* 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
12784: Are you okay?/
12785: Here^1, get up.../
Only n-no, that's not right at all. There's someone here familiar, a sprite they don't recognize? There are no golden flowers to cushion their fall, nothing of the sort. They scramble upright regardless. The color of their shirt shutters between purple-blue and green-yellow, inversions, negatives. Cheerful pinkish blots on their cheeks and a wide, arcing smile that dissipates in the same moment it forms.]
11788: * Not a scratch..^1.&*\E0 Impressive^1!&*\E1 But still.../
[Oh. No. That's incorrect. Try again. Lift a hand and wave hello. That's what good little children do.]
no subject
Shrugs his backpack off. He fiddles around inside until a certain jar is open and one Eye later
Frisk(?)
The Protagonist of another world.
HP: -99999999999 / CP: ???
The NPC's laughter is a little different as he straightens up, pulling his backpack on again and the magic of the Eye vanishing from his fingers like a broken egg.]
Eh eh eh. We really have gone down the rabbit hole. So what caused this sudden and radical change within and without you, dear friend?
no subject
Something about it is odd, maybe. Different. Peculiar. But it's, it's difficult to really discern what is truly OFF based on how things halt-skip-stutter. Their INV fills with G, with Dreams, with Bad Memories.
And then they're gone again.]
02571. SPELL.
[That's all they know how, it - it isn't supposed to be like this. It isn't supposed to be like this. It was torn out of the code, ripped asunder, and this is what happened to them as a result.]
no subject
Ah. A give from a reluctant resident of this world or the item you purchased from me the first time?
[Perhaps this may turn out to be a conversation that didn't matter in the long run, but interesting nonetheless.]
no subject
[Hee hee. Guess that's what happens when you try to cheat the system? Real impatient, aren't you? Well, these are your consequences. Take them! Take every one of those consequences, nothing after nothing, until it all hurts so badly you might as well just ERASE.
05421: \E4* you're just a dirty& hacker^1, aren't you?/
No better. No worse.]
Shouldn't've done it.
no subject
You could not have predicted it as much as I could have not. But I suppose this is another consequence you will take upon yourself?
no subject
Only it's not me peering through. 15708: * It simply marks a rotation& in perspective./%%
Or something like that.]
01781: You think you are above&consequences.&
Yes No\C
no subject
Are there consequences to begin with, amgio?
[With no script Zacharie can present a third option, the "Maybe". No one could have known what would happened. Frisk was not an omniscient NPC. They may know their world like the back of their hand but what comes up is the parts beyond the game, the after of the "Happily Ever After."
They can't know what happens here. Unnecessary consequences.]
no subject
[Their eyes shutter-click back to brown and they reach up to grip fistfuls of their hair, yanking on it to keep them...to keep them here. He's not supposed to be here. He's not a shopkeeper they recognize. Gerson or...or any of the other options available to them.
Something like a scream rips out of them, just for a moment.
They end up behind him with a flare of static and the digital screech of a tape caught on rewind, like one of Sans's shortcuts, only horribly - horribly wrong.]
That's...what it's...about.
01777: You want to go bac^1k&to the worl^2d&you destroyed./
01778: It was you who pushed&everythin^1g to its edge./
01779: It was you who led the worl^1d&to its destruction./
01780: But you cannot accept it./
no subject
'Consequences', being above them or accepting them. It felt like a lose-lose situation much like the Puppeteer's final judgement was. Dammed if you do because you feel awful and dammed if you don't because you sound arrogant. From a game where everything is left up to interpretation, it's more than silly to assume someone would take the blame. The Puppeteer can't accept it because they just play the game, the Batter must have before it all began because he had to know what flipping the switch OFF would do to him as well.
And Zacharie? Well, there's not much to accept when you don't care.]
Ah ah ah. You lead the world to destruction and then you go back. You mentioned to me before what your Happy Ending is. But it seems that you had gained quite a number of bad endings beforehand. Are those the consequences you speak of or is it what you assume is your fault?
no subject
[It was you who pushed everything to its edge, was it not? Was it not? You did it all, and I helped you. You taught me this.
They're on their kn-kn-kn-kn-knees knees knees? Knees. Hands and knees. A few inches above the ground, palms braced against empty air. Grass stirs softly underfoot. Under...air.
One hand over their face, shielding them from the eyes that he might not even be appraising them with. It's hard to tell. Masks make it so hard to tell.]
I thought it would be F͓̓ͅu̳̼᷅n̺̭͍.
no subject
[Watching this was like forgetting which layer one was supposed to stand on, a misspelling in a typed line of coded dialog. It should be a final check to make sure there aren't any spelling mistakes but luckily he can't get that meta over spellcheck.
But with his eyes hidden Frisk can probably guess one of the reasons Zacharie wears these masks, hun? Speculation was fun even if he didn't indulge himself in it much. The rest of it was not worth anyone's time.]
Regardless, although I hold the title of The Judge, I am not here to judge you, unless you well and truly wish to go down that route. Eh eh eh, but a guide may be better suited as you do appear to be lost once again.
no subject
Input the name, six characters.
02373: Is this name correct?
Who knows. Who knows? They don't. Maybe they did, but if they did at any point, at any point, they don't anymore they don't they d-d-d-dDDDDDDdddddddddddd
They don't.]
You are not afraid of me?
no subject
You should be.
no subject
[Certainly a shift in tone there. Not that it's a completely bad thing. Zacharie had his 'less talk and more action' saying that was still going strong. But maybe it had to do with the way that redness ran and cut through their dialog. Something old, forgotten and shelved.]
If there is anything I fear it has long since passed. I am not an Elsen with a fear of a paper cut so a child doesn't rank that high, sadly. Focus on yourself Frisk. Displacement is an awful thing.
no subject
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searchRequest: "elsen"
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What is he talking about? A child? A child.]
Hah.
[Short, breathy. The laughter begins to spill out and out and out. Soon, laughter isn't the only thing that floods from their open mouth. Something wet and dark and thick starts to dribble down also.
▒█▓▓░: * Smells like flowers and rot.]
Ha...ha. Ha! Ha̱᷇ͮha h̲͍͋a͛̔᷇ h̘͍̔a͓̝͆ h̦̺᷾a͗͠͡ h͕᷀̄ḁ͟͠!̴͔
[They stand, sloppily. Their knees dig into the empty air, feet braced against the dirt. Their shoes flicker between spr_balletshoes_0.png and brown, nondescript sneakers, their movements shambling, lurching, practically zombielike.]
09703: You&IDIOT./
09704: You&haven't&learned&a thing./%%
09705: Hee&hee&hee./
no subject
[If this goes where it goes, it was getting old. Technically they could attack him right now. Zacharie wasn't a merchant so it could happen (and besides, it wasn't like Wonderland cared about such things) but he just didn't want to, if his personal opinion was asked. Oh well.]
Apologizes if I descend into loquacious, but if this is a path you choose then it cannot be helped. So? Where are you going to go, amigo?
no subject
Or has he simply sunk too deep into apathy, into casual observation, to care? A skeleton who smiles too much and a man who wears a mask, who laughs as if nothing is wrong.
Shop interface. Cannot attack.
So break the rules.]
St▒p...
[Hands drag up through their hair. Where's their weapon? They don't have one. Not even a Stick, nothing, they have nothing. Lunge at him with their bare hands, rip the mask from his face, pulverize him into dust or whatever fleshy pulp he'd yield.
Something else starts to leak from their eyes. Something that is not black putrescence, something that is not blood or determination.
05645: One being with the&power to erase&EVERYTHING.../
Stop it. Stop it, please.]
Stop ▓t. Make ▓█ s▒op.
no subject
Then cease throwing yourself upon swords if you are not equipped in handing it in a physically and mentally sound manner. A martyr's death does not suit you, dear ailing progeny.
[The masks gave Zacharie a chance to put himself in other people's shoes but that didn't mean he was good at mimicking them, hence why his dialog was more relaxed as The Judge. But in this case perhaps he was just hit with something that belonged in a long corridor with a switch at the end. Either way, it passes.]
You have obtained ending after ending in your search for the perfect one. That ending where everyone can smile. Ah ah ah, it is commendable that you have picked the game back up again and again to fix whatever you have broken.
[Some of them hoped there was a better ending in OFF. But that came down to interpretation yet again. Which was better, to live in a world that was completely corrupt or to pull the switch and end it for good? Now or eventually?
It's not in his place to speculate on those answers. Abruptly Zacharie is no longer where he's standing but farther back, far enough that he can still see them, one thumb on the FLEE command. Wherever this goes...it goes. Because there was one thing the Puppeteer knows that Frisk does not.]
Again and again you pick the game back up. But do you remember how to put it back down?
cw body horror, gore
stutters.
They can't move. Can't or maybe - maybe won't. Might as well be plastered here, welded, awful black thickness flooding from their eyes. It's black and then it's red and then it's salty and hot, and they can't see why he even bothers anymore.
Why is he still here. They lurch again, again, as if spurred into motion before their action stutters and sets them back to the start again. Step forward, stutter, back to the start. Step forward, stutter, back to the start. Like their life. Like their life. Like everything, everything, everything. Can't put it back down. Can't even pick it up.]
Not for us. [The words are ragged, tired, wearying.] We don't get to QUIT.
We die. And we die. And we die.
[A hot, pulsing redness suffuses the front of their shirt. Gashes scored across their arms, their cheeks, a gaping pit in their chest. As if they've been flayed by thorns. A thin line of redness ripping across their throat. He cut their head off. Severed it neatly with a well-placed thrust of those massive, crablike arms, spiked with red and green.
I couldn't stop laughing.
It dissolves. They're sound and whole again. Whole, but for the black-red-saline streaks on their face.]
no subject
Game Over. Load again.]
Mens rea, but we are not in a court room. So you are incapable of quitting your game. Yet I will quote something that you said to me upon my own arrival. This isn't your game anymore, you can be more than your roles. This has yet to apply to myself but you were very insistent.
[Zacharie was never going to take it, because everything was shelved and one day even OFF would lose its last Puppeteer. Until then he'll remain as himself.]
But none of your words apply to yourself, Frisk. The protagonist is never excluded from all that happens. So why do you do it?
no subject
It makes perfect sense, that's why they hate it. It makes perfect sense and it means what they're saying and thinking and doing makes no sense and there's no rational out to this so they'll have to take an irrational one.
Their teeth are bared, their brow sloping low in an expression of unmistakable anger.]
Because I'm not like everyone else.
5643: \E1There is one thing./
05644: \E3One last threat./
05645: One being with the&power to erase&EVERYTHING.../
05646: \E1Everything everyone's&worked so hard for./
05647: \E6You know who I'm&talking about^1, don't&you?/
05648: \E1That's right./
05649: \E4I'm talking about YOU./
05650: \E7YOU still have the&power to reset&everything./
[So why can't you do it, Zacharie? Be the hero! Give them what they deserve! Just - just -
Let them sleep.]
no subject
[It's not to say there aren't any at all. Those bad endings Frisk had gone through still weighted upon their shoulders and whatever they had done should, if they were going by other people's standards. But they picked up more and more, things they had no control over. As he said, Frisk needed to learn that there were only so many swords that they could impale themselves with.
But. In this case...Frisk was like Japhet. And Zacharie was still Zacharie. Just slot in a new bit of dialog beginning with "Greetings." yet again.
He reaches up and feels the grooves in the mask he made in honor of a dead cat. A smile that was fixed in place but it wasn't to hide his own. Oh no, Zacharie was always smiling.]
<>Change Face Graphics: le bateur, 16, Left.
<>Play Sound: ZachMaw
<>Message: This is undeniably cruel, isn't it dear friend?
[Drops his hand and laughs again because spilling out more code wouldn't help. But they all had a path to go down and if it was to be that Frisk will sink here, then it is. One way or another...it'll play out as it's meant to.
Doesn't mean he can't say anything about it.]
'Tarde venientibus ossa.'
["For those who come late, only the bones."
And, once again, Zacharie is abruptly gone. Good luck, dear Frisk.]
no subject
Are they? Are they just a child? Sans called them a "finite god" - and isn't that what they are? A danger to everyone, as long as they exist. This - this just proved it. Look at what they've done. What they're continuing to do! Shredding the world apart, carving great swathes out of it.
He vanishes in the same way Sans does. No flaring of static or magic dust. No fanfare. He simply is one moment, and is not the next.
He doesn't give them what they want. What they truly want.
But then, no one can.
They start to laugh, and they keep laughing, laughing and laughing at the empty air. Nobody comes, because nobody ever comes. And when they're certain nobody ever will come, the laughing becomes something else.
They curl over and around themself, on their knees, bent over with their forehead pressed to the dirt where they belong. Full of messy things, blood and mucus and thick black putrescence.
* Disgusting.]