They do not miss, for even a second, the use of the phrase "anyone else."
"Why's it just us, anyway? It's always just us," they point out, with a dead little attempt at a chuckle. "Everyone else is so... consistent. Defined. Grounded. Us? We don't even look the same across versions. We're way taller or way younger or your eyes are all wrong. The whole way you talk changes. Our entire personalities are just... do we even have personalities if they're swapped out so effortlessly?"
Frisks who Chara can't believe are determined at all, they're so passive and dewy-eyed. Charas who aren't even that plastic smile, because all they do is scowl and glower. Beings completely devoid of the gregarious impulsivity and charm they might have, vainly, hoped the whisper in Frisk's ear sometimes had - so surely that part of them, too, must be fake, just an act put on to trick people into not noticing they aren't the greatest person!
Leaning on the bookshelf is getting uncomfortable. They shift. Just... lie down on the dirty library floor. Is that a Chara thing to do? Is this Chara's element, or are they giving away how insubstantial their character really is by being so improper and filthy?
"I'm three miniscule chunks of faded red - just a few faint traces of whatever Chara Dreemurr used to be. I'm a locket and a knife that someone else brought and just lets me wear. I'm magic someone else gave to me because they thought I should have it - and even that's just a whole bunch of broken, abnormal nothing. I'm the resonance of souls that a better me taught someone else how to do."
It's absurd, isn't it? "You're bandaged fingers and a hat someone else handed you that looks like some other species entirely. You're purple notebooks and ukuleles and a movie someone else showed you. What even ARE we, Frisk? Just - just function? Just fragments sort of clumping together in a vaguely useful shape? Echoes of the real Frisk and Chara, pale and inferior and artificial, trying to convince ourselves we're not just amalgamates parroting what better selves might think or do? What's the point of even... what's the point of existing, if Wonderland could wipe me out completely and put a new me here and nobody would even be able to tell the difference at all? Why are we even here if all that really defines us are the bits of other, better selves that we just tacked onto ourselves after the fact?"
no subject
"Why's it just us, anyway? It's always just us," they point out, with a dead little attempt at a chuckle. "Everyone else is so... consistent. Defined. Grounded. Us? We don't even look the same across versions. We're way taller or way younger or your eyes are all wrong. The whole way you talk changes. Our entire personalities are just... do we even have personalities if they're swapped out so effortlessly?"
Frisks who Chara can't believe are determined at all, they're so passive and dewy-eyed. Charas who aren't even that plastic smile, because all they do is scowl and glower. Beings completely devoid of the gregarious impulsivity and charm they might have, vainly, hoped the whisper in Frisk's ear sometimes had - so surely that part of them, too, must be fake, just an act put on to trick people into not noticing they aren't the greatest person!
Leaning on the bookshelf is getting uncomfortable. They shift. Just... lie down on the dirty library floor. Is that a Chara thing to do? Is this Chara's element, or are they giving away how insubstantial their character really is by being so improper and filthy?
"I'm three miniscule chunks of faded red - just a few faint traces of whatever Chara Dreemurr used to be. I'm a locket and a knife that someone else brought and just lets me wear. I'm magic someone else gave to me because they thought I should have it - and even that's just a whole bunch of broken, abnormal nothing. I'm the resonance of souls that a better me taught someone else how to do."
It's absurd, isn't it? "You're bandaged fingers and a hat someone else handed you that looks like some other species entirely. You're purple notebooks and ukuleles and a movie someone else showed you. What even ARE we, Frisk? Just - just function? Just fragments sort of clumping together in a vaguely useful shape? Echoes of the real Frisk and Chara, pale and inferior and artificial, trying to convince ourselves we're not just amalgamates parroting what better selves might think or do? What's the point of even... what's the point of existing, if Wonderland could wipe me out completely and put a new me here and nobody would even be able to tell the difference at all? Why are we even here if all that really defines us are the bits of other, better selves that we just tacked onto ourselves after the fact?"