lifeaftr | [day 13AUG] wake up, you're a drama queen

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[day 13AUG] wake up, you're a drama queen

Who: Ichimatsu + ota
What: A man goes looking for cats. He gets one... in a sense.
When: August 13
Where: Enso D6
Warnings: Catastrophe, warnings to be added if appropriate

--

"I'm going out," he had told whichever of his brothers had been listening at the time. It might have been both, or perhaps it was neither -- if he were to guess, it would be the latter. Maybe it would have seemed a little odd to hear from the reclusive Ichimatsu, let alone in the middle of the day, when the sun was out and bearing down without relief. If so, Ichimatsu had likely shuffled off into the jungle without opening the floor to questions.

The truth is, he can't stand it anymore. It's been nearly two weeks of nothing but his brothers and a whole lot of strangers for company.

Ichimatsu needs to know if there are cats on this island.

He doubts it. Other than the fierce wildlife variety, that is -- tigers or leopards or whatever, he'd take it. Ichimatsu isn't picky. He'd just like to spend time in the company of something that won't force him to talk, or look at him like the sweaty garbage he is. If that means getting eaten by a leopard, well... no pain, no gain.

He begins at (i.) the pools south of the Storyteller's temple, to bottle and purify some water for his trip. From there, he picks a direction and goes. West, as it would so happen. With his hoodie tied around his waist and his knapsack drawn over one shoulder, he sets out on his search.

To be honest, it's all right with him if he doesn't find cats. He just needs some time to himself.

Ichimatsu spends some time simply (ii.) exploring the jungle. His knife finds its way through several trunks of trees to mark his path, and once or twice, his fingernails might be employed to do the job instead. Yes, really. A nap under the shade to escape the heat for an hour or so, or to hell with it: perhaps he simply sits on a rock, whittling away at a hunk of broken-off branch to ease his boredom.

It's just barely getting dark when Ichimatsu gives up his search for cat-kind, with less than half a bottle of water left, and begins searching for his nearest marking to follow his path home. Funnily enough, though his eyes catch a streak of clawmarks in the bark of a lush tree, something feels like it's pulling him in the complete opposite direction.

(iii.) Literally.

It's with a startled grunt that Ichimatsu jerks away from the physical pull, slamming into the jungle floor. He scrabbles at the grass, looking over his shoulder just in time to see one of his sandals come loose. A mass of black energy pulsates in an open clearing just a short distance away; a miniature, billowing cloud, a typhoon contained in its own vortex. He's never seen anything like it. A gravitational pull pounds through his skull like a sharp, sucking beat of tinnitus, and suddenly Ichimatsu registers what's going on.

Shit. He's gonna die.

That's fine, he thinks. He doesn't care. And yet he digs his fingers deeper into the soil, dragging himself forward inch by grueling inch until he can sling one arm around a tree trunk and hold on tight, his eyes screwing shut. What the hell is that thing? What'll happen if he lets go? He figures he'll find out eventually, but...

Yeah, he'll admit it. He's sort of scared to find out. So he grits his teeth and he holds on, weighing his options to the last.

Slowly, evening begins to fall across the island.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

They just want to be alone. Is that too much to ask for?

Apparently so. A deserted island should make escape fairly easy, and yet, Chara's found it difficult to achieve such isolation. When they pull themself away from Frisk, they're bound to wander across someone else in the wild. It's grating.

But it certainly doesn't call for an abrupt shift in gravitational pull.

Their first indication that something's wrong is the tugging. Something that has them staggering in a specific direction, eyes narrowing as they pull their knife from it's sheath. The staggering becomes a stumble, which becomes a blind run.

Really, they're not even aware Ichimatsu is there until they've been completely swept off their feet, uncharacteristically cursing up a storm as they fly past his face, clawing for purchase on the back of his jumper.

In other words- hey. Sup.

Sup.

Except Ichimatsu is so wrapped up in his own peril that he fails to notice anyone else until they're a screaming, cursing blur flying past his head -- though he definitely notices when Chara's hands catch purchase on the back of his undershirt, nearly choking him to death with a violent yank. Sputtering out a few colorful words himself, Ichimatsu fumbles at his collar with one hand as the other tightens against the tree, straining to look over his shoulder at whatever's trying to suffocate him.

It's some freaking -- kid.

Are you serious? His luck must be the biggest asshole to grace the planet. It's gonna kill him and some random kid.

He can't exactly shove the brat off or tell them to let go of him, as tempting as it is. Shit. He's got to do this. With a growl, he lets go of his collar to try and twist enough to throw his arm around Chara's waist and brace them a bit more steadily against his side. Sorry, kid -- he knows it sucks having to be this close to him, and he doesn't like the physical contact either, but if he dies from asphyxiation then you're going too.

But since we're getting familiar with each other...

"Who the hell are you?!"

They can acknowledge, in some small part of their mind, that his arm about them may be the difference between discomfort and actual demise. It's that small part that ensures he doesn't get stabbed- but it doesn't stop them from snarling, attempting to single-handedly pull their way up his shirt to take hold of the tree.

As it stands, they also blame him. Trust an adult to screw up something as simple as walking around without getting into trouble.

"What did you do, you stinking idiot!" Seriously, he's almost as musty as Sans, which is...really saying something. It's called...soap.

By all means, get the hell off of him. Ichimatsu is only all too glad to boost them to the tree as much as he's able, and he snarls indignantly the entire way.

"I was just walking by, you little..." He bites his tongue down so hard on the insult that it hurts. Ugh, he hates kids. Not only did they not answer his question, they give a response like that as thanks for saving their ass. If this were just some random asshole, he could tell them to screw off and die. Maybe even kick them off the tree himself.

Whatever. It's a pain, but he doesn't want to have a kid's demise on his dead conscience, even if it's a little snot like this. He grinds his teeth for a few moments before gritting out, in a much leveller tone.

"Look, shut up and listen. Can you reach my backpack?"

It's a good thing he shut himself up, because he's three seconds away from them stabbing his hands and sending him off to his doom. Chara's a little less inclined to feel guilty over contemplating his demise- if anything, they have things to do. Someone they must ensure they get back to.

If they have to make a sacrifice to do that, they will.

Twisting their head around, they peer over at his backpack- in comparison to his flailing body, it's disconcertingly still. Which makes this judgement easier. "Potentially-- why?"

It's amazing, how giving up on the convenient release of death instead leaves Ichimatsu to rely on one simple fact: he's the most sensible Matsuno alive on the island right now. What a horrifying responsibility. Still, he knows he can probably get them out of this if he thinks about it hard enough. If they can just drag themselves far away enough from this black hole...

"Big pocket. Get the rope out."

Only about four feet, but it's better than nothing. Ichimatsu is fumbling in his sweats pocket for something, and lets out another bitter curse upon realizing that it's no longer there. Must have fallen out... shit. He glances sharply around the jungle floor.

And there's his knife... about five feet away.

"Dammit... I need that."

To get to the bag, they have to move, a little. Shift somewhat, so they're half slung across his back, shoving their blade back into it's sheath so they have a free hand for their search.

There's no way in hell they trust him enough to let go of this tree.

"Too bad; you also need to live. You'll get over it."

Or you'll die- really, they aren't picky. Do what you must.

"What am I doing with this."

He wouldn't trust Ichimatsu either, kid. In fact, there's an almost scornful sound that tears from his throat at their declaration -- he needs to live. Ha. It's been a while since he's heard that one, and it's still bullshit. But yeah, he's already made his decision to make an effort here, so he shimmies to the base of the tree trunk to give Chara a better angle at his knapsack, suppressing the instinct to jerk from their unfamiliar touch.

"Need it to get us out of here," he snaps irritably. As for the stupid rope: "Just hold on to the end. I'm going for the knife."

Is he trusting them, a prepubescent child, not to let go of him, a full-grown man?

Not really. It's more that he barely cares if they did.

Ah yes. A cunning plan; just hold the rope and take the weight of a fully grown adult, as he swings wildly back and forth behind their back, in order to grab a knife. Truly, they have no issues with this plan, whatsoever.

Haha yeah no, that isn't going to happen.

"This is ridiculous." They snarl, but they're already moving. Coiling the rope tightly about their wrist, shoving the other end at him.

The moment Ichimatsu has hold of it, they're shoving his arm away, and letting go of the tree.

You better hold tight, sir. Because they will come back if not.

And then they'll find you.

You've got to be fucking kidding him.

Ichimatsu's eyes widen, as much as they're ever able, as he fumbles stupidly for a tighter grasp on the rope. A sound mixed between a furious bark and a stuttered objection breaks out of him, and Chara is well on their way to floating off before he's able to form words out of it.

"Are you stupid? What the hell do you think I am?!"

Reliable?

This insane fucking kid. He hates them already, with these theatrics. Don't they get that Ichimatsu is trying to keep them alive for whatever reason? Despite the unrestrained fury in his voice, Ichimatsu grips the rope and twists until it's looped several times around his wrist, angrily choking his circulation.

Fine, asshole. Get the damn knife.

"Hurry, then."

It's not so much floating off as it is outright free-falling- sideways. They don't have the height or the girth of a full grown man, and so the pull catches them far too easily, taking Chara to the end of the rope in seconds. As the line goes taught, it tightens about their wrist, leaving them jerking as their body spins.

Later, it might hurt. Right now, they're not paying attention. Their free hand grasps at a clump of grass, tearing up greenery and dirt as they put a halt to their spin- bluntly ignoring the inane barks from...overhead, as it were. Knife. Where is the knife?

There. Like everything, it's not swayed by the same pull as their bodies. One, rough swipe, and they've got it in hand, roughly shoving it down their shirt before their fingers are pulled open, and they lose it again.

"Pull, moron."

"Yeah, yeah --" he grits out, only sparing half the annoyance he usually would for being called a moron by someone half his age. Part of it is sheer concentration, moving with the motions as to make sure all of the flailing doesn't rip his shoulder out of its socket. He's already anticipating the bruising on his wrist. It's dawning on him that if he'd gotten his way, the kid probably would have ended up letting him go. If not purposely, then out of sheer incapability not to.

Half of him is even angrier about it, now. Whatever. He's got the chance, he may as well keep pressing for it.

"This is probably gonna hurt, so hold on. Don't complain about it."

He gives them a few moments to process the warning. Then, with a mighty heave, he pulls his rope-bearing arm up around the tree to lie parallel with the other, and begins working it off of his wrist. Once the loops are free, he grips the rope in both hands, braces his shoulder against the tree, and starts tugging the end until he's slowly hauling the kid in on his improvised pulley system.

It'll be up to Chara to grab onto the tree again once they're close. He's out of hands, here.

It isn't that he's following either of them, or merely here for the show of two struggling to survive the inexorable pull of a black hole. Sans was just taking an ill-advised stroll for the purposes of finding somewhere quiet to think (or nap), either unaware of the potential danger of doing so alone or not caring too much.

Which is when he felt something that was distinctly out of place -- not just in a lush jungle, but anywhere on terra firma.

Sans is little more than dust glued together with magic in the shape of bones -- when he first arrived, the knapsack with his name stitched on it weighed almost as much as he himself did -- to avoid getting pulled in himself, he's much further away, with a tree between himself and them and, of course, the catastrophe.

Their situation looks, uh. Pretty dire. Even with rope, Sans isn't so sure they've got a snowball's chance in a Hotland -- their energy might run out long before they put sufficient distance between themselves and that... impossibility.

Sans finds he couldn't turn his back on this even if his own life depended on it.

Weirdest thing.

"Wow," he calls out from 'above', giving a little wave around the trunk of his tree, "This situation really sucks, huh? You two look like you could use a hand."

It hurts like hell.

Their wrist and shoulder in particular feel like they're on fire. They grab further up the rope, pulling their body up in an attempt to lighten the pressure- but then, that's a minimal issue. Back to the tree; once they've reached it, they'll need to find where to go next. Pain is simply a secondary problem; shoved back and away both consciously and through the flow of adrenaline in their body, teeth bared in what is, all in all, a rather ugly expression.

It's DETERMINED. Right up until the point where Sans speaks, and they abruptly lose their grip. For the second time, their right arm and wrist take the brunt of the force.

They don't make a sound. Red eyes stare dagger-like in the skeleton's direction, and it's impossible to tell if they're angry at him for making a joke- or just being there at all.

You can't be serious.

Ichimatsu doesn't even have time to react to the skeleton showing up, really. The kid makes an effort, but their strength gives and they snap back; Ichimatsu muffles a curse between his locked teeth as his own forearm, wrapped back up in one loop for anchoring, jerks with them and bangs against the trunk. Fuck, he's really gonna bruise. The damn brat's probably getting it even worse.

And they aren't complaining about it. Somehow that just darkens his hopes further, even if he's the one that just told them not to.

Once he's taken a moment to work the pressure off of his wrist, he glares up at that tree with the skeletal hand flopping about from behind it. The hell is that supposed to be? The voice is vaguely familiar, but honestly, he doesn't give a shit. He'll deal with whoever that is later.

"Shut up! I don't have time for you, too!" he bellows, setting back on the rope to reel his passenger in again. If the kid can't freaking help themself, he'll have to figure something out.

He wasn't serious, but now he is.

Sans doesn't really care for adding to the weight of a situation, especially if he's gotta stick around for the fallout. Which-- well, technically, he doesn't have to stick around for this one, except for the fact that he has to.

He can't explain it, or why the very second he sees the kid lose their grip and start to fall causes the bottom of something in him to plummet, except that his bones feel cold and Ichimatsu's bellow sounds like it's coming from the other end of a very long tunnel. He doesn't even think, Blue Magic is already seeking to saturate the kid's soul, trying to catch them against a greater pull that would steal his breath if he had any.

Sans wheezes, and hugs the trunk of the tree he lays against, and then realizes that if he's going to get one, he has to get both, because there's still a rope tethering them together.

His sockets are wide and dark as his skull hangs around the edge, peering 'down' at the two of them, bright beads of condensed magic dotting the crown. Can skeletons look bewildered? Sans does, when he attempts to divert that blue magic to catch a second target -- difficult, but as his experiences in a certain dusty castle proved, not impossible.

It's quite possible that they are in trouble here. Ichimatsu certainly isn't the biggest human they've seen; more than likely, they're far more capable of continuing to struggle even after he's exhausted himself. And unlike him, they are not an adult. They cannot assist him past potentially dragging themself across the ground, using themself as a counterweight at the next tree 'above' them as he drags himself after them.

They have a brief moment, in which to consider this. And then a very familiar sensation seeps into them.

Again, they stay quiet. But their SOUL leaps from their chest in response, a vivid red that shifts to deep blue, almost too quickly for the eye to see. There's no shout. There's no jerk of surprise. They don't look wildly about for the source of what's happening to them.

Chara continues looking straight at sans. And there is no fear, not at the situation, nor at his action, to be seen.

Chara isn't wrong, and if their life weren't on the line, Ichimatsu would be the first to admit it: he isn't in shape. Not as much as Jyushimatsu or Todomatsu or even Karamatsu are. Fuck, he thinks, his muscles trembling -- fuck. What a stupid thing to think about, his brothers, at a time like this. How right now, he wouldn't mind getting to see any of them ever again.

Jyushimatsu or Todomatsu or even Karamatsu.

It's the same old question. What's the point of dying when he's still stupid and soft enough to think things like that?

But then, what's the point of living when he can't even save one stinking kid?

If there are few things that Ichimatsu does excel at, it's being stubborn until his very last. Maybe that's why he's unwilling to give up, even when his grip around the tree starts to slip. That's why he grits his teeth and growls into the dirt when his arm tingles a numb, throbbing beat, and he knows he must be losing grip there, too. Screw this fucking black hole. Maybe this kid is willing to go silently, but it can drag him kicking and screaming.

He doesn't expect to get dragged, kicking and screaming, so abruptly.

It's so unexpected that he freezes, his fingers uncurling from the tree at the horrible, icy feeling of something inside of him solidifying into a hard mass. Gulping back a yelp, Ichimatsu clutches at his chest just long enough for the vertigo to go unnoticed. And when it slams into him, it does so full force. Ichimatsu swings wildly at the air with his fists, his feet, anything to convey exactly how displeased he is to be gravity's plaything -- just about the only extremity he doesn't flail around is the arm still tethered to Chara.

He hasn't even realized he's moving away from the black hole, not towards it.

Hissing and yowling is all he's got left.

See, Ichimatsu, he's reacting in a way Sans considers appropriate -- annoying and inconvenient, but appropriate under the circumstances. The way Kidwun is looking steadily right at him, though, that chills him to his nonexistent marrow. That's not normal. But then, there's nothing normal about what Sans is doing either, fighting against the catastrophe's pull like his life depends on it (and that he cares).

Alarmed by how swiftly he feels his limit being reached, Sans doesn't wait, he just jumps off the tree trunk the moment they begin to lift past him, latching onto the back of Ichimatsu's hoodie while the other hand points in the direction he intends for them to continue going -- away from the black hole.

Don't accidentally clock him with your flailing, buddy, or at least not hard enough to make all their days a lot worse.

Their trip is brief, with one or two moments where Sans's aim is a little off, resulting in the two humans getting flogged by a bit of vegetation, perhaps, but eventually their 'forward' momentum slows, the force lifting them off the ground flagging.

They stop fighting the pull.

There's no point, for one. As the rope goes slack, there's no point to it; no way to wriggle out of what's gripped them. But it's not the black hole pulling them in- and they know that, too. Sans joins the two of them in their merry sailing through the jungle, and that? That is the only thing that spurs them into any action.

Yanking their way viciously up the rope, using that as the propulsion necessary to take advantage of where their SOUL is being directed to. A child's body veers right in front of Sans, taking any lashings from the overgrowth they speed through, right up until they stop heading forwards, and start to descend.

And again, Chara doesn't hesitate at all. They don't ask for permission- in those hasty moments before they crash into the ground, they're already wrapping their arms around his shoulders, curling over the slope of his skull.
If he dies for their sake, they'll never forgive themself.
He doesn't need another crack to join the one on the ridge of his eye socket.

At some point, Ichimatsu, too, falls back into doing what he does best.

He just lets it happen to him.

Comically, it might be the violent tug against the back of his hoodie choking him again, like some kitten instinct to go limp when grabbed by the scruff. It might just be the hilarious irony of catching himself fighting back against that uninvited, unwelcome weight in his middle when it's not that different, not really, except in that it's trying to push him somewhere, not weigh him down into immobility.

Either way, he's pushed, and he's lashed by twigs and vegetation, and his arm yanks and he can't stop thinking about how badly this stupid damn kid has to be getting fucked up with every yank against his screaming wrist.

At some point, when their trajectory begins to slow, the rope tugs at a more consistent pull, and it occurs to him to look over his shoulder. What he sees is the kid crawling all over the... the skeleton, who's familiar, but fuck if it's important -- and he realizes they're bracing themself. Because they're not just slowing, they're all descending. Ah.

Well, he's useless for everything else. Who cares, now?

He twists around, the rope pulling so tight that it pins his arm to his side, and throws his remaining one around the skeleton, too. Somehow it's even shorter than he is, and it doesn't escape Ichimatsu what a ridiculous picture they must make, two humans bracing a dressed-up dead thing against a fall, but he's doing it more for the kid, anyway.

If they're lucky, maybe he'll be the one to hit the ground.

If he's lucky, maybe he'll break his spine.

He doesn't care anymore, either way. He tried. Let a good person care about it working out or not.

There's a lot happening here that Sans isn't too happy about.

Well, besides the danger they're escaping from, there's now the danger they might crash, because for some reason, the kid's decided to wrap themself around his skull and--

Why are they doing this?

It's crazy, he knows it's impossible, but somehow the... smell? Yeah, maybe it's a smell, the humans are all variably a bit ripe if he's honest, but it's the familiarity that wraps cold fingers around the column of his spine and shakes him. Somehow, he both knows them and doesn't know them, and the dissonance of these things running up against a powerful need to not think about this anymore, that none of this is important makes his skull pound.

A weight, a steady pressure makes his ribcage ache. Sans can't drown, he hasn't the respiratory system to, and yet if he had to describe this, it'd be drowning or at the very least smothering.

Sans makes a brief sound, somewhere between surprise and dismay. The phalanges of one hand fix to part of their sweater.

Maybe he should peel the kid off his skull.

He should.

He can't.

All forward (and downward) motion comes to a dead stop. Maybe finding himself in a tangle of human limbs broke the monster's concentration because after a beat, the weight around their souls lifts, sending the lot of them plummeting the last half-foot to the ground.

Hopefully, no one's wrist or spine is broken, because while Sans might know a thing or two about binding a cut in human flesh, there's a lot else he can't fix.

Edited 2017-09-14 00:45 (UTC)

Hitting the ground is never fun. It's likely to be even less fun for Ichimatsu, laying at the bottom of the pile as he is. The tangled mess of NEET, child and skeleton bounces the once before gravity properly takes it's course- when they come to a rest, it's for good.

No pull from the black hole in the distance. Chara's SOUL, freed from Sans' magic, goes back to a vibrant red, lighting up both skin and bone before it's roughly, and abruptly, shoved back into their chest.

Then it's just a matter of untangling themself as quickly as possible, squirming out of the awkward, almost hug they've seemingly fashioned. Their elbow hits something hard- might have been someone's nose or chin. They don't really care.

They need Out.

"No one asked for your help."

He doesn't get it.

First, the three of them are flying backwards, as if propelled or tied to a chain and dragged at velocity. He's bracing himself to hurt, to break something, and he doesn't have enough time to be afraid of the pain other than an instinctual jump of adrenaline in his stomach.

Then, the three of them stop. Just stop. A suspension in midair that reminds him of the way a baseball thrown straight up hovers, just for a moment, before falling back down to the earth. Only they're not baseballs, and the fall to earth is a lot shorter than whatever height Jyushimatsu's arm is typically capable of achieving. They thud to the ground, and really, Ichimatsu would come out of it spotless if it weren't for the fact that he's at the bottom of the pile.

The skeleton is pretty light. But the kid has flesh to give them some weight, and being at the top just means that Sans's hard ridges dig into Ichimatsu's ribs pretty damn uncomfortably. He wheezes out a grunt at the impact, feels the kid's elbow knock him in the back of the head, which jars his vision a bit but doesn't hurt too badly. He's busy trying to untangle himself in turn, twist his arm out of the rope before the kid scrambles away so quickly they just end up yanking again.

The second his arm is free, Ichimatsu is the one shoving away, springing backwards onto all fours -- all threes, actually, because one of his hands is gripping his chest, where that crawling weight has released him, but lingers inside him like a stinger. Whatever the fuck that was, he hated it.

And it saved his life.

He's not even looking at the kid. His eyes are fixed on their savior as he staggers back up onto two feet, still clutching his middle, trying to place that familiar, slovenly appearance that doesn't reflect very well on his stricken skull-face.

They're right. No one asked for his damn help.

But they both sure as hell got it.

And just like that, they break apart, leaving Sans landing heavily on the seat of his track pants staring uncomprehendingly at his empty hand. He keeps seeing their face, the knowledge, the determination in their stare, and how alien a thing it was that spurred him unthinkingly into action.

The dark Queen of the place he's left behind would toy with people like him, manipulating anything from their emotions to their memories to stir up trouble and sow the seeds of discord, but this compulsion was nothing like that.

For one moment, nothing was more important than saving some kid he doesn't know.

No one asked for your help.

Sans looks up to find both humans looking -- by his own interpretation -- hostile and on alert, and he finds himself getting irritated. It ain't like he gives a damn one way or another if they're grateful, but give him a break. His skull is aching, a dull fog is settling in all around them, and all he wants to do is sleep it off. Why the hell won't they just let him off the hook?

It doesn't occur to Sans that his unreasonable aggravation is extreme and abrupt fatigue, pure and simple.

"Nobody asked for your opinion, either," argues the skeleton, staggering back to his feet with an unsteady wobble. His pounding skull feels like it's full of boulders; Sans holds it upright with one hand while the other gropes blindly for the tree trunk nearby. "You're whining's a little late. You knew exactly what I was doing."

Holy moly, he is so tired.

"How'd-- how'd you," he huffs, giving his head a shake. "Hold up, I'm just gonna--"

Sans drops himself back onto the ground to sit, holding his skull with his hands. Whatever he was going to say, apparently it's not important enough to discuss, let alone remember. The humans are frustrated, scared, glaring at him, but uh, he's too tired to care. He'll just lean against this tree trunk and, yeah, just rest a bit. Can't even remember why it's such a big deal. What, did they want to fall into a black hole? Fine, they can march their tailbones right back into the singularity, for all he cares.

"Gimme a minute, ok?"

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