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Jim Butcher, Storm Front

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Oh, are we squinting at each other now? Well, Frisk is pretty good at that game. Let the squinting commence.

At the same time, a small hand raises and makes the slightest of waving motions. This one was called....Metta....ton...right?

1 New victim

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1 New victim

@robotic-rhapsody

Frisk tilted their head at the robot in front of them

...What was this one’s name again?

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whispers

Are any of my followers still around? 

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*at job interview* Oh yes, my criminal record? The only thing illegal I’ve done is absolutely KILLIN it on the dancefloor. Haha, just kidding! I have killed a man

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*cutely rips your organs out*

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Balisong (Butterfly Knife)

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Custom knife for the end of the world

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Trips over some mysterious object on the ground.

What’s this?  Oooohhh, a new gun~ Picks up and waves around.

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Reblog this if you do not care how many rp's you're balancing right now, you want more starters anyways

gimme

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I’M TINY AND ANGRY AND YOU BETTER FUCKING RUN

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self care is actually getting in fights with randoms in dark alleys

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Hmm? A pen and paper?

Ah, the memories Frisk had of carrying around their own notebook and pen, furiously scribbling down their every thought. Now, though, they preferred to stay silent. It seemed to unsettle people. And that made Frisk very happy.

For the moment Frisk decided to continue being nice and not creepy. It would get them food. That was very good. And so they grabbed the pen from the table and quickly scribbled out their name, making sure to give their handwriting the sloppiness expected of a young child. Turning the paper towards the robot they noted how one could just barely make out the word ‘Frisk’. It was, of course, a nickname given to them when they were young. But no one needed to know that. Plus, they couldn’t seem to remember their real name. It would be distressing, if they could muster up the energy it took to care.

Stomach growling again, Frisk sat more upright than before, looking around to find the menu. They needed food. Now.

2 New Victims

That’s right! He heard that growl, which only made his smile grow wider. It’s a proven fact everyone loves his glamburgers, so there’s no way they were getting out now!  Holding their hand, he led them back to the hotel’s restaurant where he could order them something to eat. 

“There you go! It’s much nicer to eat while sitting, is it not?” He wouldn’t know - Mettaton doesn’t need to eat, but he figures that’s what humans do, right? So he might as well!

“Now, if you don’t mind me asking,” he leaned in onto the table, smiling at them despite the oddly familiar feeling he felt tingle up his spine when staring them in the eyes, “Who exactly are you, my dear? Oh, wait- I have something for you-!”

He fished through an open slot in his chest plate for something, then placed a pen and paper (glittery paper with a gel pen, mind you) in front of them.

“There you go! Because, if talking isn’t your thing, at least we can read and write, hmm?”

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I am not “full of hate” as if I were some passive container. I am a generator of hate, and my rage is a renewable resource, like sunshine.

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‘MERCY!’                        they cried,                                                ‘PLEASE — HAVE MERCY!’

‘SORRY,’                       you sneered,                                    ‘—I’M ALL OUT OF MERCY.’