lifeaftr | I’ll take my throne, lay it on a mountain

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I’ll take my throne, lay it on a mountain

Who: Our volunteer mountaineers
What: Two parties split up to scale the mountain from two sides, planning to meet at it’s peak. Shenanigans occur along the way.
When: September 13th to 16th
Where: Group 1: G3, H2, G2 || Group 2: F3, F2, G2
Warnings: Please note any warnings in your subject headers!

Word spreads quickly in a small community such as this. What was originally intended to be a small party turned into something much larger- and on the day Chara planned to leave for the mountain, it’s not one, but two parties that make off for it’s peak.

Group 1, led by Chara, moves off during the early hours of the morning, seeking to search the furthest part of the mountain by following the river upwards. The path is longer and more winding- however, they are unhampered in when they can travel.

Group 2, led by Ardyn, takes off after the sun has set- due to the needs of multiple members to avoid the sun’s harsh glare. Their route takes them up the closest side of the mountain, which provides an easier path- however, they may only travel whilst the sun is set.

OOC: Welcome to the mountaineering open post! Keep in mind the following;

♆ RNG was happily done blind by our wonderful Guzma mun, with our animals RNG'd by Wade Wilson's! Thank them both for all your misfortune.

♆ Prompts have been provided for each group below! Simply toplevel wherever you wish and treat this like a normal open post!

♆ Since each group will generally be in close contact with one another, consider asking others if you can threadjack here and there; nothing says team-building like being a nosy parker.

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Stop bombarding them with logic; it's way too hot for more than bull-headed stubbornness. With a dramatic sigh, they hold out their hands- just to make sure he knows precisely how they feel about this.

Give them the coconut, Tim.

He gives them the coconut.

If they pour it out, he'll be - just kind of tired and exasperated, and probably get them another, which is an empty goddamn threat. Empty as any other he's dispensed. Most any other.

"I vote we clear this area as quick as possible."

They're stubborn, not stupid. Resources are too sparse for them to go about wasting things on a whim- but they do take only the smallest of sips, intent on saving at least half of it's contents for Frisk, when they go back to them.

"Agreed. Right now, however, I can feel the head of the stone through my shoes." They didn't halt because they felt like it, no matter what anyone might think. It is an aggravating necessity. "We have another child in our group, as well."

"I saw." Is it bad, that he's in the habit of counting little heads as they pass him by? Probably; deserted islands don't discriminate based on age any more than horned kings and war-zones do, apparently.

"Figured I'd check up on her next, but that, uh...Guzma guy? He seems pretty protective of her."

Not that he'd say that to Guzma's face, mind.

If it's any consolation, at least their survival rate seems higher in this place.

Not that that's any consolation to Chara.

"If he is, all the better for her." Because from what they've seen, she's no child soldier. The more people willing to kill something where she was unable, the higher her chances became. "Guzma certainly wouldn't pull his punches."

Is that really a consolation to anyone at all?

"Neither will his pokemon." Because he now knows that Guzma has those. And they're...fine, honestly. He's not particularly attached to either of them, but Guzma sure is, so he's not about to talk about either of them while Guzma's in the room.

I'm sure it is to someone. Maybe.

"Mm. His Golispod is exceptionally strong." It did take on multiple tigersharks on its own with minimal damage... though they'd prefer it never be placed in a situation where that was necessary again.

"He suspects us."

"In what way?" He's gnawing at the knuckle of one thumb again - a habit he picked up when the craving for nicotine didn't fade, not completely. God, he needs a smoke.

Suspects can mean a lot of things, given what they know. And what they aren't telling people.

"I told him that I did not know what a Pokemon was. Unfortunately, Kittu had already supplied information regarding a Pokemon they had previously called friend. Aside from that...what was it that he said..."

As if they can't recall it precisely. It's purely dramatics that have them pausing, clearing their throat before putting on an admittedly terrible accent.

"I'll die before I call people by a number, yo, 'specially a buncha kids."

"Your impressions need work," he says dryly - hating himself a little bit, nonetheless, for being able to pick up on the shreds of Guzma's accent they're effecting. "So does your cover story."

The fact that their kids, much as he also hates to admit it, helps a tad. Kids are smart. Smarter than most people give them credit for. They know when to start lying when it's most convenient, and sometimes they'll lie just to see how far they can push a story. Just because they can.

"So what is he calling you right now?"

"Agreed. At the least, we now have the perfect patsy to continue testing it on."

Sometimes, Tim, kids know when to start lying when it's most convenient, and sometimes they'll lie just to see how far they can push a story. Just because they can.

And because they can, they have to.

"Amsonia. It is a type of flower; more commonly known as the blue star plant. Kittu has also been deemed the named Gracidea- natives to his world, often presented in gratitude."

...If they seem slightly more animated, discussing flowers, it's really in his best interests not to comment on it.

It really, truly is. Flowers have an interesting connotation as far as they're concerned. The chosen means through which they exited their world, once presented with a choice. Something they still love enough to demonstrate their encyclopedic knowledge of such at the drop of hat, despite...

Everything.

"Blue star plant," he says mildly. That's fitting, isn't it? What's a star, indeed. "Well, if he's happy to leave things like that, maybe you should think about the specifics of your story."

The best stories are only a little ways out from the truth. Not so far that you forget the specifics, but just enough so that anyone who hears it will land slightly off the mark.

That doesn't include the most important part of any lie, of course.

The fact that you have to believe it.

Hey, but consider, Tim; finally, they have an answer to a long asked question!

You can kill a star. Just not permanently. Chara shrugs, waving a hand in Frisk's direction. "It's something we need to get right between the two of us; thus far, I see no reason to stress too much."

The best stories may only be a little ways out from the truth- but it becomes far more difficult, when you combine two distinctly different people. If they weren't so in tandem, the last six weeks may have had a very different outcome.

No need to stress, huh? Never mind the use of suspects us, which hinted that, he's got no idea, maybe they'd done a little jig into a genre shift more in line with some kind of thriller. But then, they've always had a taste for the dramatics. He wouldn't dare imply otherwise.

"If you say so." Guzma might have been content to lay it where it might rest, but others? There's no knowing who might want to poke holes in that story next. "Other people might not be as...forgiving, I guess."

Is there a problem with the use of the term? Either someone suspects they have things to lie about, or they don't. It's simple enough to comprehend, Tim- hurry up and get on their level.

"I am aware of that." Their humor dies down substantially. "Until then, all we can do is ensure that I remain the target of any suspicions."

Since they've already managed to do that all on their own.

"Ideally, neither of you would be targets for any suspicions." It would be their priority to draw that aggression to themself, huh? "You know that's not exactly a problem for me, right? I can be that..."

What? Scapegoat? Target? Victim?

What's it matter? He's already suspicious. He already looks suspicious. He's untrustworthy, shifty, shady, eschewing eye contact and disliking direct touch. And he's an adult, too. A completely unrelated adult living with two kids. What's not to mistrust there?

"I can be that."

"No you can't."

Said sharply and nigh instantaneously, their eyes narrowing up at him. Scapegoat, target, victim; these are not roles of which he is due to play. Not in this place, no matter how often he may have played them in the past.

Words like that; they're precisely the reason he'd be better off, had he not remembered them at all.
He'd be better off, just like the rest of them. Safer.
"At least one of us needs to remain clear; for Frisk's sake. It cannot be me.

I am trusting them with you, do you understand?"

New Game, new rules. New roles, too. They've already picked them for themselves. New names, and new parts to play. But old habits, it seems, are hard to break, when they play those parts for the purposes of an old Game they could not win. An incomplete ERASE and an ending that didn't include them at all.

At least one of us needs to remain clear.

The weight of that sentence doesn't suit the disarming, matter-of-fact rhythm of their tone. I am trusting them with you. It's not for the sake of any qualities, Tim knows, that he himself bears. It's a matter of circumstance, and of lacking options.

That doesn't give him an excuse to fail.

"Yeah." The word is soft. And it's reluctant. "I do."

Maybe some part of him should wish that he didn't. There's no point in wishing, in baseless hopes and dreams. They all know what that gets them.

"But I'm gonna hope it doesn't come to that."

"Do whatever you please." In the end, they both know the only way that will be avoided, is if Chara and Frisk are faster.

There can be no consequences to the non-existent.

...Even then. They think of their first meeting on this world,awake and in front of the campfire. A mask settled over their face- one that's neatly tucked into their backpack, even now.

They wonder if he's also considered their words, from that night. And once again, their gaze is carefully directed away from him, slowly sipping on the last dregs of coconut milk.

"When we find it, Tim- the End.

"You are coming with us, aren't you?"

You are coming with us, aren't you?

More than ever he wishes he had a cigarette in that moment - before aborting the thought bitterly. A kid doesn't need to be breathing in his secondhand smoke, not when that's already fogged up their mind and soul. The fact that it's a question means more than maybe he knows what to do with.

What is there holding him here, really? What is there chaining him back?

A world where everything is exactly the same, except you don't exist. That would make everyone fall away into that normalcy they all so frantically craved. Alex could be a normal person, Jay could be living a normal life, so could Jessica, so could Brian - so could everyone else if it wasn't for him. Alex thought it was himself, but Tim - Tim was the source.

A world where everything is exactly the same, except you don't exist. Does he want that?

Oh, yes. Yes.

He wants that more than anything.

"If you'll have me."

If they'll have him?

Does he think they'd ask, if they wouldn't? He's not the greatest person, ha ha. Tim is many things, really. He's a liar. He is potentially responsible for many terrible things- if not directly responsible for the deaths of multiple people. Close friends, uneasy partners. Historically, they should really expect that one day, his involvement in their life will be the end of them.

Even then.

Chara exhales, fingers slowly uncurling as their body loses some of it's tension. Really, they know him far too well to have expected any answer aside from what has been given.
They expected it anyway. Rejection.
"I'll let you know, once we've prepared our path."

In the meantime, they all have many more miles to walk. At the least, they're all rather good at surviving when they don't want to.

It's the kind of thing that sends you to hell. Clasping children by the hands after poisoning their souls with your guilt, with your shame, with your pity, and helping them down the path they chose. But he already knows where he's bound. And they already know where kids like them end up.

There's a litany of things that rise to his tongue, but never succeed in bursting out. A great long concatenation of sorrys, mostly, apologies that will mean nothing because being sorry means nothing. Sorry, for being the mess that he is. Sorry, for polluting things further. Sorry, for complicating all of this and making it worse than it had to be. Sorry, for taking advantage when he did - for levering him away from them in the only pragmatic way he knew how.

Sorry for being patently unable to dissect the etiology of his own thoughts, forever ensnared in the doubt that he might be using them further, because he spent so much time living outside his own head that someone else's thoughts added to the mix makes things a thousand times harder to muddle through.

A lot of things he doesn't have the strength to say. Coward and liar, right up until the very end.

Maybe it's better like that.

"Whatever you need, I'll be there."

And maybe that's a promise he can even manage to keep. None of them plan on lasting long enough for the threat of breaking it to breach the surface.

He isn't reliable. But he can walk a few miles more.

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I’ll take my throne, lay it on a mountain

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