you are what you love [ open ]

[determinedest]

Who: Tim Wright + your beautiful self, and/or Frisk + your beautiful self!
Where: All over!
When: April 7th - April 10th
Rating: PG-13 probably though I'll warn if it goes higher
Summary: Maybe, with what little power you have...
The Story:

[Starters are in the comments. Let me know over here or at arrpee if you want a closed starter or anything! I will match prose or brackets!]

Comments

FRISK ; OPEN ; i need more dreams and less life

[determinedest]

They have a small voice, most days. It's not that they don't like to speak; they just know it's better, for their own sake and for everyone else's, if they keep quiet. Good little children are seen, and not heard. They know how that story goes.

It's like music in their SOUL, piped through sunlight and over along the multicolored blooms dotted among the gardenscape. It doesn't take much to remind them, for the dust-light weightlessness to tug at their toes and leave them wondering when it will next be their turn.

The words begin faint, but pick up steadily, in tempo and confidence, though never in volume. The simplicity is fitting: the hum of strummed strings, devoid of grandiosity and fanfare.

Just like them.

They just can't keep worrying about these things that they can't talk about.

If you're near, you may even hear it yourself - that fear of overstepping lines.

[mypartnerintime]

Max waits for them to finish- and she wants to say something about how good it was, how much she admires Frisk's singing, how much she wants Frisk to open up and not feel so alone anymore. But something else comes out. She sings without quite realizing that it's happening, and her voice is small but steady.

"Balancing on one wounded wing
Circling the edge of the never ending
The best of the vanished marvels
Have gathered inside your door

Sleeping for years, pick through what is left
Through the pieces that fell, and rose from the depth
From the rainwater well
Deep as a secret nobody knows

Less than forget, but more than begun
These adventures in solitude never done
To the names of our wounds
We send the same blood back from the wars

We thought we lost you
We thought we lost you
We thought we lost you
It will all come back

I know you want to
Run far away from one more
And that it's coming at a bad time
Some cold place, heartless ways
For all we know...

I know you want to
Breathe through, come back, come to
But it's coming at a bad time
Old scarred face, survivor's guilt
For all we know..."

She clears her throat, snapping out of it, and then laughs.

"Huh."

[determinedest]

Survivor's guilt.

We thought we lost you.

Whether it was a song for herself or a song for them, they can't really say. It doesn't matter, they don't think, in the end; it's just something that couldn't be contained, and had to bleed out into the open air.

"...you've got a good voice," Frisk offers at last, which isn't the kind of warming compliment they'd normally apply, like an option to * Flirt. But it is something.

[mypartnerintime]

Interestingly it could apply to either of them. But Max lost her partner in crime a long time ago... That wound has had its time to heal, however effectively.

The song was for Frisk. While she feels like she doesn't understand their situation, she also feels like she should. They've both lost partners. The lyrics bubbled out of her, an attempt to say she feels for them.

Subconsciously, anyway.

"I was about to tell you the same thing. This isn't the first time I've heard you sing, and so far you're two for two."

[determinedest]

"I didn't mean to this time," says Frisk, shoulders lifting in an incremental shrug. Not that it matters. A lot of things seem to happen beyond the realm of their control, these days. That was the hardest thing to get used to, when they first woke up here, and it still hasn't gotten easier.

It should have gotten easier.

"I guess it's an event."

They don't sound very concerned.

Not much concerns them anymore.

FRISK ; CLOSED to ASRIEL ; i need that dark in a little more light

[determinedest]

There's only one other person left that would know what this is, and how to put a stop to it. He's also, they know full well, the most susceptible to what comes next. They had to reach out to him too, clawing away the curtains of white-fuzz static to press a palm to a button with a sparking, rainbow blaze.

* Someone else might have once been enough.

They aren't here.

The lesser half will have to do. The friend he says he wishes he'd always had, who's never been much of a friend to him, because they never took the time to learn anything about him. Perhaps that's why he could shower them with that sort of undeserved praise; because he never knew enough about them to claim otherwise.

They don't call out, but they don't stop looking - scouring, scanning the mansion in search of long white ears nearly consumed by a blaze of static.

[pleasereset]

The mansion is filled with singing, everything from songs about someone's favorite food to their deepest fears and insecurities. It started off as fun, if not a little annoying, as Asriel was forced to join in from time to time.

But as time passed, the more upset with himself he was. He shouldn't be having fun, he shouldn't enjoy anything about this place. He shouldn't be riding carnival rides or singing. He shouldn't even be here. Not when he's taken Chara's place. Not when he's stole their happy ending.

Those thoughts have been eating away at him for a while, but it seems recently they've just been too strong to ignore.

As Frisk scours the mansion for Asriel, they'll hear a familiar voice down one of the mansion's hallways - someone mumbling a song out loud, in a daze.

"... I'm a creep...
I'm a weirdo...
What am I doing here?
I don't belong here... I don't belong... here..."

A familiar monster with long white ears appears around the corner, his face shrouded by white static. He stops singing, turning his head towards Frisk.

"Where's Chara?
I can't do anything without Chara..."

[determinedest]

It's not hard to find him, once they hear him. Closing the distance down hallways, crossing by steps and steps and steps until it's like something out of an old dream. It's not the Absolute God of...of...

It's not the angel, anymore. It's not the rainbow-spewing, screaming beast laden with wings and a split-face grin and the crackle of lightning at his fingertips. It's a scared little boy who misses his best friend, and can't understand why he can't get them back.

"I didn't think I could either." The words are soft, their eyes half-shuttered as they step forward. They've done this once before, haven't they? "But I'm still here."

[pleasereset]

The voice sounds familiar, reassuring - like a friend.

But his friend is gone. His best friend is gone. But there was someone else... someone... another friend-

"I'm not supposed to be here."

It seems like Asriel is trying to summon some kind of magic. But Lost Soul or not, his magic and SOUL aren't very stable. Flickers of fire magic appear around him, but they dissolve as quickly as they appear. It seems like he's not putting much effort into it either.

"I took their happy ending away."

FRISK ; CLOSED to SHEPARD ; i cried tears you'll never see

[determinedest]

It's like an afterimage imprinted against closed lids, the ghost-echo of someone else's SOUL humming in utter distress. Maybe it's like a phantom limb; something that isn't really there, no matter how much they feel that it is. Maybe it really is the ripple of another SOUL rubbed up against theirs, tying them together with a fading thread.

Maybe it's just their present knowledge of who she is, and what she's been through.

Either way, they've set out to find her. She hasn't responded to any texts or queries for some time, meaning it's up to them to track her down.

They're not the only one who could, nor are they the only one who would.

But if you have some kind of special power...isn't it your responsibility to do the right thing?

[normandysbest]

The negative parts of this event hit her like a freight train.

She should've known nothing was going to stay singing and joking for long; there's always something simmering beneath, something she has yet to conquer, something something something. It's her life. Any moment of respite will inevitably be crushed, every moment of calm swept by a tide of pain. Even when she tries to save someone, she falls short. Even when she saves the galaxy, she drives away the one person she has left, tethered to her existence, identity. Even when she does everything she can, she kills the people close to her. The ones she cares about disappears. When you're the only person who changes the world, the world changes without you.

She thought she'd be happy to see the war over. But now, she has to live in her consequences. Which means being overwhelmingly, utterly alone.

Shepard hasn't even noticed she's gotten messages, sitting at the edge of her bed in her room as if she's going to go somewhere, boots half laced, left mumbling to a song she doesn't know as she slips down further.

Well I've lost it all, I'm just a silhouette,
A lifeless face that you'll soon forget,
My eyes are damp from the words you left,
Ringing in my head, when you broke my chest.
Ringing in my head, when you broke my chest.

[determinedest]

There's a fog up across her eyes, mantled along her face. The words slip-mumble out, quiet and hopeless. It would be discourteous to p pretend they didn't strike a hollow chord in their SOUL, sinking in like a hunger pang.

Children are knives. They don't mean to, but they cut. They play with matches - set fire to their insides for fun, to distract their hearts from ever missing anyone.

But I'm forever missing them.

"You're not empty," says Frisk, soft. "Not really."

[normandysbest]

It's hard to focus. One moment there's nothing and the next Frisk is there, and she can't conceptualize when they got here. Why didn't she notice? What is she missing? It's a miracle she's made it this long, that crackling fire of determination simmering low in her chest. She's never given up before. But there's a first time for everything, she's reminded, some persistent whisper she also can't shake.

"'Mm not much." Normally, she would try to force this down, but Wonderland presses forward. "No great hero. Not when friends die because of me. Not when I kill 'em."

TIM ; OPEN ; so fuck you, you can go cry me an ocean and leave me be

[postictal]

After George started singing on the network, that should've been warning enough that anything could happen. He's been keeping away from the instruments ever since that little gem emerged, but that doesn't seem to help him out any. He hasn't got the most spectacular voice, but that doesn't seem to matter.

Maybe you find him on the roof, shoulders hunched around himself, straining to keep something soft and broken from working its way out from the back of his throat:

They say I'm taking it well,
It's all in my stride.
That's what they're saying down there.

That the world is so dark,
When you're unable to smile.
And you can't even show that you care.

They say that I'm getting back to normal,
But I was never at normal as far as I can recall.

Maybe you'll catch him in the woods, an inevitably failed attempt at self-isolation that doesn't do a thing to help when it tumbles out into the open - what's the point if oracles with visions can bleed out just like the next man?

All I’ve got
are smoky rooms and issues
and around eighty seven
nightmares.

All I’ve got
are catalysts and horrors
like the world has never seen

All I’ve got
are coffee mugs and mirrors and halls
and survivor’s guilt
So tell me:
What’s the point in hiding?
They’re just gonna find me.

He grimaces after every song, clearly hating it, clearly hating every word that hints at something much larger within himself:

roof

[punful]

It's funny how many people use the roof as their getaway when things like this go down. Sans has always liked it up here, because even when there's a lot of people, there's still a few tucked away corners to hide in. And he's not entirely keen on hiding just yet. The event is only just starting to get a bit too real for him.

He hears singing from around the corner, but it's muffled enough that he initially can't make out most of the words or recognize the voice. But this singing thing is practically like a yawn--downright contagious, and he can feel the need to answer in kind welling up inside him. He's already getting to his feet, figuring he'll just wander off and leave whoever it is alone, since certain unpleasant truths keep coming out in song form.

Resisting doesn't work so well, though. The really annoying part is that the songs that keep rumbling up out of him are almost completely unfamiliar.

"smile, though your heart is aching
smile, even though it's breaking
when there are clouds in the sky
you'll get by
if you just..."

The event has been kind enough to let him hum his way through most of it. Maybe Wonderland thinks it counts.

"sorry."

He says it a bit louder, still not sure who is even on the roof with him. He figures whoever it is will tell him to fuck off if they want to be left alone.

[postictal]

He doesn't care if he can vaguely recognize the tone, and suspects he knows exactly who's singing that fucking song. He doesn't care in the slightest, because nothing about the words inspire anything but the same bitter revulsion that the world is so dark when you're unable to smile, so why don't you just smile? Surely that will lead everyone to believe that things are better.

You don't have it nearly as bad as you could, Tim. Why can't you at least pretend you're doing all right, for our benefit?

He doesn't have an answer to it. Not a verbal one.

He doesn't turn around, doesn't speak, doesn't care to speak.

Whoever's behind him can talk to the bird.

[punful]

No answer. He glances back, but whoever it is is around a sort of corner where a part of the roof comes to an apex. They either didn't hear him or they're ignoring him.

Well, that's fine. He'd rather not eavesdrop, though, so he moves out into the open, sitting down again at the edge of the roof and dangling his feet out in open air. He keeps losing slippers this way, but whatever. From this angle, whoever it is will be able to see him, if they care to.

It's not eavesdropping if they know you're there. Probably.

He starts humming a weirdly slow version of something else.

TIM ; CLOSED to CLEM ; in a world full of the word "yes," i'm here to scream "no"

[postictal]

What's the point?

Alex was right. He's always known that Alex was right; that he was the source, that it was him, him all along, bleeding into everyone's lives, ripping away the curtain of normalcy that they all could shroud around and over themselves, pretending he had no idea that the specter that had always dogged his dreams was something terrifying and real.

It wasn't enough to make them all hurt, to plague them with nightmares, to watch each and every single one of their lives tumble to pieces without any knowledge as to how or why. Oh, no. He had to do some of the killing himself, didn't he? He had to ram a knife into a man's throat and soak it in slippery red, and he had to charge forward with a wrench in hand until the shock of it jarred a handhold loose and cracked skull open on the concrete. He couldn't just be the reason, the source, the sickness, no - he had to be the symptom too.

It's fitting, he can think distantly, numbly, when the prickling sensation of static starts to swarm up into his head and fog his thoughts. He would be consumed by the thing that's always been a part of him, that surely must be spreading its branchlike fingers into the lives of every person he's ever met, every friend he's ever made, every rotten and wretched mind he's ever bumped up against. He's doomed people before and he'll doom them again and he's dooming them now, making another mistake, because he's still here and he couldn't even do Alex the courtesy of slitting his own throat and seeing that final, dying wish through.

Why couldn't he have done one, stupid thing right, and burned to death?

The words that trail from his throat are empty, humming through that veil of blazing white with a drone and monotony that's fitting, all things considered.

Maybe now he can finally look how he feels.

[rightcall]

When an Event happens, Clementine does everything she can to learn the details behind it (the dangers, the ways to keep safe, the areas that they might be weak to). She learns what she can about this Event, remaining on guard throughout it. Is she ever not on guard? At first, it seems like it's just breaking out into song, which is weird, but it's not a big deal.

But then people start to change.

She can feel it too (the darkness, the fears). She is not insecure, but she has her own fears. They start to creep in on her, but she doesn't succumb to them, because she's already accepted this is the way she is. It's not a fear. It's not insecurity. It simply is.

But if she doesn't want to be that person- if she doesn't want to be the darkness whispering in her head, she has to be better. She has to try, and she cares about people here more than she cares about anyone back in her own world. Clementine has to try to be sure they're okay. When she doesn't get a hold of Tim, she's afraid.

She's worried. He's one of the people she's closest to here. He's the only one who knows the entire story of the worst of what she has done and what happened with AJ. He listened, and he helped her, and she doesn't want anything to happen to him.

So she's out in the hallway (weapons in hand) as they always are, bag around her shoulder with what she think she might need, but then she sees- Her throat locks up. She sees him, but he doesn't seem okay (it's gotten him).

Is that- "...Tim?"

[postictal]

There's a distant awareness of someone else in the vicinity, which means he should probably do something about it. The shield of utter emptiness mantled over his features conceals the worst of it, but the occasional gap in the white noise allows a window to brows drawn tight, cheeks streaked and wet, shoulders trembling with the strain of suppressing something loud and heaving.

The words trickle out numbly, the movement of his jaw tired and mechanical.

"They could all be living normal lives, if it wasn't for me..."

It's his fault, he knows. He knows, he knows, he knows.

Why didn't he take the out when Alex offered it to him?

[rightcall]

Clementine closes the gap as soon as she can. God, what does she do? What can she do? She has weapons, but he is just- he's taken by something. It's the same fears that threaten to take her own mind, drowning it in the static that has its grips on him. She hates that it does. She's scared for him- for how it's taken over him.

She moves closer until she stands in front of him, not knowing how to meet his gaze- not knowing how to make him see who it is.

Maybe she can't.

"Tim, it's Clementine." She speaks louder. Her voice sounds more certain than she feels. "It's not your fault."

FRISK ; CLOSED to METTATON ; we won't go, we don't know when to QUIT

[determinedest]

They suspect they'll hear him before they see him - assuming they need to. Despite knowing what they do, seeing what they've seen, it seems...they really don't know very much about what he's been living through in the recent months, have they? That fear of overstepping lines, of venturing where they're not wanted, afraid to push him ever deeper into the embrace of someone they drove him to the first time.

They ruined it, the first time. They know they did.

The least they can do is try and make it right.

They try his room, first.

[mettatonvevo]

He didn't get too far in what he was doing before the event hit him. A LOST SOUL- it's interesting. He didn't become this last time. Just absorbed. Who knows why. Perhaps he didn't need to be saved. Perhaps then he was too whole and settled to be grabbed. or perhaps that was too many things for one poor new video game designer.

All in all though he feels the effects hit and he kneels in his room, singing quietly:

You're a little much for me...
You're a liability
So they pull back, make other plans
I understand, I'm a liability
Get you wild, make you leave
I'm a little much for
E-a-na-na-na, everyone...

[determinedest]

Bonus content unlocked.

It's a little like entering his house, using a key purchased with a truly exorbitant amount of money, creeping in and reading a row of diaries that was never meant for their eyes - a strange light shed on the shape and life of someone who lived publicly, so publicly, and yet still had wells of secrets to keep.

One more mile. One more mile for them to go, before they...

One more.

"Mettaton." It's a quiet tone, but it's firm - breaching the quiet hum of his music, words tumbling over one another. The significance of them isn't lost on them. "Do you remember me?"

[mettatonvevo]

Do you remember me? asks a voice with no name, the Human, the Child, and this star with no face raises his head, the static clinging to every feature to make him unrecognizable. He's silent, initially, the Lost Soul unsure of how to respond. This was never in the code- but that doesn't mean new code can't be written.

He opens his mouth again, a mournful drawl stuttering out once more.

It's the quiet night that breaks me.
I cannot stand the sight of this familiar place.

He moves forward to face the Human, oddly still in comparison to his usual fluid movement.

It's the quiet night that breaks me, like a dozen paper cuts that only I can trace.
All my books are lying useless now.
All my maps will only show me how to lose my way.
Oh call my name.
You know my name.
And in that sound, everything will change...

The LOST SOUL prepares an attack. A weak lightning charge, nothing substantial... yet.

Tell me it won't always be this hard.
I am nothing without you, but I don't know who you are.

* ACT?