entrancelogs | [OPEN] And if it ever starts to feel bad, little fang

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[OPEN] And if it ever starts to feel bad, little fang

Who: Chara, you, hey can you bring napkins
Where: OFF TO NEVER-NEVERLAND
When: Throughout the event
Rating: PG for potential violence? Will edit if necessary.
Summary: Chara is a ten-year-old with a violent resentment toward humans and grown-ups. So basically, business as usual.
The Story:

[A - Remember that your gifts are your game]

Adults.

Chara hates adults. Despises them, from the very pit of their soul. They thought they were safe in Wonderland, that they could live forever among kids who get it, kids who understand, kids like them. But now grown-ups have come, like they always do. Come to drag them back into the dark, kicking and screaming. Come to take them away and lock them up and make them pay for misbehaving.

Ha. They're welcome to try.

Chara has marked their face with warpaint, vicious streaks of berry-red slashed across their rosy cheeks. Two stripes, one on each side, going up toward their eyes. Don't know why, but it felt right. Powerful. They clutch a knife with a blade coated in dreamshade and carry jagged little rocks in their pockets. They're not alone now, not in Neverland. They have something to lose now. Something to defend. And they're going to defend it to the death.

They've scrabbled up into a tree, a smear of green shirt and brown hair hidden in the foliage. They know someone's bound to come by sooner or later. They left a trail, a deliberate and obvious track of snapped twigs and bruised ferns, to bait an intruder this way.

All they have to do is listen, watch, wait until the right moment. Then... they pounce.

[B - The melody sings what the words can't say]

[They'll never, ever, ever admit it, but sometimes, the Lost Ones sort of yearn for something that's missing. Something indefinable and out of reach, made of faint memories of comforting songs and warm baking and bedtime stories.

Not that Chara would know. They never feel that.

But they... sometimes something seizes them, they guess. An urge to be something they aren't? No - not that. They're just bored. They're...

They're making a blanket.

Two sticks that their knife carefully whittled down to straight, smooth evenness, yarn from - they can't remember where it came from, where did it come from again? - and the comforting, zen repetition of row upon row of garter stitch. They don't even know who needs one most, who this one is gonna be for. It's not like they could ever work fast enough to make one for every kid. But one kid, at least, can have a security blanket, if they work hard.

Maybe they'll ask Frisk. Frisk would probably know who needs one. They mull it over as they sit on a stump, looping together row after row together.]

[C - But they might laugh and they might be scared]

They don't like the night.

It's not that Chara's afraid of the dark. It's just... they're a light sleeper. Lost Ones whimper in their sleep, cry in the dark sometimes, snore or mumble or kick as they slumber. The forest is full of animal sounds and rustling branches. Always, always, they curl up as small as they can make themselves and hope and hope that nothing creeps in through a window, crawls its way in through a door, slides to where they sleep and extends a spidery roving hand up their leg and -

They don't sleep too good, a lot of nights.

So they take night watch. They never get tired. Their bedtime is never. And they're not scared of the dark. May as well be useful to someone, if they're going to be up anyway. Tonight's another night where they keep a vigil, feeding twigs and sticks to a campfire to ward off the nighttime chill and illuminate the camp.

Maybe you can't sleep tonight, either. Maybe you're an intruder, making your way to the flickering beacon of a distant campfire. Whatever you are, you can find them here.

[Wild Card
[Any other prompts you'd like to use!]

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Although Souji isn't really an adult, he's not a kid, either. Or at least, not by the standards of the Lost Ones. The Lost Ones don't seem to...like people his age or older, so he figured he'd stay out of their way and explore.

Unfortunately? He's lost in the woods. He's found the trail Chara created and is following it, less to catch a kid and more to see if maybe it was a deer that made it. Animals are much better than angry children. Or angry adults. Or even a lot of people who aren't angry at all.

Good news, Souji! Some would argue that what you've encountered here qualifies as an animal. Most people sure didn't seem to think of it as a human, after all!

Bad news: whatever it is, it's also a very, very angry child.

They can hear the snap and rustle of shifting undergrowth. Heavy, inelegant footfalls, like they own the forest, like it doesn't matter at all what they trample underfoot. They can spot a silver head, sticking out like a sore thumb amid all the green. An obvious target. An oblivious one.

The perfect victim, right? Ha ha. Practically asking for it, daring to exist so openly. If you're not screaming no - and sometimes, even if you are - then you're asking for punishment.

They wait, hardly daring to breathe, as their target gets closer and closer. They gauge the distance carefully, try to map their trajectory. Three more steps, two more, one more...

They lunge off their branch, diving straight at him like a wildcat, dreamshade-tipped knife swinging in an uncontrolled, vicious arc.

To his credit, Souji was trying to get quieter the longer he was on the trail, not wanting to scare anything he might find. It's hard to be quiet, though, when you're pushing six feet.

That isn't exactly the most important thing on his mind just now, though. It's half luck and half reflex that that knife doesn't go right through him. It doesn't matter how much of each saves him, though, because he ends up on the ground. The brush makes it difficult to get up again, but he's doing his damnedest to get back on his feet.

They hit the ground heavily - even being braced for a landing, it was a long way to fall. Their prey darts out of the way, and the knife thuds forcefully into the forest floor instead. They wrench it out of the loose loam, but they're tracking the seconds, planning, and they can tell - this one is fast. There won't be time to exploit the precious few instants where he's off balance if they stand up and try to close the distance.

So they throw the knife, hope that his scrabbling to get back up compensates for the lack of power and aim they can put into their arm from down on their hands and knees. Scrabble to draw another knife - not dreamshade-tipped, but still sharp and deadly and useful.

"Just hold still and take what's coming to you," they spit, smiling brightly and savagely. "It's for your own good."

This time it's all luck that the knife rips through his sleeve, but doesn't manage to graze his skin. He's not even aware of how lucky he was just then, too busy finally getting to his feet. He doesn't have a weapon, but that's never stopped him from fighting before. It just makes it more difficult, especially when his opponent is armed.

He's never actually been on the wrong end of a knife when facing Chara, though. He knows they can be violent, but he's never actually seen that side of them.

"Why do you say that?"

Keep them talking while he thinks.

"That's what people like you always say to people like me," they answer. You'll only make it worse if you struggle. This will hurt me more than it hurts you. You were asking for this, you little shit, you deserve it.

Well! Look who's talking now! No grown-up in the world can ever, ever control them again. They're a Lost One, and they're always going to be Lost.

"I'm wise to all the lies you adults lay out. You're here to try and drag us back, aren't you? And you'll tell us it's for our own good, that you know best for us, that we'd be so much better off if we just did what you told us."

Their grip tightens around the knife. They lunge, swipe right at his midsection (because he's tall, he's so tall, he's bigger and stronger and they can't even reach the jugular).

"It's not going to work on me."

He's about to answer when they jump at him. This time they get him across the belly. It's a long, almost jagged laceration, but not particularly deep. It hurts like hell and it's going to bleed like it's ten times worse than it is, though.

He puts a hand over it, backpedaling a few steps.

"Chara." He doesn't mean to harden his voice as much as he does, because that's not going to help here, but the severity of the situation is in no way lost on him. "I'm not going to tell you to do anything."

Except maybe to stop trying to shiv him.

First blood. A thrill of savage triumph jolts down their spine, because see? They're not powerless. They can beat things bigger and stronger than them. Nothing in the whole world can subjugate them, can force them to do things.

And then he goes and says that name.

They stiffen, tense, even if they know they have to stay fluid, ready to dodge, ready to lash out.

"How do you know that name?" They spit. "You're not one of us." He can't know that name. He doesn't know them. Only Pan's children know them, and he's not a kid like they are. He's not one of Pan's, so he's one of them. Outsiders, grown-ups, enemies.

"That's - that's not my name!" Chara lies, because - because -

Because they'll wear any name at all, six letters or less.

No, because names don't matter at all, and they refuse to give this guy anything that could be used against them. Won't let him have even an inch of leverage.

"Isn't it your name?"

He feels blood sliding hot between his fingers and wonders if the cut isn't worse than he'd originally thought. He can't check right now, not when taking his eyes off of Chara might be enough to get him killed.

"If you don't want me to call you that, what should I call you?"

He needs to placate them, but can tell he's not doing a good job. What soothes some children only makes others angry and frustrated. It's a matter of finding out which kind of child he's dealing with, but he doesn't have the time now.

"Name the fallen human."

The response slips out of them automatically, before they have time to even consider why they'd go and say something as obtuse and confusing as that. They shake it off, scratch it out, tear the whole thought out of their head by the roots. Unnecessary. Unimportant. Don't waste time thinking about it.

"I'm not falling for it. You're trying to mess with my head, aren't you?" They snarl, because where else would such a nonsensical thought come from? They lunge again, try to close the distance between the two of them. Swipe wildly at his middle again, because they can't aim higher than his middle.

Souji tries again to evade them, moving to the side to see if he can get a hand around that arm slashing through the air. He has no weapon, and even if he did, he wouldn't use it on a kid. He's not really sure he'd call Chara a kid under normal circumstances, their appearance aside, but they're a kid right now.

If he can get hold of them, though, he can keep them from hurting him further and put them in a position to talk. Never mind that it will A) confirm their assumptions about him, and B) probably just make them angrier.

"I'm trying to listen to you!" He doesn't raise his voice - he almost never does - but his tone is...well, not quite desperate, but certainly urgent.

"No you're not!" They shout, tossing the words out like a weapon, like a grown-up throws a glass against the wall and it smashes into a billion dangerous fragments. "None of you ever do! You just call me a liar and say it's for attention and -"

And then a hand closes around their arm. Fingers big enough to curl all the way around their wiry little bicep, strong enough to clamp down with ironclad firmness, hold them down, pin them down while those big smothering hands flex and start to move and

Chara

screams.

Lets out an inhuman, inarticulate wail of panic and terror and fury, and bites down on Souji's wrist like a mangy little stray dog, tugging and struggling and blindly pummelling with their free hand as hard as they can. Make it let go make it let go MAKE IT LET GO.

"Chara!"

This time he yells, trying to be heard over their screaming, but he's cut off from saying anything else when they bite him. The blows don't bother him, except when they land on his stomach, but that - that is harder to ignore.

His grip loosens, though he tries his damnedest to maintain it.

"I'm not trying to hurt you."

Not trying to hurt you! A high-pitched, awful stream of giggles erupts out of them, because isn't that just the biggest crock they've heard all day! They know how this goes! A strong hand clamping down and dragging you along like you're just a doll, and this is for your own good and the less you squirm the quicker it'll be over, right?

They stop biting, because their useless blunt teeth aren't digging in hard enough to make him release them, and instead focus on trying to throw all their weight backwards, wrench themselves out of his grip by force.

"You're just like every other grown-up! You're just going to say it's in my best interests and you know best for me and - and then - that's when you stick it to me, right?"

Souji has to let them go then, not only because they're just pulling too hard to keep hold of them, but because something about what they're saying makes him do it. He's really not any better, is he? Not if he's going about it this way.

So he lets go and he backs off, hoping they don't fall on their ass from the force they're putting into trying to get away. Being humiliated on top of everything else would just make it worse.

"...So you stick it to me, instead."

There's some accusation and some sadness in his voice, but there's also a level of invitation. If it makes them feel better, they can stab him again. He can always heal himself and if they do, by some stroke of luck, manage to kill him, well, he has two lives left.

Edited 2016-10-26 01:34 (UTC)

Chara doesn't know what to make of that answer. The way he says it, it's... what? What is he getting at here? Is he disappointed? Is this some kind of trick? They stagger back, fighting against their own momentum to stay upright, leveling the knife in his direction. They've already cut him once. He's got no reason to think they won't cut him again.

And doesn't that make more sense? "Better you than me," they snort. That's how the world works. Everyone's only in it for themselves, right? You have to protect yourself. You have to protect yourself at any cost. Otherwise, you'll get chewed up and spit out and stepped on.

"Why are you really here?" They demand, every word dripping mistrust. "You didn't really come to Neverland just to let me beat you up. The only time adults like you pay attention to kids like us, it's either because you want something out of us or we're in trouble."

"I'm not here because I want to be."

He crosses his arms over his his midsection, trying to look like the gesture is loose and casual, though his muscles are more tense than he'd like. The cut on his stomach hurts even if it isn't very deep. He's had worse, but he usually doesn't have to carry on conversations when he has.

"Would killing me make you feel better?" He's banking on Chara being unable to carry through, though that hope is thin. It might work on other kids, but what he's learned from Chara and from Frisk in the past is that Chara really isn't that hesitant to do whatever they want to, violence or no.

Not here because he wants to be? Then why is he even here at all? Neverland surely isn't the kind of place one just sort of happens to wander into for the fun of it. That doesn't at all explain why he knows their name.

Doesn't explain why he'd go and say something as foolish as that.

Does he really believe that Chara is above killing?

"What, you're just gonna stand there and let me?" They blurt, incredulous, laughing at the very idea. "Killing is easy. Easier than you think. It doesn't feel better, it doesn't feel scary or bad. It feels like nothing at all."

How many people have they killed in Neverland? Why can't they answer that? They feel like they should know an exact, clear number. Should always be remembering exactly how many lives are on their hands. They only know their hands aren't clean. They're a killer, nothing more than that.

"You're bluffing. You don't think I have it in me?"

Souji looks at them like he's weighing something in them. They'd do it, he thinks, but he also thinks he can save himself before he actually dies. His Personas would do, though several of them aren't particularly pleased with this turn of events or with how he's handling it.

It's too late to back down now, regardless of which direction each of them is trying to pull him. He's come to far already to back down - if nothing else, his pride won't let him. Not in front of someone like Chara. But it is more than that. Chara is lost, or at least that's the only way he can understand it. It's not just the event, either. They've always seemed that way to him.

It's a sympathetic gesture when, slowly, he spreads his arms at his sides, hands about waist height. He's not armed and he's already injured. There can't be a more obvious invitation than that, so he doesn't say anything.

He spreads his arms. Just stands there, open and vulnerable, like he's... like he's asking for a hug. Like at any moment he's gonna smile from ear to ear and blurt a friendly, coaxing "c'mere, pal."

* This man is sparing you.

They don't understand it, but a flinch runs through them, some kind of ingrained unconscious expectation of piercing, life-shattering pain. They start back a couple paces, smile rigid and wooden. Trick. It's a trick. It's kill or be killed. There's no such thing as that kind of acceptance, passiveness - forgiveness. It's just a cheap trick.

"Why are you like this?" They blurt, frustrated, not fooled, not scared even a little bit! They see right through this. They know it's too good to be true. They - there's nothing to be scared of, right? Hugs aren't scary for normal people. Open arms aren't supposed to be scary at all. There's no reason to be scared. "Why would you just - just stand there and let some stranger kill you without fighting back?"

Why would anyone do something like that?

"Nothing else has worked."

It probably sounds like he does have some ulterior motive, but it's true. No matter what he does, it seems to cause Chara some...not pain or turmoil, but some disruptive emotion that is only escalating their fear or anger or whatever it is. Whatever combination of emotions they're feeling.

Nothing else works.

Maybe they really are just... just too defective to be understood. Always reacting wrong to things. Smiling when scary things happen. Flinching when someone touches them. Skittering back when they think someone's offering a hug, because arms and hands are supposed to be happy and welcoming and good, but they just make Chara wince. Everything that's supposed to be universal, supposed to the sort of common instinctive things that make people human, and they've... ha ha, they're wired all backwards! So backwards, he thinks that maybe killing is the best way to make them happy.

People like you won't EVER be happy.

They don't even know where the thought comes from, why they think it in such a distinctive voice.

"Who cares about what works? Why aren't you just... all you have to do is run for it. Stay away from me, save your own neck. Why bother in the first place?"

"If I ran, would you be satisfied?"

He wouldn't run. He'd turn and walk, and he wouldn't glance back over his shoulder. But he didn't want to go. There was something happening here and he needed to understand it. For Chara's sake - he'd like to think - and for his own. As someone who was empty inside for so long, and as someone who now feels fragmented so often, he needs to understand what's happening here, in this interaction and in both of them.

"Would it have been more satisfying if you'd gotten me with the knife in the beginning?"

"It's not about satisfying!" They blurt, more frustrated than they mean it to be. Why do people think it's satisfying? Is that... is it actually one of those common normal-human experiences they don't get? Does humanity actually enjoy causing suffering? Ha... that'd sure explain a lot, wouldn't it.

"It's not about that. It's not about happy, or any of that. It's just about safe."

If you get them first, they won't get you. If you tell them you aren't going to be tricked into letting down your guard, they won't try to deceive you. If you're made of noise and fury and hellfire, they can tell you'll fight back. You'll fight like hell. If they know you aren't an easy target, maybe they'll leave you alone.

"You're here because you want to take us away. You want to hurt us. You'll drag us back kicking and screaming to the people we were trying to escape, just like they all do. They say they're your friend, they say they're bringing you somewhere safe, but all they do is bring you home. I don't care what I have to do, I'm never, ever going home again."

"I haven't said any of that."

He puts his hands into his pockets, trying to pick through the whispers of his Personas. Maybe walking away is the best choice right now, but it's against his nature. He sees things through, he unravels knots. From the beginning, that hasn't seemed like a good tactic when getting to know Chara, but now more than ever. For once, since everything is so upside down for Chara, going against his own nature would be best. It just feels like failure.

"I can talk to you again later, when this is over."

[OPEN] And if it ever starts to feel bad, little fang

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