* 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)
entrancelogs2016-11-05 10:58 pm
determinedest) wrote in entrancelogs2016-11-05 10:58 pm
black then white are all i see in my infancy [closed + open]
Who: Frisk and a few closed prompts + a few open ones!
Where: Alphys's lab, by the vendors, maybe more?
When: 11/01 - 11/08-ish (may be subject to change)
Rating: PG-13 for children in peril, suicide ideation, depressive mindset, and bad decisions
Summary: Shit happened. Someone give this cast an intervention.
The Story:
[A hot oil-slick of numbers running through their mind in a burning cacophony does not lend itself to anything but pain, bright and blazing. It cuts into their teeth and their tongue and the inside of their cheeks - or maybe that is simply them biting deep into the flesh in their mouth to taste the warm tang of it to remind themself that they are not simply numbers they are not simply numbers they are not simply numbers they are real.
It crests in a burgeoning wave. There is no tide there is no pattern there is no regularity there is no respite it simply is and it tears through them, every jerk and wrench of their body shuddering in its place like hot marks shearing them open.
They can taste blood.
Is it yours?
Or mine?
It does not matter.]
Where: Alphys's lab, by the vendors, maybe more?
When: 11/01 - 11/08-ish (may be subject to change)
Rating: PG-13 for children in peril, suicide ideation, depressive mindset, and bad decisions
Summary: Shit happened. Someone give this cast an intervention.
The Story:
[A hot oil-slick of numbers running through their mind in a burning cacophony does not lend itself to anything but pain, bright and blazing. It cuts into their teeth and their tongue and the inside of their cheeks - or maybe that is simply them biting deep into the flesh in their mouth to taste the warm tang of it to remind themself that they are not simply numbers they are not simply numbers they are not simply numbers they are real.
It crests in a burgeoning wave. There is no tide there is no pattern there is no regularity there is no respite it simply is and it tears through them, every jerk and wrench of their body shuddering in its place like hot marks shearing them open.
They can taste blood.
Is it yours?
Or mine?
It does not matter.]
no subject
Exactly the ideal Chara should be striving for.]
No.
[They decline, face impassive. It wants to go back to pretending it can't taste anything.
It instead fiddles with its wrist, trying to pick apart a knot of red thread without tugging the sleeve up. Unties the friendship bracelet. Slides it across the table to Frisk. Makes it official.
Finishes the job.]
I have no desire to live with you any longer. It sickens me to see you claim a side of the room that has never belonged to you.
[Asriel's bed is on the right side, they'd once told Frisk in those gleeful taunting tones. Don't you think it hurts him to be relegated to the windowsill while a newer, better child takes his place?]
I will see if Toriel or Asgore will take me in, depending on if you'd rather I stay with the one who isn't next door or the one who avoids you.
[Too partial. Wait. Wrong, bad. Revise.]
...Or I will simply pick a room for myself. That would be the most efficient. I have a single backpack's worth of possessions; I can be moved out in an instant.
no subject
They don't feel...much of anything. Not much of anything at all, except something that, dimly, protests. Maybe it's simply so rooted inside them that they can't say anything to that end at all, but -
But their memories are perfectly intact, aren't they? Hundreds of memories, carding neatly through their mind. Holding hands while accosted by gnomes. Pushing a juicebox and a chocolate bar across a tabletop. A wool hat with soft horns and soft ears, painstakingly knitted. A birthday party. A glass orb of a present.
A heart that ached with a warmth and resonance, SOULs blending together effortlessly.
Frisk looks up at them with a question in their eyes, and they say what they say because it seems like it is something that should be said. That, theoretically, a determined child would think to say.]
But aren't we still SOULmates?
[Does that...not change? It wouldn't, would it? Your SOUL cannot change, no matter how you try to change it. No matter how they've tried to break it. It never worked.]
no subject
[Spoken flatly, distantly, as offhandedly as if they're just confirming they're out of milk. LV 8. They're LV 8. More than enough to see people as forgettable, not worth talking to, in my way.]
I may have manipulated you into thinking otherwise, but I am clearly not your Chara. The LV 19 one, the one who was able to claim your SOUL... that is your Chara.
[Wonderland must have brought them in, somehow, for the duration of the event. It wouldn't make sense to assume that Chara met their past self. That the same person somehow existed twice over? That the shambling LV 19 beast was what Frisk had in mind when they donned a green-and-yellow shirt and told everyone they were this Chara?
Or is that just a poor excuse for being cruel?]
I'm not the one who can claim dominion of your SOUL. We are nothing more than strangers who convinced each other that we have a connection.
no subject
[They have an awful lot of reasoning, neatly laid out like cards, face-up, but they're only barely paying attention. It's hard to focus at any sort of length. All of it muddies together, a big brownish-gray blur like a blob of paint on a canvas, and two little pinpricks of red for their eyes. And green-yellow stripes for the shirt.
Maybe they should draw it. They like...drawing, don't they? Or was that Chara?]
I still think I'm you sometimes.
[It's a frank admission. They're thinking about it now. Chocolate, and pianos, and flowers, and knitting. Interests that Chara tried to deny where there in the first place for...some reason. It doesn't seem important now.
But then, nothing does.]
Which of us can play the piano?
no subject
They don't know why anyone would bother. One Chara is already too many. Does too much damage. Frisk mentions again the way lines blur, and it doesn't feel like a candid, intimate confession. It feels like an accusation. Maybe whatever stain they smeared on that pristine red SOUL is still there, and it can never truly be washed clear. How dare you, Chara. How dare you take away their brown eyes and warm dark skin and deny them their own name. How dare you obscure their identity under white static.]
Neither of us. That was just brute-forcing a stupid puzzle to try and gain a useful item.
no subject
[It's an explanation, and they see no reason to challenge it, so they don't. Chara speaks with authority, sharp and rational. Hard to come up against that. They're sturdy and strong. Brute-forcing.
Their eyelids feel too heavy, their blinks slow and ponderous. An undue effort to commit to an action that should be brief and involuntary. Every part of them feels like that. There's still, nestled inside them, the idea that they should...keep going. Keep going, because that is what things that are alive do.]
So which of us likes to play music?
[There's an instrument in their room, isn't there? It's a different question, isn't it? Or is it the same?
Maybe it doesn't matter.]
no subject
You're the one who's learning an instrument, are you not? I doubt you'd bother with a time-consuming endeavour like that if you hated playing music. Has my influence deprived you of the ability to use basic logic?
[Has their influence made Frisk forget the most rudimentary things about themself? Have they scoured all the blank spaces that Frisk had begun to fill in for themselves?]
I'm not going to be helping you anymore, you know. You'll have to find answers for yourself.
no subject
[So no one's going to eat the bar lying there, abandoned on the table. That seems oddly...sad? Like it's lacking something. Maybe they should try eating it anyway, just so it doesn't feel alone? Instead of putting it on the table and saying they'll be right back, throwing it away like the piece of trash it is?
Distantly, coldly, some part of them registers that this is ridiculous. A chocolate bar doesn't have feelings.
Neither does Frisk, right now. They don't have much of anything.
So they blink again, and nod slowly. Because...this seems to be what's expected? This is what Chara wants. And that's...good.]
Okay.
no subject
Chara wonders, idly, what will become of the DT Extraction machine, now that it has served its purpose.]
Then it is agreed.
[They don't bother to remind Frisk they like licorice better. Seems pointless. One of their friends can do that. Time has passed, Chara is not the only one who would think to ask that anymore. Would not be right to continue to force Frisk to be dependent on them for answers. They push their chair back, stand up.]
Our contract is annulled.
no subject
[Contracts involve lots and lots of pieces of paper with lots of lines to sign, don't they? Complicated paperwork, stuff that gets shuffled together into big buff-colored folders? When did they sign a contract?]
What contract?
[There's...them being friends, maybe, but that hadn't been a contract, had it? They'd just been friends. There's no contract there, is there?
Maybe there is. Maybe they're just too stupid to figure it out.
Either way, they don't have the means to truly pursue that line of thought.]
no subject
The path is clear. Frisk is free. They can recover from this mistake without risk or danger of relapse.
Chara merely walks away.
They have packing to do.]
no subject
Nothing occurs to them.
Frisk sits there and continues to sit there for some time after, simply because it doesn't occur to them that they should do anything else.
It doesn't matter very much anyway.]