entrancelogs | my light is like the snow [open]

Entry tags:

my light is like the snow [open]

Who: Frisk and a closed thread but also YOU
Where: ~~Snowed Inn~~ Ski Resort
When: 6/02 - 6/04
Rating: PG probably, unless shit gets serious
Summary: It's not Snowdin, but it'll do in a pinch.
The Story:

snowmen; if i feel, it's touching gold

They're well and truly bundled up by the time they set out to explore the ski resort in a little more depth, their treasured hat snug over their head with the knitted ears falling to either side. Armed with jacket, scarf, boots, and mittens, Frisk immediately sets about scooping out great handfuls of snow to start to roll them up into tight-packed, slightly lumpy creations. Well, when they're not engaging in petty snow warfare, that is.

The first one to take actual form and shape is a squat, lizardlike thing with spines emerging from its head. A pair of round pebbles serve as spectacles, and a sharp stick allows them to draw clawlike patterns in the snow to form its feet.

It's a snow Alphys. A Snalphys, if you will.

The next in line is Undyne, obviously, but she's so tall that it's taking them a bit of work to really capture her lanky build. Almost like a child who averages out to something like four feet tall can't exactly pile together snow up to, like, six feet high.

But that doesn't mean they're not going to try, gosh darn it.

hot chocolate; melt your heart out now

[Someone's made a...bit of a mess in one of the kitchen areas, it seems. It started out very innocently, no doubt, but now the tiled floor is a gritty mess of crushed chocolate granules that crunch loudly underfoot, and the saucepan on the stove is bubbling with a vengeance, far more than any kind of stovetop concoction of hot chocolate should. It also looks as though someone might have tried for a rousing round of marshmallow jousting in the microwave before abandoning the effort to its doomed, sticky fate.

(They didn't, really, they swear. They'd just thought that the marshmallows in the packages were far too small and they needed some warming up and general bolstering of spirit, but microwaving them, as it turned out, was simply not the way to go.)

At least they haven't gotten into the whipped cream. Yet.]

attempting to snowboard; outside it's hard to see

Frisk has never gone snowboarding in their life. They have never gone skiing, never been to a resort, and in general never done anything of the sort. It looks fun, no doubt, but things start going downhill quickly, and in a rather literal sense at that.

Someone really should have told them, to start with, that the board they'd chosen was far too big for them, even if they'd rather liked the design of yellow lightning bolts striping down the matte black base. Someone also should have told them that there are plenty of courses and opportunities for beginners, and that maybe they shouldn't embark on conquering the most zigzagging, precarious route imaginable.

It is for that reason that not long after kicking off down the incline, hair and hat-ears and scarf streaming out behind them, one might hear Frisk's voice raised, perhaps the loudest they're able to go, in a single, startled yelp before they're pillowing into the ground face-first with a muffled whumpf.

They go spilling down the remainder of the hill in a downy flurry of snowflakes, limbs akimbo.

wildcard; 'cause i'm a snow ghost

[I didn't even plan on making an open post for this event but do it hit me. I'll match any format you want. Also feel free to PM me or contact me over at arrpee if you've got any questions!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Of course they're all sharing a room. It would stand to reason, given the nature of their room arrangements in the mansion proper. And it means that, like it or not, none of them can run and hide, as much as they'd want to. The snowstorm has them well and truly sealed in, no longer merrily avoiding their problems as they might want to.

Any stolen moments of joy and quiet enjoyment don't matter, now that they're caught in this like gnats to flypaper. Their eyes dart back and forth between the pair of siblings. They shouldn't...ha ha, they shouldn't even be here! This is a family matter, and Chara had whispered once, in an almost vindictive undertone that you're my family, but Asriel is different, isn't he? He's always different because he's the most important person in their life, without question, and Frisk is just...imposing, as always. Second best. Only ever to be built up and placed on a pedestal, to be the vague "better option" for one of them or both of them.

They shouldn't be here at all.

Why are they even alive?

Asriel has only been here for a few days.

In that short matter of time, he's discovered that a decent chunk of monsters from the Underground where here, Frisk was here, and somehow Chara was not only alive and here, but had been among Asriel even before he was whisked away to this strange world called Wonderland.

A place where time was stopped. Where he couldn't turn into Flowey. At least, until time decided to move forward, or reset again, and he wouldn't be able to keep this. Maybe it was to show him what life could've been like for him at some point? Who knows anymore.

What he does know, is that he's currently snowed in with both Chara and Frisk. And none of them look like they want to be here. Asriel doesn't. He's... not supposed to be here. But he should be happy, right? He got the Perfect Ending. His mom and dad were here, he was alive, his sibling was alive, and his new friend was here too! He could start over, he could move forward with everyone.

~~He's going to ruin everyone's happiness, he's going to disappoint them all. And this is all one really cruel joke.~~

His claws dig themselves into the fabric of his pant legs, eyes glancing between Chara and Frisk, and then to the window outside. He doesn't really feel like he should be the first one to speak, but the silence is eating at him.

"Um... it's pretty bad out there, huh?"

It's a pathetic attempt to start a conversation, but he doesn't know where else to start. Maybe the right things to say would fall into place if he just says something. At least he hopes.

Wowie! This is what hell looks like.

Let them go, Asriel told them. While, Frisk, you... are the kind of friend I always wished I had, he'd said. They already know exactly what Asriel wants, what Asriel will always default to wanting every time Wonderland brings him back to them, because he'd made it crystal clear.

To him, a happy ending is one where Chara stops existing. The only way the world can be happy, now, is if they aren't part of it.

What a shame they're literally incapable of leaving it right now, in every sense of the word.

"Do you even like Asriel?" They'd posed the question to Frisk once. A moment of quote-unquote clarity, of realizing they can't project their own wishes onto Frisk, can't expect a pristine angel who loves everyone who hurts them. That, too, had come with a perfectly clear answer. It never occurred to them at all to feel anything but wholehearted love for Asriel. They don't bear an ounce of hurt, despite everything that happened (and what does that say about you, Chara?). In fact, the question itself was a selfish, cruel one. Don't worry, Chara, I still like you. I can have more than one friend, you know.

"Pretty bad in here, too," they deadpan, their smile rote and tired. Why pretend anything else? Why fool yourself into thinking everyone gets to be perfectly happy in the good ending, right? "It was snowy when I first arrived here, you know. I woke up lying in a snowbank. Wonder why I didn't just lie there until I froze to death." Not a very entertaining story, that one. Brightly, they add, "How long do you think it would take?"

For a moment, Frisk's eyes flick shut and they have to breathe very hard through their nose. Chara keeps talking, blithely chattering about their own hypothetical demise like it doesn't matter. They, ha ha, they wouldn't know, would they? For all the wide variety of deaths they've endured, in Frisk's body and in their own, freezing simply wasn't among them. It'd be a novelty, up until the moment when they stopped being alive for it.

It's morbid, to dwell. Watching Asriel try not to tear into himself over the pressure of the silence in the room, watching Chara smile like aren't exhausted - worn, down to their very bones. Their desire to control any impulses for biting conversation dialed down, because why should they care, what Asriel thinks of them? He's already decided they're not the greatest person. He's already decided they're not worth keeping when he's got a much better friend in the form of Frisk, right?

They don't quite groan aloud, but it's a near thing. Broaching the subject, between the two of them -

Asriel has always been sacred ground. A line in the sand, do not cross. Bringing him up as a weapon only ever got the both of them hurt, until Chara laid the foundation that shouldn't have needed laying, but, hah, Frisk ruined that enough that they felt it was worth a little verbal pronouncement. Don't sharpen his words into blades, Frisk. Don't try to impale me on their points.

They've done enough of that themself, after all. They hardly need Frisk's help where Asriel is concerned, in feeling uniformly terrible about everything that happened.

"I'm...not."

Knees drawn up to their chin, the ragged fringe of their bangs falling into their face, the words issuing out in the form of a mumble and - and can't they just start things off right, instead of making it all about them? Again? Again?

Where else are they supposed to start? Is it...is that better? Better than imposing what someone must be feeling on Asriel, or on Chara? Deciding that they know better for them?

So they speak quietly, addressing the frosted-over window. Unable to look at them. Either of them.

"I'm not the friend you want me to be, Asriel."

"Ah... I... don't think I want to find out."

Asriel's already seen how long it takes Chara to die from poisoning, he's not curious to find out how long it takes them to die in the cold. Doesn't want to know what happens to human bodies when they die in the snow. He doesn't need to see Chara laid out and lifeless again.

He doesn't really have to dwell on that thought though. The tension in the room felt like it was choking the life right out of him.

And then Frisk mumbles something, and Asriel's attention is on them. Frisk seemed so uncomfortable around him, and he wasn't really sure why. But they speak, and he hears them. And he doesn't understand.

"What are you talking about, Frisk?"

"What are you talking about, Frisk?" They echo, politely. "You SAVED him. You forgave him. You found the better way to break the barrier. You made sure everyone was perfectly happy." There's nothing left to worry about, right?

"You deserve credit for that much, even if you may think otherwise." Didn't have to do any of that. Could have hated and feared the person who told them he'd kill them over and over, millions of times, hissed that the suffering of their friends was all their fault, spat that they were an idiot again and again, then said that all that was because he cared about them. Could have harboured a lingering seed of unease, could have been scared, could have decided that maybe he wasn't the friend they always wished they had.

But they didn't.

"You put his suffering before anything he did to you. You reached out to a complete stranger, and treasured him like he was your greatest friend. You're the kind of person who chose to be kind, and there is worth in that. That's what Asriel should have always had, is it not?"

His confusion, Chara's polite insistence to the contrary, knots in their stomach like a wrung-up towel, like a live snake. Cutting into their SOUL like a hot knife. Their grip around the fabric of their pants tightens, knuckles blanching. Stop it, Chara. Stop it.

"I'm not an angel, Chara." The pitch rises in their tone before they can wholly prevent it. Stop it, Frisk, now. Stop acting like you're all hurt because of this. You of all people should know that those sorts of promises are conditional. You're not the angel because Chara says they don't want the angel, but that's only in specific circumstances. Not now. Now they want the angel, ha ha. Now they want someone to be the savior who sweeps up Asriel's SOUL in a spray of white static and clears the Lost shouldn't-be from around his head with a hug and a smile. To tell him it's going to be okay, and remind him of butterscotch pie. Because that's what's needed of you now. And everything else - everything else falls to the wayside, then. Becomes secondary.

"It wasn't me who SAVED you." They still can't look at him. Can't look at either of them. "It was a memory. Of when...when your best friend fell, and you helped them. Showed them kindness."

They're not an angel. They're just the vessel for something greater. The one who carried the pieces of the story to their completion until they could come together in a searing snap, in a rainbow-tinted battle.

But it was never their story to End.

"Chara's memory."

june 4th; closed to asriel and chara; my heart is cold but you're warm to me

here comes the pain train toot toot

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snowmen

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snowmen!

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