entrancelogs | merry christmas; i could care less [ open ]

Entry tags:

merry christmas; i could care less [ open ]

Who: Real Tim, Mirror Tim + YOU / Real Frisk, Mirror Frisk + YOU
Where: All the heck over my guys
When: 12/13 - 12/20
Rating: PG to start with, will edit for anything higher
Summary:
The Story:

[Just kidding starters are in the comments.]

[Let me know if you want something closed cooked up special, etc., or hit me over at

arrpee. I will match prose or brackets!]

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"I was the most dangerous thing in the Underground." One eye slits open at that, a slim little crack of rusted-over red. Just brown, back home, the color of a mud puddle. Red is prettier, no matter what Chara thinks. "Humans are stronger than monsters."

They were...a risk. They know that. They're not sure it justifies it, anymore, the fact that every monster they'd ever met saw fit to strike first and ask questions later.

"Even a kid."

"How does...I don't get it."

What does being strong have to do with any of it? She gets the part about monsters and the Underground--she's met Toriel and Mettaton and some of the others. Spooky monsters who are mostly just cutesy and friendly if a bit overbearing, an underground society, lots of magic.

"Being strong or being a human or whatever, that stuff doesn't matter. A kid is a kid is a kid. Can you...look, I'm sorry."

She realizes she's been sort of growling and flexing her claws so she tries to calm down.

"Sorry, I don't mean to get all...worked up and all. I guess I just don't understand a lot about your world or like...how you could end up in that sort of situation. Do you mind just like...explaining? I don't wanna like, pry or anything, I'm just trying to understand."

"It's okay." It's an automatic response, because there's no forced honesty compelling them to utter that they're not actually all that okay, that it's not really...okay. This is going to change everything, because it always does. Because whenever they tell people, it'll change the nature of the relationship. It'll alter how people look at them, and whether they can still look them in the eye after.

There's no such thing as a clean break, a fresh start. Not really. Wiping the slate clean doesn't work, because you can always see what was written on it before.

People have a right to know.

"I've killed too."

She stares up at them.

She wishes abruptly that she was back in her real form, not this...stupid snow leopard form. It's cool and great and whatever, but she is absolutely not in the mood for any shenanigans anymore. And she wants to be able to just--have this discussion frankly, face to face.

She's about to burst out that no, it's not okay, and run down a whole goddamn novel's worth of reasons why, but then Frisk continues.

"...By accident?"

"Yes." The cookie must be wearing off. They haven't been playing for a while now. Carefully, they thread the strap of the instrument over their shoulder so it doesn't risk slipping into the snow, and fold their hands neatly across their front.

It's going to change things. It always does. But it's cruel to pretend that they're not a danger; that they haven't made mistakes, and may continue to make them.

"And no."

And no.

She's honestly still just...trying to parse this. Magic, monsters, time travel, child death. Video game logic. It's just not all adding up. Frisk killed people and has been killed. They've done it by accident. They've done it on purpose.

It's...

Just before coming to Wonderland she had gotten to the fifth floor in Demon Tower, the highest she's ever gotten. It's a hard game. You just go through it with your little sword and kill pretty much everything that moves. It's a game. You don't think too hard about it. They're just pixels on a screen.

They're just shapes.

Just shapes.

And when you're surrounded by nothing real, just broken, dead shapes, you try to find any possible way out of it.

"Because...because it's a game? Your world is like a game, so...?"

But no, she can't--she can't apply her own logic to this, she can't jump to conclusions, not when a kid is standing in front of her talking about how they've killed people, and how like--it's a distraction, she realizes. It's a distraction. Mae asked about how Frisk could die so many times, how any kind of world could let that happen, and how Frisk could be okay with such a thing and--

And instead they're talking about how Frisk is a killer.

"Okay, so. Why, then? Why'd you kill anyone?"

They drop into a crouch. It's slow, almost idle, as simple and easy as a child stopping to poke at a line of ants on the sidewalk on their way to school, or stooping over a cluster of flowers that look pretty. Arms folding over their kneecaps, they study a patch of snow without undue effort or attentiveness, merely inspecting the flakes of the soaking whiteness, just because it's easier that way.

"...it's kind of a long story. Do you really wanna hear it now?" It's not without sympathy. It is, after all, close to Christmas. The holidays shouldn't be a time for thinking about the deaths of others, or of yourself.

...shouldn't be.

Somehow, this is the second time that they have been.

They lower themselves, and it's such a little kid thing to do. They're just a little kid. They're probably older than they look, since all the Wonderland kids seem to be, but still. How does a kid get to the point where they can kill people? How does a kid get to the point where "dying lots" is just--no big deal?

She looks away. It feels like a jab, like Mae is being nosy. And she supposes she is. This isn't really the time for any of this, is it.

"No, you're right. I'm sorry. Now's a bad time. Uh...I'm sorry I pushed. How about...I let you get back to music and...I'll go like, chase rabbits or something. We can even just pretend this conversation never happened."

"I don't mind if you wanna know." They try to be honest. It's better if people know what they're capable of. No one can accuse them of hiding away, of pretending to be something they're not, of trying to trick people into loving a wretched little anomaly like them. It isn't right, to lead people to believe they haven't done terrible things.

Humans are capable of terrible things. Anomalies are capable of even worse.

It's not quite a smile, the thing that quirks up the one corner of their lips. It's too tired for that.

"But it's...not a very happy story."

They seem--exhausted. They seem like a kid who's lived a thousand lifetimes. She used to hear her Grandpa talk about people who were "old souls," and she wonders if this is what he meant.

"You know what? Uh, how about we wait till after the holidays and see what it throws at us, and just like, try to enjoy it, and eat cookies and all the rest of the--dumb holiday stuff. And afterward, you can decide if you want to tell me anything. Because I mean, until an event of yours happens again, I guess it's not really my business. You don't seem like the type who just flips out and kills people at random, uh, you're not like--"

Like Mae. Like Mae would have been if someone hadn't gotten the bat out of her hand. Just another psycho Killer, haha. Just another kid who's fucked in the head and probably gonna go on a murder rampage.

"...Just, you're right, now isn't the time, and we're not in the headspace for it, and it'd just be so stupid if we had to talk about this while I'm a cat and you're playing ukulele. Just like. Later. If you want. Yeah."

Her sentence clips, cuts short. They can't precisely tell why. Something she isn't saying, or something she doesn't want to say. They don't...press, because pressing would be rude, and they've learned that most people don't like to have their secrets pried up like old bits of floorboard.

Just another conversation that neither of them really should have when things are like this.

"Okay," says Frisk.

That's easy. They can shut up, and be good. They're good at that.

"But it's okay, if you wanna know later."

"Okay."

She nods, like it's some kind of agreement. She doesn't know what either of them are agreeing to. To stop talking about it, to never speak of it again, to talk about it later, whatever.

She needs to go lie down and think.

"I dunno. I think that's gotta be your decision. But--uh--I'm sorry it got awkward. I still want to like...talk to you about regular stuff? Yanno? I just need to think for a bit. Um, okay."

She gets to her feet, wobbling a little as she forgets how her tail works for a moment.

"I'll probably see you again before the holiday but if I don't, happy holidays."

"Happy Holidays." The sentiment feels hollow as their smile, faded and fading, tired after those precious hours of cookie-induced, music-fueled cheer that sparked like magnesium flare, altogether too blazing and too bright to last anything longer than a handful of moments, in the grand scheme of things.

But it was extraordinary, while it lasted.

"It was good to see you, Mae."

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merry christmas; i could care less [ open ]

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cw: internalized ableism

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