Movie Magic

It's not a dirty apartment, but it's not the cleanest, either. Things are stacked in a...somewhat orderly fashion, the worst of the mess apparently the current fixation. The sink is stacked high with dishes. A few cupboards are open, revealing that every single one is empty.

The kitchen bench is laden with them all. Hard to say how long they've been there for. But they are getting cleaned now! Grit needs a stool to actually reach the sink, and it wobbles under their feet with every move they make. In the lounge, the television is on; booming out some cartoon show for background noise. The world outside the window is dark.

And that's it, for at least ten minutes. Just Grit, washing the dishes. Stacking them up on the drying rack, emptying the soapy water into the drain when it gets too dirty. Taking up a towel and getting those clean dishes back in the cupboards, just to have a little room to do some more.

A glance, at the clock on the wall. It's...eight-thirty.

And then it's nine-thirty.

Then it's eleven.

The place isn't exactly spotless by the time they're done, but it's a sight better than before. They tuck their stool under the table (so it's not a tripping hazard). They move into a tiny bedroom, for a few minutes, come back out in some baggy pjs. Toddle to the bathroom, brush their teeth. Get a glass of water, and set it on the little plastic coffee table in front of the couch.

They take another glance at the clock.

Eleven-thirty.

Grit falls asleep on the couch.

It's hard to tell if it's the next day, in this scene. Perhaps, it's just a day.

The sky is overcast when the child (are they the same age, here? Are they younger? It's so hard to tell) lets themself out of the apartment building. There's a tiny umbrella in their hand; rainbow colors obvious even if it's folded up.

They walk the several blocks necessary to get to school.

But at least they know the road rules.

As Grit walks up the steps to their classroom, the "camera" doesn't follow. It keeps panning over to the left, the color of the sky shifting just the right amount, rain falling, then clearing. Children begin to shout, the clamor of games being played. They come into sight as the building ends, rushing across a grassy field, playing what they will.

There's a mountain in the distance. Rather than join their peers in the games being played, Grit seems rather content to just sit and stare up at it, either completely unaware that a small group of girls are approaching them, or ignoring them completely.

They don't seem to like that.

"You know what they say about that mountain?" One of the kids pipes up (likely the leader, from the way she stands in the middle, chin raised in a challenging manner), folding their arms when Grit glances up at her. "People who go up Mount Ebott disappear."

....She doesn't continue until it's obvious there's not going to be a response.

"People take heaps of stuff up there, and it all disappears. Because that's what happens to stuff people don't want. It disappears."

Again. No response.

"Maybe your dad should take you up there, too."

....

Eventually, one of the other girls begins to complain about being bored- "They never say anything, lets go play."- and off they go. Back into the thick of children, trying to make the most of whatever time is left of their recess. And still, Grit doesn't move...though, perhaps, their fingers are curled a little tighter against their palms.

Their eyes flick to the kid's retreating backs.

Then back to the mountain.

It's a beautiful day outside. Birds are singing, flowers are blooming.

It really is the perfect day to play a game of catch.

Grit's not playing catch, however. They're seated on a fallen tree trunk, a man crouched before them. There's...not much family resemblance, really. But they seem rather attentive to him all the same as he pats one of their knees, lips twitching into an awkward smile that's more than a little nervous.

It is not the smile of a man who doesn't understand he's doing wrong.

"Just a couple of minutes, sport. I'll be right over that way," A vague point in some direction. "And you just- wait here, alright? I'll be right back."

Grit looks at him. It's not the look of a child who doesn't understand what's happening. But still, they nod, and he lets out a slow breath as he stands, ruffling their hair in a distracted manner. He doesn't even look at them as he leaves.

He doesn't even walk in the direction he pointed.

The woods are quiet, but they're hardly dark and deep. Grit can still see the town from here, and the slope they're on does nothing to hide the way the ground continues to curve upwards, ending in a peak that's still a long ways away. They're as close to it as they are to the small city sprawled out in the distance, possibly.

...A few minutes pass. The sound of him walking away gets quieter, until it can't even be heard at all. It's late, but there's very little they can do about that. Grit's the only one there to hear themself speak.

"Okay."

They don't stay still for much longer. Pushing off their seat, Grit stumbles the landing, but they don't seem to notice. They look at the town.

And then they walk in the other direction.

It’s getting dark; so dark that they can hardly see the path in front of them, or the silhouettes of trees against the purple-black sky.

Regardless, they have two options, in a situation like this. To stop or keep going. And they keep going. Keep tripping on rocks and scuffing up their hands until they’re out of bandages with smiley faces on them to place over the new cuts, but still, Grit doesn't stop. Just pauses from time to time, to transfer a bandage from one part of their skin to another. It's uh...not all that hygienic, but it's something.

There’s a stitch in their side, but they can’t really do anything about that. They huff out their breaths and it hurts; and when the shadows seem to hide stuff that moves and doesn’t and does, they huff harder. Scared?

No.

Grit winds up sprawling when the path ahead of them abruptly levels out. More scratches and no band-aids... that’s okay. They lay their with their arms flat against the ground, and stare straight ahead, because the dark is never really as dark as it likes to think it is. Eventually, they’ll see something.

A mouth looms over them. It’s so high, so wide. Set into the ground in such a way that it looks like the mountain is trying to bite down, eat it’s way to the ground far below. To the little lights of a little town, twinkling in the distance. A cave. It’s a cave, way up here. All alone.

Slowly getting to their feet, they dust themselves off, gently petting one corner of the mouth as they approach. Grit doesn't have a torch, or any source of light at all, really, but they enter the cave anyway. One step at a time, waiting for the dark to stop pretending it’s darker than it actually is.

What little light that sense of nonsensical belief brings isn’t much. There’s nothing but shapes and walls and more shapes; a floor that sinks in and leaps in oddly frantic motions. They crouch down to feel them. Vines. Curious, they lean forward, feel a little more. Vines.

And a patch of darkness. Darker and darker still. If they squint, they can see the way it curves around in front of them, another gaping maw that disappears out of their poorly imagined field of vision.

A mountain with a mouth with a hole that went on forever.

Perhaps so much so, that anything falling into it would just fall forever too. It’s a thought that gives way to a moment of pause, an idea that sticks and stays when dusty fingers curl around a tiny stone, gently pitching it over the side.

 

It falls.

 

It falls and falls and falls, with no sound to make. No answer. Would it keep falling, forever? Would anybody know? Would anybody care?

Mount Ebott. The mountain where everything disappeared.

A tremulous breath escapes them. A sigh, perhaps; of pain, or regret, or relief. A mingling mixture of words and emotions that had escaped their capability to perceive so far, though they feel them anyway. They all fall away. The world falls away. It all falls away, disappearing, quiet.

They wipe clammy palms on their pants, thumbs idly tugging on the inside of their sleeves. In an almost idle fashion, they spread their arms.

They tilt. Ever so slowly, hair pitching forwards then back across their cheeks, the gentle build turning into a gusting rush as they let the mountain swallow them whole. Falling forever? It doesn’t sound so bad.

Mount Ebott. The mountain where everything disappeared.

 

The mountain people took things they didn’t want anymore.













And perhaps, if anyone sat there long in stunned silence long enough?

They'd get a sneak preview for the sequel.
 

Movie Magic 2

The screen is black.

Right up until a glowing blue spear flashes across it. It flies through the air with clear intention; to strike at the heart of it’s thrower’s enemy. It meets resistance, crackling light and the hiss of what almost sounds like electricity before it disappears into thin air.

Grit doesn’t have the time to celebrate. They spin on their heel, deflecting several more sharp implements away, barely raising their arms in time, more than once. Their height is not an advantage in this situation. Every hit that connects has Grit skidding back a few inches from the force, almost tumbling straight back to the ground.

They look exhausted.

But still, they shake their head. And still, more spears come.

“I just want to be friends!” The comment is yelled across the space, distracting them from what they really should be doing. A spear comes from their left, oddly slow.

And many more come from every other direction, lightning fast.

“Honestly, killing you now is an act of mercy!”

They’re not fast enough. It’s not possible to be fast enough, and their breath hitches, just the once. As a spear hits it’s mark and sinks straight through their chest, mouth opening soundlessly-

The entire world. Shifts.

A shutterclick, before Frisk is standing beside an oddly glowing sphere of light, drawing in a ragged breath as their hands come up to clutch at their chest. No...no hole, no wound.

They look up at something...or someone, before abruptly turning and marching away. Footsteps growing faster and faster, until they reach a bridge over an inky black abyss that seemingly stretches on forever. They trip. Catch themselves on their hands, head hanging over the edge as they open their mouth and-

Reads the text box at the bottom of the screen. Grit seems- a little too busy to respond.

 
The text observes.

More silence. Once they’re...done, Grit slowly shifts back, sitting on their heels and wiping their mouth.

Grit makes a face. They use their other sleeve to wipe at their brow, just...working on catching their breath.

There’s visible shudders running through them, all the while.

The textbox supplies helpfully.

“I know.” Grit’s voice is hoarse. Are they speaking to themself? Or, rather, are they speaking to the textbox?

“...I know.”

They make another face, wiping their mouth again. It’s a waste, and they know it is, but the child still reaches into their pocket, pulling out a small flask and taking a sip of whatever’s inside. A moment of consideration, and they spit that over the edge of the cliff.

Then they take another sip.

A rough exhale. It almost sounds like a laugh. Putting away what’s left of their drink, Grit gets to their feet, dusting their clothes off.

“...Nobody has to die. We know that now. We... can do a little better.”

“...We never die for long.” Grit manages a jerky shrug, tugging at their sleeves- just for one, last thing to do, prior to turning about. Looking back the way they came.

“Maybe we’ll figure it out this time.”

“...Yeah. That too.”

Apparently, that's not enough to stop them heading back.