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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Tch, now...if there's one thing that ol' Crustle taught me, it's that spirits don't what up n' fade unless y'all forget about 'em. If there ain't no one around to give a darn, like you did just now. Sometimes they linger in things like this, for years n' years...and it don't take much to make 'em happy sometimes. A few words, a prayer, or a gift.

[Those little things, those offerings, hold a great deal of power, or so he was taught. Guzma's not pious, not in the slightest, but even he can respect ruins like this. It's been ingrained in him since childhood, nto the Alolan people as a whole, to respect grave sites and ruins, since the latter so often belong to the tapu. He's since lost much of his faith that he was going to be 'saved', or even deserved to be, but he's not horrible enough to kick over a statue like this. He knows the power totems like this hold.

You can do something too.

Guzma snickers softly, and he smirks. Wow, way to put him on the spot there, kid. He digs down deep into his pack, and removes something very small. Two pearls - shucked from a pair of oysters (after several dozen were gobbled up by him and his aquatic pokemon) long ago. He never had anything to do with them, so why not? It's really all he has that's worth something to a spirit. He leans down, placing the two little pearls by the base of the statue.]

...I'd 'ppreciate if y'all kept this under wraps, y'dig? [HE HAS A REP TO KEEP.]

[Not an expert at keeping eye contact, Frisk allows their gaze to travel back to the statue as Guzma speaks. The stone is horrendously old, nothing more than dust still compacted into its original shape in some places. Bent and gnarled gaps of pipe jutting from the missing chunks of stone. It reminds them of Toriel's ruins, in some ways; if she had been a far less meticulous caretaker than she was.]

[His words makes sense, they think. If they lived here, they'd be happy with any sort of offering, too.]

[His snickering prompts them to look at him again, and they remain silent as he brings out his little pearls and adds them to Frisk's tiny tribute. The thin, straight line of their mouth twitches up at the corners. Frisk leans down again to inspect them with an earnest interest. They're not perfectly sculpted, beautiful baubles like you'd find at the displayed end of a jewelry store, but Frisk likes them better this way.]

[Pearls are valuable. They know that much.]

OK. [Beaming quietly, Frisk looks up to Guzma yet again.] I dig.

[They inspect his offering, and Guzma feels a little embarrassed all of a sudden, like he's under scrutiny of someone a bit more knowledgeable than himself in the ways of gift-giving and just generally being kind. That latter part is something he knows very little about, actually. He has his moments of sincerity and kindness, but they're few and far between, and often prompted by a another person.

He flushes a bit under their grin, feeling heat light up his face, but he can't help but smile right back, especially at their response. It's adorable hearing this child try and mimic his slang. It's just straight up cute as heck, and he's tempted to ruffle their hair a bit, but stops himself.]

Oh, right! Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something. Dunno if y'all's sibling talked to you 'bout it, but...is it a'ight if I called you something different? I-I mean, I ain't gonna ask y'all why you straight up calling yourselves what you do - but I don't like it. ...Sorry. [He doesn't like calling children after numbers. It plainly doesn't sit well with him.] So, uh...if it's okay, can I call you Gracidea? It's a type of flower back where I come from.

[He seems a little awkward when he asks, losing his big, gruff facade for a moment. He'd really like it if they said it was okay...otherwise he'd have to think of something different, and Guzma's pretty shit at nicknames. It's half the reason he never gave his Pokemon any. Plus, he really likes the name he picked for them, especially the more, uh...gentle of the twins. Considering its meaning and all.]

[ Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something.]

[That's unexpected. Frisk's eyes lift to his with the sort of immediacy inherent to any child who's been caught in an error; luckily, they're an expert at schooling any anxiousness behind a flat look. When he continues, however, they quickly realize that he seems more nervous than they are.]

[Their mouth pulls into a softer, earnest smile.]

Gracidea.

[Frisk says it just to see how it sounds. Of course, the moment he'd explained it, they'd made up their mind, really -- Frisk likes flowers. More than anyone who has their experiences with them rightly should. It's a pretty name, and Frisk would like to think it's a pretty flower.]

[Their response is a gentle and good-natured shrug, followed by a more committal nod.]

Any name is fine.

[It's the truth.]

What's it look like?

[His neck feels hot, and Guzma's pretty darn sure it's not the sheer heat around them that's causing it, and the heat spreads to the tips of his ears as the kid repeats the name aloud. He doesn't meet their eyes, rubbing the back of his neck and scratching his nails through the short (though now a bit longer than he likes), black hairs on his the back of his head and neck. Ah, this is embarrassing, and nerve-wrecking. He actually likes this kid, they're way more personable than their not-quite twin, so Guzma waits for their answer.

They're smiling, and it's more than enough. I mean, he wasn't expecting a huge exclamation, but just a simple 'it's fine' is more than enough. Guzma grins happily, happy they've accepted his nickname, abut he puffs out a sigh as he tries to explain the actual look of the flower.]

Uh, well...they don't grow much in Alola unless y'all get 'em right from a florist, but they're pink with a white center and large, bushy, green leaves. The, uh...pollen stick? [Stamen. He means stamen. Look, Guzma isn't the gardener, his mom was.] Those are a deep, yellow. Like a gold color.

B-Bouquets of 'em are given in gratitude to someone what's done good by you...

[Ha ha... is he embarrassed? They didn't expect that. Frisk brings a fist to their mouth under the pretense of thoughtfully listening, trying to hide their smile. They won't make fun of him for it... but the more they listen to him, the stranger it seems to them that they'd ever been afraid.]

[Well, everyone has their facets.]

[When he's finished explaining, Frisk lowers their hand and dips it back into their knapsack, rummaging for another flower.]

It sounds pretty.

[Ah, there's one. Drawing it out, Frisk smooths down the wrinkles in one petal and holds it out towards Guzma in an invitation for him to take.]

Do you know what these are?

[Guzma would argue there is a lot to be afraid of about him, and it's neither a lie nor an exaggeration. He is...not a good person. But he's not a totally bad person, either (despite what he may say). He's just just very bitter, angry, and yet still entirely human. Despite everything, it's still you.

But there's something to the level of trust he's given, the welcoming nature and innocence of a child. It helps, makes him feel a little more natural and not likened to a wild animal or worse. It's so commonplace now that people avoid him on sight, that he fed into that habit. Become what they think you are, because obviously it must be true. They won't change even if you do, so why bother? But kids are...different. They think, feel, and act differently. A thug like him can be likened to a big brother, or a boss. Someone to depend on - someone strong. A guardian.

He takes the flower very carefully, turning it slowly by the stem in his fingers. Whether or not Guzma actually know the name of the flower is to be seen - his mom only talked about or planted the ones she liked, or that were plentiful in Alola. Guzmania - she would often giggle and tell him that was her favorite. Guzmania bromeliad, the flower he was named after. She was lying, but that memory is still a happy one he remembers, the scant few...of his time spent in that house. Guzma shakes his head, quiet, and hands it back after he examines the poor, wilted flower.]

Nah, but I got a feeling y'all's 'bout to enlighten me, yeah? [He chuckles softly, smirking playfully. Come on, kid, don't just leave him hanging.]

[You can tell a lot about a person from a lot of different things. Little things. Frisk has already seen the side of Guzma that speaks to him as someone to fear: the way he dresses, the sharp, pin-like quality to his eyes, how his voice breaks out of him like shards and glass-dust, rough, unfiltered. They've seen other parts of him, too.]

[This is yet another one. The way he handles the flower; gently, almost ceremoniously, examining it with an interest that is completely genuine as far as they can tell. Fondness springs up in their chest, as warm as sunlight. If he'd made that argument in a place where Frisk could hear him, they'd likely agree. You don't need to be a good person to like flowers this much, treat them with such softness and care. But a bad person most definitely wouldn't.]

[Frisk knows that better than anyone.]

It's a Narcissus. They're named after someone from a story. He was pretty, too.

That right?

[Guzma raises his brow as he looks over the flower again, then the find and tender look of the little child. They’re terribly cute, he has to admit, and the urge to ruffle their hair and mutter something about naming them that instead is very strong. However, Guzma can’t bring hims of to be that sappy - he just can’t. He’s too much of a blockhead to allow himself that sort of sentimentality. So, so instead he raises his chin up with a sly smirk and a wiggle of his head.]

Y’know...there’s someone I know what’s named after a flower, too. Real good looking guy, oh heck yeah. [Stop him.]

[Something in his tone draws their attention away from the narcissus; curiously, Frisk glances up at Guzma, their own brow rising up into their bangs as they try to read his smirk. Apparently, they're unable to, because they lean forward with an interested tilt of their head.]

[Don't just leave them hanging, G-man. Deet it or beat it.]

[Oh come on, kiddo, does he really need to spell it out? Here he thought you'd catch his tone and make the connection. I mean, his name isn't too far off from the flower he's fashioned from. But he can't be mad, and Guzma just chuckles at their interest. This is perhaps the most hes talked about himself ever, and in a positive fashion. Played more for the joke, but eh.

Small victories.]

Bromeliad Guzmania - sounds familiar, yeah?

[A soft little sound of realization rises from them, and Frisk leans back, amusement crinkling the corners of their eyes. They glance down at their narcissus, still in his grasp, and then back up to Guzma -- holding their own hand out in a silent request for it back.]

I know the story about that one, too.

Not only was he pretty... everyone wanted to smooch him.

[Guzma's just in the middle of handing back their flower, but goes rigid mid movement.

Excuse me, what?]

[PARDONNE MOI?????]

[He nears chokes trying to reply, his face turning a hilarious color of red - starting at his cheeks and spreading to the tips of his nose and ears, too. Hell, even the back of Guzma's neck feels hot all of a sudden. He huffs, scowling, but he's too flustered and flummoxed to even be really mad. That's the first time he's ever, ever been likened to, uh...being smoochable?? OR SOMETHING???

He has no goddamn clue how to feel.]

Wha--that's...no?! Not unless you wanna do the dirty with a Garbodor, I'm--! I've never once...! [HUFF PUFF WHAT THE FLUFF.] Kid!!

[lmao best reaction they've ever gotten. Frisk doesn't bother to hide their amusement as they lean over to pluck the flower out of Guzma's hand, and take advantage of his sputtering shock to reach up and attempt to tuck it into his fluffy hair, right above his ear.]

And now he's gonna be double pretty.

[Kid, you're very lucky you're downright adorable and Guzma likes you a lot, because there's no other way he'd allow anyone to put a flower in the nesting Swablu that is his hair. But the bloom is tucked away behind his ear and he doesn't make any movement to remove it, though he does place one of his large hands on the crown of Frisk's head and ruffle their hair vigorously. Careful on your feet there, child, Guzma's brawny, and may be purposefully putting a bit more oomph into his affections - like that stuck up big brother that lovingly teases you.]

Pfft, no amount'a flowers can fix this mess, but I 'preciate the effort anyway. You ready to go back, yeah?

Flowers fix anything.

[Excuse you, ye of little faith. Frisk doesn't fight the rough hair-ruffling, only pausing to pull the askew ribbon out and giving their head a cursory pat-down as he finishes. Alas, they've long given up the fight. Do your worst, double-pretty-boy.]

[At his question, they stand and give a small nod, already tying their hair back up.]

I think there's enough here.

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

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