Frisk stands, impatient, foot tapping along the ground. Chara's adding useless additional instructions that no one with half a brain will need, but whatever, if whoever's on the other side is especially slow, fine.

Then, at long last, a marking appears. Hesitantly drawn, in black marker, is the outline of a heart.

Ah. So it's them. The Real Frisk, or maybe Chara. It doesn't really matter.

In a sharp, fluid movement, Frisk hooks an arm around Chara's neck and drags them close in a parody of a headlock, the blade of the Worn Dagger poised near their throat.

"Are you watching?" they laugh, exhilarated. "Are you paying attention? Look close, now!"