[They step away from her reach. Don't like touch. Don't need someone who hates them to try and muster up some obligation-pity.]
You're not sorry. You didn't even do anything.
["Sorry" is just a word people say. Over and over, at anyone and everything, until it ceases to have any meaning. "Sorry" doesn't change the world one bit.]
Just hurry up and take it.
[The last part is delivered to the vendor. They nod, and. Uh. DO A THING.
Something cold pricks up the back of Chara's neck as a memory rises unbidden...
They're barely conscious by this point. They don't have the energy anymore to be angry at their body. To resent how long it's taking to die, to despise how it keeps tenaciously refusing to give out even as organs shut down and breath becomes shallow and raspy, forced out of a blistered, raw throat. How much luckier monsters must be, to be made only of love and magic. To not cling so persistently to an existence that isn't even wanted. It's horrible, how much the human body can endure before it dies.
"Chara... Can you hear me?" Toriel's voice. The words were fuzzy at the time, unable to penetrate the fog of their exhausted in-and-out drift. They only come clearly now thanks to an old VHS tape, watched through eyes that weren't even theirs. "We want you to wake up..." She implores, softly, desperately.
Many many years later, a vestige in the back of another child's mind wondered if maybe, somehow, she knew that they could tell nobody wanted them to wake up. Not after that pie they made. Not with everyone's freedom resting on a single human SOUL.
"Chara! You have to stay determined!" Asgore's voice next, and it comes with such vehemence that it breaks through their half-aware stupor. Eyes crack open, awful jaundiced fingers twitch, throat feels stuffed with cotton, feels painful and dried-out and cracked like a wasteland. They cough. Breathing is hard. It hurts. Existing hurts.
He takes their hand, they think. No telltale blisters for his paws to find. Asriel was the one who got the flowers. Asriel fetched them when Chara couldn't leave their bed. Asriel fed them to Chara when they got so disgusting and pathetic they couldn't handle that one basic task. Nobody has to know that this was on purpose. Nobody has to blame themself. Asriel understands. They'll free everyone.
"You can't give up," Asgore tells them. He's right. They have to be strong. "You are the future of humans and monsters," Asgore says. Everyone is counting on this.
They have to do this.
They have to.
It's the last thought they can muster before they go limp, and things go dark for the last time.
They're already dying when a tiny voice whispers, "Psst... Chara... please... wake up..."
"I don't like this plan anymore."
And like a bubble, the memory bursts, scatters into ephemeral, prismatic spray. It's gone.
The vendor smiles and straightens up.]
Thank you very much, then!
[They neatly step to the back, pluck the plans free, and spread them tidily on the counter.]
no subject
You're not sorry. You didn't even do anything.
["Sorry" is just a word people say. Over and over, at anyone and everything, until it ceases to have any meaning. "Sorry" doesn't change the world one bit.]
Just hurry up and take it.
[The last part is delivered to the vendor. They nod, and. Uh. DO A THING.
Something cold pricks up the back of Chara's neck as a memory rises unbidden...
They're barely conscious by this point. They don't have the energy anymore to be angry at their body. To resent how long it's taking to die, to despise how it keeps tenaciously refusing to give out even as organs shut down and breath becomes shallow and raspy, forced out of a blistered, raw throat. How much luckier monsters must be, to be made only of love and magic. To not cling so persistently to an existence that isn't even wanted. It's horrible, how much the human body can endure before it dies.
"Chara... Can you hear me?" Toriel's voice. The words were fuzzy at the time, unable to penetrate the fog of their exhausted in-and-out drift. They only come clearly now thanks to an old VHS tape, watched through eyes that weren't even theirs. "We want you to wake up..." She implores, softly, desperately.
Many many years later, a vestige in the back of another child's mind wondered if maybe, somehow, she knew that they could tell nobody wanted them to wake up. Not after that pie they made. Not with everyone's freedom resting on a single human SOUL.
"Chara! You have to stay determined!" Asgore's voice next, and it comes with such vehemence that it breaks through their half-aware stupor. Eyes crack open, awful jaundiced fingers twitch, throat feels stuffed with cotton, feels painful and dried-out and cracked like a wasteland. They cough. Breathing is hard. It hurts. Existing hurts.
He takes their hand, they think. No telltale blisters for his paws to find. Asriel was the one who got the flowers. Asriel fetched them when Chara couldn't leave their bed. Asriel fed them to Chara when they got so disgusting and pathetic they couldn't handle that one basic task. Nobody has to know that this was on purpose. Nobody has to blame themself. Asriel understands. They'll free everyone.
"You can't give up," Asgore tells them. He's right. They have to be strong. "You are the future of humans and monsters," Asgore says. Everyone is counting on this.
They have to do this.
They have to.
It's the last thought they can muster before they go limp, and things go dark for the last time.
They're already dying when a tiny voice whispers, "Psst... Chara... please... wake up..."
"I don't like this plan anymore."
And like a bubble, the memory bursts, scatters into ephemeral, prismatic spray. It's gone.
The vendor smiles and straightens up.]
Thank you very much, then!
[They neatly step to the back, pluck the plans free, and spread them tidily on the counter.]
As agreed, here you go. Do come again!