hadn’t used it in a while, but the translations hadn’t faded.

He speaks quietly, beneath his breath, in case his captor still happened to be nearby.

* …Yes. I can.

It seems almost relieved that he can understand, tapping out more messages.

* --. --- --- -.. .-.-.-  ..  .- --  ... --- .-. .-. -.--  ..-. --- .-.  .-- .... .- -  .... .  .... .- ...  -.. --- -. . .-.-.- .-.-.- .-.-.- 

{GOOD. I AM SORRY FOR WHAT HE HAS DONE...}

* .-- .  -. . . -..  - ---  --. . -  -.-- --- ..-  --- ..- -  --- ..-.  .... . .-. . .-.-.-  -... . ..-. --- .-. .  .... .  -.-. --- -- . ...  -... .- -.-. -.- .-.-.- 

{WE NEED TO GET YOU OUT OF HERE. BEFORE HE COMES BACK.}

It shifts at starts to toy with the restraints keeping Eight down. It’s difficult, and if Eight looks closely, he can see that the creature is shaking ever so slightly. Nervous, maybe.

It clicks the first of the restraints free. Eight can use his arms again- and probably get the rest of them himself.

[maliciousmaladies-blog]

lastinggaster:

* Fuck you.

It was pretty fucking bad. The urge to scream was near undeniable. Hell knows how he managed it- He’s left gasping for air though, when it’s done, shuddering and shaking with the ebbing pain.

What’s left of the severed limb feels like it’s on fire.

He counts himself lucky that he is stubborn enough not to cry easily.

Eight snarls.

* Whatever you need that for had better be fucking worth it.

* You’re damn lucky I didn’t find this place earlier— sshhit,,

He slumps back against the table. Perhaps if he stops moving it’ll stop hurting so much.

He feels faint…

* Mm. We will see.

And Malice turns to exit the room, leaving Eight lying there, practically bleeding out and still strapped to the table. It seems he’s intent on leaving him here, alive. Possibly for use later...

... There’s a soft and gently tugging at where Eight’s leg once was- the hand-centipede is there, with a pair of sutures, slowly stitching it back together so that Eight doesn’t bleed out. Even doing it properly. Once it’s done, it sidles up onto Eight’s chest and starts tapping at it again. Tap. Tap. Tap.

It’s tapping in a pattern. Repeating the same pattern, over and over.

* -.-. .- -.  -.-- --- ..-  ..- -. -.. . .-. ... - .- -. -.. ..--..

{CAN YOU UNDERSTAND?}

[maliciousmaladies-blog]

lastinggaster:

* …I can try. No promises.

He glares;

Then his breath hitches- Eight grits his teeth and grimaces as Malice starts the cut. Instinct makes him move, and tense up. This will only make it hurt more.

He is stubborn. He won’t let the sick bastard hear him scream- not like that mentality did much to help him with the last person who decided to cut him up, but the determination keeps his sanity just a little more in line.

Eight grips and claws at the table beneath him, trying to keep himself from writhing with the pain, as Malice continues to easily saw through his flesh.

Of course, the flesh is the easy part. After a short time- what likely seems like ages to poor Eight- the saw finally presses its way to the bone. The edges of it start to grind through it.

Malice braces Eight’s leg with a hand, making sure that he keeps it down and firm against the table as he goes. The saw’s teeth grind and grind until they eventually break through the bone.

He makes quick work of the rest of the flesh, pressing down swiftly- now that he’s through the bone, he has a lot less to worry about with damaging the parts.

He moves the now-severed leg away, grinning. The centipede-like hand creature crawls up onto the table to retrieve it.

* There- that wasn’t so bad, now, was it?

[maliciousmaladies-blog]

lastinggaster:

He sighs wheezily. Yeah. Alright. He’s getting no choice in this. And from what Eight can tell, no pain relief either.

This guy is a piece of work. At least he was never too attached to his leg, aside from in the physical sense.

…The last time he had spoken to Empathy ended in a short argument. Out of nowhere,he worries what the other will think.

God, he’s an idiot.

* …Now I think about it, It’s been more than a few…

* I’m really losing track of time, huh,

He mutters quietly to himself, before glancing back up to the approaching fragment. He swallows, bracing.

Eight wonders if this will hurt more than having Geist poking around his innards.

* …Yeah.

* I’m really fucking honoured.

* That doesn’t surprise me.

* The longer you spend here, the more you seem to lose yourself. Your values. Your time.

* Not that time really means anything here.

He sets the bone saw down against the table Eight’s strapped onto, sticking a hand into his pocket and pulling out a marker, drawing a line across Eight’s leg where he’ll cut.

* Try not to struggle, if you will? It’ll only be worse for you, if you do.

* A cleaner cut means that it’ll be easier for my assistant to stop the bleeding.

... He grins and positions the sharp edge of the blade on the surface of Eight’s skin, aligned with the line, and begins to press in a slow, steady sawing motion. It takes little to no effort for the saw to break the skin as he goes.

[maliciousmaladies-blog]

resetbroke:

Shifting his hand back into his pocket, he offers a nonchalant, near apathetic shrug in return. Really the fact of the matter was, this guy looked different in comparison and he wasn’t about to just walk away after a simple hello.

          *yea, no kiddin. same with Sans. i’ve seen just about every kind out there.            suppose you can call me Reset then. its how others tell me apart, other than my fashion             choice.

* ... Reset it is, then. You do seem different than others I’ve observed...

* Not that I’ve met many, that is. This place is full of “Gaster” and not much else, really.

* Side effect of the core, I suppose. That’s just how our lives go, usually.

He tilts his head. He certainly did look different than many other “Gasters”. His form seemed incredibly unstable, edges drifting and shifting occasionally, almost in a manner akin to a lava lamp. 

Malice decides not to push on the topic as to what he’s doing here- he’ll find out one way or another, eventually.

* Would you like me to show you to my home? This place can be dangerous, out in the open.

[maliciousmaladies-blog]

i have a new set of logs for you guys after the current thread with lastinggaster! this one focuses more on malices time in the void and what he’s been up to in his past with... his experiments. might be some sort of interactive mini event, too, so keep an eye out!))

[maliciousmaladies-blog]

lastinggaster:

* Haha, I guess there’s that, yeah–uh.

* Oh. Ive been here uh. You know. Just a few-

He spots the saw.

- …Cen…turies…

* Uh.

* I mean. I kind of need that for walking? But I’ve got a feeling that question was intended to be rhetorical.

* I could always get you another leg–I know plenty of people who don’t need them? Ha-

* …

* A few centuries can be a long time for some of us. Not all, though.

* I’ve heard of some only getting to live a few centuries- a shame, really.

Hm. This one’s certainly eager to please- fear does a lot of people, hm? Too bad its not going to do anything.

* While that deal does certainly sound lucrative, I have my eyes set on this leg of yours.

* Its perfect for an experiment of mine, you see.

He smiles maliciously, tilting his head. He grabs the saw, pulling it off the desk and moving towards Eight.

* But don’t worry. At least you’ll still be alive. Some fragments don’t have that honor.

[maliciousmaladies-blog]

PSA

((Upcoming RP with lastinggaster is going to get a little gorey with dismemberment, so if you don’t like seeing that, i’ll be tagging the posts with dismemberment!

[maliciousmaladies-blog]

lastinggaster:

Aw, hell.

Eight can tell where this is going.

He’s getting tired of people trying to rummage around inside him. Even the sight of the knives is deeply unsettling.

* …Have you? Huh. I’ve started to notice that too.

Nice. Smooth. Not at all suspicious-sounding. It’s cool. This is cool.

*I wonder why. Maybe there’s uh. Something going on with…timelines?

…

He swallows nervously. Looking once again for some way to break out. Panic is setting in.

He counts himself lucky that the last bastard to take a knife to him had decided to leave him semi-immortal as a result. Though “Despair” still can’t quite figure out of that’s going to be good or bad for him in the long run.

Especially in these kinds of scenarios.

* Perhaps so.

He returns to rummaging, looking for.. a specific tool.

* I don’t particularly mind, though. More potential... subjects to inspect, really.

* How long have you been here, I wonder...?

... Aha. He pulls out a relatively long blade- something that had been buried at the bottom of the drawer. He sets it on the desk and shifts slightly to look in a different drawer.

There’s a fucking bone saw sitting on the desk. That’s great. Just wonderful.

* In any case, I’m sure you’re eager to get out of here, no?

* I’d better get a move on, then, with collecting my... samples.

* Tell me, you don’t mind missing a leg, do you? I’ve been short on them, lately.

[maliciousmaladies-blog]

lastinggaster:

He squints. He sure does. But from the sound of it, this guy has been around a while. He has no clue weather or not this dude might know somebody hes…dealt with before. Best to use some other name to be safe.

If there’s an issue, being tied to a table is not a position he would like to be in should this be one of the many with a grudge.

* Uh.

* …Despair?

Stupid name. He hates that name. But it’s the designation he was given, and the first thing that comes to mind.

* Do I get yours?

He cranes his neck to try to get a look at what has been written down.

Interesting. He jots down a few more notes- it’s easy for Eight to discern what he’s writing down. He’s not exactly trying to hide it, after all. He’s writing down information on Eight- immediately on the page, Eight would notice simple information, such as his height, his weight, and things that might let him be “classified.” He’s written down the designation “Despair” and a few notes on Eight’s personality.

Such as irritable and impatient.

* ... Hm.

* My designation is Malice.

He sets the notepad down on the operating table, next to Eight, and turns towards the desk. He opens a drawer and starts to rummage. There’s a distinct sound of metal tools clinking with each other.

* Do you know what I find absolutely fascinating, Despair?

* We’re all derived from the same person. Maybe not the same “Version” of W.D. Gaster, but in the end, that links us all. We’re all still him, in one way or another.

* And yet, intrinsically, we’re all still so different. And I’ve been seeing a lot more of us around.

* I can’t help but wonder why...?

He pulls out a small knife from the drawer, examining it. It’s metal flashes against the rooms lights- it looks extremely sharp. Malice shakes his head and sets it back in the desk.

[maliciousmaladies-blog]

lastinggaster:

About time. He’s spent his spare time trying to wriggle free. He hasn’t got very far.

Eight glances up at the newcomer, sighing- a little with relief. He was getting bored.

He takes in the details. Hmm. A face mask and a lab coat.

He does not have a good feeling about this one. Last time he met somebody like this he ended up stabbing them. He wonders if this will be the case again.

* Oh yes, I’m having a jolly fucking time laying here like a piece of meat.

* Am I getting some explanation as to whats going on here, or have you just come out to be a snide little bitch?

He stares at Eight as he speaks, pulling out a small notepad and jotting something down.

* Intrinsically speaking, you’re an insect who got caught in a web.

... He smiles and hums happily, inspecting the other fragment. He rests a claw on a nearby desk. A scuttling noise echoes through the room, with the hand-centipede crawling up onto the desk and placing the syringe near Malice’s hand.

* I assume you have a designation?