entrancelogs | + Trick or treat till the neighbors gonna die of fright!

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+ Trick or treat till the neighbors gonna die of fright! | OPEN +

Who: EVERYONE (if they want to live)
Where: EVERYWHERE (inside the mansion, knocking on doors)
When: 6/24 - 6/27
Rating: PG-13?
Summary: The Summerween Trickster has made his decree - Trick or treat...or die! This is a mingle log for Trick-or-Treating!
The Story:

On the morning of the 24th, everyone will find that the mansion was inexplicably decorated for Halloween...sort of. The idea behind the decorations is mostly the same, except that every jack-o-lantern is made out of a watermelon instead of a pumpkin. No, this is SUMMERWEEN.

For the first day it will be harmless enough, just a change in décor and a little spooky summer fun. However, by the second day there will be sightings of the Summerween Trickster, a creepy fellow made entirely out of unpopular loser candy, and he is not happy. In the entrance hall, there will be a giant jack-o-melon container with a counter and a count-down clock ticking away to the end of the event.

Your job, Wonderland, is to trick-or-treat for your lives. You have until the end of the event to deliver one million pieces of candy to the jack-o-melon before the end of the event, to appease the Summerween Trickster.

What was that? You'll just sit this out and wait for the event to end? I wouldn't do that if I were you. You see, the Summerween Trickster could be lurking around any corner. If he catches someone not fully embracing the spirit of Summerween (refusing to trick or treat, not wearing a costume, etc), they will not survive the experience. The Trickster will kill them and swallow them whole, making them part of his horrible loser candy body.

More details about trick or treating can be found here. This is a mingle post for trick-or-treating, if you'd rather use this than make a post! [Brackets] or prose are both welcome.

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Just me. Well, no. Not really a me, more of an us, and Frisk wishes they hadn't let their tongue slip like that. Fortunately Chara seems more interested in considering it, the way things happened. The whole world is ending.

Abruptly, Frisk feels horribly out of place with their stupid fake wings and fake halo and fake harp. They tug at them, almost tearing them off, but think better of it - Summerween might interpret that the wrong way.

"I shouldn't be wearing these," they mutter. "I was never the angel. Asriel was."

No matter what they did, the Underground never truly went empty, did it? They could never eradicate everyone, just as they could never be the one to free everyone. No, that title would always be Asriel's. The hero that no one even knows about back home, because it was just white light and Lost Souls and unremembered murmurs and shaking words, and then they were back to where they were, with the barrier broken and monsters free. And Frisk, Frisk gets the credit, of course, even if they've done nothing to deserve it in the slightest.

...They thought they might have been the angel once, too. They'd seen the surface. The future of humans and monsters, everyone had called them. The only SOUL with the potential to cross the barrier, to seek out the power to take it down. But they were never the angel. Asriel was. They were the one who took him to the surface, that's all. The one who got the angel shot down.

Unlike Frisk, they're feeling right at home in their costume. What sort of being, after all, kills angels? What sort of being gets struck down by an angel, again and again and again, without a hint of mercy or hesitation? Pretty obvious answer, isn't it?

They cant their head to one side. Consider Frisk, for a moment. No point denying Asriel was the angel. He was. That's a fact. So... what's the right answer here?

After a moment, Chara twists. Frees the spaded tail clipped to their waist. Holds it out. "Wanna be both?" They offer. Like it makes any difference at all. "I'm glad you're not really an angel," they add, sort of falteringly. They're pretty sure that the actual good answer here is "yes, you are an angel," to remind Frisk that they're the good one, that they've always been the good one. Pretty sure that maybe they're encouraging something that they... shouldn't? Planting a seed of something Chara-ish, and therefore of something evil and poisonous?

"Angels judge mortals, and find them sinful," Chara mumbles. "Angels won't trust demons. Angels are... are kinda insufferable, because they're always just well-behaved and innocent and boring."

They're not sure if they're insulting the blue heck out of Asriel, or trying to speak in grander, more metaphorical tones. Either way, that's... kind of mean, isn't it? They really are bad at this. They redden, turn their face away.

And then Chara does things like this, regularly. Sees Frisk in pain or even just emotional discomfort, and plainly doesn't like it. They hold out their tail, and the absurdity of the gesture prompts a startled blink from Frisk, as they try to wrap their mind around it. An angel with a devil's tail. What does that make them, one-eighth demon? Purely in the vein of the costumes, of course.

How can insist that there's nothing good about them when they do things like this, even if they're embarrassed and shy and clumsy about it? The intent is there. That's always enough.

"You sound like you know a lot about them," says Frisk, and then they fuss about with the halo until they get it unpinned from their hair, and hold it out in turn. There. Now they can both be mismatched. "And anyway, it doesn't matter, right? We dressed up as what we weren't."

So Frisk is no angel - which they knew - but that also means Chara's no demon! Ha-ha, it goes both ways!

Slander and trickery. Chara looks positively scandalized by the mere suggestion! "Asriel gets to be a god for this event, so I get to be a demon. And he really was Hyperdeath, so..." There. Airtight logic. QED. Argument: super totally won.

They kind of want to slap that halo onto the ground, or bend it completely out of shape with their bare hands, or hurl it like a frisbee down the hall. They know it would ruin things. Would just kill any modest little amount of success their fumbling words actually had. But... it's tempting. There's not a single thing even slightly angelic about them! But... just let tonight not have problems, right? It'd take forever for Frisk to get the stupid thing pinned back up into their hair, anyway.

So Chara, begrudging reluctance etched into every inch of them, takes the halo and tosses it haphazardly over one of their plastic horns. They hope it falls off. "Don't get ideas. I'm only taking this because it's... a war trophy," they decide. "And I could probably throw it at people." If they can't be a demon, surely they can be Xena, warrior princess.

Edited 2016-07-02 21:51 (UTC)

"He tried to be." Frisk laughs, clipping on the tail as their halo dangles off of one of Chara's horns. Now that they know him and who he is, his title and appearance is far less intimidating. Especially after that little network post he made.

If they looked ridiculous before, they probably look even weirder now, but Frisk doesn't care. They get a box of gumdrops from the next door, so evidently the mansion has no problem with their minor costume switch.

And then Frisk SAVEs, just to make sure their progress doesn't get rewound.

"These are our SAVEstates now," they say sagely. "It is law."

Alas! No take-backsies!

"I guess now we're... a pair of anvils?" They glance over, smile brightly. "Or maybe not. I don't want to make the mood too heavy." Ha, because... yeah. You get it.

They settle into silence again, just for a bit. Just long enough to drift to the next door, get a handful of the little five-cent bubblegum with the unfunny comics. "He's not scary anymore," they finally say, glancing over at Frisk. He's just sweet and silly, just a kid playing pretend, right? The frightening parts weren't really him. He's just someone who was their friend for a little while.

"...None of them are scary anymore," they add, still watching Frisk.

Frisk rolls their eyes at the pun, because it feels rote, even if it is kind of funny. Their puns always have that groanworthy quality, the same kind that Sans's does. And here they think they aren't very alike. Frisk follows them to the next door, lapsing into wordless tagging along in the absence of finding anything to say.

"No," they say at last. "Not even when they try to be. I guess we just know them too well for that."

Even when his expression morphs and the little wisps of Flowey start to creep through...they know it's not him. Not really. He might not be so forgiving for himself, but it's the truth.

Again, silence. Get to know them well enough, and they aren't scary. Aren't threatening. They're friends. They care about Frisk. Even if they've all killed Frisk, all hurt Frisk, all tried to peel the SOUL out of their body. That potential is outweighed by the capacity for love within them, right?

The question lurks on the back of their tongue. Please don't kill me presses in on their consciousness, crawls down their back, weighs on their neck. They want to ask. They do.

"Then why is Asriel still afraid of me?"

They don't ask. They think they know. It's different when it's Chara, right? Anomaly. Something not quite human, but not a monster. Something that different rules apply to. Something... that maybe doesn't have a capacity for love inside of it at all.

Don't want to make the mood too heavy, right? Badum-tssht.

"You've never been scary," they announce instead. "Not to me, anyway. Too much of a crybaby."

That gets a proper laugh out of Frisk as they shake their head. They can only imagine monsters felt different. The knowledge that the child roaming unchecked through the Undergound was a human seemed to fill different monsters with regret, or shame, or fear, or outrage. Many didn't anticipate them being human at all.

"I guess I can say I'm grateful for that," says Frisk, shaking their head. The next door yields nothing but a few fluttering bursts of confetti, which isn't candy, but isn't worth enough for a LOAD, they decide. "I think I was scary to a lot of monsters. But I like it better when we're all friends instead."

With a grin in Chara's direction, because that includes them, obviously.

A grin that they slap down to the ground. Still don't trust. Easier to not hope, especially when you already know that not a single happy ending has room for you in it. But they're learning. Starting to get clever again. Exploding isn't the only option. They learned to stay quiet and smile so well, before they grew sick of it, and a smile gets you places. You can slap an idea down quietly, acceptably, without ruining it for everyone.

And maybe for now, just not exploding counts for something, right?

"Yeah, you would," they snort. "A crybaby and a cornball. You must really be loving it here, then. Not a single death has been your fault, and there's nothing left for everyone to do but learn how to get along, right?" No barrier to break, and plenty of humans milling around to make it plenty clear that introducing yourself with magic is actually kind of ouchy and unpleasant!

"But that just makes things more interesting!" They can't guess any of what's going to happen, and isn't that neat? It's terrifying too, but the power of the SAVE is enough to draw them back from most of their terror. "I'm glad we're here! 'Cause otherwise, I wouldn't've gotten to know you the way I do now!"

It's not just a corny thing they're saying to make themselves feel better, or to make Chara feel like they're not constantly impeding on Frisk's happiness - it's a genuine emotion, they realize as they say it. They're happy they know Chara now, and they don't want to go back to just being two voices in one body. They want this to be...this. Forever.

Boy, they sure are getting good at answering Frisk with silence! Because they just have to go and utter more completely saccharine, eye-rolling sap, right? Because they bring up something that Chara doesn't know how to take into themselves - or maybe something they've been thinking about, and thinking about a lot, but don't quite... know how to articulate.

They... they're glad they're here too. They're glad they... got to know Frisk? Not... their idealized concept of what the Good One is like. Not a bunch of blurred lines and interchangeable names. Not a tug-of-war. They... would have chalked certain things up to being their doing, they think, if they'd still been crowded into a single body. Would have blamed themselves for bandages that have been re-used multiple times, even if that was there before Frisk fell. Would have called their arguments, their desperate clinging, a howling loneliness they tried to hard to smother... would definitely have called those all Chara's.

They really are starting to accept that bit of guidance about the good and bad not being cleanly divisible between the two of them, aren't they?

"I guess I'm glad I'm not stuck under your skin anymore," they decide. "Not that either of us seems to do very well at having alone time." Too soon? Definitely too soon. Always that dark tilt to their jokes. "But it's nice to not have to fight for the right to move every single time I want to so much as scratch my butt."

"Oh my god, Chara!" Frisk shoves them playfully, but they're laughing. The demon that comes when people call its name, everybody! The demonic, genocidal, irredeemable force of evil! Now located at Wonderland, plus a halo and a pair of devil horns, making jokes about scratching butts as they trick-or-treat in the middle of July!

True, they're not good at alone. They don't think that, really, either of them are. They just tried that, and look where it go them. A few scratches, a few scrapes, some mild starvation, and a complete lack of self-worth, capped off with such an indifference toward the concept of a CONTINUE that they both decided it was better to not CONTINUE at all.

Better to be together, then. Better together like this than apart the way they were.

They get a whole box of Good'N Plenty from the next door, which makes their eyes go wide with delight. They pull out the purple box eagerly and crack it open.

"It's licorice," they say, somewhat apologetically, "but it's good. Want some?"

They end up grasping at their shirt. Like they went for the locket, but missed. (They haven't let themselves hold the locket for a long time now. Not since Asriel arrived.) This... aches, sort of? And they don't know why. Touch that comes from hands that aren't bigger than theirs, that aren't smothering or threatening or panic-inducing. Just... a harmless, friendly shove. A real laugh. Bright, sincere excitement over a candy they like.

This... it's a feeling they... the only word they can think to pin to it is "Asriel." But Asriel isn't even here right now, right? They laugh, and they don't know why they're laughing, don't know if it's fake or it's coming from somewhere as sincere as Frisk's had been, wrinkle their nose up in a downright silly, undignified manner.

"Ew, no chance! I'd rather go back to not tasting anything at all. You can have that particular bit of loot all to yourself."

"It's good!" Frisk pops a few into their mouth and grins as they chew. They'll take that as a sign of laughter. Genuine enjoyment, even, from Mx. "I don't enjoy anything". Not fooling anyone.

They hesitate a little bit, shoulders shrugging. "Um, sorry if I...I didn't mean to just touch you without asking."

Personal space is important, after all, and they'd know that. Even if Frisk is mostly fine with it, particularly from other kids, adults are still something that generates that instinctive wariness.

"It's... okay," they answer, and it's a lot closer to actually okay than they're used to the word ever being. A kid's touch isn't as alarming as an adult's. Hands that they used to steer aren't as foreign and unwelcome as a stranger's. Frisk is...

...

Safe?

Their brow furrows. They look away. That's a lie. Why would they be so unwary? They don't even trust Frisk. Nobody is actually safe. They obviously mean some other word.

"I can put up with it, if I must," they decide. Better. "Compared to how we used to be, anything still feels like plenty of space between us."

"That's true," says Frisk, with a little laugh, though it's not quite at full force like before. They didn't mean to cross any boundaries. But you don't have to be aware of this sort of thing to do it, do you? They should know. They should be better about this. They owe Chara that.

Like now, they can't read Chara's head at all. No idea what they might be thinking, which...is frustrating, a bit, because Chara looks bothered about something, but getting them to genuinely discuss their problems can be like pulling teeth on bad days. No, actually, on good days. On bad days it's like pulling teeth from a rabid dog while fending off a pack of wolves.

"Still, um - if I ever do or say something that you don't...that you wish I wouldn't, I - I won't mind if you say something."

"Save that advice for yourself, Frisk," they reply. "Have you ever known me to be quiet?" Every action, every thing they looked at, every bit of food they ate, there was always an asterisk blinking into their head. Here and now, separate, locked out of each other's minds, Chara may be able to keep things up their sleeve a bit more closely, but they doubt they'd ever be described as the sort of person who takes slights lying down.

Especially when it concerns someone who's already seen the very worst of them, right? What, getting furious that Frisk died or broke a promise is more frightening and unlovable than being the sort of creature who comes up with plans to free everyone? Than carving a dusty path through everything and everyone that they could possibly reach?

"I'd like to think we're sort of past that point. Aren't we?" They turn their eyes on Frisk when they ask that. Don't trust. Promises aren't kept. Can they really assume Frisk will say something when they do or say something they don't like?

"I...guess, yeah." Another skip and another stumble. They look to their feet again, feeling foolish. "But I mean, we - I'm always trying to get you to talk about things even if you don't like it. Talk about Asriel. Talk about M - about Toriel. Talk about before you fell."

Their cheeks grow a little red as they go on, but their miniature diatribe continues, unimpeded.

"And I'm not the one who's actually dealing with it, right? I'm just...watching. And I guess that's why I feel like I've got to always do something. Even if I don't have the right to."

It prickles like nettles. They've already offered Frisk more about before they fell than even Asriel got to hear, even if it's only one, maybe two little snippets, oblique barely-there mentions.

Honestly... they just feel foolish for it. Before they fell is better off erased. Just like anything they feel for Asriel. Just like what they feel about Toriel. Why would Frisk encourage this? They're the one who's only suffered for it. They're the one who doesn't get to call Toriel "mom" even if it's the most effortless thing in the world for them. They're the one stressed to the very limit when the friend they wanted to SAVE shows up, because Chara has to go and be a big muddying factor.

"That's right. You don't have the right to," they snap, more forcefully than they mean to. "Think about what good your meddling has done. All it's made you do is decide you're personally responsible for my choices. All it made you do was think you had to move out and disappear. Yeah, real big help that was, wasn't it?"

Frisk cringes, glances away. They're right, of course. You just keep messing up, don't you, Frisk, messing up and messing up and never learning from it. Don't have infinite tries here. Don't have the advantage of a blank slate. Not anymore.

And they're not the one who's deciding anything. They're just watching, and deciding that they're relevant. Even when they're not. They just walked in on the Dreemurr's problems, tried to fix them, and now that they're all here, they shouldn't pretend that they have a say in how any of it should be anymore.

"I know," they say quietly. "But you didn't have to leave either. Decided it'd be easier if no one had to worry about you, but I - didn't know what to do without you. I missed you."

"Why don't you talk about your before you fell? You didn't have anyone in your head then, and that wasn't an issue at all!"

They're... just getting awful again, aren't they? Sharp. Jagged. Mean. They pull the halo off their head (it isn't funny anymore) and clench both hands around it. Think about how hard they'd have to pull to tear it in half.

"It wasn't a problem when you never wanted me here - no one did, right? Wasn't a problem when you didn't even know I could be here. You obviously are capable of doing just fine on your own. Missing me was optional." Everyone else sure figured that out, huh? Asriel found a replacement, a superior model. So did Toriel. Asgore only missed one child to begin with.

"It's only a problem because you're deciding to make it a problem," Chara blurts, even if they know how that sounds. "You could be perfectly happy without me if you actually tried."

"Just fine?" Frisk stares at them, aghast. "Just fine? I was lost without you! I didn't know what to do! You think I ever wanted to be just, just alone like that, without you? I - you're my friend, my best friend, I don't wanna - I don't know how to be alone!"

There's a tremor in their voice again, that halting shudder as they struggle gamely not to burst into tears. Why do they have to be such a crybaby? Couldn't live without that clamor in their head, or that clamor outside of it. Couldn't live without Chara. Chara, just being Chara, whether they're laughing and giggling or giving them chocolate and a juicebox or throwing ketchup bottles at windows or curling up and crying and pretending they're not crying because big kids don't cry or trying to be brave or trying not to panic or slicing their way through undead monstrosities or clinging to Frisk as they lay there trembling on the floor, snarling that Frisk isn't a burden.

"I love you, you butt."

They... they don't like this. Any of this. Frisk is upset, Frisk is close to tears, and Chara... doesn't like that. Doesn't like that they're saying horrible things, and Frisk says I love you.

They're right. They're sure they are. There was a time when Frisk wouldn't have missed Chara at all. And... and instead, all this everything had to go and happen. Their one, single job was to let go, and instead, they bent everything around so they... so this... so they care. No, not right. Doesn't have to matter if they care about Frisk or not. They can care and still let go. They can let go because they care now, because it matters that Frisk gets to be happy. But they didn't mean to... to make Frisk love them.

Love's still too fragile. Too scary. Not real.

They stare at their hands. Could break the fake halo they're holding. Could clench the pitchfork balanced against their shoulder. ...Reach one hand out, instead. They only really know how to speak in the kind of touch that's only meeting halfway, that's just an invitation to be taken or refused. In the kind that's easy to just lean away from. They're pretty sure what Frisk really needs is probably so much more than that. An I love you that can be returned. Hugs that aren't too tight and too brief and too scared that even a human being could turn to dust in their vicious, dangerous arms. But... extending a hand is really... it's all they have.

"Don't say stuff like that. Don't cry." It's not a comforting answer, not the kind of answer that's supposed to come with offering to intertwine fingers, but big kids don't cry. Love isn't supposed to make you cry. Not if it's real love. Good love. The kind that fixes it. Right? "I... got. Um." They missed Frisk. They don't want a future without Frisk. They don't want a mother's love if Frisk can't have it too. They want to share whatever little goodness life has left for them with Frisk.

"I guess I got... bored without you, too, but... look, you're upset. All caring about me does is lead to you being unhappy. Is that really a good thing?"

Again, forcing Chara into the role of comforter. Supporter. God, Frisk, can you go ten minutes without turning everything inward, and making them have to drop everything and come to your aid? Abandon their problems, and fly to yours.

Don't cry, says Chara, and Frisk swallows the lump in their throat, chokes it down and flattens their features like they used to. Trying not to panic, trying not to break out sobbing, because then Chara would feel guilty and that would be cruel, to put them through that now, when they're trying, and being helpful, and, and Frisk doesn't want them to feel this way.

Got bored without them, as if they weren't streaked with scratches and cuts and grime when they ran into Frisk in the library, disheveled and likely starving.

"Caring about anyone hurts," says Frisk at last, choking out a hiccup of a laugh. Do they just not know how to love very well? What kind of person says that they love their friends and then guts them all, carves them to pieces, turns them all to dust. What kind of love is that?

"Love is, it makes you happy, but it also makes you sad. Like, like now. B-because you don't think that, that you're anything special. But you are."

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