Frisk has deviated from their usual routine of lying in bed and feeling like garbage, largely because lying in bed in their room has made them too accessible. They don't want to impose their presence on Chara or Toriel. It just feels wrong. So they wander about the mansion, looking for an empty room to curl up in and maybe cry for a bit, like they've been doing. Like the pathetic little crybaby they are.
They chanced the training room even if the likelihood of it being empty was rather slim, and are subsequently startled to discover a familiar someone, exercising mass amounts of brute force on a helpless dummy and chanting a litany of names.
Reason would encourage them to withdraw and let Arya be. But against their better judgment, Frisk advances hesitantly, wanting nothing more than to escape their own problems by diving into someone else's.
"Are you naming the dummy?"
It's a bad joke, like Name the fallen child. Arya's more likely to not even get it, and explaining it would just make it less funny. They probably look terrible. Sunken eyes, a smile that's too weak and obviously tacked-on. Maybe Arya will be too angry to notice. That's the hope.
c.
They chanced the training room even if the likelihood of it being empty was rather slim, and are subsequently startled to discover a familiar someone, exercising mass amounts of brute force on a helpless dummy and chanting a litany of names.
Reason would encourage them to withdraw and let Arya be. But against their better judgment, Frisk advances hesitantly, wanting nothing more than to escape their own problems by diving into someone else's.
"Are you naming the dummy?"
It's a bad joke, like Name the fallen child. Arya's more likely to not even get it, and explaining it would just make it less funny. They probably look terrible. Sunken eyes, a smile that's too weak and obviously tacked-on. Maybe Arya will be too angry to notice. That's the hope.