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What did those flowers every do to you?

Frisk pauses for a second, looks up. "Nothin'."

They've got plenty around their legs. All plucked fresh. All sizes, but all various shades of yellow.

They get back to petal-tearing. "You can take some."

"I'm good," he says and watched the girl curiously. Something feels off about her but he can't nail it down. Perhaps being far more chill than human children he has met.

One of those things could be is that they're not a girl. Or a boy. They're what they want.

A few more petals flutter down. Frisk's jeans are getting absolutely covered in pollen, and it's lucky they're not allergic.

"Hm. Why?" Not why don't you want these, but why'd you ask, though they don't make that particularly clear.

"I haven't got anyone to give them too," he says with a roll of his shoulders. He doesn't particularly have a use of flowers either. But the actions of the...whatever their gender may be, intrigued him.

"You can keep them for you," the kid says, shrugging. "Or, um. Join. 'F that's...your thing."

Really. They're already sort of regretting just how many they collected.

"I'm not much for keeping flowers around. They tend to die on me," the fallen angel responds with a shrug. Mostly because he's too lazy to water them. It seems pointless when he's older than the oldest tree... expect for the ones in Garden of Eden. "Which ironically is what you're doing right now. Killing them."

"Still, they're pretty for a little bit. An' they die soon as they're picked," they correct absently.

They drop the one in their fingers, finished, scrubbing their hands together and looking at him again. "I usually don't. Just, um, bad memories."

"Well they can remain fresh for a little while longer if they have a vase filled with water," he retorts.

"Bad memories?" he tilts his head slightly. He's not quite sure what they mean. He almost asks if a flower killed their family but decides against it.

Frisk blinks. "...Yeah, I guess." They hadn't really thought about that.

They're a small kid. Already young, not even a so-called tween. People don't believe a lot of what they say about stuff like 'magic', or there's playing-along until Frisk says something morbid and uncomfortable.

They judge whether or not it's worth doing that to this guy.

And they decide kay, whatever.

"A flower killed me a buncha times."

"A what did what?"

...Okay, that's a funny reaction. They nearly start grinning.

"A flower. Killed me a buncha times. Like, um, prob'ly fifty?"

"How'd you manage to not die permanently?" he questions. because that's seems to be the big question. Not the murderous flower part.

Frisk's face finally breaks into a frown. That's the boring question! They'd rather vent about the stupid flower.

"Magic. Went back a little before it happened. Why? Gonna try to do something 'bout it?"

"In my experience, dead people usually remain dead," he shrugs. "I'm not going to do anything about it, I'm retired."

Edited 2019-10-16 17:39 (UTC)

...Frisk's interest is piqued.

"Retired? From...killing people?"

"Yes. I decided I didn't want to do it any more."

"Cool! It sucks. For everybody...involved." Even the killer gets damaged, if only to their SOUL or feelings or heart or whatever somebody might want to call it.

"My boss wasn't happy with me quitting though," he responds with a shrug, feeling touched by the child being as encouraging.

Edited 2019-10-17 10:38 (UTC)

Not really a shock. Sad, though. "Tried to kill you back," they guess.

"They exiled me," he said with a shrug. But then he realized that perhaps the child didn't know what that was. "As in throwing me out of the house that I had lived in all my life and saying I can't come back. Ever. My boss is my dad aswell," he corrected himself.

What the heck. That's almost worse. That is worse, to them. They got thrown out once, and that was even worse than all the dying.

"That's horrible," Frisk says flatly. Their hands go back to a flower, peeling it apart from the bottom of the stem this time. "You're doing better? Away from him?"

Much like the monsters being exiled from the surface.

"I don't miss him. But I miss where I lived before. It..." he starts, searching for words. "It was a very nice house where you could get all you heart's desires for free. He was very rich my dad. Very kind as long as you didn't disobey him. Which I did. I'm OK now... it has been a long time since I saw my dad. But it's not as easy to live in the rest of the world. But I have my brother. We support each other in our exile."

From a safe distance, a small person watches the petals fall, peering under a linen wrap covering her eyes.

"...you're not going to eat those?" Granted, she doesn't know if that's an edible species of flower, but it looks like it might taste good to her.

Rich. Anybody who surrounds themselves in luxury...are generally less-than-kind at best. Not always, but often. "...'S good not to be all by yourself. What d'you do now?"

Frisk has no idea how old he is, but their thoughts are already wandering towards their mother. Toriel wouldn't be against helping take care of a couple of maybe-kids.

Frisk startles briefly, eyes flashing up. They thought they were alone here.

"...Um, no." They'll eat lots of things, up to and including garbage, but flowers are a little much.

A beat. Frisk looks at the rest--they collected a ton, all various yellow ones--around their legs. "You can have some 'f you want."

It seemed to be the closest word that he could use. How do you describe Heaven to a child after all? He purses his lips as he considers the question. "Not much. Just trying to live the best life I can," he then says.

As for his age, while he looks like he'd be 19-20, he's several millennia old. It doesn't sound like a thing he'd like to explain right now without knowing more about Frisk. He doesn't know what they have been through or their frame of perspective.

Edited 2019-10-17 16:39 (UTC)

For those that can sense such things, Deet has an aura of restless darkness around her, but it's not really her. She's just a hungry and curious gelfling. And flowers are delicious, if a somewhat acquired taste.

"Are you sure? I mean, if you're not using them all..." She's careful not to touch Frisk as she approaches, but doesn't need further invitation to help herself to a little handful. "We eat moss mostly, where I'm from. Thank you! I'm Deet. What's your name?"

Frisk can, but doesn't notice. Lots of different monsters have lots of different auras or feelings. It takes something particularly awful to actually stand out. After all, most of the bad feelings are just weird ones that humans aren't used to. Monsters are nice.

"'S fine--" wait no their hand flies out, slamming over buttercups. "But NOT those! Poisonous," they add, quieter. Whoops.

They blink. It's unusual for anybody to ask their name at first. "'M Frisk. There's a lotta moss here, I think."

Deet would be surprised to hear herself described as a monster, but then the way Frisk thinks of monsters is somewhat different than the way she normally hears the word used. It's probably fitting. For whatever it's worth, she's pretty tiny, less than three feet tall, but the way she moves around Frisk makes it seem more like she's being careful not to harm them than that she's afraid of them for her own sake.

Deet's little hands have three fingers and a thumb, and short, chipped nails, like someone who digs or farms or has been journeying. She's not picky about what she grabs, but what she's mostly got seem to be dandelions. She starts at the sudden movement, but smiles when Frisk explains, nodding to them. "Okay. Thank you."

Moving back, she sits nearby, on a patch of rocky ground, and plucks a petal to taste. "Does any of it glow? Our moss glows."

It's familiar, anyway. Lotsa monsters move different around them, now that it's common knowledge that humans and monster-bullet-magic doesn't mix. They understand, but they would've appreciated it before some friendly greetings lead to wounds and death more times than they bothered counting.

More bad memories surface. "...Welcome." They draw their hand and the bundle of buttercups back, the whole thing, and start crushing the petals together instead.

They're not being very pleasant, are they? Frisk goes to try a little harder, giving a tired grin even though they don't entirely feel like it. "Not these ones. Um. Echo flowers do. They glow blue an' they repeat what anyone says to them. Never tried to eat them, though. I don't think that's allowed."

Deet definitely has no intention of hurting them. She's more or less unarmed, but the dark power she carries is hard to control. Some of the grass wilts and twists strangely around her as she passes it. Luckily, the flowers she's picked up to eat are unaffected, maybe because their stems are already cut.

She eats quickly, evidently pretty hungry, but her face is turned toward Frisk's, attentive to both what they're saying and what they're doing. Crushing petals for no evident reason makes no sense to her, but so do a lot of things she's run into lately.

"I'm not sure I'd want to eat anything that could talk to me," she says thoughtfully. "Even if it was just repeating my words. Are you all right? You almost seem like you're angry at the flowers."

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vaguely picturing 'em hangin out in a mountain forest if that's alright :V

works for me!

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