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entranceworks2016-01-23 12:13 am
vitaelamorte) wrote in entranceworks2016-01-23 12:13 am
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+ ENTRANCEWAY TEST DRIVE MEME +
You have isolated your victim to study it at length, seeking to become them. You are nearly satisfied you know your chosen subject, ready to take on its form, leaving the poor soul to rot. You crave bottomlessly to be more, more powerful, more skilled, more inspired, and being them will be so much more interesting.
They will tell you what they think, they will tell you what they feel, they will tell you what they see. Are all these shapes useful? Will they let you know them? Will they tell you more about them?
For you must see more. You have not yet seen enough. You must rise--
--to the occasion at the
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no subject
"I'm exploring the grounds of this mansion." He says simply. Archer lets his eyes wander over Frisk's entire being before meeting their gaze, squarely in the eye. Well, as much as he can being considerably a few feet taller than them.
no subject
For a moment they can't think of anything else to say. It sounds stupid for them to have been so innately hostile when they don't like the feeling of prickling on their neck, of constantly being watched, of having to always look out for a spear that might be thrown or a bomb that might go off. It's exhausting. And they're tired of it.
They were supposed to be done with it, once they all got to the surface. Why aren't they there now? They're on a surface, certainly, but not the same one. Or...is that right? Their head's beginning to hurt, which is a sure sign that they need to readjust their values and align themselves back in the present tense.
There. Set.
"Me too." Their lips barely move to form the words and they creak out so quietly, their shape shrinking, their gaze downcast. The knife's worn handle is rough against their palm. They straighten up and look at the tall man directly, eye-to-eye. "Could've been anyone."
That is to say, they had no idea if whoever was coming would be hostile or not. They still don't.
no subject
"Understandable." Archer nods, agreeing with their tactics. Then again, he wouldn't have chosen a gardening knife as his weapon of choice. He steps up to them, redirecting his gaze back down to the knife.
"However, I wouldn't have that kind of weapon on hand." It looks worn. It could have been used for it's appropriate purpose, then again, it could have seen it's own share of bloodshed. "Too short of a blade. Then again, you make do with what you have."
no subject
"I don't like to fight."
It's five words, simple enough. The firm grip they have on the blade should speak pretty clearly to the fact that they will fight if they absolutely have to, even if it's not their preferred course of action. It's been long, very long since they last interacted with another human. They've almost forgotten what to expect.
Speaking again is something of an exhausting prospect, but humans don't excel at nonverbal communication the way monsters do. Not the humans Frisk remembers, in any case. They have to mentally rehearse what they plan to say before they say it, slow and careful, in hopes that it doesn't sound like a challenge: "Do you?"
no subject
He doesn't miss a beat, "Yes, I do fight."
Not because he liked it. That's all he knew. Fighting for one common goal in which seven others like him were after as well. Even in his former life, that's all he knew of. Being the guardian he was. Completing missions in any way necessary, which meant doing dirty the dirty work for those too scared too.
"It's what I was made for."
no subject
(The illusion of choice. To say yes or no, to accept an offer or to dismiss it. All to the same end. All to the same conclusion.)
Frisk steps back, their grip on their weapon tightening. They shake their head, short and rapid, a blunt, blatant denial of what he's already stated. What can they say? That it isn't true? That he doesn't have to? What do they know?
They're just some kid. Not even a kid some of the time, those times when they picked up the knife and their hands were speckled with a chalky powder and no no no no no
Frisk pulls in a breath. And another.
And slips the knife into their pocket.
"I wasn't." They hold their hands out. Unarmed now, see?
no subject
"I do not intend to fight with just anyone." He tries to reassure them. They didn't pose a threat to him. They never made that choice to actually lunge out at him when they had their knife drawn. Probably a safe move for the both of them. He lowers his hands.
"I'm summoned to fight for others." Archer wasn't some blood thirsty fighter who looked around every corner to find a willing opponent. His main targets were other Servants like himself, and other Masters. Then again, there was the possibility of others looking for fights here. And Archer would rise to occasion, if that were the case.
no subject
(Constants can't be derived from an incomplete set of variables.)
"Why?"
A single word, hardly informative, nor really a grounds for full conversation. One-sided, as all of Frisk's conversations tend to be. Their cheeks burn mildly in embarrassment, but they tamp it down furiously. They're not stupid. Talking just happens to be a particular difficulty at times. That's all.
no subject
He doesn't mind how quiet and selective they are in their words. Coming his environment, it was refreshing. Actions spoke louder than words to the Guardian. A nice change of pace from being around someone who worried about perfection and absolution.
"We're summoned by mages, and we fight for them in order to obtain said Grail. It grants a wish to the last remaining mage." He's clear and to the point with his words. "We fight to kill." However, with this new world and surroundings,this may no longer be the case. He couldn't feel any other Servants around.
"You fight only to survive, yes?"
no subject
(Or is that a conclusion drawn out from the other SOUL that might be caught in their head.)
Frisk nods once, tentatively. That's not how they would put it, but it's good enough. They fight when there is simply no other option.
They take a breath before going ahead with what they want to say next. It's based in hope, not fact, and it makes them feel more than ever like the child that they are.
"You don't have to fight anymore." There's no one else around, right? That means he doesn't have to fight, right?
no subject
Archer is silent for a few beats. Then what was the point of him being here? There had to be a reason to this. Why he was brought here. There had to be a purpose. He couldn't sit around on idle hands. His lips purse into a thin line, his shoulders slumping a fraction. As much as the fact irritated him to a certain degree, the child was right. No more fighting. No more Grail. No other Servants to worry about.
There was the issue of him having limited mana, and staying alive. He had a few days to figure that out.
"For the time being, no I won't have to fight." He finally speaks up. "I do hope there's a reason why we were dragged here in the first place."
no subject
They point to the mansion, carefully lining up their finger with what looks to be door, and shoot the tall man an inquisitive look. If they go inside, there might be answers.
"Frisk," they say, then have to hesitate and start again. "I'm Frisk."
Some things have to be better contextualized when you share your name with a semi-common verb.