[Frisk hears the cold, bleak announcement, and it tugs at something inside of them; just as they'd feared it would. It's not his fault, really. They watch a palette of red, viscous blood spatter, and the only thing that feels out of place is the fact that it's not arcing out from them, soaked up through their nostrils, a hot knife of pain that always precedes the sound of breaking glass.]
[They'd prefer it if it was.]
[At least then, they don't have to choose their consequences.]
[The pair of monkeys streaking their way? That means they do. And so Frisk stills the tremble in their hand and thinks, this is their consequence, to give substance to Kittu, to make it mean something other than a name that makes their life hell. It may as well be a hell of their own making.]
[The first monkey brings a club down on their head. They sidestep it, because monkeys are dumb and slow compared to magical projectiles, and slam their knife into its shoulder, full to the hilt.]
[There's the blood, spurting across their face, more familiar than not. Wordless, Frisk yanks out the knife and backs up before the second monkey has a chance to strike.]
no subject
[Frisk hears the cold, bleak announcement, and it tugs at something inside of them; just as they'd feared it would. It's not his fault, really. They watch a palette of red, viscous blood spatter, and the only thing that feels out of place is the fact that it's not arcing out from them, soaked up through their nostrils, a hot knife of pain that always precedes the sound of breaking glass.]
[They'd prefer it if it was.]
[At least then, they don't have to choose their consequences.]
[The pair of monkeys streaking their way? That means they do. And so Frisk stills the tremble in their hand and thinks, this is their consequence, to give substance to Kittu, to make it mean something other than a name that makes their life hell. It may as well be a hell of their own making.]
[The first monkey brings a club down on their head. They sidestep it, because monkeys are dumb and slow compared to magical projectiles, and slam their knife into its shoulder, full to the hilt.]
[There's the blood, spurting across their face, more familiar than not. Wordless, Frisk yanks out the knife and backs up before the second monkey has a chance to strike.]