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Today was rest day. Not of Kris' own will, of course, but it's not like that ever mattered. They were resting, taking care of themself, fulfilling their 'basic human necessities', as a nerd would call it. Hm... speaking of, their thoughts drift to Berdly. For no particular reason, other than the mention of nerds, and the lack of anything better to think about. It was washing their face, their hair, their hands, basically any part it could reach without violating their privacy more than it already has, so their brain had time to kill. It felt... ...good, partly, even if the SOUL's dexterity and caution with a hair brush proved its lack of ability to feel pain. So many snags, and they could feel its surprise, every time they flinched.
It started going softer after a bit, though that just meant taking more time. Their thoughts wander back to Berdly, again. Is he working at the librarby, today? It's not like they would know, and in the end, having that information wouldn't help. They can't plan pranks like this, nor do they get to decide where to go, what to do, who to talk to... The SOUL pauses, feeling their grip tighten against the brush. They let their fingers go slack, relinquishing whatever control they just exercised back to their puppeteer. It uses their hands to comb through their hair, untangling any remaining strands, before finally letting their arms rest. Clearly, it couldn't feel exhaustion either.
Kris' eyes glance around, briefly catching their own gaze, in the mirror. Their hair was... fine. The SOUL's keeping their bangs down in front of their eyes, which they suppose is nice of it, but they don't want to give it too many bits of ground to stand on with them. Their eyes shift to the right, matching their legs as they walk over to the bathroom door, and enter the main room. It was a tad dark for two in the afternoon, but with good reason: Rain pitters and patters against the windows, sliding down as the dark clouds outside cast a very particular kind of darkness. Not that of a dark world, or the dark of night, but more... somber. Comfortable. Desaturating, but not draining of life, or color. Honestly, there's probably no difference between this dark and that, but associations have a way of changing perception. After four (five?) escapades into dark worlds, now, that's become clearer than anything.
...Ugh, they must be bored, to be getting this philosophical. Kris can practically imagine Berdly next to them, saying 'that's not how you use that word, kristoph!!' or something equally as pointless. They grunt as they're forced to take a seat on the sofa, though their chains go noticeably slack. They doubt they'd be able to stand up right now, but kicking back, laying their head against the arm of the couch, and relaxing? That, they can (and immediately) do. The tension and ache in their back, that they had no idea of moments prior, melds away with the comforting plush of the couch cushions.
Though after a few moments, their hand begins to move, of Its will. Not particularly... fast, mind you. Two of their fingers walk their hand across their torso, marching around in almost circles, aimless in its purpose. If the SOUL expects them to sleep, this is a terrible way of letting that happen, as Kris just stares the offending hand down. It turns to face them, thumb brought up to its 'head', before flicking to the side. A salute. Ah. It's trying to be cute, is it?
Kris has none of it. They bring their other hand, sweep the 'legs' of the first, then grab it, and keep it still. It struggles, for only a moment, before going limp in their grasp. They let it go, and mercifully, it stays put, like it's supposed to. And finally, their eyes... close............
...........
Their cheek is poked. Once. Twice. Thrice. Frice. Until their eyes snap open, glaring at the appendage, inches away from another attempt on their glorious naps life. It freezes, like Noelle, and there's a growing sense of anticipation in their chest. Amusement. All belonging to It, of course. They force both of their hands to clench, ripping back as much control as possible, to finally sign out: 'bored?' They're not sure why the SOUL knows sign language, but it's not like they're complaining, there's no way they'd have tried to teach it otherwise.
Their hand clenches again, before flashing a thumbs up. Kris has half a mind to sigh in despair, but holds it in, figuring they can solve two problems at once. Their left hand rises into the air, in a motion they can sense the SOUL's familiarity with. Their fingers flex, ensuring they're limber enough to get what they seek. And then, their hand pierces their chest, instantly gripping the SOUL. Their right hand goes limp, as they rip it out, and throw it to the side. It spins slightly, before regaining a neutral pose, idly floating. Quickly, they sign: 'don't make a mess'. It bobs up and down.
What a nuisance, it better not cause them problems. They could go get the cage, but the sweet embrace of sleep calls, and... Kris was never good at ignoring those. They spot the SOUL flying away, a brief surge of panic being stamped out by the reminder that yes, they did, in fact, close all of the windows. All they had to do was hope it wasn't good at improvising. It flies up the stairway, presumably going for their room. Was it going to lock itself away?? That'd be funny, albeit a little against their being bored. No, its true goals are revealed after a few blissful minutes of silence.
Very faint, very ominous dragging carries down the stairs, as a floating blanket sloooooowly shambles into view. Kris is giving their very best 'what the hell is wrong with you' stare, as the SOUL brings it to them. That's... well, it's not that cold. But the SOUL can't tell that, can it? They grab the blanket, yanking it onto them, grabbing the SOUL with practiced ease as the force of their pull sends it hurtling closer. They stare at the thing, using their legs to fix the blanket to sit smoother across their lower half. They stare, and stare, and stare, trying to discern any potential motives from the useless abyss of red. But it's like trying to figure out why a rock skipped across the water, it's not like the rock will have a face you can analyze.
...
They poke the SOUL, dead in the center. It flinches in their hold, but otherwise makes no attempt to move.
Twice.
Thrice.
Quice.
Before letting it go, to do literally anything else. It swirls around in a figure eight, seeming... elated? Happy? Some good emotion, Kris would imagine, but they're far too tired to care. After one last kick to finally, properly fix the blanket, their eyes... begin... to close...
...with no more interruptions.