Tim W█████ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
postictal) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entranceway2017-08-27 02:43 pm
postictal) wrote in entranceway2017-08-27 02:43 pm
Entry #90
action;
[Everything goes white.]
[It's slow, and it's immediate. It's an eruption of snowy white fur across his forearms, along his back, to contrast the black-brown of the hair on his head. It's not painful, but it blazes in a way nothing else can. The weight of stubby horns on his head, the white-hot torquing of the barbed wire of his nervous system as it rearranges itself, as his organs howl in accommodation of something a human body was never meant to endure. His shoulder blades prickle with an eruption of thorny growths, stark and black as the skeletal branches that always rake the sky in his dreams. A startled, agonized noise wrenches out from the back of his throat, sputtering into an abortive gagging when he discovers that his canines have abruptly sharpened into fangs.]
[That's when the memories begin.]
[He doubles over, hands snapping around his middle. He's taller than he was, larger than he was, and there's a bright sizzle of something in the palms of his hands.]
[Can't think. Can't do anything but - ]
[* ACT.]
[An eruption of white-hot flame bursts from his hands - his paws? It coils up and around, wreathing the Frost Giants in a fiery nimbus. They begin to shriek as the heat starts to melt their blueish skin into slurries of clear, watery runoff. It curls his lips upward into a snarl. His eyes are wet, blinding him with the heated prickle of his own inability to fucking cope. His nostrils are thick with dust. He's breathing in, sitting in, FIGHTing in Asgore's own fucking remains.]
[The interleaving of dualed memory digs into the posterior of his skull like a fingernail prizing away a scabbed over wound. Warm scents of butterscotch and cinnamon, of a crackling fire in a hearth, soft white fur smoothed beneath a large, heavy paw, the twining of horns in with tree branches and the musical chatter of a child's laughter at the sheer silliness of it. The bitterness that clenched in a Boss Monster's gut that left him bedridden for days, and the deep-voiced plea that begged the bedraggled, bleeding, sweating shape on the bed to * Stay determined.]
[Watching one child crumble to dust, so soon after the other stopped breathing.]
[He can no longer tell whose tears are burning in wet runnels down his cheeks.]
[...]
[He no longer cares.]
video;
[If Tim could have his way, he'd be issuing this announcement over text. But he can't - having learned, very far after the fact, that the new, clawlike shape of his hands makes inputting text commands rather impossible. It seems Asgardian technology doesn't account for impromptu goat-human hybrids. So instead, people get something different.]
[Something...very different.]
[On day four, a watery scarlet iris stares hollowly at the screen for several moments before Tim pulls back. If the presence of thick white fur and rounded horns and branchlike protrusions doesn't cement that something has gone really, horribly, terribly wrong, then the tremor in his voice and the glisten of tears down his cheeks certainly should.]
I, uh...
[Maybe it's the eyes - the eyes that, though they've changed in color, undeniably belong to one Timothy Wright.]
Asgore told me - he said that I had to, I had to take it before anyone else did. I didn't know this would - god - I didn't know.
[He's trying not to break down. He's trying not to. He can no longer tell whose guilt is swelling like a tumor in his chest, whose grief is eating at his heart. At the soul he allegedly, apparently possesses.]
I'm sorry.
no subject
What, does it--does it feel like it has nerve endings all the way up, or...?
[He thought it'd be numb, like horn. What the hell, Tim?]
no subject
[Not helpful. Don't be curt, Timothy. Speak up. How does it make you feel, specifically? We need you to be clearer than that, Timothy. You owe us that. We can't help you if you don't try.]
[So, okay.]
Like...hair, maybe? Like, it's not me but it's attached to me?
no subject
[Regardless, that makes some sense. No feeling in the branches, but sensitive at the base. Like hair, like he said. Now that Jay knows how it feels, maybe those nightmare's will be just that little bit more realistic. Hooray.]
[Then another thought sets in, and Jay's already talking before it has time to get through the "is this weird?" filter.]
Those aren't...from Asgore, right? So--so if we weren't human, we, or I mean, you'd be...?
[Tim would be something straight out of Jay's nightmares. They both would. This isn't just Tim, and Jay Knows it with the same certainty he Knows Tim's Mirror wasn't just writing gibberish, months ago.]
no subject
[It's a dull admission. There's no other explanation. Who else would that be coming from? Asgore doesn't have that kind of magic in him - no part of him is reminiscent of branches arcing up into the sky with clawlike twigs scratching at the fog.]
[It's him.]
[It has to be.]
Maybe this is just what...magic does.
[It makes it harder to hide what you really are.]
no subject
[This place toys with their bodies, with their memories. Wouldn't take much for Jay to start sprouting branches of his own, would it? Wouldn't take much for the air to split apart and send him back where he started, to dunk his head underwater until he chokes.]
[Rewind, play back. "There's still magic in this world, Brian. You just have to look in the right place."]
[Jay lets out a choked, gagging noise, catches his balance against the bed.]
[Not part of this. He's not part of this. It's happening to Tim. He's just the cameraman. He's fine.]
Y-yeah, maybe.
no subject
[Something else he did wrong.]
You okay?
[The absurdity of it doesn't strike him immediately - asking if the guy who isn't a shambling mess of magic and fur and branches unfurling from his back like antlers is the one who's okay.]
no subject
[He's fine. He's fine.]
Just thinking about...It's nothing.
[It doesn't matter. Tim's had worse. Tim's had a thousand times worse. Jay shouldn't have thought about
home.Just a mistake. Just another stupid idea. Cut this out of the entry before uploading. Nobody wants to see it.][It doesn't matter. He's fine.]
So we just. [Get it together.] Keep the door locked, and we wait. Less than 24 hours now, right?
no subject
[It's nothing. It's always nothing, where Jay's concerned. He'd push it if he could, but right now? Right now, he's simply too exhausted. He glances down at the urn clasped between his claws, and swallows.]
[Not that simple.]
I gotta...I have to give this to his kids. Just - lemme do that, and I'll wait it out.
[And he makes it sounds like he's fucking bargaining. It should be his choice, shouldn't it?]
[Maybe he's just defaulted to the time when it wasn't.]
no subject
I mean, it's your call. [Jay shrugs.] How much of a walk is that?
[And is he coming back here, or is he going to wait it out somewhere else? Jay's not in any immediate danger, not any more than he has been the rest of the event, but it doesn't exactly sound like Tim's safe while he's like that. Might not be the greatest idea to split up for the whole 24 hours.]
no subject
[It's your call. But it's...not, really. He's still beholden to the same rules that's always bound him. He's a danger. Needs to be contained. Needs to be controlled. He set the whole mess of them on fire, and he'd watched them burn, and even now - even now, none of it will come close to the way Alex had gasped and shuddered beneath his grip, fingers clasped fruitlessly over the wet rush of scarlet.]
...not for very long, either.
no subject
[Better than going it alone.]
Alright. Just...knock when you get back, I guess.
no subject
[Obedient, respectful. Exactly the way he should be. It'll all work out just fine, right?]
[Right.]
[First he has to scrape himself off from the floor. Pull himself together into something that's vaguely presentable (what a joke), and head out again. There's too many fucking bolts, and his claws are too big to handle them. He fumbles for several moments before he can get the door open properly.]
I'll be back, then. I guess.
no subject
Good... [Good luck? Tim's bringing the ashes of a dead man to his children; good luck is not appropriate here.] Hope it goes...as well as something like that can go.
[Also pretty terrible, but maybe not as terrible as 'good luck'.]
no subject
[Yeah, sure. Maybe he'll need it. Those sins of his are weighing around his neck more potently than ever, and he's not even the only one who has to live with them. The dust of the king of all monsters is cupped between his paws...between Asgore's paws?]
[He doesn't know anymore.]
[He doesn't say anything else.]
[He can't think of what else needs saying.]
[The door closes quietly behind him.]