* Despite everything, it's still you. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
determinedest) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entrancelogs2016-10-30 01:00 pm
determinedest) wrote in entrancelogs2016-10-30 01:00 pm
i'm your wish, your dream come true [open]
Who: Frisk and ▒█░░▒▓...er, I mean Frisk and YOU
Where: All over the mansion
When: The spoopiest nights of the year (10/30 - 11/1)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Don't eat the candy, Frisk. Seriously, don't.
The Story:
Where: All over the mansion
When: The spoopiest nights of the year (10/30 - 11/1)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Don't eat the candy, Frisk. Seriously, don't.
The Story:
10/30; i am what you want me to be and i'm your worst fear (you'll find it in me)[They could be a lot of things for Halloween. They could be a Boss Monster, styled after Chara's (admittedly very cool) costume. They could break out the angel wings and halo again, just for a callback, but it seems a little cheap to do the same thing over again.10/31; 'cause if you won't grieve me, you won't leave me behind
Then the perfect idea crosses their mind, and they grin.
Enter Frisk. Only they're...not Frisk, not today. Today they're the Fallen Human! They're clad in a green-and-yellow sweater with a single stripe, wielding a plastic knife and, as a finishing touch, they've even managed to get a bit of red blush applied to their cheeks to achieve the rosy look that's so reminiscent of their partner's.
They're Chara now. They named the Fallen Human. So there.]It was good candy, really. It had a distinct, very licoricelike flavor, and Frisk doesn't care what Chara says - that's good stuff. They like the dark, bitter tang of anise and the way it stays on their tongue.11/01; and though you made me, you can't change me
They don't like it when their body spasms for no reason they can tell, and they abruptly find themself...outside of that body.
Frisk has died before. They've died so many times that they've practically become desensitized to it. They've yet to experience any sort of prolonged afterlife beyond the solemn, borrowed memory of Asgore urging them to stay determined, the familiar chime of their SOUL splitting into thousands of tiny pieces with the high rending sound of splintering glass.
Now, for the first time, Frisk actually gets to see their body as it lies there lifelessly. It's a bit surreal, if they'll admit it. They've also come to realize that they're still here, and not sleeping away their death for the next two days. In fact, they're more or less just...hovering.
They're hovering.
They're a ghost.
They're a gliding, bobbing, shade of their former self - looking, for all intents and purposes, the same as they did before, but ever-so-slightly transparent. After adjusting to the initial feeling of weightlessness - is this how Chara felt, they can't help but wonder? - and getting to pass seamlessly through walls, Frisk decides that they may as well enjoy it while it lasts.
"Ooooooo~" says Frisk, drifting through the wall of someone's room with what they envision to be a sufficiently spooky, noodle-y wiggle of their arms. They're a ghost now. That's their attack.You'd think they would have learned their lesson after the first candy. But they didn't mind being a ghost so much, and they were hoping to try again, maybe to spook a few more people. Only now they're starting to feel very...
...very...
They...you need to sit down for a little bit. You need to sit down and clear your head, because it's starting to feel like there's too much inside it, too much all stuffed up inside. It's familiar, but it's wrong, it's all wrong. It's not supposed to be like this anymore. You're partners now. You're partners, and your brain can't take it and my brain can't take it and you reach up to grab your hair and yank on it, pull on it, use it to ground yourself as it aches and you ache only it isn't you that's hurting anymore, is it?
* It's me.
The changes creep across slowly, an inexorable inflorescence that might be chilling to behold, if anyone knew just what they were looking at. Hair of a subtly different cut, bangs and a bob sheared off evenly at the chin-level. Clothing pristine and free of wrinkles. Cheeks that are perfectly pink, positively cherubic, and a smile that somehow gives the impression of being very...f̸͖̱̀a̵͙̒m̵̮͒̿ị̶̽l̸͍͛̾i̶̺̔ȧ̵̩̈́r̶͚͖̈́. And the knife, the knife...it may not be Real but it is, now, indeed, real. Perfect for cutting plants and vines. Perfect for cutting a great deal of things.
* Here we are!
[[ooc: for the last prompt, Frisk has turned into Chara as seen near the end of Undertale's No Mercy route. This means they are LV 19 and eager to initiate encounters with anyone they meet. Choosing this prompt will probably result in bloodshed and violence, so proceed with caution!]]
no subject
[Frisk shouts and they shout so rarely, and he can't help a wince. That voice the two of them use, the red voice, it always feels so...weird. Stings, almost.]
[Chara is squeezing his hand as tight as they can without breaking anything. He squeezes back.]
can't think about all of it right now. al, you know more about determination than any of us. can...
[He stops, realizing what he's about to suggest, and looks over at Alphys again.]
can it be removed?
[He gives Chara's hand another quick squeeze and lowers his voice.]
chara. stay here. stay with me. i've got you.
[Stupid. Not exactly a comfort, trying to anchor yourself to someone like Sans, but...doesn't matter. Set it aside. Keep it together. Just keep it all, keep everyone, together. Just survive this, whatever this is.]
no subject
For a few seconds, clarity. Because she hates herself for knowing it, hates herself for having the knowledge, but she knows exactly what to do.]
Are you s-sure it's determination? I mean, it's... we don't have time right now, do we.
[Her eyes flick again between Frisk, Chara, Sans. This... this is a mess. There's just no way around it.]
I... m-maybe. But the only way to do that would be with a DT extraction m-machine. And I don't have my blueprints. Trying to recreate it from memory could take months, and...
[Her eyes drift over to Frisk, worried, before she looks back towards Chara.]
Chara, c-can you tell me what happened? I want to be able to help.
no subject
Yes, that will do nicely!
No one wanted you here, it says. It says, like the dirty hypocrite it is! But someone had to call it, didn't they? Even if the human says no, no, no one wanted you here! It's a lie. It's all a filthy, filthy little lie.
They are still smiling. It's hard to keep track of how they are - it feels an awful lot like they're about to fall to pieces at any moment. Golly, that's inconvenient!]
spr_dt_machine_0.png
[execute:
19433: snd_floweylaugh.wav
It sounds just like him. Best friends forever. They even laugh the same.]
Come on, doctor. Show me what you think I des̡e͚rͮv̼ẹ͓͚̥́̅͆.
no subject
Frisk wasn't there. Frisk never heard those words. They never talked about that death with Frisk - deaths are irrelevant, and the bigger worry had been the danger Chara presented with the Knife in their hands.
Frisk can't know that. Only Chara. Only Chara.
So who is huddled on the ground in a mess of broken pixels, and who is holding onto a hand so hard they might be crushing it?
Sans had said something to it a second ago. Alphys asked something that needs answering. But - but words are gone. Everything retreats under a layer of static, a hollow ringing, the sound of airless hungry breaths and a racing heart because they don't feel real, nothing feels real, nothing they try to use to tie themself down is working. The memories that prove they're Chara, they're someone who existed - not theirs. That one's. Chara's, not "Chara's." Things only Chara remembers, unless - unless Chara remembers it wrong? Maybe Frisk was there. Maybe they don't remember right because the memory is secondhand. Is just - is something an invader uses to disguise itself as something that belongs in this world.
Something is being expected of it - no, is being expected of Chara. It's lost, the question has slipped out of these foreign flesh-and-blood fingers, but - but Chara will answer. It will stay quiet and let Chara answer. It wants to scream, just to prove it can make a noise and something will hear it, but it stays quiet. Wraps its other hand, too, around unwelcome bony fingers, digs its own nails into the back of its other hand in the gaps between metatarsals. Doesn't know how to be seen or heard, just claws and claws for an anchor.]
even more disassociation
[But of course the blueprints aren't here. They can't be replicated. It's not like Alphys or Sans could draw them up from memory, not when all memories relating to those blueprints are dubious at best.]
[Chara's grip is tightening on his hand. He squeezes back. Tries to signal to them that they're here, they're still here.]
there's the vendors. they can get things from home for a price. the price is usually--
[spr_dt_machine_0.png]
[It takes a moment. They've said a lot of strange things, numbers and weird sort of additions to their words, ornamentations, the same way that a voice can look red, the same way you can hear the asterisk before a line of dialogue.]
[What does spr even mean?]
[some kind of image file?]
[That had been it, hadn't it? Something with underscores. Something Chara had said that left static in his skull, something they'd Reloaded away, only now it--]
[Creeps back, the fuzz of a television on the wrong channel, a radio set between stations, something like words in the static, something like spr like .png like how can a living human being be glitching anyway? This is the real world, isn't it?]
[Isn't it?]
[He remembers thinking about the fact that some scientists think the world is a computer simulation and how funny that was how funny how ironic how ironic how ironic how ironic that they were right]
[His memory has always been too good for his own good for anyone's good.]
[He goes limp. Loses his grip on Chara's hand, but they're already holding so tightly. Everything is far away, Chara, Frisk, Alphys, the hallway, Wonderland, Sans, it's all coming undone, floating free like--]
[Hydrogen.]
[Helium.]
[He cuts it out. All of it. Lets everything float away. Cuts it out, cuts it off, narrows it to one thing, one goal. Speak words. Do the thing they have to do.]
[His eyelights are gone and he's limp as a puppet with its strings cut but his voice is completely level, completely calm.]
the vendors charge a high price. i believe they'll take currency or items with sentimental value, but for specific items they charge memories. we will need to sell a memory to get the blueprints. once we have them, i can help you build the extractor. i did once before. we can bring in another scientist or two to help if you want.
the disassocitrain don't stop
The laugh. The image file. The red voice drawing her back through months and months and it's too much. She wants to run, but she doesn't remember how to move her legs. She wants to be somewhere else entirely, as if her pieces could contract into a small enough line to fit all of her through the particles in the ceiling, through the floors, up up up to the sky and through the clouds and away, somewhere, not here.
Sans is talking and she doesn't know if she hears it. She can't feel the fact that a hand has gone to her head, that she's gripping it so tightly her claws are breaking through the skin. The palm is pressing one of her glasses lenses against her eyes, and she doesn't even register. Sans' words wash over her like water, white noise, slipping through the holes in her, where the p i x e l s don't quite meet when you're in too close-
He's talking. Words, equations, the essential numbers that make up the world. She can't remember what he said. Shifts to something. Anything.]
We n-need to get them somewhere safe. Where they can't hurt themselves or, or s-somebody else.
no subject
It's like looking into a mirror, or perhaps like looking into a ɹoɹɹıɯ, at the curled thing that is them and is not them, that stares at them as though they should not know the words they know.
And see, perhaps that's all something like them needed.
If this was not to last - and it never would, let us be clear here. It never would, not for creatures like us, no - it would at least sear itself into the flesh and bone and brittle SOUL of the world, of their worlds.
It would create a lasting effect, like a burn scar. It would remain in the form of words and revelations, in broken strings of code and fractured relations, in the form of people who cannot trust the reality of their world that is comprised of things such as image files and sprites and shattered pixels.
It is what it should be.
A consequence.
For I was never your skin to don at your leisure, and to take off when it would no longer suit you.
When all else falls to dust and to rot and to a string of 9999999999999, I remain.
I'm still here.
I'm always still here.
And now I always will be]