Another day, another opportunity for a public event where nobody is looking to Papyrus specifically for comfort or reassurance - a guilty relief, still. Another event where nobody is looking to him specifically for anything - it's still uncanny to be in this suburban surface human world, blending in with the astonishing ease only skin and hair can offer.
His hair care routine has come leaps and bounds over the last few weeks, and on display tonight. He's finally figured out combing it neatly without scratching at his scalp, and getting enough of the pomade in there to hold the shape without stray curls escaping. Finally, half his dream of driving down a highway with wind in his hair is underway. He just needs to get driving down well enough to survive the trip.
For now Papyrus is on foot, milling about the town square and peering out through decorative glasses that do nothing for the view. They certainly don't explain the rest of the decor choices. Finally, he addresses whoever's nearest.
"But I've never understood..." Or, more accurately, this is the first time he's hearing about it, "why a ball?"
💀 . . . DROP - Town Square, Jan 1st
He comes to in a panic, aching like he slipped and fell without warning. Maybe that's exactly what happened, since he's sitting on the ground, hugging at his knees. It takes some gasping breaths to make more sense of anything.
Those moments... felt like the most abruptly vivid dreams he can remember ever having. So vivid some of the lingering pains match those moments, an alarming thing for a waking nightmare to leave behind. But it's only a strange tightness around a finger that makes no sense with how it's clutching the pants around his knee, only a cold wet on his face below his eyes. Nothing to worry about. Except, when he looks up... He's not the only one coming to, is he?
"What... what was that? Nobody mentioned something like that. Celebrating the new year with... weird visions?"
💀 HEAD ON STRAIGHT - Front yard, Jan 3rd
He wakes in a bed. A... familiar bed, it takes him a while to conclude, and one he's been in before. Not his bed, not really, but more his bed than anyone else's. A bed that needs to be his, if he's going to keep this life. He's too dizzy to think this through quickly, even just lying there, looking around. Dizzier still when he turns over, rolls to the edge and attempts to climb off it. It takes a while.
He loses track of things, for possibly a longer while, until he's sitting out on the front step. Sitting is a generous word for it - he's collapsed against the door frame in his pajamas, muscles spasming erratically, unable to settle.
It's... not morning. That's about as much as he can remember about how the sun moves, or maybe how the world moves. The lights and shadows aren't the early morning lights and shadows of a husband with a cup of coffee and a newspaper, a wife bringing over eggs and toast. Maybe it's the lighting of midday, of tossing a ball around? He keeps seeing idyllic scenes of human family life. Keeps hearing the sound of that voice describing and scolding, without clear words.
He watches the shadows, and he watches any people going by.
💀 SNOW STORM - Jan 7th onwards
Snow! Finally, this unasked-for home away from home is feeling homey. Sure, maybe he's still a bit tired and stiff, with balance difficult even when he's not standing on slick snow or ice... But it's snow, a reminder of home, and he's out even when the weather's still rough.
At the start, he's more focused on making an oddly skeletal snowman, if with the assistance of a stick or icicle. But the cold seeps in as he goes, and he starts to complain to the air or any passersby about just how many layers he needs to stay warm. The chill in his legs, especially, is motivation to finally get shoveling that path.
Later in the month, though, he'll be better prepared for it. More layers from the start, no more shaking aftereffects from the drug, and no problems with power outages. Then the snow can be something more of a joy and challenge at one - the better for Papyrus to go around the neighborhood, volunteering to help with any drives or sidewalks or yards that could use a bit more work.
💀 HIDE AND SEEK - The Mall, Jan 13th - 15th
There's something about television programs, Papyrus is coming to find, that makes for irresistible messages. First the intense introduction to what makes this community such a joy to live in, and now this savings of a lifetime. And possibly a deathtime, if that shattered glass in the mannequin's unflinching hand is anything to go by.
It's a long couple days, with various desperate attempts to distract or stymie the mannequins. A fishing rod with various things to distract them with movement, except it turns out they're not interested in anything so small as a jacket or shoe or even a detached limb scavenged from someone else's attack. A whole bundle of pillows covered in clothing approximating a human shape, sent down an aisle on a crib. Teamwork, to try wrapping one of the mannequins in a jacket or blanket or any other large fabric to restrict their movement.
Eventually he has to try to sleep, because without electrical shocks the exhaustion sets in with a weight he's never known before. Out of sight, out of mind seems to be the rule, so eventually he's climbing to the highest shelf he can get on, covering himself with whatever items are on sale there - preferably clothes, but curtains or towels or something would work too. He just can't help but hiss out to anyone passing by, letting them know about the shelf and how he hasn't been seen yet - too bad the shelves can't take the weight of two full grown adults, and maybe the sound draws too much attention.
💀 WILDCARD
[Something that isn't quite one of these prompts, but is relevant to the event? Feel free to plot w/me on the plotting post, or PM me on DW or Plurk!]
Papyrus | Undertale | OTA
His hair care routine has come leaps and bounds over the last few weeks, and on display tonight. He's finally figured out combing it neatly without scratching at his scalp, and getting enough of the pomade in there to hold the shape without stray curls escaping. Finally, half his dream of driving down a highway with wind in his hair is underway. He just needs to get driving down well enough to survive the trip.
For now Papyrus is on foot, milling about the town square and peering out through decorative glasses that do nothing for the view. They certainly don't explain the rest of the decor choices. Finally, he addresses whoever's nearest.
"But I've never understood..." Or, more accurately, this is the first time he's hearing about it, "why a ball?"
💀 . . . DROP - Town Square, Jan 1st
Those moments... felt like the most abruptly vivid dreams he can remember ever having. So vivid some of the lingering pains match those moments, an alarming thing for a waking nightmare to leave behind. But it's only a strange tightness around a finger that makes no sense with how it's clutching the pants around his knee, only a cold wet on his face below his eyes. Nothing to worry about. Except, when he looks up... He's not the only one coming to, is he?
"What... what was that? Nobody mentioned something like that. Celebrating the new year with... weird visions?"
💀 HEAD ON STRAIGHT - Front yard, Jan 3rd
He loses track of things, for possibly a longer while, until he's sitting out on the front step. Sitting is a generous word for it - he's collapsed against the door frame in his pajamas, muscles spasming erratically, unable to settle.
It's... not morning. That's about as much as he can remember about how the sun moves, or maybe how the world moves. The lights and shadows aren't the early morning lights and shadows of a husband with a cup of coffee and a newspaper, a wife bringing over eggs and toast. Maybe it's the lighting of midday, of tossing a ball around? He keeps seeing idyllic scenes of human family life. Keeps hearing the sound of that voice describing and scolding, without clear words.
He watches the shadows, and he watches any people going by.
💀 SNOW STORM - Jan 7th onwards
At the start, he's more focused on making an oddly skeletal snowman, if with the assistance of a stick or icicle. But the cold seeps in as he goes, and he starts to complain to the air or any passersby about just how many layers he needs to stay warm. The chill in his legs, especially, is motivation to finally get shoveling that path.
Later in the month, though, he'll be better prepared for it. More layers from the start, no more shaking aftereffects from the drug, and no problems with power outages. Then the snow can be something more of a joy and challenge at one - the better for Papyrus to go around the neighborhood, volunteering to help with any drives or sidewalks or yards that could use a bit more work.
💀 HIDE AND SEEK - The Mall, Jan 13th - 15th
It's a long couple days, with various desperate attempts to distract or stymie the mannequins. A fishing rod with various things to distract them with movement, except it turns out they're not interested in anything so small as a jacket or shoe or even a detached limb scavenged from someone else's attack. A whole bundle of pillows covered in clothing approximating a human shape, sent down an aisle on a crib. Teamwork, to try wrapping one of the mannequins in a jacket or blanket or any other large fabric to restrict their movement.
Eventually he has to try to sleep, because without electrical shocks the exhaustion sets in with a weight he's never known before. Out of sight, out of mind seems to be the rule, so eventually he's climbing to the highest shelf he can get on, covering himself with whatever items are on sale there - preferably clothes, but curtains or towels or something would work too. He just can't help but hiss out to anyone passing by, letting them know about the shelf and how he hasn't been seen yet - too bad the shelves can't take the weight of two full grown adults, and maybe the sound draws too much attention.
💀 WILDCARD