Banshee: My character will mourn the death of yours.
@animarisoluta
Life didn’t go on forever. Papyrus had known that, and yet at the same time it seemed like an impossibility. Monsters lived, fell down, died, but never anyone in Papyrus’ world. No one close to him. Death wasn’t something that touched his life, nor was mourning.
Or maybe it was, in timelines that were RESET. He didn’t remember any of those, though.
He never thought that his brother would be his first encounter with mortality.
Papyrus was curled on the ground, so close to his bed yet without the energy to fully make it there. Instead he lay beside it, the ground hand and uncomfortable, but he couldn’t find it in him to pull himself up and into bed. He barely noticed it above the ache in his soul, with each pulse within him bringing a stab of pain.
Magic still hummed in his body, holding his bones together, keeping him alive, despite the fact that it felt like his soul would shatter if someone nudged him. It hurt; it felt like needles stabbing into his joints, grinding around his bones. It was too much.
His brother was dead.
Papyrus was alone.
And yet he was still alive.
It wasn’t fair. He didn’t want to continue without his brother. He didn’t want to keep moving on when every shift of his leaden limbs felt like a shock. He just wanted his brother back. He wanted to curl up close to the other skeleton, press his head into his chest, and cry and cry until there weren’t any tears left, and he’d have his brother’s arms around him to comfort him, and he’d tell Papyrus that everything would be alright, and that he’d never have to be alone.
There was a point in the shouting where Papyrus no longer remembered what they were originally arguing about. His bones burned, an angry flush stinging his face. Volume control was shot as he matched tone with Serif, trying to shout over him more than he tried to make a logical argument. All the while he fought the urge to break into frustrated tears.
Papyrus wasn’t used to feeling such intense anger toward the other skeleton. Eventually he snapped, burying his face in his gloves and letting out a wordless scream.
“SHUT UP!”
He burst out, throwing his hands away from his face. His voice wavered as he spoke, his shouting the only reason he managed to keep from breaking into tears.
“SHUT UP, STOP IT! YOU AREN’T EVEN MY REAL BROTHER, SHUT UP!”
As soon as the words flew from his mouth, he clapped a hand over his mouth. He regretted them. That wasn’t fair, that wasn’t true, that wasn’t what he really thought.
He didn’t stick around to see Serif’s reaction to it.
Papyrus spun on his heel and ran. No apologies, no backtracking, nothing at all. He just fled the room, not stopping until his own door slammed behind him. Coward. His gloves scrubbed over his face, and the tears finally burst forth as he let out another yell, the sound breaking into a sob. Coward. Serif had done nothing but act like a brother to him, treat him kindly, protect him even, and it took just a heated moment for Papyrus to take all of that and throw it right into his face.
O Hero: I will write about my character mourning yours
@animarisoluta
No no no, this was wrong, this was all wrong.
Papyrus closed his eye sockets, and immediately snapped them open again. Every time his eyes closed, he could see dust sifting through his fingers, clinging to the rough material of his gloves. A chill ran down his spine and he shivered, scrubbing his hands together, bone scraping on bone as if it would dispel the memory of his brother’s dust on him. The dust in the jar cradled in his lap right now.
(He’d discarded the gloves shortly after, unable to deal with Serif’s remains on him.)
(Though how fitting that would be.)
His brother was dead.
He was dead.
A small gasp escaped him and he jerked his knees up, close to his body, pressing his forehead to the jar. It hurt. He couldn’t be dead, he just couldn’t.
“WHY. WHY, W H Y.”
His voice echoed sharp in the empty room, making him flinch and squeeze closer to the jar, as if he could leech some sort of comfort from the dust. He began to sob then, loud and unsuppressed. His body shook, rocked back and forth, breath came in short quick gulps of air. He cried until he tired himself out, and his cries tapered off into pitiful whines.
He laid down on his side, the jar hugged to his chest. It was too much to drag himself into bed tonight, so the ground would have to do. The dust would have to be spread, and the proper respect that his brother deserved given… later. Papyrus couldn’t begin to even think about doing that now.
Papyrus didn’t like what people said about his brother.
Yes, he was originally from a different timeline, but that didn’t make Serif any less of his brother. And when strangers told him whether or not Serif was deserving of his love based off of some deeds that they claimed that he’d done was upsetting to hear. They told him that Serif was dangerous; they said that Serif had killed.
They said that Serif was a bad person, and could not be helped.
A small whine escaped as he thought about those words now. Papyrus didn’t even know if what they said was true. He didn’t know how he felt about if it was true.
He curled his hands into fists, rapped them against his femurs, frustrated and unable to contain it within himself. It didn’t matter! Well, it did, because he didn’t want Serif to kill anyone, but at the same time it didn’t change the fact that Serif was his brother, and Papyrus couldn’t turn his back on his own brother! Not for anything.
That was when Papyrus left his room, to seek out Serif. When he found him, he wrapped his arms around the other and pulled him close. He didn’t think that Serif was even aware of any questions on his mind, or that the hug was a silent decision on his part, that regardless of what anyone said about Serif, Papyrus accepted him as his brother.
They were sitting on the coffee table in her living room, placed in a rather ornate, pink vase. They seemed to brighten up the room, considering not may flowers grew in Snowdin... She often wondered where he got them. She knew there were flowers in Waterfall. Even then, she loved to look at them while sewing or knitting in the late evenings. The scent of tea and blossoms was exceptionally calming, and it seemed to ease the process of her work.
So, when he asked about them, GiGi couldn’t help but brighten at the thought. The ever present roseate glow of her sockets were warm, and her smile rather wide.
{❅ I love them. If only they could last forever, but being flowers... I’ll try to make them last as much as I can. Thank you. You always seem to know what makes me smile, Serif. }
How many times had he been to the Wishing Room, to look up at the crystals scattered across the cave roof? How many times had he pretended they were stars, just as so many other did? In the darkness, he could pretend that their was no rocky ceiling above his head, and that the twinkling objects above his head shone with a light of their own, rather than reflecting some light source beyond the dark room.
He didn’t think there could ever be a sight so perpetually pretty. Except for maybe the real night sky itself.
When the barrier came down, he was thrilled to see the sun for the very first time, big and bright and casting a warm glow over the surface world–the surface! He was on the surface! Papyrus didn’t think that his soul could handle the happiness bursting from it, an excitement that made it glow bright, almost a mini-sun in its own right. There was one thing that could make it better, and no matter what he would make it happen.
So when he and Serif found themselves inside, the sun beginning to slip out of sight, Papyrus knew that he had to get them outside.
“COME ON, BROTHER, I HAVE TO SHOW YOU SOMETHING!”
He refused to elaborate, smiling broadly and tugging at Serif’s arm with an insistence that could not be brushed away. Come look, come see, hurry, hurry! It can’t wait! He pulled and tugged at his brother, beaming and glowing with that same excitement for their first night on the surface.
He didn’t answer any questions about what was so important to see; Papyrus only had a very vague idea of what it was.
The sky was perfect, with the day finally falling into the night. Yet it wasn’t dark, like nights in the Underground could get. Millions of dots twinkled up ahead, like a bright canvas of light on deep blue velvet. Papyrus froze at the sight, sockets wide as he craned his neck to gaze up at the sky. His grip was still tight on his brother’s arm, forgetting to release Serif in his amazement at the sight above them.
The Wishing Room was incomparable to this.
And he got to see it with his brother. Wowie. He looked down at Serif, smiling warmly at him.
“SEE? DO YOU SEE, BROTHER, LOOK!”
He could stay out here looking at the stars all night.
"Papyrus," Serif began, hesitating before he leaned down and picked up the parka, shaking the dust off it, "just because someone pilfers my coat from me does and tosses dust on it, does not mean that I have died." His voice was calm, controlled, but there was a slight warmth to his tone as well.
He was visibly relieved to see the other, but he was still shaken up. He scrubbed his gloved hand over his cheekbones, looking down, not at the jacket and not at Serif.
“I THOUGHT-- I REALLY THOUGHT THEY HAD HURT YOU, BROTHER.”
Especially since some strangers apparently had very negative opinions about him.
