hadriel_logs | Intro Log: I'll Cry If I Want To

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Intro Log: I'll Cry If I Want To

Who: New arrivals and everyone else!
What: The intro log for December
Where: The colosseum and all around the city.
When: December 10th-14th
Warnings: Angry crying ladies and a bunch of newbies

Good morning, new Hadrielites! What a joy it is to awaken on the hard ground of the colosseum, with absolutely no idea where you are or what's going on. As you wake up, confused and possibly a little terrified, you may be angry. You may be frightened. You may be hungry, if you didn't eat a good lunch. You may want to cry.

And it looks like you're not the only one who wants to cry. Along with the newcomers, a number of Witches have come to Hadriel. They stand in one place or wander, crying bitterly, as if their boyfriend has broken up with them or they've lost their puppy. Maybe you're a good person who wants to see if they're okay? Well, you might want to rethink that. Disturb a Witch - which is pretty easy to do - and they'll fly into a rage, attacking you with their sharp claws and tearing your guts out. Good luck trying to get out of the colosseum without running into one!

Don't worry, though. Scattered around is also some stuff that's a little more fun! The Door's theme this month seems to be 'stuff stressed-out executives would put on their desks', and since we've got so many of those, surely you can find a toy or two to play with!

If you've managed to avoid getting clawed to bits and maybe found a cool new distraction or two, congrats! That's the first step to becoming a productive member of Hadriel society! Now, feel free to go explore the rest of the city! Find a house, a new monster, a project to help with, or simply scavenge for supplies. Good luck, and enjoy your stay in Hadriel!

► This log covers December 10th-14th.
► Feel free to make your own logs as well!
► All characters arrive with phones that have network communication and the newbie guide installed.
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Between the pranks and jokes he's been exchanging every which way and the care and feeding of erstwhile human kids, he's almost forgotten that it's that time of the month again. And what a time it is. He remembers to hang around the Colosseum, keepin' the lookout for new arrivals in case anyone he knows happens to stop by. Not that he's real optimistic, but it's just plain habit at this point. Habits have a special relationship with death, wouldn't ya know. Just like him.

He doesn't really think much of the weird ladies with the ragged hair veiling their faces. He keeps movin' around 'em and don't bother 'em, and they don't bother him, and that's fine. It's all well and good until Papyrus -

Well, Papyrus goes and is all Papyrus to 'em.

When the thing moves, it's quick as a blink, almost like she's got some shortcuts of her own to boast. She's on top of him, howling, and he's

watching the head separate from the shoulders again
watching the pauldrons crumble to dust again
watching and waiting and never getting there on time again
getting there on time and just fucking waiting and watching anyway again
cause a kid with a knife is all it takes
it's all it takes and god damn why hadn't he TRIED

He sends a line of blue ribs through her. Not much, but if it'll slow her down -

It'd better fucking slow her down.]

[She slashes at him at breakneck speed, tearing through his battle body and slicing through bone before he can even react. His skull hit the ground hard and he's seeing stars, until he finally blindly fires off an array of various arm bones that knock right into her at the same time blue bones from-- somewhere appear through her, but it barely makes her flinch. She's so single-minded. She's so determined. She just screams and screams and tears and tears randomly all through his bones.

He just wants to knock her out. He just wants to deescalate this, but she's not letting him take his turn, and he shuts his eyes and runs with the idea of blue ribs as well, countless knocking into her.

One of them is going to pass out from the pain first, and skeletons don't have adrenaline, he doesn't have blood to flow to muscles he doesn't have... He can't think straight, pain upon new pain upon new pain inflicted on him, and he's not optimistic about his chances of getting out of this with no one dying.

He shuts his eyesockets tightly and three oversized femurs burst forth from him through the witch.

The shrieks stop.

Please let her be asleep, he thinks, as a weight collapses numbly against his sternum, and the back of his skull drops onto the rocky floor.

His sash is ripped.]

[Her claws are sharp beyond the tellin' of it and she scythes at him and it's wild and uncontrolled, not a scrap of elegance to it, just the way she howls and wails and rips into him and she's not giving him a turn, oh god.

Not this time, please not this time. Not this time not this time not this time, it can't be this time. He woke up with Alphys's angry shouts and Papyrus's long-suffering wail jangling in his ossicles 'cause of the latest stunt he pulled, and it was harmless stupid fun and he couldn't believe it because it felt like the most relaxing thing he'd done all damned month, for months on end, and it's like wakin' up with that eternal question stamped in his mind.

Good? Bad? Good? Bad?

Good?

Bad?

'Course, he don't get his answer until he hikes his coccyx over to the edge of Snowdin and sees for himself.

A triumphant peal of laughter and a declaration of friendship. Good.

A head trod into dust, ground into the snow under a heel. Bad.

Not so binary anymore, of course. He woke up this morning and it wasn't to the same routine he'd come to expect, nah. It was to one of those strange and wonderful new things that's been hittin' him 'round the skull every morning, proof that he's alive in a whole 'nother universe where concepts like permanence and linearity and well intact. He wakes up and it's all goddamned normal, not Good or Bad so why, god why is he seeing the Bad play out in front of him -

Three large bones shoot through the screaming thing sitting atop him, and then she falls silent.

Good? Bad? Good? Bad? Good? Bad? Good - ?]

[Bad.]

[He's at Papyrus's side in the next instant. No time to be sleepin' on the job you lazybones, yeah? Yeah, no, 'course not. Not when there's somethin' real important to be done.

He's on his knees, phalanges skirtin' over the contours of his brother's battle body, the sash torn even though he'd gotten it all fixed up by Emily on the down-low and didn't tell anybody, and he'll have to ask her to fix it up again but god please god please he has to make sure there's no dust scattered across the ground.

Gotta keep his voice steady. Keep it together, Sans. You're the only one who can at the moment, yeah?

Yeah. A real riot, that one.]

Papyrus. Hey. C'mon, bro, you with me?

[Everything sounds distant, canned, like static on the radio. But through it, Papyrus hears something familiar. Someone he cares so much about.

You could say that about anyone Papyrus has spoken to, but this is Sans we're talking about, this is his brother, and there's always a special place in his heart for his brother. It might be the best sound he could possibly hear at the moment.

Papyrus is out of it enough not to make the connection that Sans sent out those first blue ribs. He doesn't make any connections past that voice is his brother's. He clings to that one connection he can manage, grasps a tight hold of it.

Now, the content. The content of his brother's words. He has to respond, doesn't he? What did he say? He has to respond.]

I... Is she okay? [he manages, strained, instantly distracted from his brother's words.] Is she okay?

[She is collapsed, half atop him, finally quiet.

A witch never stops until she is dead.]

She's -

[Something writhes up in his rib cage, sickeningly, 'cause that'd be his priority, wouldn't it? What about the girl, the thing, whatever it is? What about her, yeah? Never mind him, never mind how bad it is for him. When's that ever mattered? He still believes that you can do a little bit better.

Look how well that turned out for everybody, huh?

All he can say is - thank fuck, thank whatever deity there is lookin' out for 'em that the creatures here don't deal in LOVE or in EXP. He shoulders the thing off Papyrus, pushin' her away, and then catches himself. Tries to lay her down with more gentleness than is required for a

corpse.

Bad. Definitely bad. No do-overs this time, huh? No do-overs.

C'mon. Focus. Concentrate. Let's think about somethin' happy together. Think about headin' to Grillby's. Reassuring, ain't it? Red splashed against gold and then Papyrus, do you want anything? Only, uh, nah, 'course not. No one's waitin' for him at Grillby's. There won't be a Grillby's for very much longer anyway, will there?]

She's fine. You knocked her out pretty good, 's all.

[He's a good liar, but in this case, heh, he can only hope that the subtle tremor to his voice ain't too obvious, that Papyrus is just straight-up too discombobulated to pick up on it.]

[He's right. Papyrus is too confused and delirious to recognize the uncharacteristic waver in Sans' voice. And if he does, well, Sans is understandably scared, isn't he? It's not strange to hear his voice shake, not after something like this just happened.]

Oh, good, [Papyrus says, distant. He watches her be lowered onto the ground, looking not very peaceful even in sleep.] I was worried, because-- she is quite... relentless.

[He couldn't afford to be careful. Everything happened so fast. He just wanted to knock her out, but he couldn't concentrate with the unrelenting pain and chaos and fear.

But it's a good thing everything turned out alright.]

I was just... She was crying, Sans. [He just wanted to help. But all he did was hurt her.

Well. She did her fair share of hurting, as well. Quite a bit of it, actually. Ouch. Papyrus tries to rise, but his spine aches so sharply he gasps and drops himself back down very quickly. Not going to try that again anytime soon.]

Sans? Can you... take her to the clinic?

[Papyrus would, but, you know. Everything is pain.]

[Why's he surround himself with so many selfless people, huh? Makes it real damn hard to take care of 'em when he actually up and bothers to, he'll say that much. He'll say it like the ungrateful bastard he is, sure, but he'll keep it to himself.

She's sleepin'. And he's gotta get Papyrus outta here. Talkin' like she's the one who needs help when he's got gashes all torn into him, when he - god when he looks like that.

Shit. What the hell's he supposed to do. There ain't any room in the script for things like this. Papyrus, he's pretty freakin' tough, right? But he's got such fine-tuned control; can't kill a human, even by accident, and he gives 'em three times the amount of attack recovery time, and now this has happened and he's got no clue, no clue at all what it is he's supposed to fucking DO.

Okay. C'mon. Let's - let's reassess here, yeah? He's Sans. He always knows what to do. Unshakeable. Unflinching, even in the face of his own imminent death. He's Sans.]

Woah, woah. Sit still there, bro. You're lookin' pretty rough.

[A hand against his shoulder, keepin' him down. He - fuck, he needs to get Papyrus to the clinic. Hell if he knows what any of the doctors can do, but it's gotta be better than just sittin' around doin' nothin', yeah? That's Sans's specialty, goddamnit.]

She's just - heh, she's just sleepin' it off. She'll be all right. I'll call someone to take her there, yeah?

[He's speakin' too fast, too frantic. Level his tone off, keep his pitch from climbin'. Make it...yeah. Make it more organic. He's Sans. He's never rattled.]

You're lookin' a little worse for wear.

[Papyrus relents easily, lying still beneath Sans' hand. It's easy, because every movement brings with it a sharp pain in his spine and ribs.]

Okay. That's fine. Thank you, Sans.

[Papyrus feels bad, not just for hurting the girl, not just for the pain in his shredded bones, but for worrying Sans. He can hear it now that the initial confusion has passed. Sans is worried. Of course he's worried, his brother is hurt.

He's trying to be comforting, but who's going to comfort him?

Papyrus remembers his first meeting with Chara. How they said Sans thought Papyrus was dead, killed. He must have been so worried then, too.

Papyrus sighs a little shakily, the sound rattling despite his lack of lungs. He reaches up to the hand on his shoulder, pats his brother's hand with his gloved one.]

It's okay, Sans. Everything turned out fine. I just need to sleep it off as well.

[Papyrus hates sleep, but sometimes it can be necessary. He's a little starved for it right now, having stayed up all night on top of this. But he doesn't want to rest just yet. Just a little bit longer, he wants to make sure everyone is taken care of.]

[Yeah, he'll just - just sleep off the ragged way his battle body looks, the way it's all been torn apart and heh, heh heh heh, this is really - this is fucked. This is fucked. And he can't fix this, he can't just wait for it all to go away god damn it he needs - he needs help. He needs help right now, to get him outta here. Get him to somebody who knows how to heal monsters. Sans is pure shit at healing magic, always has been, never bothered to learn, 'cause what's the point when you got 1 HP, right?]

Easy there, all right? I'm gonna get you outta here.

[Keep his voice steady. Keep it steady. Keep him safe. He's gonna just - yeah, real gentle-like go nipping them through a shortcut. It's harder sittin' down like this, harder still when he ain't takin' someone walkin' on through with him. It's less like glidin' through gaps in space and more like havin' to straight-up manipulate those gaps to swallow him up, which is a hell of a lot more difficult, 'specially when he's got a passenger.

But he manages it.

Outside the clinic. Where they gotta be.]

Heh. S-see? Knew a shortcut.

[Now he's just gotta get someone who knows what the hell he's supposed to do next.]

Edited 2016-12-16 20:38 (UTC)

[From his spot on the ground, Papyrus prepares to be lifted into a standing position. He's normally optimistic, but he's a little less so about his chances of actually walking anywhere. He's not sure he can even sit up.

But then they're not there anymore. They're... Papyrus knows this area. It's one of the first places he investigated when he first arrived. He talked to a nice clinic lady then. Wow, that was fast. Papyrus is delirious enough that he doesn't recognize how they got there, only that they did. He must have slept through it or something.]

Wowie. Good shortcut. I missed the whole thing!

[At least it didn't hurt more than it already does, and that's always a plus.

Papyrus weakly reaches for Sans, but lifting his arm off the ground irritates the scratches on and around it and he quickly drops it.]

I always know I can rely on you. For the important things. You called someone for the, the not-monster, right?

[Yeah, Sans is just so fucking reliable, ain't he? He keeps his grin pasted on, reaching down to grasp Papyrus's gloved hand in one of his own. Need to get him some better armor. That didn't do a thing to protect him, and now they're both payin' the price for Sans's inadequacy.

Again.]

Already called. Yep.

[An easy lie. You can't call someone for somethin' that's already...

He's gonna have to take care of that. Clear it away. Make sure no one sees it, make sure no one knows. The bones shot through it make it damn near unmistakable.]

Papyrus. You gotta sit tight for a sec, all right? I'm gonna see if there's anyone who can...help you out.

Okay. Thank you, brother.

[Papyrus isn't going anywhere. He gives a gentle, quick squeeze to Sans hand and then turns his head to the side to rest, allowing Sans to go off and find someone to help.

He gives a rattling sigh. Everything's going to be fine. It hurts right now, but everything will be fine.]

[Yeah. Yeah Papyrus is just gonna...chill there. He'll be fine. He'll be all right. God, but he's tired - he looks tired, and he's acting tired, and he shouldn't be. Papyrus doesn't get tired like this. He's exuberant, he's endlessly energetic, and this is all wrong.

He ran the thing through. It lay still.

He tried for goddamned once, all right? He tried, and he stopped the thing in his way. He lived. He lived through it. And it still feels goddamned terrible, 'cause this -

Hell, maybe it's for the best he gets his head hacked off, right?

He hates himself a little more for the thought. Always manages to sink lower, that old Sans. What a rascally bag of bones, huh? A real handful. Everyone's laughin'.

He marks an unerring line for the clinic. There's gotta be somebody nearby who can help.]

[He won't have to go far.

It's not that they mean to intrude; it's their general duty to be an unobtrusive as possible, after all. Not seen, not heard; it's unfortunate that Sans chose this particular location to play shortcuts to, but nothing they can't handle. Frisk respects his privacy.

The tone of voice he's using- and the weaker, still cheerful but almost tired responses Papyrus gives in response- are what makes Frisk pause. Actually look. And they don't know, really, they don't, but for once their footsteps are very, very loud, slapping against the pavement as they race to catch up with him, small fingers almost rough as they grab and pull at the back of his jacket.

They can help. They can help? They can help; let them help, let them do something with that fierce little bubble in their chest, even if it's just allowing words to burst forth from their lips in a louder tone than they would usually provide, almost urgent.]

Pie.

[Pie. They've got the pie; at the apartment, but they have pie. He said it wouldn't help him, but it'll help now, won't it?

Won't it?]

[Tiny fingers hitch into the cloth of his jacket, and that pulls him to a halt. It takes him a moment to put together the minutiae of what they're insinuating, but once his mind scrambles to pick up all the pieces -

Pie, they say. Pie.

It's monster food. It heals HP. It'll help. It's got to help. And all that shit he said about the kid needin' it more than he does - he can just shove it, can't he? Yet another instance of Sans's great famous hypocrisy, ready and ripe for the taunting.

Don't matter. Papyrus matters. And he's not gonna screw this up this time. He's let his brother down enough.

So he nods.]

Get it.

[The words have an instantaneous effect. Every inch of Frisk calms; lips forming a grim, set line as the creases in their brow disappear completely. He does need it. This is something they can do.

And that's enough to fill them with Determination, offering Sans a short nod- and speeding away, feet still slapping against the ground. Loud; very, very loud.

This is something they can do. They can't even mess it up.

They'll...uh. They'll be right back.]

[Maybe that's what they need - what they prefer. To have a goal, outlined in hard red strokes. Lets 'em know what to do. Implies there's a straightforward way of fixing things.

Monster food. He don't have a single thing like that on hand. Used up all his hotdogs that're pure magic - for gifts, for pranks, for the disorganized stupidity he's so very good at.

He's got nothin' to do but head back to Papyrus, droppin' down into a crouch at his brother's side.]

Hang on, bro. Help's on the way. It's gonna be fine.

[He's always been excellent at comforting lies, after all.]

[Papyrus blinks carefully, slowly. His jaw pulls into a weak grin.]

Oh, that's great! 'Cause, you know, it hurts a lot actually. It's okay, but it hurts a lot. Did you know that? You probably knew that.

[A hand rises to press against the deep slashes across his torso, but it hurts to the touch and he jerks it away much faster.]

Ouch. Don't worry, brother. It's going to be fine.

[He doesn't realize he's just echoing Sans' words back to him. But either way, Sans needs to hear it more than Papyrus does now.]

[It hurts a lot actually.

It's okay, but it hurts a lot.

He's delirious, or somethin' near enough to it. Sans puts a bony hand to one of the gashes, like that'll be enough to hold him together.]

Yeah. Yeah. It's gonna be fine.

[C'mon, kid. Hurry back.

Please.]

[If you were in that much of a rush you could've offered them a shortcut, just sayin'.

As is, Frisk does their best. Running isn't usually their thing; when you're covering the same distance, over and over again, and the most amount of rest you're going to get is a few hours nap at the very start... a power walk is fine. That won't do, right now.

Ten minutes is an excruciatingly long amount of time, but inevitably, the sound of footsteps approaching does come, right before Frisk rounds the corner with small, plastic Tupperware under one arm, one that's thrust in Sans' direction as Frisk skids to a halt and doubles over, panting.

It's yours now.]

[Time's a funny thing. It's a funny thing, and he's a patient guy most days, but this ain't your average day as he kneels there at his brother's side, like it'll make it any easier if he can keep him from goin' to pieces. It feels like time's stretched to the point of breaking before they return, but return they do. And there's the guilt, slack and heavy and laid flat across the length of his ribcage, when he accepts the container, goin' back on his word yet again - but when's that been a new development for him, huh?]

Thanks, kid.

[The words are a quiet murmur, barely audible. But the look in his eyesockets is sincere.

He opens the Tupperware with the click of separating plastic edges, holding the pie out to Papyrus carefully, almost beseechingly.]

'S monster food. It'll heal ya right up, bro. You just gotta eat it.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Intro Log: I'll Cry If I Want To

witch motherfucker gotta answer for this

i cant even tell if thats a pun or not congratulations

BOTH also 1/3

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