Lapis Lazuli (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
oceantier) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
interstellar55552016-06-16 09:38 pm
oceantier) wrote in interstellar55552016-06-16 09:38 pm
Entry tags:
And I need your love the most
Who: Lapis and characters who participated in her plotline
What: Lapis deals with the aftermath of being controlled by Lesedi and taken down by Gold.
When: Backdated like whoa until shortly after the festival attacks.
Where: Various -- mostly Agent Apartment.
Warnings: Probable angst/trauma dealings
A. Closed to Signless - For three days after Gold arrives and hands it over to Signless, Lapis' gem lies quiet, inert, going wherever Signless goes without any signs of life.
Not until the third day does it awaken.
Light blooms in its core, flushing outward until the whole stone is alive with it, gleaming. Rising into the air from its nest on Signless' mattress, it floats from the bed, light blossoming into the shape of a young woman and flourishing into detail -- toes, fingers, and trailing ribbons that stir in an absent breeze. She uncurls like a bird hatching from an egg, stretching, feet grazing the floorboards, then coming to rest.
For a moment she only stands there, eyes slipping open like she's awakening from a dream, gaze hazy and distant.
And then suddenly, she's awake.
With a sudden, sharp intake of breath, her eyes whisk about the room, wheeling around at the four walls like an animal who's suddenly found herself in a cage, desperate, panicked. Her feet brace against the floor as though she means to run -- somewhere, anywhere -- hands clapping over her ears, eyes squeezed shut as her voice escapes in a shriek.
---
B. Closed to Frisk - If Frisk asks for her, they'll be allowed in during the time between when she awakens from her gem and when she first ventures outward -- during the time when she sequesters herself in Signless' room. Why Frisk is allowed and no one else is hard to say . . . but this is how it is.
---
C. Open to Agent Apartment - For a few days she doesn't emerge from Signless' room at all.
When at last she does, it's at night.
While the rest of apartment supposedly sleeps, generally around 2:00 in the morning, she slips from Signless' room, a shadow nearly silent on bared feet, taking residence in the empty common room. For a few hours she can be found on the couch in one of two ways:
C1. In a pool of lamplight, wedged into a corner of the couch, feet tucked up underneath her, a small pile of magazines around her. Mostly she seems to be studying pictures instead of reading the text. Exhaustion is imprinted in her face, dark in hollows beneath her eyes, readable in the wilting curve of her neck and shoulders.
C2. Asleep, curled into a half ball, her neck striking a bad angle with the couch arm. Thought Gems weren't supposed to sleep? She apparently is . . . but it doesn't look peaceful. Her eyebrows knit, features tensed, limbs pulled as close as she can manage.
With something between a yelp and a shriek, she'll wake up suddenly, eyes enormous and dark, unfocused.
---
D. Open to Agent Apartment or Undertale - She wends her way up to the roof. It's late -- more than enough late for the city to be quiet, but even at this hour there is still plenty of light from nightlife, still the honks and beeps of cars. The stars are invisible, swallowed in the light pollution, and the beach is far away.
She leans against the edge of the roof and stares down at the street below, then out at the skyline of the city itself. The wind stirs the ribbons at her neck, but otherwise she doesn't move, silent and still.
---
E. Closed to Oscar - She doubts he wants anything to do with her. There seems no reason why he should.
She wants to know what's happened to him, wants to know if he's okay, but she doesn't go. Doesn't contact. In the limbo that the silence between them creates, it's akin to Schrodinger's cat paradox: She doesn't have to look under the box to find out his status. She doesn't have to run the risk of finding out that things are not as well as she might hope. She doesn't have to face the rejection she's sure is coming.
If he comes to find her, she'll be in the apartment . . . but he'll have to have convinced someone else to let him in.
---
F. Closed to Steven - At night she leaves the apartment building from the roof, slipping into the form of a small, blue bird and winging through the sky in staccato bursts, landing at nearly every other building.
Wrong. Wrong. This is wrong; she shouldn't be doing this. She can't do this; she's going to be found, going to be caught again.
At least five times she stops on a foreign roof, suddenly back to herself again, crouched and burying her face into her hands as her chest contracts so tightly she can barely breathe. I can't. I can't. I can't.
But always one thought in the wake: I have to see him. I want to see him.
So it goes every few minutes. But every few minutes, in spite of her hesitation, she shifts back. Presses on.
She knows exactly which window to choose at Pride; she memorized it long ago. Clinging to the window ledge on small bird feet, trying to swallow back the sound of her own pounding heartbeat, she taps at the glass with her beak and silently pleads with the boy inside to answer.
---
G. Closed to Greg - The young woman is red-haired, a small starfield of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Unlike most of the others her age, she's alone at the signing, quiet, not taking selfies or chattering with anyone. In fact, she looks almost . . . unhappy? Definitely weighted, her thin shoulders drawn inward. Her eyes linger on Marty's empty chair, then back toward Greg in his.
Though she's there almost the full time, she doesn't enter the line until nearly the end, when she's almost the last. She waits there, eyes cast downward, until it's her turn.
There's nothing in her hands.
What: Lapis deals with the aftermath of being controlled by Lesedi and taken down by Gold.
When: Backdated like whoa until shortly after the festival attacks.
Where: Various -- mostly Agent Apartment.
Warnings: Probable angst/trauma dealings
A. Closed to Signless - For three days after Gold arrives and hands it over to Signless, Lapis' gem lies quiet, inert, going wherever Signless goes without any signs of life.
Not until the third day does it awaken.
Light blooms in its core, flushing outward until the whole stone is alive with it, gleaming. Rising into the air from its nest on Signless' mattress, it floats from the bed, light blossoming into the shape of a young woman and flourishing into detail -- toes, fingers, and trailing ribbons that stir in an absent breeze. She uncurls like a bird hatching from an egg, stretching, feet grazing the floorboards, then coming to rest.
For a moment she only stands there, eyes slipping open like she's awakening from a dream, gaze hazy and distant.
And then suddenly, she's awake.
With a sudden, sharp intake of breath, her eyes whisk about the room, wheeling around at the four walls like an animal who's suddenly found herself in a cage, desperate, panicked. Her feet brace against the floor as though she means to run -- somewhere, anywhere -- hands clapping over her ears, eyes squeezed shut as her voice escapes in a shriek.
---
B. Closed to Frisk - If Frisk asks for her, they'll be allowed in during the time between when she awakens from her gem and when she first ventures outward -- during the time when she sequesters herself in Signless' room. Why Frisk is allowed and no one else is hard to say . . . but this is how it is.
---
C. Open to Agent Apartment - For a few days she doesn't emerge from Signless' room at all.
When at last she does, it's at night.
While the rest of apartment supposedly sleeps, generally around 2:00 in the morning, she slips from Signless' room, a shadow nearly silent on bared feet, taking residence in the empty common room. For a few hours she can be found on the couch in one of two ways:
C1. In a pool of lamplight, wedged into a corner of the couch, feet tucked up underneath her, a small pile of magazines around her. Mostly she seems to be studying pictures instead of reading the text. Exhaustion is imprinted in her face, dark in hollows beneath her eyes, readable in the wilting curve of her neck and shoulders.
C2. Asleep, curled into a half ball, her neck striking a bad angle with the couch arm. Thought Gems weren't supposed to sleep? She apparently is . . . but it doesn't look peaceful. Her eyebrows knit, features tensed, limbs pulled as close as she can manage.
With something between a yelp and a shriek, she'll wake up suddenly, eyes enormous and dark, unfocused.
---
D. Open to Agent Apartment or Undertale - She wends her way up to the roof. It's late -- more than enough late for the city to be quiet, but even at this hour there is still plenty of light from nightlife, still the honks and beeps of cars. The stars are invisible, swallowed in the light pollution, and the beach is far away.
She leans against the edge of the roof and stares down at the street below, then out at the skyline of the city itself. The wind stirs the ribbons at her neck, but otherwise she doesn't move, silent and still.
---
E. Closed to Oscar - She doubts he wants anything to do with her. There seems no reason why he should.
She wants to know what's happened to him, wants to know if he's okay, but she doesn't go. Doesn't contact. In the limbo that the silence between them creates, it's akin to Schrodinger's cat paradox: She doesn't have to look under the box to find out his status. She doesn't have to run the risk of finding out that things are not as well as she might hope. She doesn't have to face the rejection she's sure is coming.
If he comes to find her, she'll be in the apartment . . . but he'll have to have convinced someone else to let him in.
---
F. Closed to Steven - At night she leaves the apartment building from the roof, slipping into the form of a small, blue bird and winging through the sky in staccato bursts, landing at nearly every other building.
Wrong. Wrong. This is wrong; she shouldn't be doing this. She can't do this; she's going to be found, going to be caught again.
At least five times she stops on a foreign roof, suddenly back to herself again, crouched and burying her face into her hands as her chest contracts so tightly she can barely breathe. I can't. I can't. I can't.
But always one thought in the wake: I have to see him. I want to see him.
So it goes every few minutes. But every few minutes, in spite of her hesitation, she shifts back. Presses on.
She knows exactly which window to choose at Pride; she memorized it long ago. Clinging to the window ledge on small bird feet, trying to swallow back the sound of her own pounding heartbeat, she taps at the glass with her beak and silently pleads with the boy inside to answer.
---
G. Closed to Greg - The young woman is red-haired, a small starfield of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Unlike most of the others her age, she's alone at the signing, quiet, not taking selfies or chattering with anyone. In fact, she looks almost . . . unhappy? Definitely weighted, her thin shoulders drawn inward. Her eyes linger on Marty's empty chair, then back toward Greg in his.
Though she's there almost the full time, she doesn't enter the line until nearly the end, when she's almost the last. She waits there, eyes cast downward, until it's her turn.
There's nothing in her hands.
no subject
It'd have been fine if she didn't. Sometimes you don't - just like how they don't want to talk sometimes, even though they can. But they're pleased that she has, and they smile softly down at her before sitting down where they are. Once they're settled, they give her a little wave. Hey there.
no subject
"Hello." It's a whisper, half-formed; her voice is almost too hoarse for the first syllable, cutting it short.
It's not the best thing to say in light of everything she should say to them. It's a tentative word instead -- a word to see what happens, a word for lacking the knowledge of how to begin.
She can remember it: Their small body in her arms, her twisting to strike the ground first, the jerk of her shoulder as it meets the earth.
Do they remember it too? She wants to know -- needs to know somehow, for reasons she's not sure she knows yet.
no subject
Their response is quiet. But then, that's typical of Frisk. So is the silence they lapse back into afterwards, thoughtful as they watch Lapis's face.
Shades of this are so familiar. They can't help but think of Asriel - the things they said to him, the things they didn't. For all that they care for him, they're much closer to Lapis than they ever were with their almost-brother; they've simply had so much longer to know each other. She must feel worse because of it. She'd tried so hard to protect them before, like in the warehouse...
That makes them think of themself.
Frisk misses their resets. Even if they didn't use them much lately, it was good to know that they could take back anything they said that went really wrong. All the words they can think of seem silly, or too small. Hurting your friends isn't something you can forget, even if you could take it back. They know she's not okay yet, so they decide not to ask. It might make her think she should try and pretend. "How are you?" is what they settle on instead, though the words still seem too small. That's just what they want to know.
no subject
Her eyes slip closed, and she settles for a quick, tight shake of the head, shoulders tightening in their hunch.
"You said you've done things." Her voice is still a husky rasp, a bare thread of sound. "How do you live with them?"
Because in spite of it all, Frisk still seems to find ways and means to be at ease -- even maybe at some times, happy. That sort of peace seems very far away right now, but like a drowning woman, she wants something to grasp. To hold.