The Marsh - Part 3
Deep in the marsh, there was a hulking figure, dressed in black, emerging from the water. The tracks had led her far north to this place where few bother to tread without reason. The marsh felt even deader than the old Valley of Dust. Not even the wind came up here, so it shouldn't be hard to find oddities.
Ashu-Tsuki began thinking back to The Valley and the old mass grave. At first, she wished she didn't have to go to that dreadful place again. Now, she wished she had some sort of relic, like a flower, to leave there.
She chose not to bother the farmer, even though he probably got to know her targets very well. She didn't like needless attention. And she didn't like getting attached to someone likely doomed by association.
Either way, she had to hurry, lest The Hunt gets the targets first.
The marsh would've been difficult for most to navigate, but not for her. Once again, she was grateful for her heritage. All she had to do was dive and swim.
Swimming under the marsh wasn't difficult at all. Knowing where to go was where the challenge lay.
After a while of searching, perhaps an hour, she feared she had lost them. The Hunt wasn't far behind, the last she checked, so a lingering worry remained.
As she rose from the water, she tried to look around. But the fog, the damnable fog, was too thick and heavy.
Panic was settling in, and imagery of war and hate saw the opportunity of weakness and tried to settle in.
Ashu-Tsuki forced herself to stop and breathe in. Remember the mantra.
Breathe in and out.
She had fought through and survived many dangers. The fog couldn't stop her.
So if her eyes couldn't see, then maybe her soul could.
With her eyes closed, she focused.
After a moment of difficulty, she cleared her head. All that was inside of her was gone.
She heard the sounds of slow streams. She heard small insects cutting through blades of grass, the moss gently breathing.
A wind blowing so softly, it was technically imperceivable.
Her scent went through the moss and grass until it located the herbs not native to the area. She walked further in one direction, eyes closed, where the foreign herb smell grew closer.
Baron's Breath?
Could it be them?
It would make sense, wouldn't it? What other perfect place would they hide?
She kept listening.
Then, somewhere not so far, another irregularity. Wood creaking softly due to the heavy weight above.
There.
She opened her eyes to see a large, wooden house. Through the magi-glass-covered windows, silhouettes were going through some sort of commotion.
Some sort of struggle.
With haste, Ashu-Tsuki summoned her weapon.
She hoped it wasn't too late.
A few hours prior
"Hello?!" Frisk called out. "Finrick?! Fish-Dude?!"
"Very subtle, Frisk!" Flowey called out from the room behind her. "A true master of espionage over here!"
Frisk sighed and waited a second. There was no answer from their host.
"He's not answering!" Frisk called back.
"Yeah, I could hear that!" Flowey replied. "Or not, whatever."
Frisk shook her head and continued.
The hallway bent into a corner leading to even more hallway with a row of closed doors on one side and windows on the others.
The windows here were made of magi-glass as well. It was hard not to notice the subtle waves once one was aware of them.
Frisk peaked through each door, but all opened up to empty rooms holding nothing more than dirty mattresses.
Why were they there? And for whom?
Was it for guests like them? Or did it belong to Finrick's "employees"? Frisk realised he barely mentioned them at all. She almost forgot about them.
Maybe that was it. Maybe Finrick was simply a wealthful business and or plantation owner. Who said rich people had to live in mansions in big cities?
Maybe that greenhouse she saw earlier was simply stocking and growing his wares, and the people working there slept in these buildings.
But then again, what kind of herbs in the kingdom would gain this much wealth? Could it be-
Nah, Frisk thought to herself. That sounds stupid.
After she checked out the last side room, all that remained was the entrance to the staircase at the end. It led both up to the next floor and downstairs to presumably the basement.
Basements always held secrets, Frisk figured, so she decided to descend first.
As the steps creaked and the basement floor came closer, the girl wondered why the house felt so empty yet lived in simultaneously.
Despite being cleaned and taken care of, the house carried only a few things that weren't the bare necessities for living.
No television or radio was in sight, not a single photograph or mark from old memories.
The house was alive, but the home remained abandoned.
Was Finrick trying to hide something from his past? Trying to ignore his memories as best he could? Or was he merely a simple man?
Frisk hoped she was simply overthinking things.
She came to the bottom of the steps. Only a single door ahead.
As Frisk took a few steps forward, she suddenly heard heavy breathing. It was there for only a second and then ceased.
Then the breathing came again, and then again, on second intervals.
There could be no doubt now that someone, or something, was on the other side.
She opened the door and entered.
She found herself in a small room with what looked like an oversized puppet slumped down on a chair on the other end. It took Frisk a second glance to see that it was actually a person she barely recognised.
The person stared, not towards the girl that just entered the room, but rather in her direction. In his fin-hand, he held a drug pipe on the verge of slipping off. His fish eyes were bloodshot red with a tint of green. His mouth was half-open.
Around his bare, overly skinny chest was a torn, brown shirt more resembling strings of leather.
"Who is there?" he whispered.
"It's Frisk," she answered.
"Frisk…"
Finrick repeated her name as if it brought back awful recollections.
"I remember you," he said. "I had sorta hoped you'd have left."
"Why?" Frisk inquired.
The fish-man gave a subtle shrug.
Frisk took a few steps forward and felt the air be filled heavy with the scent of weed. The stench was so thick that Frisk swore she could practically see it.
Either that, or it was just thick smog.
A greenish mist came out of Finrick's calm but loud breathing. Next to him were an empty brownie tray and another crack pipe on the floor.
"This explains a lot," Frisk muttered to herself.
"Why are you here?" Finrick inquired.
"I, erm, was just worried," Frisk calmly said. "You were gone for a while."
She paced around the room a little.
There was not much in terms of furniture here, like usual. And there was only one other door, seemingly locked.
"So, erm, sorry," Frisk said.
"For what?" Finrick asked.
"I don't know," Frisk said. "For intruding on you like this? I just felt the need to apologise for some reason. I just- ugh. I just have this weird need to do that sometimes. Apologise for no reason. Like I have to apologise for existing."
Finrick said nothing, and his silence somehow seemed eerie.
"God," Frisk said calmly. "Why? The fuck? Am I saying this?"
"Baron's Breath," Finrick said and coughed a little. "Frees your mind from stress. Releases anxiety about your inner thoughts."
"Right," Frisk said. "I must've inhaled too much of this junk in your vicinity. Erm, no offence."
Frisk expected to hear "none taken". Instead, Finrick remained silent as a corpse. When Frisk looked at him, she felt she could easily mistake him for such.
"Are you even listening to me?" Frisk asked. "Or are you just… saying random crap?"
Finrick didn't answer that either. His eyes weren't even focused on her anymore.
"Well, I'm going back to the others," Frisk said. "Don't worry. We're not leaving just yet. At least not till you sobered up a bit."
Finrick remained silent.
"You want me to fetch you some water or something?" Frisk asked. "I've had to deal with my dad having drunken and or high moments like this. Nothing nearly as bad, but still, might be better than nothing."
Silence.
Frisk sighed, wondering what she was doing.
Then she heard something that sounded very low. It resembles some sort of soft mumbling. Not only that, Finrick's mouth seemed to be verbalising something.
"Excuse me?" Frisk asked. "Can you, erm, speak up?"
Little to her surprise, Finrick didn't.
Nervously, Frisk walked closer to him, and the stench of weed grew thicker and thicker. His whole scaly body oozed it as if it came from his pores. It was almost unbearable when Frisk kneeled down right in front of him.
"I… I need this," Finrick muttered.
"What?" Frisk asked. "What do you need?"
Finrick suddenly seemed as if he was close to tearing up.
"I'm a mess," he said. "I'm such a fucking mess, so I need this. I need this because I'm such an awful person who's done awful things-"
"Hey, hey," Frisk said calmly. "Don't say that, ok? You're not that bad. You, erm, helped us out. Gave us, a couple of strangers, some shelter and food without asking any questions."
Finrick expression turned back to dullness.
"You're a nice kid," Finrick suddenly said. "Too bad."
"What?" Frisk asked.
"You heard me," Finrick replied, louder this time. "You're a nice kid. In this kingdom, that's a bad thing."
Frisk shrugged a little.
"Maybe," she said.
Suddenly, she noticed his eyes were staring somewhere. For the past few minutes, his gaze hadn't even touched her.
With curiosity, Frisk followed where it led. This whole time it was aimed toward the strange locked door in the room.
"What's in there?" Frisk asked.
"Why won't you take a look?" replied Finrick, reaching into his pocket.
He rose his hand up, revealing a single key dangling on a keychain.
"Erm, ok?" Frisk said.
She reached for it.
Quickly, Finrick pulled his arm back.
"There's a cupboard by the door," he told her. "Open it. I want you to open it first. And hand me what you find."
Frisk looked back, and indeed, there it was. A small, barely notable cupboard. It was hanging on the wall.
"Why?" she asked.
Finrick said nothing, just moved his head uneasily as if he didn't know why either.
Frisk, deciding not to question it, stood up and walked to the cupboard.
When she opened it, she saw what at first looked like a strange, rubbery clump.
It was a strange-looking gasmask seemingly designed for an elongated face.
"A gas mask?" Frisk asked. "Why do you need a gas mask?"
"I don't like the air," Finrick said. "Makes me sleepy. Why? Do you want it?"
"Erm, no," Frisk said. "I guess not if I don't need it. Plus, I think my face is too… too round for this."
Don't give it to him, her thoughts warned her. Take it. Even if it doesn't fit, just hide it. Somewhere he won't reach, just in case. Come on, don't be an idiot.
"It's ok," Finrick said. "I'll just get it myself. Here. Catch."
He threw her the key, and Frisk almost dropped it when it landed in her hand.
"Thanks," Frisk said.
"No worries," Finrick said, smiling. "I've earned this."
"What does that mean?"
Finrick looked pale for a moment.
"Why not open?" he asked. "I'll join you in a moment."
Frisk nodded nervously and put the gas mask back.
You really are an idiot, her paranoid thoughts told her.
Frisk tried not to think about this as she walked to the locked door.
As she stood in front of it, key in hand, she felt a pull, a hesitation.
She could almost hear paranoia speaking with Flowey's voice in her head.
"This is such a bad, no-good idea, and you know it," he would be saying. "Why are you trusting him so much? There could be dead bodies in there. Human bodies."
Frisk mentally shook her head. Finrick was already too high to move. What was the worst that could happen? It wasn't like death was permanent for her.
Feeling determined, she inserted the key and pulled the door open.
Suddenly, blinding light assaulted her senses, alongside the near suffocating aroma of various plants.
"Jesus," she said, holding her arms in front of her shut eyes.
On the other side, Frisk saw something familiar.
The Greenhouse.
Nothing more.
Inside, rows and rows of plants in pots lay lined up carefully in a long row underneath an immensely bright ceiling lamp.
She could hear a generator deeper inside, and the lamps hummed loudly.
Frisk immediately noticed what this strange smell resembled.
Weed.
Wait, she thought. Is this-
"A weed farm?" she asked. "Erm, Baron's Breath farm? Jesus, why didn't I guess? Ugh, no wonder you don't want to smell this place."
Finrick said nothing. He didn't even react as if this was no big secret.
That just made it worse.
"I-it's no worries, heh," Frisk said nervously. "In terms of felonies, this is nothing compared to what I've encountered. I won't tell anyone."
It didn't seem like Finrick could hear her. It didn't seem like Finrick was still even in this world.
"H-hello?" Frisk asked as she turend around.
The fish-man took a deep breath, reassuring Frisk he was still alive.
Nodding, Frisk looked back at the greenery.
All the weed plants looked similar: black with a strange green tint that seemed almost moving. This plant was, obviously, the magical Baron's Breath. Crafted with magic, she heard, and it definitely looked like it.
Curiously, Frisk took a step inside. She covered her nose as she walked down the hall of magically infused weed.
She couldn't tell if it was some effect from the plants, but the greenhouse seemed to be bigger on the inside.
There were so many rows and wardrobes full of the drug she couldn't keep count. Rows of weed growing in pots, cases of full plastic boxes, and so forth. Unless some magic was involved, there was no way this was all a one-person operation.
Is this what his so-called "workers" do? Make drugs for him?
Frisk was getting worse and worse vibes the further in she went.
This was something much bigger than the personal weed farm of a lone hermit. This was an entire enterprise.
That revelation brought forth a suggestion that nearly stunned her. Froze her to the spot.
Was Finrick maybe-
No, it couldn't be, she thought to herself. It cannot be Finrick. Not him.
Then, she saw a closed office room at the end of the greenhouse, with a foggy glass window looking in.
The door was slightly ajar, inviting her to step inside.
Frisk glanced back for a moment at the fish monster. With a gulp, she stepped inside, nervous about what awaited her.
The door, creaking open, revealed what looked like a small office. Filing cabinets, piles of papers, a desk with a chair, and… a computer?
A computer that remained turned on and open to a desktop that resembled a faux Windows OS.
It looked incredibly ancient, similar to a human computer from a hundred years ago in the late 1900s to the early 2000s. White with a large, thick back end, complete with an antique keyboard and mouse.
This idea she was having seemed like such a breach of privacy, Frisk thought. Despite everything, did Finrick really deserve this suspicion?
But then again, he was a drug farmer.
It wouldn't hurt to check, right? While she was still here?
Then again, this all seemed too easy. The computer was even logged-in.
No, she was being paranoid, Frisk figured. If he wanted her to know something, Finrick could've just told her, right?
Either way, she sat down and began to browse.
On the top floor of the crooked house, Flowey investigated. Suffice to say, he wasn't in the mood for babysitting. Frisk was taking a while, so he figured either something was wrong or his friend was being slow. He hoped it was the latter.
Either way, it was better to check.
Besides, MK wasn't going anywhere, fast asleep as they were.
Still, much to his confusion and surprise, Flowey felt hesitant about this choice of his.
It's just like how you left them after the broken bridge, said a voice in his head.
He told his thought to shut it. He came back, didn't he? Doesn't that matter more in the end? Everyone has such bad suggestions in moments of fear, and, sure, maybe not everyone acts on them, even if only a little. He shouldn't blame himself.
Shouldn't he?
What he shouldn't be doing was thinking about this now, Flowey figured. It happened a while ago, and he has done much worse things in the past. Especially back in the days when he could Reset.
Whatever the case, without his power, it was best to focus on the now. It always was, as Flowey said. Maybe he took his ability for granted. Or maybe years of resets messed with his perception of time and consequence.
Much like the human girl in his midst, he figured. That would explain a lot-
For The Angel's sake, he should stop thinking so much. He should focus on his work and find clues.
Now, what could he find in this attic? There were a couple of boxes. But those who weren't empty didn't hold anything interesting.
Old clothes and pictures. Some broken chemistry tool.
One box kept nothing but outdated books about herbology.
Why were so many empty boxes? What kind of maniac not living in a factory owns piles of empty boxes?
But Flowey was determined to keep looking.
People were always hiding stuff in the attic. The basement would've been too obvious.
There had to be something. Something a bit-
A bit sleepy?
The flower yawned heavily. It was hard to focus and hard to think.
How much had he slept exactly? 2, 3 hours?
No, it was more than that. It had to be more than that.
He yawned again, and the room started to bend sideways.
This was too much work, wasn't it? What use was it to look through old discarded photo albums of cousins or old grandparents?
Maybe he should rest a little.
Only a little bit.
A few of the empty boxes looked cosy.
And the floor didn't feel too hard either.
Flowey closed his eyes and-
No!
Something was clearly the matter. This exhaustion was not usual. Was there something in the air, maybe? Had he absorbed any foul gas in that damnable marsh?
He fought hard in his mind against the siren lure of sleep like his life depended on it. Perhaps it did.
But as the room began to grow black and turn vividly, it dawned on him this was a losing battle. He might already be asleep without knowing it.
And then he began to think back, frantically to find a cause.
But not further than the fish monster's tea party.
Such a random place to stop, he thought.
But only at first.
"Oh bother," he muttered. "Brownie-"
With that, the world darkened around him, just as the truth of the matter dawned on him.
Unfortunately, most of the lettering in Finrick's computer was in the strange, monster language. But some files appeared to be faultily translated to "human language" or English.
Whether this was due to some language hobby, technical reasons, or code speak, Frisk couldn't think of an answer.
The bad news was that either Finrick wasn't a good English speaker, or whatever translator he had was faulty or old. Some words stood haphazardly strung together with no regard for structure, typos and misspellings all around, and so on.
In short, she could, unfortunately, discern very little.
But then, something hit her.
Finrick knew Papyrus.
So she looked up the skeleton's name to the best of her understanding of the archaic computer. Through the old computer search function, it brought a lot of results.
There it was, just as Frisk had begun to suspect.
All with the name Papyrus were texts, and emails, written like they were old internet friends, discussing things like drop of points, and so on.
This herb farm was not just for himself. Finrick also made a business from selling the herbs and drugs, including this Baron's Breath weed plant. Frisk felt she shouldn't be surprised, even if the thought made her feel a little irked.
Now the worrying suggestion struck her again. It couldn't be true, could it? It had to be someone else. Someone Finrick was dealing with, maybe. This person she was thinking of couldn't be this weird hermit in the middle of nowhere, right? He just didn't fit what she imagined him to be.
Either way, she had to check. Check if this deep and uncomfortable suggestion within her had an inkling of truth.
With nervousness, Frisk looked up "Kushmaster".
As soon as she typed it, the computer led to a single link. With nervousness, Frisk clicked on it.
Instantly, the computer opened up a seemingly new OS.
The OS was much more high-tech than the old computer seemed designed to handle. But it all ran smoothly, like the computer's antique design was a decoy.
And on this new homepage, files and files opened up, all relating to drugs and enterprise. Numerous invoices. Names of dozens of customers all over the kingdom. Current sale estimates in the black markets.
All an overwhelming amount of confirmation to her fears.
And it grew worse, for the desktop background was black with a large logo she instantly recognised.
The Deltarune.
The official emblem of The Royal Hunt.
Frisk, staring at the screen, stunned. She felt her legs slowly carry her out of the room, backwards, and into the greenhouse. But then her hands touch some rough papers on a desk right beside the exit. She glanced at it, but that glance was enough to make it catch her attention.
It was a wanted poster, a poster with a sketch of her face and designed by "The Kingdom's Committee" and commissioned by The Royal Hunt.
And not just her. Underneath were also posters of Flowey and even MK.
Frisk couldn't believe this. Her name. All of their names and faces.
She had to get out of here. They all did. Right now.
"You should have listened to your flower friend," said an ominous voice behind her. "He is smart."
Frisk's legs froze instantly. Feeling the sweat on her neck, she turned around and saw the fish-man standing at the exit, bloodshot eyes filled with focus and the gasmask loosely placed on top of his head.
He looked ready to kill her.
"Honestly, I'm amazed you've lasted this long," Finrick said. "You're perhaps one of the dumbest kids I've met, which says a lot. Guessing the flower does most of the thinking for you. But without him? Phew."
"Y-you're-" Frisk stammered. "You're the K-"
"Kushmaster?" Finrick asked. "Oh, please. I hate that stupid title. I'm, practically, just forced to use it. You know me as Finrick. Just call me that."
"You work for Mickey?!"
"Nah, I don't work for anyone," Finrick said. "I work for no warrior, no king, and no kingdom. All I work for is my harvest. Plus the money it brings. And speaking of money."
He walked a bit closer, prompting Frisk to reach for her knife.
"There is a lot of money on your head, you know?" Finrick stated. "You alone are enough to set me up for a lifetime. Or maybe several months, assuming I smoke it all away. Are you aware your face has, only since yesterday, been swirling around the web wildly? You should be proud. You're almost a celebrity in some places."
"You… you knew who we were," Frisk muttered with grim realisation. "You knew all along. Didn't you?"
"This could've been so much easier," Finrick said. "If you had just at the very least drunk just a few more sips of your tea as your little friend did."
Frisk felt a sudden sting in her stomach.
"Or maybe tried the brownie I baked for you if the tea wasn't your fancy," Finrick continued.
"What did you do to them?" Frisk inquired, raising her voice with fear and fury. "Wuh- what did you do?!"
"I put them to sleep," Finrick said. "In an hour or two, they'll wake up. No need to worry."
Frisk quickly raised her knife and put on a determined expression.
"So what now, asswipe?" she inquired. "You're going to fight me? Well, come on then. Try your fucking hardest. Come on, give me your best shot, pendejo!"
Finrick stood still there, barely an expression on his fish head.
He grabbed something on the table beside him, something looking like a thick extension cord.
"Nah, no need," he simply said. "I'm not as stupid as you."
And Finrick pressed a big button and pulled down his gasmask with haste.
Before Frisk could react, a large metal door slammed down where the door opening was. Then came a hissing sound, and only now did it dawn on the girl what was going on.
"Oh fuck," she muttered.
"You hear that?" said Finrick, his voice slightly muffled behind the mask. "Shit-ton of Somnushade burning into gas that then flows through the vents. I tried to be easy, for Somnushade is much quicker and less painful when consumed directly. Like… hidden in soup, cake, or even a little cup of warm tea and slice of brownies!"
Frisk felt the immediate urge to run. To run up and punch him. But as she hastily took a few steps, she immediately had to pause. She grabbed the nearest table, trying to keep herself balanced. It was like her legs turned into jelly.
"But this?" the gas-masked monster said. "This is the much more painful method. Can you feel it? The herb's essence is flowing through your human bones. Your human innards are going to sleep. First your body, then your spirit, and then your mind."
The room began spinning frantically in front of her eyes, and Frisk began breathing as if suffering an asthma attack.
"P-piece of…" Frisk said feebly. "Y-you… you'll-"
"I'll what?" Finrick said mockingly. "I won't get away with this? Is that what you're trying to say? Don't be shy, little human. Speak up."
"Y… you'll pay. You fucking asshole! You-"
She heard the voice of someone giggling as the world faded to blackness. Suddenly, she saw the floor crashing into her face. Her head was too numb to feel any pain.
"You'll…"
Before she knew it, dreams and darkness consumed her.
"Ian…"
Author's note:
Sorry for the slight delay.
Got some bad news relating to a family member and... it temporarily put me off the mood for writing :/
But I'm better now and here it is!
So, at least one person guessed the twist ahead, and in that case, congrats to you Lazy Constellations on AO3! And also all the other ones who did as well but just didn't comment about it.
God, I've been so excited to get to this moment. Believe it or not, I was briefly considering The Mad Dummy to be the Kushmaster, but then I realized it was out of character and... kinda dumb, so instead, I made it an /
We also get to see more of Ashu-Tsuki, the mysterious vigilante. Who is this mysterious OC of mine? Is she even an OC? (maybe the same way Darth Vader is an OC of Anakin. Take that how you will)
You may have noticed, at least those readers on AO3, that I've suddenly gotten almost 200 kudos in just a few days! Well, turns out there's been a bot on the site going haywire, giving kudos to random works by the hundreds. Ain't complaining, but it makes it hard to keep count of who of you is an actual person.
Assuming any of you actually are people, heh...