interstellar5555 | I'm in the autumn of my years

Who: Greg Universe and any Rescuers
What: who's this asshole
When: June 18
Where: The Rescuers' ship
Warnings: trauma and PTSD

If Greg has a reaction to entering a massive alien guitar spaceship, he keeps it to himself. Between the drama of the ritual, the return of his maimed soul, and his haphazard rescue, he simply has too much to process first before he can take in the rest of the rescuer operation. As a result, first thing he does is find a small, empty room--a bathroom--and ask to be left alone for a while.

An hour or so later, a very different man emerges again.

It hadn't been his first intention in locking himself in that room, but the longer he'd been in there, the more necessary it had felt. Greg hasn't felt like himself in a very long time. The worst of it was the result of Blanche's meddling with his soul, yes, but it extended before that point as well. The face of his youth, the one Blanche used and tried to make into a different person altogether... Greg couldn't keep looking at that face anymore. It hurt too much, made him too sick. Adding a few years on to his appearance and a beard isn't going to fix it, either; he's not the same person he used to be, either. (After all, he did keep the hair.) But this is better, closer than before. Whoever he is now, this is about as close as he's willing to get.

Greg Universe emerges into the ship, avoiding eye contact, and finally begins to take things in.

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Frisk shakes their head, hair bobbing. "It was a dream. You probably don't remember." It's normal to forget dreams. Nothing worth worrying about.

They could describe what happened, but it doesn't seem very important at this point. Besides, they don't really feel like it. So instead, they offer him a hand. "Wanna look around?" They can give him a tour! Sometimes it feels like they've spent more time on this ship than they did underground.

A dream, huh... well, there's no reason to be skeptical of just about anything anymore. If anything, what's most impressive is how far this kid will go for a dream. That's a pretty good sign.

Greg takes the outstretched hand in his. "I could use a tour guide. You been living here this whole time?"

"We were in Vista for a while." Frisk isn't sure they'll ever return. They brought their few belongings with them when they left. "I worked in the mall." They seem too young to be working anywhere at all, but honestly that is not the most incongruous thing here.

They take his hand, leading him down the corridor. None of it is particularly homey; if it were their spaceship, they like to think they'd do some different things. "The rooms are down here. You can pick one." It's lucky there's so many. The common areas are going to be crowded during the day, but even with all the musicians who just came in, they shouldn't run out of beds.

It's not as though space ships have ever had a reputation for being cozy in any of the books Greg read, but there is a weird duality of the place being both bustling with life and austere.

Greg looks down the hall, brow knitted. "Can... is it one person to a room?" He's not super sure how alone he'll want to be, at night.

It's been one to a room as far as Frisk knows. But they shrug anyway. "Whatever." Nobody's going to care. Sometimes it's nice to bunk with others. They've fallen asleep in Papyrus's room once or twice, though he hardly ever sleeps there with them.

"Me and Sans are down there," they continue, pointing. "And Papyrus. Connie and Lapis are a few down." The soul crystals move around, depending on who wants to study them and who doesn't want to look at them anymore. Now that everyone knows what they are, though, people generally at least take care not to throw them in everyone's faces. Greg probably won't just stumble across them.

(Frisk thinks that might be upsetting.)

Greg nods, though the information doesn't so much sink in as it does add to the overflowing pot.

"You guys have collected a crew of really good people, huh?" His hand shakes a little in Frisk's. The shift in setting is finally starting to dawn on him. Gratitude mixes with a sense of foolishness. "You've all been looking out for us for a long time."

It has been a while now, hasn't it? Frisk shrugs slightly after considering it for a moment. "We had to stay away for most of it." Granted, a lot of the rescuers did a poor job of that - Frisk in particular. It all worked out, but they still wish they had all been able to do a little more, a little quicker.

"Silver said it was dangerous to get too close." They tilt their head in thought for a moment, then add: "Gold too. Gold isn't around anymore."

"They're... the helmet guys, right?" His brows knit together. "A lot of my buddies at Virgo mentioned them, but I never got to see 'em." They'd sounded more like urban legends, aside from the fact that their effects were undeniably real. But one's gone missing? Without knowing them, Greg can only imagine what could cause that. "Maybe they're on some kind of secret mission. Double-secret?"

They shrug again. That could be it. Silver hasn't said anything, and to be fair it's not like they asked him either. Frisk's a little concerned that it could be a touchy subject.

But there's no real reason to suggest that to Greg. He just got here. He doesn't even know Gold and Silver - it's not his problem if they're getting along okay. "I know Silver better. He did Virgo stuff." And, obviously, Sans was in Virgo. They worry about the Pride musicians too, but most of their efforts have been focused that way. "You'll meet him. He's..."

They think about the word, fingers moving idly for a moment.

"...rude, sometimes? But nice." They actually quite like Silver. Even if he doesn't seem to like most of their plans.

Hard to say what adjective Greg expected, but that choice caught him off guard. They get a laugh out of him.

"Well, rude or not, they've done an incredible thing here. I'm gonna have to make sure to thank them." His head tilts, thinking it over. "Got some questions I wanna ask, too, but... they're busy, I bet. It can wait."

He looks down at Frisk again. "So, uh. What do you guys do around here when you're not being big heroes?"

Honestly, Frisk hasn't seen Silver since all the stuff in Moscow. He's probably really really busy.

At the question, they shrug a little. There's not a whole lot to really do on the ship. It's better now than it was on the way to this world, at least; they've mostly all got phones with Internet connections now. Frisk isn't entirely clear how they have wifi, but they're used to underground monster phones, so they haven't really thought too hard about it.

"I draw," they reply. "And watch you guys on the Internet." They know better than to believe the tabloids, but following Twitter feeds has been interesting. "When we stop I take my flower outside for sun."

I'm in the autumn of my years

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