entrancelogs | [OPEN] And if it ever starts to feel bad, little fang

Entry tags:

[OPEN] And if it ever starts to feel bad, little fang

Who: Chara, you, hey can you bring napkins
Where: OFF TO NEVER-NEVERLAND
When: Throughout the event
Rating: PG for potential violence? Will edit if necessary.
Summary: Chara is a ten-year-old with a violent resentment toward humans and grown-ups. So basically, business as usual.
The Story:

[A - Remember that your gifts are your game]

Adults.

Chara hates adults. Despises them, from the very pit of their soul. They thought they were safe in Wonderland, that they could live forever among kids who get it, kids who understand, kids like them. But now grown-ups have come, like they always do. Come to drag them back into the dark, kicking and screaming. Come to take them away and lock them up and make them pay for misbehaving.

Ha. They're welcome to try.

Chara has marked their face with warpaint, vicious streaks of berry-red slashed across their rosy cheeks. Two stripes, one on each side, going up toward their eyes. Don't know why, but it felt right. Powerful. They clutch a knife with a blade coated in dreamshade and carry jagged little rocks in their pockets. They're not alone now, not in Neverland. They have something to lose now. Something to defend. And they're going to defend it to the death.

They've scrabbled up into a tree, a smear of green shirt and brown hair hidden in the foliage. They know someone's bound to come by sooner or later. They left a trail, a deliberate and obvious track of snapped twigs and bruised ferns, to bait an intruder this way.

All they have to do is listen, watch, wait until the right moment. Then... they pounce.

[B - The melody sings what the words can't say]

[They'll never, ever, ever admit it, but sometimes, the Lost Ones sort of yearn for something that's missing. Something indefinable and out of reach, made of faint memories of comforting songs and warm baking and bedtime stories.

Not that Chara would know. They never feel that.

But they... sometimes something seizes them, they guess. An urge to be something they aren't? No - not that. They're just bored. They're...

They're making a blanket.

Two sticks that their knife carefully whittled down to straight, smooth evenness, yarn from - they can't remember where it came from, where did it come from again? - and the comforting, zen repetition of row upon row of garter stitch. They don't even know who needs one most, who this one is gonna be for. It's not like they could ever work fast enough to make one for every kid. But one kid, at least, can have a security blanket, if they work hard.

Maybe they'll ask Frisk. Frisk would probably know who needs one. They mull it over as they sit on a stump, looping together row after row together.]

[C - But they might laugh and they might be scared]

They don't like the night.

It's not that Chara's afraid of the dark. It's just... they're a light sleeper. Lost Ones whimper in their sleep, cry in the dark sometimes, snore or mumble or kick as they slumber. The forest is full of animal sounds and rustling branches. Always, always, they curl up as small as they can make themselves and hope and hope that nothing creeps in through a window, crawls its way in through a door, slides to where they sleep and extends a spidery roving hand up their leg and -

They don't sleep too good, a lot of nights.

So they take night watch. They never get tired. Their bedtime is never. And they're not scared of the dark. May as well be useful to someone, if they're going to be up anyway. Tonight's another night where they keep a vigil, feeding twigs and sticks to a campfire to ward off the nighttime chill and illuminate the camp.

Maybe you can't sleep tonight, either. Maybe you're an intruder, making your way to the flickering beacon of a distant campfire. Whatever you are, you can find them here.

[Wild Card
[Any other prompts you'd like to use!]

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[Chara isn't the only one up late at night- Toriel also happens to be up, and wandering around, checking to make sure nobody's sneaking up on them- holding a flame in her hands so that she can see. And as she approaches the camp, she sees a figure in the distance.

So naturally, she tosses a fireball at them. Just a warning shot- she wants them to know they're here, first! But when it goes whizzing past their head, it makes things bright enough for Toriel to see- interrupting the screaming charge she'd been in the process of.]

AAAAAA-! Wait. Chara?? Is that you? What are you doing up so late???

What're you doing with those sticks?

[The question comes from behind them, as Connie approaches- she doesn't think she knows this Lost One that well. To be fair though, she doesn't know that many of them that well, preferring to keep to herself- actually, she kind of regrets the question almost as soon as she asks it.]

Oh, um- you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, though. I was just curious, that's all.

Although Souji isn't really an adult, he's not a kid, either. Or at least, not by the standards of the Lost Ones. The Lost Ones don't seem to...like people his age or older, so he figured he'd stay out of their way and explore.

Unfortunately? He's lost in the woods. He's found the trail Chara created and is following it, less to catch a kid and more to see if maybe it was a deer that made it. Animals are much better than angry children. Or angry adults. Or even a lot of people who aren't angry at all.

They're not the only one who has trouble sleeping, it turns out. Not terribly surprising, given the way the rhythms of passing time are so strange here. They can still remember, vaguely, what it was like to have a perfect hourly schedule, a rising sun that peeked over the horizon with an unfearful regularity. So when it's lost, they don't always know what to do. Don't always know how to handle the perpetual dark that sometimes shrouds the island.

They take to wandering about, sometimes. Crossing over the beach and watching the water lap at the sand. They've always liked the water. But tonight (today? Is it technically a day now? Does it matter if they never age, never grow old?) they know they at least won't be alone as they're kept awake, fidgeting and restive.

Sleeping easy isn't for children like them.

Frisk makes sure not to come empty-handed, though. They arrive with a series of puffs and grunts as they drag a sizable log, a dried-out chunk of driftwood, and haul it through the dirt and undergrowth. It's sure to make a great sound when they throw it on the fire, and last them the rest of the night to boot. As soon as they can get it - to - move - the rest of the way.

He knows of Chara. They showed up here...he can't remember when, honestly. Was it recently or a long time ago? Doesn't really matter. Time doesn't make much sense here. He's seen them around, talked to them once or twice.

They scare him a little, mostly because all humans scare him a little, and also because Chara has a certain intensity that not a lot of Lost Ones have. So he tries to avoid them, unless they seem very obviously calm.

They're knitting something. He's just passing through on his way to find some food when he spots them and pauses. It's kind of fascinating, the click click of thin twigs and the way the yarn almost seems to shape itself. It's so rhythmic. Relaxing to watch, probably even moreso to actually do.

And they do seem calm.

"um." He keeps his voice quiet. "whatcha makin'? oh...sorry. you're probably keeping count."

Knitting requires counting, right? Numbers. He knows how important numbers are. He immediately feels a bit sheepish for interrupting.

[She's watching from afar for a little bit, the mesmerizing notion of fingers moving as the piece gets longer and longer. She understands the power of getting lost in your work- something to keep your mind off things while you concentrate. Pushing in screws and tightening straps is a lot like knit one, perl two.

She doesn't mean to approach, really, because she's always been wary around humans, and Chara operates with an intensity she can never hope to match. But a bug bites at her tail and she stumbles out of the foliage, brushing it off her in a small flurry of limbs, before looking up and having to meet their eyes.]

Uhm... h-hello. Sorry if I, uhm, i-interrupted you.

Ironically, Shepard doesn't sleep well on quiet nights. There's too much left to the imagination on nights where nothing can be heard, and if she can't take stock of what's around her, she might as well already be lost. Even the whimpering of a kid is a lullaby- at least then she knows she's not alone.

But when she can't sleep, and it's still often, she heads to the fire. And tonight's as good a night as any. She's restless, wants to go out and find those adults where they lie, dare them to take her anywhere. But she's not stupid enough to go without a team, or at least a plan, and right now she has neither. So she plops down, unceremoniously, nearby to Chara without thinking much of the other person there for the first few seconds until she looks over.

"Hey. Didn't notice you there. Couldn't sleep?"

Some don't sleep well, with the sounds of the wild forest and the whimpers of the Lost Ones. Amethyst can't make a guess whether she would, because she simply doesn't sleep at all. She wasn't made to. But that suits her just fine. She can keep better watch over the other Lost Ones this way.

An owl notes the light of a fire from a distance and flies over, settling in the trees above with a flap of her wings. The owl looks down at Chara with interest, silent. Then she speaks.

"You're human, aren't you?" she asks. "It's hard to tell sometimes."

Thousands of years in Neverland and she still hasn't quite gotten it down. She tends to just assume anyone who isn't her is human, but that hasn't worked out great for her in the past.

But that's beside the point. It's late and all the humans should be sleeping.

Edited 2016-10-22 05:10 (UTC)

[They're not the only one who doesn't like the night. He's young, maybe younger than most of the kids here should be, but he knows no one likes to be around him. He's too dangerous and noisy, and whenever he panics or sees things he starts babbling and no one can calm him down. And then there's the times he shakes and his whole body convulses, sometimes for what feels like forever, and no one can ever save him from that.

He stays away from people, most of the time. Only now, with the island infested with adults and people who will take him away, he has to stick closer to the other kids than ever. Endure their jeers, their harsh words, their threats to stick him with a dreamshade arrow if he doesn't shut up on the very worst days.

They don't have to be so loud, or so mean. He gets the point. He's not supposed to be here. It's hard to sleep anyway, so he doesn't bother. He's got his arms wrapped tightly around him as he stumbles nearer and nearer to the fire's light, hoping vaguely that no one's around to yell at him for it.]

Almost everyone he knows has become a Lost One. Ok. Cool. That's awesome. Really!

...

No, it's not, and Mettaton is really starting to think that tackling this problem on his own is not only a bad idea, but an impossible one. Someone among their number has to be normal other than him right??? He hopes so.

What he also hopes is that this fire he is creeping his way towards is a fire made by some adults and not more Lost Ones, though that hope starts to fade the closer he gets. He thinks about turning around and avoiding the trouble when the firelight flickers and he catches sight of who is on guard duty.

Chara. Chara Dreemur.

...Despite his better judgement and inclination to survive, he can't let Chara stay like this without at least trying to save them. They, as always, deserve better than this.

"Chara?" he whispers from somewhere nearby, not immediately showing himself. "Chara, it's Mettaton. Do you remember me?"

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C

B

A

c.

B

b!

c :V