Chara (![[personal profile]](http://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fulllifeconsequences) wrote in ![[community profile]](http://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entrancelogs2016-06-16 02:14 pm
fulllifeconsequences) wrote in entrancelogs2016-06-16 02:14 pm
Perhaps I lacked some foresight, but brother you were so right
Who: Chara, anyone who wants to hang out with An Actual Literal Disaster
Where: Around the mansion and gardens
When: June 13th onward to the rest of the month, maybe, depending how much of a Perpetual Calamity Chara is
Summary: I'm just gonna put up a catch-all for their Crashing And Burning lmao
Warnings: Tentatively putting content warnings for suicide, self-harm, will edit as necessary.
The story:
[They aren't okay. They're never really all that okay, honestly. It's a joke to call a kid that poisoned themselves "okay." So they're... worse than not okay. Worse and worse and worse. They tried to run away. Didn't work. Almost convinced Frisk to join them in doing something... cowardly. Didn't help. Toriel caught them, pulled them back from the brink of A Big Mistake.
It didn't feel fixed, didn't feel all better, but... it was a decision to continue, rather than stop. Supposed to be an anchoring point. Supposed to be where they start climbing their way back up.
They fell, instead.
They haven't gotten out of bed since. They don't even know how long it's been. Don't know what they've been doing. Time just... stopped existing. Fizzled out into a strange haze. Have they eaten? Have they slept? Don't think they need to. Don't feel like it. Don't... feel anything. Don't even feel real.
They pull themselves back to functional, or a vague facsimile thereof, after a while. Maybe five minutes. Maybe three days. Not functional enough to... to process it. To swallow it. To swallow what they've done - are going to do. To swallow the reality of the kind of person they are, and always will be. To grasp the full, crushing reality of why he wanted them to let go, why he replaced them with a better friend. They can't... they can't process it. They can't wrap themselves around it. It's too huge. Too painful.
But they can... they should do something. Somebody has to take care of Frisk. Pull themselves together enough to send a few texts. Enough to get another bike lock from the closets, then string it through the closet door handles. Tape up a note in their stupid cutesy flower stationery explaining that they'll take it off when Frisk is feeling a little better, and they can just ask their friends if they need something.
They got rid of Frisk's scissors. They think they're supposed to hide the knives, blunt the fire tools.
Eventually, they leave their room.
Kind of have to, they think. They've cleaned themselves up, at least, but they're so hungry and sleepless and utterly crushed that they look a little bit like a ghost when they stagger out into the hall. Sort of dizzy. Haven't refuelled, ha ha.
Don't know where they're going. Don't know how they can possibly punish themselves enough for this.
You might catch them in the kitchen, just... staring at the fridge. Knowing they should eat, knowing they've been surviving off chocolate bars and pie and you can't do that forever, but not being able to muster up the appetite or the focus to commit to it.
You might catch them outside. Laying in the flowers. Same place they killed Alex all those months ago. Gazing up at nothing, still and silent as the corpse they're actually supposed to be.
They end up back at the diner at some point. Don't really know how they got there, or when. But it's on the eighth floor, and they can't bear to retreat to the comfort of the kitchen, but they can bear to look out the window.
Or maybe they just end up back in Room 12 again. Curl up in a bed so comfortable that if you laid down in it, you might never get up again. Be still and quiet and so tightly coiled into themselves that nobody will ever see if their eyes are even redder and they're sort of failing at being a big kid, because big kids don't cry, because Chara never cries, because Chara doesn't even have any right to cry.]
Where: Around the mansion and gardens
When: June 13th onward to the rest of the month, maybe, depending how much of a Perpetual Calamity Chara is
Summary: I'm just gonna put up a catch-all for their Crashing And Burning lmao
Warnings: Tentatively putting content warnings for suicide, self-harm, will edit as necessary.
The story:
[They aren't okay. They're never really all that okay, honestly. It's a joke to call a kid that poisoned themselves "okay." So they're... worse than not okay. Worse and worse and worse. They tried to run away. Didn't work. Almost convinced Frisk to join them in doing something... cowardly. Didn't help. Toriel caught them, pulled them back from the brink of A Big Mistake.
It didn't feel fixed, didn't feel all better, but... it was a decision to continue, rather than stop. Supposed to be an anchoring point. Supposed to be where they start climbing their way back up.
They fell, instead.
They haven't gotten out of bed since. They don't even know how long it's been. Don't know what they've been doing. Time just... stopped existing. Fizzled out into a strange haze. Have they eaten? Have they slept? Don't think they need to. Don't feel like it. Don't... feel anything. Don't even feel real.
They pull themselves back to functional, or a vague facsimile thereof, after a while. Maybe five minutes. Maybe three days. Not functional enough to... to process it. To swallow it. To swallow what they've done - are going to do. To swallow the reality of the kind of person they are, and always will be. To grasp the full, crushing reality of why he wanted them to let go, why he replaced them with a better friend. They can't... they can't process it. They can't wrap themselves around it. It's too huge. Too painful.
But they can... they should do something. Somebody has to take care of Frisk. Pull themselves together enough to send a few texts. Enough to get another bike lock from the closets, then string it through the closet door handles. Tape up a note in their stupid cutesy flower stationery explaining that they'll take it off when Frisk is feeling a little better, and they can just ask their friends if they need something.
They got rid of Frisk's scissors. They think they're supposed to hide the knives, blunt the fire tools.
Eventually, they leave their room.
Kind of have to, they think. They've cleaned themselves up, at least, but they're so hungry and sleepless and utterly crushed that they look a little bit like a ghost when they stagger out into the hall. Sort of dizzy. Haven't refuelled, ha ha.
Don't know where they're going. Don't know how they can possibly punish themselves enough for this.
You might catch them in the kitchen, just... staring at the fridge. Knowing they should eat, knowing they've been surviving off chocolate bars and pie and you can't do that forever, but not being able to muster up the appetite or the focus to commit to it.
You might catch them outside. Laying in the flowers. Same place they killed Alex all those months ago. Gazing up at nothing, still and silent as the corpse they're actually supposed to be.
They end up back at the diner at some point. Don't really know how they got there, or when. But it's on the eighth floor, and they can't bear to retreat to the comfort of the kitchen, but they can bear to look out the window.
Or maybe they just end up back in Room 12 again. Curl up in a bed so comfortable that if you laid down in it, you might never get up again. Be still and quiet and so tightly coiled into themselves that nobody will ever see if their eyes are even redder and they're sort of failing at being a big kid, because big kids don't cry, because Chara never cries, because Chara doesn't even have any right to cry.]
aaaaaand kitchen
Speaking of stabbing, wow! There's the kid who murdered him just standing, right there! Staring absently at the fridge. Like the weird demon-freakazoid-thing they are.
He wishes he could just turn right around and skedaddle on out, but no. He's hungry, really hungry. Maybe if he just nips over to the cupboards and snatches a couple cans of assorted something out, he can be gone before Chara's back from their visit to the astral plane, or whatever it is they're doing.]
(mario voice) here we gooooo
They hear an adult's heavy footfalls, feel the subtle vibrations. Turn. Snap on a smile like they're drawing a weapon, like the world is draining into the empty black-and-white of combat.
Of all the people in the whole entire mansion. Of course it's this one. It has to be for a reason, right? It can't just be meaningless, pointless coincidence that the loudest voice declaring them unnatural and evil is the one that finds them.]
Alex. How lucky for me.
ok but that's literally the sound my email makes so this notif made that noise exactly
Alex freezes where he stands for a moment, before privately resolving that he's not scared of the little freak, no matter how weird they act, and pressing ahead to open a couple cupboards and yank out a couple cans of...soup, it looks like. Minestrone. He hates minestrone.
Doesn't matter. It'll have to do.]
Don't flatter yourself, kiddo. Just passing through.
[Still, there's no mistaking the subtle tremor in his hands as he crams one of the cans into his jacket pocket.]
dang chara's datamining again
Stay a while. Have some tea. Enjoy a nice chat.
[That's how you become besties, right? Burning a house down doesn't even sound all that bad right now.]
Let me ask you something.
you scurrilous child you
He takes a few steps back, just for safety's sake, his brows still knitted down a suspicious frown.]
All right, shoot.
[But if it's a question about how long it takes a human to bleed out or something, he is out of here.]
That's Our Chara (audience laugh track, freeze frame)
Smile. It's cute and pleasant to look at.]
What do creatures like me deserve?
seinfeld theme plays
Earlier, Alex would've answered a short, clipped answer of "death" and let that be the end of it. Now he looks away, expression twisting, uncomfortable.
He's killed people too. What's his excuse? That he had to. That there was no other choice, that -
No. He's not thinking about that right now.]
I'm the wrong guy to ask.
[He knows what he deserves, at least. What's inevitably coming to him. Death, and not the kind you get to walk away from. He'll be the one to commit to it, no doubt, because that's how it has to be. If there's really no escape. If there's really no way out.]
seinfeld theme slowly fades to screaming and sirens
They're not annoyed. They're not unhappy. They're not anything. Just a serene, polite smile that sort of hurts to wear after a while.]
What a shame. You're the guy I'm asking. Wrong or not, you certainly seem to know.
too many cooks too many cooks
[Lay it on them, why not, right? That's what he's good at. He glares at them, suspicious. What's their play here? Gonna stab him again? There's no knife in their hand, but that's no guarantee that this whole encounter won't go south.]
You're weird, and freaky, and creepy, and I don't like you. But everyone keeps saying you're just some kid.
[He crosses his arms over his chest, deliberating. They still rub him wrong, supremely wrong. But there's an impressive amount of people that seem to want to go to bat for them, Max included.]
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Is that what you believe?
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[He'll be honest here. He has no idea what this kid's deal is. He'd pegged them for some kind of demonic-exorcist-monster thing pretending to be an innocuous child from the start.]
You seem to have stopped your body count at, like, two.
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Not frustrated. Not desperate. Entirely in control and measured. Pluck the switchblade - his switchblade - from their pocket. He's probably going to flinch.
Just get to the point. Cut to the chase.]
You can have it back if you use it on me.
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Or, well. It's technically Wonderland's. But it came from his closet, and they took it from his corpse after shanking him, kicking him, and then burying him in the flowers and the dirt. Alex's throat tightens, hands balling into fists.]
Nuh-uh. I am not trying that again.
[Even if they're a kid - which he's still on the fence about - they've already managed to down him once and he is not eager to see if they can do it again.]
Think I'm gonna fall for that?
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It could be karmic retribution. I hurt you first. Had it coming.
Wouldn't tell.
[Slam it down on a table. Maybe a little harder than they mean to. Hold their empty hands up like they're under arrest.]
Quick sawing motion across the throat. You obviously know. Want me to turn around?
no subject
[He stares at them with an expression that falls somewhere between shock and disgust. Is this a joke? A trick? What the hell is this kid's deal?]
No - no. I'm not gonna - no, holy Christ, you think I'm gonna do that again?
[He's not sure what's holding him back.
Maybe it's the thought that Max would never forgive him.]
no subject
[Repulsed.
Can't understand why. Didn't he want this? Why did it change? How did they make this happen? It had been such a constant. Now the one person who matters more than anything is afraid of them, has given them concrete proof that there's no such thing as changing, has made it irrefutably clear what kind of person they are, and suddenly nobody else is afraid anymore.
It finds itself at a loss. No thoughts come. It dismisses his face. It only stands there.]
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[No need to drag Max into this. He already did last time, and what happened then? She nearly got gutted for her trouble. But he knows a threat when he hears one. The goat lady, the skeleton, maybe even Max - they'd be after his blood if he touched a hair on this murderous little shit's head.
Doesn't mean he has to like it.]
I won't act like I've got any idea how you've made friends at all. But apparently, according to a, a fucking skeleton and a goat, you're off-limits!
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Dismiss it. Don't have to think about it. He's not going to take the switchblade, so they pick it up again. Sit down at the table. Head in hands, even if one hand clutches the unopened switchblade.
Just... churn out some stupid response. Try for instigation. Maybe he'll get mad at them.]
Funny. You were the one with heroic intentions. How would a thing like me get more friends than you've got?
no subject
He thought he'd pegged this kid the first time he interacted with them. Goddamn it, Max, he's blaming her for this. Her and her stupid empathy and reaching out to this little monster again and again.
Alex shifts back, leaning against the wall. He's not about to turn his back on them, lest he get a blade in the gut for his trouble.]
Maybe you're real good at wrapping people 'round your finger. Maybe you're real damn clever. I dunno. I've stayed outta your business, and you've stayed outta mine.
[Little thing like getting killed still gets in the way. Funny, that.]
'Sides, it doesn't really matter. I kill you, you just come back.
no subject
Wait, no, not the plan. Be ruder. Don't be silent. Be defiant and loud. Exist rebelliously. Make him furious.
...Sounds so exhausting.]
So leave me alive. Just... smack some sense into me. I still won't tell. It's different if you get roughed up and Spare them.
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[He unfurls, arms dropping to his side as he stares at them in...
He's not sure what he's feeling right now.
That's not to say he isn't tempted, because he - he kind of is. And that's terrible, he should feel terrible.]
Like, I know what "asking for it" is, and that is - it is literally that. Why?
no subject
Had a goose egg when they first came here. Fought with Frisk in the hall like a wild animal. Don't know why they bother to recall that.]
If you ask why, you'll doubt. Hesitate. Do you really want to know?
[Doubt he does. This is just dragging it out pointlessly.]
If you aren't going to do it, get lost.
no subject
This? This is definitely not Alex's area. Like, at all. And he was kind of sick of this kid to start with, no matter if they have a death wish or not. Sounds like they do. Well, whatever, who the fuck here doesn't? That's almost funny.
Almost.]
So, lemme get this straight: you're just - I dunno, waiting for someone to kill you for a little bit? You know it's not gonna last, right? What is the goddamn point?
no subject
[Sounds muffled, face-down as they are. Boy, they must look stupid!]
Get lost.
[Waste of time to talk about it. Not going to talk about it to someone who will absolutely, definitely weaponize it. He doesn't care about... making them feel better, or understanding, or whatever the point of talking about it is supposed to be. Why's he bothering? Just trying to be polite?
Pfft.]
no subject
Does he?
No, that'd be pretty stupid if he suddenly started giving a damn, no matter what Max thinks. Alex huffs out of his nose.]
How 'bout you gimme my knife back first?
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