entrancelogs | 'Tis rather inconvenient like this. +

Entry tags:

'Tis rather inconvenient like this. +

Who: You! !oot ,uoy dnA
Where: Wonderland, both Real and Mirror side
When: June 3 to June 10
Rating: PG-13, will vary by thread, warnings for higher ratings appreciated
Summary: A catch-all log for Mirrors and Reals during the reverse espionage event. Anything from Mirrors leading their daily lives, over Reals reacting to the show, to Reals and Mirrors exchanging messages goes here. Just label your locations and sides accordingly!
The Story:

Your own medicine is worth twice the sweetness in the bush, that is what they say! Here is my plan, now make sure you listen well, or you get it wrong, and then I would need to pair you all up, for only two even wrongs set my head back on right, and we've no time for such things, no time at all, do we?

As mighty as the sharpest blade, as stout as the hardest shield, a spool of thread woven from hearts of gold. It must exist, and I must have it! She'll do worse to my head if I search, but you'll help, won't you? I will let you see, and you will be my eyes! All good things come tomorrow - then I'll let you see, and you'll be my eyes, and when it's all done you'll use your own mouths to tell my personal ears all you know, won't you?

All of Wonderland's mirrors are suddenly working in reverse. The Real side can see everything, and the Mirror side is left with nothing but their own reflections. Details of the event can be found here.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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!"

Wowie! They're going to die.

They aren't the real Chara, so they know none of their memories are real. They know that. But touch - touch is difficult. Someone grabs them, and their arms are small and spindly. Not suffocating hands. Not smothering and crushing and large. But all the same, Chara freezes. Can't move their body. Can't even manage to force themselves to struggle. It just sits there, still and compliant and passive.

Inexplicably, they start to smile. Bright and sunny! They're just playing, right? Two friends, having fun! They like this. This is just fine!

Isn't it?

"I don't like this game anymore," they whimper quietly to Frisk. "You're - you're going to scare them. Please don't."

"Wow," says Frisk, lazy and drawling. "Look at you! You barely even put up a fight. Hey, Frisk!"

Abruptly, the cheery, false, arsenic-sweet friendliness drops away, and they're back to snarling at the mirror, fixing it with a cold glare.

"Look close, okay? You see them? This pitiful, stupid sack of garbage? This is what you're trying SAVE! This is what you're hauling around!"

And, because Chara asked so nicely, Frisk releases them with a hard shove meant to send them sprawling.

"They're dead weight. And they're just gonna leech everything from you until there's nothing left."

They take a fall. They stay down. It's easier if you don't get up. They'll leave you alone if you don't get up.

Chara curls up on the floor. They know they probably don't matter anymore, were probably just a prop the whole time, probably won't get anything more than maybe a few kicks if they're quiet and stay out of the way. Arms cover their head in anticipation.

They can't disagree. Leech. Tumour. Parasite. They take and they take and they leave nothing but emptiness. Frisk is right. But...

"What's the point? Why are you like this? They're determined. You can't... you can't hurt them from here. You won't change anything. This is meaningless."

Chara giggles. Frisk... doesn't know, right? Doesn't know that Chara's spoken to their Real? Is... is friends with the Real Frisk? That's their secret. Secrets are power. They still have that weapon, even if it's not leaving its sheath. "They know I'm not the Chara on their side. I'm not their Chara. They... they probably don't even care, right?"

"Of course they care." Frisk's lip curls as they stare down at the quivering lump on the ground. Doesn't even bother to get up. Their expression softens with a silky, indulgent scorn. "Don't you know anything? They care about everyone. From the tiniest Moldsmall to the most useless human."

They point at Chara with their copy of the Dagger, staring emptily at their own hollow eyes. They'd be making eye contact with their Real, assuming they're there and watching. It's fitting. They should be scared.

"Do everyone a favor," Frisk hisses, "and give up. Give up on trying to SAVE them. They're just weighing you down. Like this one."

Just because they can, they deliver a vicious kick aiming for Chara's ribs.

Chara knew it was coming. Cover your head, they'll aim for the ribs. Cover your ribs, they'll aim for the head. There's no way to really be safe, other than to just take your lumps and hope it's over soon. The sound they make is nothing less than pitiful, equal parts wheeze and whimper, a sad, high-pitched little noise like air escaping a balloon.

They bite their lip. They stay down, because their hair covers them, because it's harder to see the way their face screws up and their eyes go bright and watery. It's just one hit. Not even as bad of a hit as it could have been, if Frisk had really been mad at them. They have nothing to be upset about. Don't be upset. Don't cry.

This is so stupid, too, because they agree with Frisk! The Chara on the other side, the Real one... they're not worth being SAVED. Not capable of being SAVED. Don't even want to be SAVED.

"Do you think that worked?" They ask, and they're not sure if they're trying to sound encouraging or if there's buttercup-poison seeping into their watery, trembling voice. "Think... think they've given up?"

"Shut up." They're too busy staring at the mirror fixedly, hungrily. Waiting for some sign that someone's listening. Chara seems to be laboring under the assumption that they're still relevant here. They're anything but.

But nobody came.

Isn't that always how it goes?

"If you're still listening," they growl, hard and cold, "remember this for me: they're never gonna change. Not for you, not for anyone."

The expression stretching the corners of their mouth couldn't be called a grin by even the most optimistic assessment.

"What's the saying about tigers changing their stripes?"

They shut up.

Of course they do. Always do what they're told, right? They're only here to be the prop. The literary device. The background noise. Not really a person themselves, just a bit of color commentary.

It doesn't even matter if they cry. There was no point in telling themselves not to. Frisk's not looking at them. Frisk's not talking to them. Frisk's too busy posturing in front of a blank pane of glass.

Chara sniffles, lets their shoulders jerk with a suppressed sob. Does their best to keep their tears silent. Just have to wait. Frisk will get bored and leave. They can talk to Real Frisk once this one is gone. That'll make this all worth it. That'll make it okay.

"This is all they are. And that's all they'll ever be."

Frisk smirks, confident that they've made their point. They jab their daggerpoint once more at the shape on the ground for emphasis, then step back, turning away. They've outlined things quite clearly, they like to think. Hopefully now their Real knows. Might even strike back at Chara in anger, one of these days. Aren't they already torn up at how the Real Chara is hogging up all that stupid goat-mother creature's attention? Jealousy. Disgusting.

Honestly, they already should know. Kill or be killed. Not their mantra, but isn't it the way things really are? No blithe, carefree do-gooding will change a killer into something less.

They don't even bother saying goodbye. Not to the mirror. Not to Chara. Not to anyone.

It's a long while until Chara's brave enough to look up. They heard Frisk's receding footsteps, felt the subtle vibrations in the floor, but they... they don't know. They thought if they dared relax, they'd glance up and find Frisk right there looming over them. That maybe they'd be hunched just outside the door, listening, waiting for the moment to spring a trap on them.

...Ha, ha.

* But nobody came.

They sit up. Scour their sleeve over their watering eyes, eradicate the tear-tracks with scratchy wool. Look around. Just in case. Always checking over their shoulder.

They don't need to write, but they... they sort of want to. Want to be redness. Want to be that silent, barely-there asterisk. Don't want to be a voice. Don't want to be seen. Don't want to exist.

But that'd be stupid, right? So they talk. Like a normal human being.

"...Still there?"

Frisk has been watching, with their hands clasped over their mouth like a horribly-timed parody of Toriel's expression of shock and regret. They even cried out when their Mirror seized the mirrored version of Chara like that, terrified that they might kill them, forgetting that the conduit is one-way, and flipped around. They're already so fragile and breakable, and this...this isn't fair for either of them!

Their mirrored self really is cruel. It's not like they're Chara, either, easy to shuffle the blame. They're Frisk, the way Frisk was on those darker, colder timelines where they cut down everything in their path without a shred of remorse.

Frisk pulls themselves together, sniffling pathetically, and retrieve their marker to scribble on the mirror's surface:

* I'm sorry. I wish I could've stopped them.
The asterisk is unnecessary. They never need it, not being who and what they are, but...maybe they need some distance here. Maybe they both do.

"It's okay. There's nothing you could have done. Not unless we were on the same side of the looking glass."

If only, right? It's sort of funny, the mirrors reversing like this hasn't seemed to make this side feel real at all. They're still miserable and alone. It's just... now the real Frisk is the one who's an invisible presence, the whispers set behind an asterisk. And Chara... ha, maybe they'll feel better about this if they mentally insert a "you won," act like they were just being the pacifist worming their way out of a confrontation without fighting back. Like they're the hero of a story.

...No. They don't feel better at all. Just... just more alone. Of course they could never be a hero. They hide their eyes behind their sleeve again, because they really think they should be smiling. Frisk can see them now, after all.

"They... they're right, aren't they? About me. About Chara."

* No. They're wrong.
* I'm not going to give up on you just because someone like that says I should.
Aren't they the one that persists despite themselves? Despite everything? They don't feel very determined right now, not after seeing that. Not after everything. But...but still. They can help this person, can't they? They can help someone.

They SAVE people. That's...what they are. What they're supposed to do. Right?

* I'm not giving up on either of you.

"Frisk... you really are strong." They can only guess what's going on over on the other side. Can't read Frisk's expression, can't pick up the cues in their voice. They wear a poker face so well, but... but it's Chara, right? Their best friend. Someone they don't have to wear that mask for. Someone they can be themselves with. "But... it's okay. You're hurting a lot right now. You... really don't need this."

They lower their arm, but still can't make their eyes meet the glass. Look downward. Toy with the ends of their sleeves. Scrunch and twist the fabric. "I... please don't be upset, okay?" Is this the time for this sort of thing? Frisk is hurting right now. They're... they're vulnerable.

Haha. Their most vulnerable moment.

"We... usually, we're the ones who can watch through the mirrors. We see what goes on even when people think they're alone, right?"

They hesitate, plucking at their shirtsleeves in an unconscious mimic of Chara's own anxious tics. Their mouth opens, closes, soundless but for the click of their teeth snapping together as they remember that there's no point in saying anything when things are like this.

It takes a long time for them to write it down. The words are shaky, poorly-scrawled.

* It's not your fault. Please remember that.

They shake their head, because they know Frisk can see that. They know this is the only time, probably, that Frisk will be able to. It's what makes them huddle so nervously, what makes them avert their eyes and fuss with their sleeves and bite their lip and try to make their eyes stop watering again.

"I - I know exactly how much pain you're really in. I know. And I... and I wish I could help. Could make some kind of difference. Make you hurt less." They reach a hand out, press their palm against the glass. It's just going to leave a greasy print, smudge the surface. They don't even know if Frisk answers in kind or ignores it.

"That's why I... um. I don't know if it's... if it's the right thing to do or not, but I think you deserve the truth."

Frisk's palm braces against the glass when Chara's does. Just like before. Like it's their own things, almost. Frisk almost finds themselves grateful that they don't need to say anything aloud, because the words are choked in their throat and they don't know what to say.

The words still shake as they write them, slowly, and their eyes are...gosh, they're such a crybaby, aren't they? Toriel, Mettaton...everything piling up, it's just all been so much. They can barely see the words they're writing for the misting of their stare, the thick unshed tears distorting their vision.

* You mean about the mirrors?

"Um," Chara mumbles, wringing their sleeves desperately. They're gonna stretch it beyond recognition, the way they're going, but they don't care. "Her Majesty keeps an eye on her creations. It's dangerous to tell secrets when somebody's listening. But... but for you, if, um, if you want to know, I can maybe answer any questions you have?" They offer, falteringly, the last syllable twisting up into a shakily optimistic note.

"But what I meant was... was the truth about us. I mean... the us on your side of the glass. Toriel hasn't covered the mirror in her room. There are mirrors in the tearooms. I know... I know why the Frisk here is so angry. Wanted so bad to make a point that you can't SAVE us, that... that we won't change."

Lie. That's a lie. But they lie so well. That's just what they are, right? "I know what your Chara has really been telling Toriel."

There's a long silence in which Frisk writes nothing. What's that supposed to mean? Is this...is this another trick? No, they can't just assume that's always going to be the case. That'd be paranoid, and besides, this Chara's proven to be their friend as well, right? Warning them, telling them things even at the risk of their own life...that's what friends do, right?

Frisk chews on their lip, scrubs away the tears welling treacherously at the corners of their eyes, then scrawl out a response.

* What do you mean?

They don't know what the silence means, but... ha. They ask for more. They don't shoot it down. Chara tries for a watery smile, something they hope can maybe be apologetic and comforting, but it's feeble and short-lived.

"I told you I could be useful, right? I can be your eyes and ears. I've seen what they think nobody else saw. I know what they're doing. And I..." A defeated little exhalation. "I know you care about them, despite everything. I know you want to believe in them, so I'm... I'm sorry about this, I feel awful about telling you this, but... but it's not right that they trick you like this! Kindness shouldn't be taken advantage of!"

It's the most fervent they've been this whole time, and they go abruptly quiet, go a little rosier. Feel a little embarrassed they'd be so noisy and unrestrained. Deep breath. Try again.

"The version they've been telling Toriel... it's awful. They knew they had to admit to being there, because Sans is here, but they keep making it sound like... like you forced them to do everything they did. Like they were just some passenger watching you kill and kill and kill, just because nothing was stopping you and nobody could condemn you for it. Like they started out this... pure and innocent thing who still wanted to free everyone, and you... I don't know, you went out of your way to show them there was no such thing as a happy ending on purpose. They keep blaming you, over and over."

Frisk's puzzled expression deepens the longer Chara goes on, mingling disbelief and dismay. That can't be right. Not the way Chara's been talking to them since Toriel got here. It can't be right at all. The story's just not consistent to the way they've been acting.

They let the words tumble out in a rush, hesitating for a long moment after again. The marks are wiped away, cleaned from the mirror, and then they finally respond in turn.

* Are you lying to me?
Their heart thumps achingly in their chest, and they wish they could claw back the response. Almost as quickly as it appears, the words are being wiped away again with a frantic desperation as Frisk regrets even...even asking.

Chara... Chara smiles, thin and shaky. The words are barely even there long enough for them to read, but they're... "Ha ha. I'm not surprised. Of course you'd pick them over me. Of course you'd believe them instead."

They pull their knees to their chest, hide their face behind them. Shake a little. Definitely just with suppressed giggles. "It's okay. You don't... I'm not going to force you to believe me. I'm not really your Chara, right? It just..."

Hesitance. Is there any point? Is it just futile? Small and huddled, their voice quiet, wavering with emotion, they push more words out. "It's just... you're not stupid. I'm positive you've noticed. Toriel's sense of justice... it's really strong, huh? Absolutely everyone is telling her how good you are, how much everyone loves you, how you saved absolutely everyone and set monsters free, and it's not changing her mind. So... it's weird, right? It's weird that she's so not okay with you or Asgore, but she's acting like Chara's some kind of precious delicate treasure. Don't you think if they were really being honest, she'd be at least a little bit disappointed in them?"

* It's not a question of picking.
* It's a question of doing the right thing.
Wow, and what a hypocrite they are to even go there, right? But...but they're trying. They really need to try harder, work to always do the right thing if they can, and make things right again. With Toriel, with Chara, with everyone.

* They're her kid.
* What were either of us expecting?
Again, Frisk finds themselves grateful for the barrier that allows their expression to go unread. It's...kind of a loaded question. Maybe the bitterness seeps into the words regardless, but...but it's just text. Just ink on glass. How easy can it be to read into that?

"Every child who fell into the Ruins was her kid. That includes you." They mumble softly. Still trying to be at least a little comforting, even if it's probably not making any difference. "I'm... I'm worried, Frisk. By how much you're making excuses for them. You won't even admit you're jealous of them."

Of course they're jealous. Who wouldn't be jealous? Even Frisk is not so pure and selfless a martyr that they're immune to wistful pangs of envy.

"If you guys are really partners, really friends... then why isn't it 50/50? I know you all keep saying that the both of you together are the anomaly, but if that's the case... how come Chara gets a second chance to have a clean slate, and you're the one who has to come clean to all your friends?"

* I'm just trying to keep myself honest.
What's Chara saying? That they're too hard on themselves, or whatever? No, that can't be right. They're the one who's gotten off scot-free for nearly everything, right until Toriel showed up. And she...she has a right to be angry. If she wants to dismiss everything Chara says about themselves, isn't that her choice and her decision?

...yeah. It is. It's okay if they suffer. They have to.

Frisk was her child in many timelines, in every way that counted. But they also killed her in just as many timelines, maybe even more. Because they were curious, because they were frustrated, because they were bent on tearing apart the world at the seams. There's no excuse for what they are. No excuse at all.
* I don't understand why this matters so much to you.

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