I get a little warm in my heart [mingle log]

[hellawrath]

Who: anyone looking for some wintery fun!
What: admiring mysterious icy artwork, warming up by campfires, making a fool of yourself while ice skating, snowball fights?? it's a snow party!
When: Jan 14 and on
Where: Enso, in and around the temple ruins
Warnings: snow-based violence

When you've had to deal with a literal apocalypse every single year for a hundred years, a little battle for the sun isn't really gonna grind your gears that much. Sure, the elf twins are still nobly doing their part every day. Lup is keeping several small campfires going inside the temple ruins, as well as periodically blasting two large stone slabs in the main chamber with a Fireball - those babies radiate heat for hours afterwards. And Taako is graciously handing out truly delicious soup from a huge bowl to anyone who asks nicely. Island Walmart is still a thing too, the large scrawled sign declaring this month's name to be The Hot Spot. Looks like it was Lup's turn on the naming.

But they're also just kinda bored of the whole thing? Like, everyone's so focused on preparing, on gathering and planning and training. There's a place for that, and Lup is pretty psyched for the actual fighting, but this pall of doom and purpose that's fallen over the islands as heavily as the snow? Neither of them is here for that.

So anyone who makes their way up to the temple will not only find the usual warm respite from the freezing temperatures, but also - a ten foot tall ice sculpture of a majestic as fuck unicorn rearing on its hind legs. And a smaller one of a figure with long ears hiding its face in the crook of its elbow, arms pointing upwards do we have a single modern day character who knows what dabbing is. Off to the side in a clearing, there's a twenty foot circle of clear ice that's just begging to be skated on. Just don't admire the artwork for too long, or you're gonna get noscoped with a snowball by a pair of horrible winter goblins.

Comments

[ungrieved]

[He complies wordlessly, without complaint, but he does watch her with a peculiar, fixed nature to the way he stares, unblinking. Does she need him? Did she always need him? Does she need him now? Will she always?]

[Mom isn’t here. The people who are must be what keep him from slipping back into the troughs of someone’s suppressed memory.]

Why are you doing this? [he asks at last, now much more articulate.]

[prettypurpleparlor]

[Muffet works with the calm, brisk competence of long practice, spooning some of the impressively large amounts of stew she's been making lately for storage into a roughly-carved wooden bowl and handing it to him along with a small roll. Thanks to the (literal) magic of monster food, they're both still fresh, warm, and tasty despite having been made some time ago.]

Because you were hurting and I could help. Why wouldn't I?

[ungrieved]

You can see me.

[A lot of people can, it turns out, but it's still something of a shock - even more still, when she hands him warm food that shouldn't make his stomach rumble but does all the same.]

[He starts to eat, and soon discovers that he's ravenous.]

[prettypurpleparlor]

[The food is definitely well-made, although Gabe might not be familiar enough with the whole concept to tell. Muffet tilts her head, looking at him thoughtfully.]

Yes, I can- should I not be able to?

[ungrieved]

No. They can’t tell I’m there, unless I make them.

[Unless he tells Mom that there’s a better world, a place where they can be free, and Dad has to consent to putting electric charges to her temples. Unless he slides a purse full of pills just outside Natalie’s door, and she thinks, what the hell? why not?]

[Not unless he tries.]

[prettypurpleparlor]

[She gives a brief, solemn incline of her head.]

I'm sorry to hear that- it sounds a rather lonely and frustrating way to be. Still, this place is different from home for a lot of us, so it wouldn't surprise me to find that most people here can see you quite well.

[ungrieved]

Or maybe I’m just stuck in someone else’s head.

[Stuck in hers. Hers, or Keith’s, or Mira’s. That’s a lot of people to be rattling around in, but he’s inhabited an entire family. This isn’t so different.]

[prettypurpleparlor]

Hm, there's an explanation for our arrival here I hadn't thought of before- that we might all be in someone's head. Though this is a particularly vivid and lengthy dream, if so.

[ungrieved]

Guess you’re just crazy, then.

[There. That’s a bit of his old self. A grin, a piping of that standard obnoxious kind of reply, and he almost feels normal again. Even if he never really was normal, ha.]

[prettypurpleparlor]

[Muffet smiles wryly, apparently not terribly offended.]

The two are hardly mutually exclusive- even if I'm crazy, I still have a great deal of questions about this situation.

[ungrieved]

[It's funnier when they're offended. She probably has a limit somewhere, buried in that flattened exterior. Now that he has a goal, a focus, he aims to find it. He picks at the food slightly slower, now that he's a little bit sated, watching her closely.]

What kind of questions?

[prettypurpleparlor]

[Well, he can certainly try, but after a year behind a bakery counter dealing with humanity's frequently demanding and irrational approach to anyone who looks like a retail employee (even if they also look like a spider)... Let's just say Muffet takes most things in stride.]

Mm, I suspect most of them can be summarized as 'why' and 'how', really. I'd ask the Storyteller about them, but generally when I try we hit the limit of what they don't know or won't say- and they're working hard enough as it is, lately.

[ungrieved]

Do you like them? [he asks abruptly, with every intention of digging into every vein he can. Latch onto every possibility. Inevitably, something will expose itself.]

The Storyteller.

[prettypurpleparlor]

I find them rather pleasant company, generally. Why do you ask?

[ungrieved]

'Cause.

[He shovels in another mouthful of food and munches away at it as opposed to answering the question in any kind of reasonable fashion. Now that he's not freezing his ass off, he's starting to feel a bit more like himself.]

[Thank god.]

[prettypurpleparlor]

[Well, at least he's eating. Taking the increased amount of energy as a good sign, Muffet asks:]

What about you? Any particular feelings on our narratively-inclined host?

[ungrieved]

Why do you ask?

[Are you happy with your choices muffet are you pleased to have invited this horrid gremlin into your life]

[prettypurpleparlor]

[Honestly, she's made worse decisions.]

A mix of curiosity and symmetry- after all, I answered you.

[ungrieved]

Then I guess that was your mistake.

[Welcome to conversations with Gabe Goodman, guaranteed exercises in frustration.]

[prettypurpleparlor]

[Her tone is cheerful, some odd mix of scolding and teasing:]

Now, now, dearie- it's only polite to make conversation.

[ungrieved]

I'm not very polite.

[You could say he was poorly raised. Har har. Mom always called him things like that - a little shit, a little twat, a pain. But she always said it with a smile, and with a softness to defang the words that might have bitten hard, if they came from anyone else.]

[Maybe that's why he can smirk now, and not feel backed into a corner.]

[prettypurpleparlor]

Somehow, I'm getting that impression, yes. A shame, really- polite people might get dessert, after a meal.

[She feels better about teasing him now that he's looking well enough to smirk back at her, showing a bit more of her sense of humor.]

[ungrieved]

[Eyes narrow. All right, lady. You have his attention.]

What kind of dessert?

[prettypurpleparlor]

[With the calm confidence of one who knows her baked goods:]

Blackberry pastry.

[She's... kind of been saving that one for a while, busy as she has been making more practical food lately. But she gets the feeling he needs it more than she does.]

[ungrieved]

Never had one.

[Is he playing the pity card? Absolutely. He’s terrible. Please destroy him.]