what is going on here?

[thethrillof]

you don't know. 

This is an abandoned place. A mansion. A hospital. A school. A castle. An entire town, perhaps. 

There's nothing here. Just ruined masonry, rats scampering beneath floors, dust in the air and plants winding through any space they can find. 

There aren't supposed to be people here.

Why are you here? Did you mean to come, looking for ghosts? Did you take a wrong turn, need to find shelter for the night? Did someone leave you here on a dare or a kidnapping attempt?

Or do you belong here, dead and supposedly empty as the walls that surround you?

Comments

EEEY~

[non_egressive]

This is an abandoned place.

No-one likes coming back Underground. And Toriel is no longer Queen.

And yet, she feels a responsibility. To the monsters and the child she left for so long--and Dreemurr wanted Frisk to make the trek up and through the mountain all by themselves. She refused; either they would go together, or she would go alone.

Today, she is alone.

Taking inventory, from Knight Knight to Gyftrot, making sure those who chose to stay within Mt. Ebott are still there and have supplies to last.

And today, she finds something odd. A room she cannot remember seeing, even in passing, after the original evacuation.

How strange.

me to me: hey you've been writing a lot of ppl who don't technically exist lately, remember this guy

[returnvoid]

Nothing changes, everything changes. When everything changes, nothing changes.

When you've seen it all before, or at least think you have? Change becomes a novelty, cause and effect a curiosity divergent of continuity.

The door appears, from time to time. When conditions are right. That in itself isn't unusual. They poke and prod at the Underground, when conditions permit, and sometimes despite no longer being the Underground lets them be, lets them pretend they still are as they once were. Lets them carve out a pocket of space of their own and play at being able to affect things, to affect change.

Nothing ever truly comes of it, but he (they, them) settled/settles/will settle into usual position to play his (their) usual part all the same.

(The Grey Monsters- they skirt at the edges of vision, that much closer to being-- present, than usual, more willing to toe the boundary of not being and revealing themselves. Something has changed, in the Underground. A boundary, an endless loop of closed space... corrected?

Their script has changed. They, less scattered in self and mind than others, are curious.

Perhaps Toriel has glimpsed them, on her way through the Underground. Or perhaps she has seen the signs, the hintings of someone else.)

... The hallway, usually, does not appear to monsters.

(The ghost awaits in repose with a complacency born of... acceptance, maybe. Or perhaps it's something more like resignation? Perhaps that, too, depends on perspective.)

the most non-existent fella to ever exist. also poke me if u want more to work with!

[non_egressive]

This is The End. Perhaps epilogue. Toriel had an odd feeling last night, tucking Frisk into their bed, an inkling of peaceful unease, despite that being an obvious oxymoron.

Perhaps that is what lead her to leaving them with their friends today.

Toriel has taken stock of everyone required before Waterfall, slowly but steadily--she began in New Home, down the CORE, and now in Waterfall. She believed this would be the shortest part of her journey, so few monsters live here these days.

But now, there is a door.

There is a sense of deja vu.

Toriel's claws hesitate over the doorknob; she changes her mind and knocks. One, two, three.

as long as i can extend the same courtesy! if you ever need more to work with just poke me

[returnvoid]

There is a loud sort of hush, a quiet rushing. A whisper of susurration, ambient sounds and murmuring as tends to be the case in Waterfall, with its flowers possessing vocal memory.

There are no echo flowers within the vicinity, and it comes from beyond the door. There is something faintly curious about the sound, as well as a weighty charge in the air now. ...it wasn't there before. The door itself seems of a strange quality, as if it would want to flicker and hide away when the back is turned, but after a moment, it stabilizes and remains in place.

A knocking at the door. How quaint. How polite, and tied to propriety and procedure. A gesture asking permission?

(It's different.)

He pauses. It's permission the ghost is unsure whether or not he can give. What is something when given by someone who does not, strictly, exist?

Still, why not try. There is a clicking noise, from where the knob would be. On its heels comes a more garbled wash of sound, spoken, like all things based upon magic tied to the soul, with meaning and intent:

...IT IS OPEN. PLEASE, FEEL FREE TO. COME IN?

The grey room, lonely carved out pocket of unreality that it is, has never destabilized while hosting another person, at least, so it should be safe.