Fortunately, having been to the Surface before, Roller isn't immediately blinded by the sun.
Unfortunately, nothing prepares him for the anxiety-inducing sensation of standing on land and being so high up in the atmosphere at the same time.
He panics at first, tempted to crawl on all fours just to find his center of gravity.
…But none of these other skeletons seem to notice (or share) his predicament. It doesn't seem to be a problem for them.
He stands still until the feeling passes, unwilling to fall into pieces over nothing.
The dizziness does get better-- after a minute or three and a drink from his water flask. Even if he isn't exactly 100% at the moment.
And then, he's handed a net and the bug hunt begins.
He makes sure that no one is looking before he begins crawling across yet another bridge, bug net clacking on the wood below.
Roller is fully aware that all of this makes him look like a moron, but… he accidently looks past the boards in the bridge.
The empty expanse of sky below him is limitless, infinite. A void of seafoam green that makes his knees buckle and his chest go heavy. This abyss would swallow him whole if he let it, and nobody would hear his screams.
…He just can't bear to walk across these islands normally. His self-preservation won't allow it.
Roller ungracefully clambers onto the next island, sweating and breathless. He soaks in a bit more sun from his starfish position in the grass before he stands up.
A butterfly floats in front of his ribcage. He scrambles to try and catch it in his net-- and catches his own boot.
He hasn't had much experience with catching bugs before. Flies ran circles around him, roly-polies were too small for his boxy fingers, and he wasn't sure if worms counted. Do worms count? Are worms bugs? He has no clue, and it's not like he knows who to ask.
Regardless of bug-identification semantics, Roller attempts to chase this particular winged thing down, bound and determined to make it back to the others with more than one butterfly in his inventory.
Roller tries to catch his breath in the grass, taking another sip of water. He'd never had this much sunlight before. Not even during that whole "Golden Dorado" fiasco in Central Canada-- but then again, it had been winter at the time. He was glad that he'd thought to pack three water flasks this time. It was trees and grass and sky for miles around, and there didn't seem to be any kind of lake or water station anywhere.
How many months had it been since he'd last seen the sun? Six? Ten? There was no way to tell. He couldn't keep up with the time Underground; it all blurred together without something physical to hold onto. And when was the last time he ran? For fun too, no less.
He feels like a kid again. And something tells him that if he looked in the mirror, he'd look like a child, too.
Roller sits up in the grass, letting the cool wind blow in through one ear hole and out the other. He cringes. As unnerving as it is to feel wind on the back of his eyeballs, it helps him cool down without moving into the shade, so he takes it.
On a nearby grey stone, another one of those flat butterflies with the "pixelated" wings settles down to rest. Or maybe just to taunt him. Him and his… two butterflies. He was pretty sure he'd caught two. And this third one was practically within arm's reach. All he had to do was get it in the net, and it'd be his.
…But then again, he couldn't look at it after it was in his inventory. Roller's teeth quirk up thoughtfully. He can actually see how the patterns on the wings mirror and connect from where he's sitting, now that the goofy thing is (mostly) still.
"…You know what," he thinks, settling down for the long term. "No one's going to care how many butterflies I catch. But while I'm here, I might as well memorize what these things look like." He takes a drink of water. "It's not like I see them every day."
And that's all he does for the remainder of his time. Walk after butterflies (which he, belatedly, realizes works better than running) and take mental notes of their structure and how they look in flight.
Eventually, time runs out and everyone has to gather back at the main island. Roller stretches, three butterflies in his inventory, almost out of water, and very much tired. He sighs.
The skeleton makes his way to the first of the five bridges he crossed and pauses.
With his bones spent and his sun-soaked mind at ease…
…Roller crosses each bridge with more courage than he had the first time.
Undertale by Toby Fox
Undertale Brittle by Grotto-kay
Underfell Brittle by Grotto-kay
The event in question: www.deviantart.com/red8bit/art…
