entrancelogs | + It's good that we can't see what isn't there +

Entry tags:

+ It's good that we can't see what isn't there +

Who: EVERYONE
Where: Wonderland and adjacent dimensions!
When: Friday, April 21st to Monday, April 24th
Rating: PG-13, warn if higher!
Summary: A place to list your tears throughout the event, and describe the worlds that can be seen or accessed through them. Event Post.
The Story:

While invisible zombies ravage Wonderland, tears are popping up everywhere! Through them characters can see versions of themselves from alternate universes. Some of them show a different version of Wonderland, some a different version of their home. Some are as benign as a character drinking coffee instead of tea, others are as drastic as somebody's entire personality changed completely.

On day one tears are so small as to barely even be recognisable. Faint voices and melodies can be heard through the tiny cracks if you step really close, but these brief and indistinct glimpses are barely even worth describing.

On day two tears have opened up wide enough to recognise them for what they really are. Yesterday's melodies will sound clearer, and the voices will become decidedly familiar, belonging to people characters know, sounding perhaps even like the characters themselves. Look through the tears and they may catch sight of home, or something that merely looks like another part of Wonderland. The tears are yet narrow and instable though, and the field of vision is correspondingly poor.

On day three the tears have grown a great deal. The worlds beyond them can be seen and heard, though most cannot be interacted with at all. Only the biggest ones are already stable enough for characters to stick their hand inside, and pulls through any objects within reach.

On the fourth and last day some tears have finally become large and stable enough for characters to pass through whole. Not all tears will reach this stage, but those who have can be visited, and the world beyond them explored... at each character's own peril.

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[Yeah. They were. They were a threat, and this - this is what Napstablook must have witnessed. Watching their cousin be struck down, cleaved to pieces, an implosion of ozone and blazing metallic detritus.

He's kind, though. Kinder than maybe he's capable of giving himself credit for. He must have known what would happen, what had happened to Undyne, to every monster that stood in their path before then, but he tried anyway.

He tried.]

You wanted to keep them safe.

You bought Alphys time. To get them all away.

[Mettaton lets out a low, mirthless chuckle.]

Keep them safe? I seemed more concerned about humanity than I did my fellow monsters.

[That's just how he's always been though; Dreaming like a boy so in love with the wrong world.

How much of that phone call to Alphys was pretense? The "correct" thing for a martyr to say when he was going to die? He doesn't know. Mettaton is always on stage, it seems, always playing the part of the debonair entertainer, even when speaking what may be his final words outside of battle.]

At least I thought of her right before the end. I don't know where she hid them all, the ones who were left. But she would have taken good care of them. She's always been more capable than she gave herself credit for.

[There's always been a hidden strength inside her, an iron-will hidden under years of anxiety and fear. It had been one of the things that had always made her so compelling to him.

He finally looks away, to the human standing beside him. One half of the problem that leads to this world.]

...Are you all right? It must be hard to see this too.

[A minute shrug of their shoulders isn't much of an answer, but it's the only one they can think of that matters, truly. They've seen this before. They've seen it...plenty of times before. Watched it play out. Tried all sorts of different things. Didn't empty Hotland completely, didn't prowl about the CORE until the counter ticked down, down, down, all the way to Zero. Tried stalling for a few turns, just to see if he would do something. Tried using the Mystery Key, stolen from a till in an alleyway that had been long since emptied.

Nothing happened.

I've read this already.]

You and Undyne...you both fought for everyone. Not just monsters.

Humans too.

[Those dark, dusted pathways always seemed to bring out the best in everyone.]

Perhaps. I don't truly know. The one in the tear may be another version of me, but even I can only guess at what was going through his head.

[He's certain his guesses would be more accurate than most however.]

She was always more of the hero. I seem to resort to cheap lines the moment the spotlight on me becomes meaningful. I'm sure she wasn't afraid.

[Not like me.

He knows they've talked about this before. One of their first conversations ever in Wonderland had been about this. But he still finds himself feeling lost as he gazes into the still empty space of the tear.

He's not coming back. He's not getting back up. These tears don't repeat. They both watched this other Mettaton die and there was nothing either of them could do about it.]

...I could have so easily come from a place like this. I could have been whisked away from my home after exploding into flaming bits and ended up here. How would I have looked at you then? How would I have treated you then?

[Mettaton knows how. It's painful to think about but he knows.]

She was.

[She was afraid, even if she was, in a sense, fearless. She didn't think twice about what she was doing, placing herself in danger, knowing that she was fighting a battle that would result in either one death, or two. Always ensuring it would be two. Always ensuring they would never progress past her, even if she was falling to pieces in the process.

How could she have done all that, and not been afraid? For herself, for the people she would be unable to save?]

...I don't know.

[There would have been differences, they know, despite his earlier claims that it wouldn't have mattered. Couldn't matter now. Because, in the end, it goes deeper than that.]

You don't have to forgive me for that.

[Mettaton stays silent, mulling over their words. Undyne? Afraid? She had never seemed the type. Then again, he never knew her like Alphys knew her. She had been undeniably beautiful, no doubt about that. And her talents with the piano had always been remarkable. Coupled with her strength and strength of personality, it was hard not to be wowed by her. But he had never thought that she could be afraid.

It would make sense, considering. He's learned so much about his fellows in Wonderland that it feels like nothing he thought before coming to this place was correct. He almost wishes Undyne was still here. Maybe he'd understand her more by now.

...Then again, that's really a moot point.]

As I said then, there's nothing to forgive. I don't remember a world like this. I don't remember these choices, these moral quandaries. This sacrifice.

[If you can even call it that... he never fought back. Was that on purpose? Chara seemed to think so. They seemed to think that it was a purposeful action and not fear holding him back from striking the first blow. Perhaps Mettaton did see some hope there. Some glimmer of a better person, bundled up in LOVE and a burning rage at the world around them.

Perhaps he is thinking too much.]

I would like to think, however, that with time, even coming from a world like this, I would have learned to love you like I do now. Neither of us are without our flaws. If I can dare to think that I deserve a second chance for the things I have done, you deserve the same.

[The words tumble out without much thought and Mettaton finds himself slightly taken aback by how sure he sounds. It's been awhile since he's felt so steady on his feet. It's been awhile since he's felt so strongly. ...It's been awhile since he's thought of his mirror.]

[Something in their SOUL twists, a constriction like a snake squeezing coils around their heart. A sacrifice like that, and he claims that if that were the case, he would have learned how to love them. He would have learned how to love, and not to LOVE like them. As though they'd have earned his forgiveness after a time. As though he'd have to, at some point. Because they're here now, a fixture, and there's no escaping that.]

You wouldn't...have to.

[There's no point in saying it. In pursuing that which has never happened, which, if they are lucky, never will happen. Hypothetically, he wouldn't have to find it in him to forgive them for their sins. They've done too much, they know, committed too many atrocities, to be forgiven. They've had their second chance, and their third chance, and they've had their infinite chances, piled atop one another, on and on. As if that would make any of it all right, because they knew they would always have one more chance. There would always be another day, and they would open their eyes and the air would smell of dust and flowers.]

I spent my second chances.

[Shut up, Frisk. What do you think you're doing? Making this about you, all over again? Making this about your pain, as if he should drop everything and come running!]

[Mettaton hums quietly in agreement.]

You're right. I wouldn't have to. But... I hope that I would.

[He's silent for a moment longer, still looking at the tear. Maybe something will change. Maybe he'll see something else.

He doesn't.]

I hope that I would give you a second chance, no matter how many you think you've spent because, to me... this is worth it. You have been worth it.

[Even when they so thoroughly and bitterly broke his heart. Even when they almost tore themself asunder from reality itself in a desperate fit of self-loathing and self-destruction. Especially when they went shopping on the Citadel. Especially when he got to hug them and hold them tight and cry, cry, cry.

He loves them. And he hopes that love would find its way to bloom again if circumstances were different. Even if Mettaton, himself, is running out of time now.]

[There shouldn't be any credence to woulds and wouldn'ts. To what-ifs and maybes. Because they'll never know, really, or that's how the theory is meant to go. It's not, not the way things are back home, not with how the world has unfurled in different gradations, in different iterations, multifaceted and variegated.

And even now, they haven't seen every possibility. Because people can come through to different moments and in different ways, and they can disappear just as quickly. No repetitions. No starting over.

It's amazing, in its own way.

In its own small way.]

Why?

[It's...cruel, to ask, maybe. Because there might not be any sense to it, any point in trying to pin down a reason. But why stay? Why stay, with everything they've done? Everything they're capable of?

What do people stand to gain?]

[Why. It's such a small word. It's a short sentence, a short question, but it carries the weight of the entire world within its three letter statement.

It has a pressure to it. A need to do right by it, to adequately answer it to the best of your ability. It's a heavy feeling but it is not unlike answering the call of the stage. It is not unlike stepping out into the light to an audience of people full of curiosity, excitement, perhaps even a little derision at the antics of a sentient slab of metal.

It is not a pressure Mettaton, headstrong as he is and proud, will ever wilt from. Not when his thoughts are free of another's sickly whisper for one of the longest times since letting their oil slip into his ears.]

You give me hope. You give me a vibrancy that only reached the heights it has because you reached out to me. No matter the choices you made in other timelines, you still have that capacity. It means more to me that you can be kind than you can be cruel.

[He looks away from the tear but not quite at Frisk. He doesn't want to see what their face may look like; not yet at least.]

Anyone can be cruel. It is extremely easy. I know this fact intimately. It's kindness that feels harder. To open yourself up in any capacity... it's frightening. It's dangerous.

[He looks to them then, searches for their eyes, and he does feel that fear, that danger that comes with baring a portion of your soul to someone.]

Even when you have hurt me, you were only able to do so because I let you in so deep. And while that pain hurt and... still hurts, the joy I have gotten, the lo...

[Hesitation. It's a hard word to say for someone so used to skating over the top of deeper emotion.]

...You're not perfect. You're not infallible. And I have grown to know you and understand you because of it. It has helped me understand myself as well. I can't imagine my life without you, Frisk. And that is a precious thought to me.

[His life would not be the same without them. His life would not be the same without Napstablook or Alphys and Frisk fits right there, neatly, into that line.]

-1 to ZEZPQB BT FRESMNF IZDVZ BEFVQN GC NBVBW

[Maybe this is why the temptation to never commit to something like this, to open your SOUL to someone else like this, is altogether too staggering, too immutable, too terrifying, for them to simply continue to do so without fear of consequences. Because one's capacity for hurt grows limitless once you begin to care. Mettaton was a charred heap of metal, devoid of autonomy, the first time around. Alphys's bluster about being able to build a new robot hadn't mattered. They'd plowed brazenly on, thinking, wondering, if they should have tried harder, done better, but ultimately - they couldn't at all, could they? He attacked them. They defended themself.

Alphys said she could always build another.

And that swelling guilt beneath their chest, that which festered like a blister, would only worsen the next time around. Learning a little more, hesitating a little less. Hurt, scared, bleeding, pleading, cheeks streaked with grime as they fought the same battles and died, and died, and died.

They were only able to hurt him because he let them in, and it worked just the opposite way, didn't it? They bared their SOUL to him, just as they do so easily, and in return -

In return, they were stung.

Frisk drags the corner of one sleeve over the heel of their palm, rubbing it at the groove of one cheek. Trying to speak, even if it emerges thickly, sloppily. Shouldn't mumble. No one likes it when you mumble.]

I can't...I don't want a, a life without you, either.

[Mettaton smiles and it's heavy but it's worth the weight. He reaches out and gently pulls them close to him in a warm and secure hug. If they want him to let go he will instantly but... he has a suspicion that they both need this right now.

He looks back to the tear, still as quiet and empty as ever, and his smile continues.]

I think we have seen enough here. There won't be anything else happening.

[He pulls back from the hug, offering his hands to hold.]

Let's go. We have a much better present to attend to than a sad past.

Okay.

[The word is nearly soundless, silent but for the soft click of the "k" in the back of their throat as they dip their head in a small bob of a nod. The faint scent of ozone, of charred wiring, of a broken and burst chassis - it shouldn't be easy to ignore, and it isn't. It falls away in pieces, as he goes on.

A better present, instead of a sad past. Since when has dwelling garnered them anything but a gallery of sins, and more than enough remorse to drown in?

Frisk takes his hand in a hesitant grip, but it tightens. Like their smile, it will take some time to strengthen. But it'll get there.

Yeah.

They'll get there.]

Okay.

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+ It's good that we can't see what isn't there +

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