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castle_perraultThere's a drift of dust scattered near the Edge.
Morning sunlight glints off it. It resembles white sand, or icing sugar.
Somehow it's survived the entire Castle being destroyed and brought back. Somehow it's survived the altitude; perhaps the air has been unnaturally still, or perhaps some residue keeps it somewhat together. Mist wisps from it.
There's a spark of red over it. Something returning, reluctantly, home. Lost souls can't stay lost forever.
Right where it belongs. About time.
The dust shimmers briefly rainbow and shifts, an edge falling away, before it rises up to meet the hovering thing, the last component needed. Melts as soon as it hits it, becoming viscous sludge before dripping back down to where more is drawing in and returning to encase the scarlet light. It thickens, begins to take molten-wax form as clumsily as a child making a stick figure out of play-doh; two sausages for arms, two for legs, a lump for a head. Slowly, the proportions even out, detail begins to set in and creates an alabaster statue, and then colour swirls and bleeds in spreading patches.
It's Chara. Themself.
They collapse onto suspiciously clean stone and lie there still for a time, until with a sudden, rasping heave of air they wake, cough, and open a single red eye. Their head feels stuffed with cotton. Their memories of after dusting and before coming to live again are thankfully as substantial as fog. The movement of their chest stutters, and they start hacking. That's right. Have to breathe again. They close the eye and roll with great effort onto their back, hands on their chest, and do just that. They feel like they've been put in a blender, despite no apparent injuries that they can pinpoint.
*Mmmmrnrnrnnn
An arm tries to move. They block it, and the limb jerks, caught between two opposing forces for a moment before settling limp at their side.
*Wh-
*...Chara?
Welcome back, Frisk. Enjoy your month of freedom?
*What happened...?
Well.
The child, apparently silent and staring listlessly at the clouds, will be there (getting increasingly sunburned) until chill night temperatures drive them indoors. Come bother them? Find them wandering the hallways late? Wonder why they're trying to sleep in a kitchen?
Morning sunlight glints off it. It resembles white sand, or icing sugar.
Somehow it's survived the entire Castle being destroyed and brought back. Somehow it's survived the altitude; perhaps the air has been unnaturally still, or perhaps some residue keeps it somewhat together. Mist wisps from it.
There's a spark of red over it. Something returning, reluctantly, home. Lost souls can't stay lost forever.
Right where it belongs. About time.
The dust shimmers briefly rainbow and shifts, an edge falling away, before it rises up to meet the hovering thing, the last component needed. Melts as soon as it hits it, becoming viscous sludge before dripping back down to where more is drawing in and returning to encase the scarlet light. It thickens, begins to take molten-wax form as clumsily as a child making a stick figure out of play-doh; two sausages for arms, two for legs, a lump for a head. Slowly, the proportions even out, detail begins to set in and creates an alabaster statue, and then colour swirls and bleeds in spreading patches.
It's Chara. Themself.
They collapse onto suspiciously clean stone and lie there still for a time, until with a sudden, rasping heave of air they wake, cough, and open a single red eye. Their head feels stuffed with cotton. Their memories of after dusting and before coming to live again are thankfully as substantial as fog. The movement of their chest stutters, and they start hacking. That's right. Have to breathe again. They close the eye and roll with great effort onto their back, hands on their chest, and do just that. They feel like they've been put in a blender, despite no apparent injuries that they can pinpoint.
*Mmmmrnrnrnnn
An arm tries to move. They block it, and the limb jerks, caught between two opposing forces for a moment before settling limp at their side.
*Wh-
*...Chara?
Welcome back, Frisk. Enjoy your month of freedom?
*What happened...?
Well.
The child, apparently silent and staring listlessly at the clouds, will be there (getting increasingly sunburned) until chill night temperatures drive them indoors. Come bother them? Find them wandering the hallways late? Wonder why they're trying to sleep in a kitchen?
They're trying to avoid people, but since when have they gotten what they wanted?
(no subject)
Date: 2016-11-10 07:20 am (UTC)It brings a little clarity. Not much.
Hot blood running down their arm, they switch their focus to grabbing their opponent's knife-wrist with one hand and fending any counterattack off with the elbow connected to the other.
They don't care if they get scratched up a little doing it.
*Chara!
*You don't have that much HP anymore!]
(no subject)
Date: 2016-11-10 07:43 am (UTC){Their arms might be restrained, but they're no long being actively held down and thats a small victory at least. They panic calms a little. It also increase a little because jesus fucking christ what is wrong with this kid?? The correct response to being shanked is not that, trust them.
Is this how other people feel looking at them?? They feel like they suddenly understand their hometown 100% better now.
Now this would be the perfect time to try dropping the knife and making a break for it. But fuck that, this is their knife and they are going down with this fucking ship buddy.
They give the other kid a headbutt as they try and force themselves up, twisting their wrist to try and free it. What are they even aiming this knife at?? No clue?? What its not like they're trained to use this thing.}
(no subject)
Date: 2016-11-10 08:03 am (UTC)No.
[The tone is flat, almost entirely inflectionless. The wrist twisting results in some minor cuts on their arm. They've got this well in hand.
And then they get fucking headbutted. Ow. Holding both their opponent's arms like this, it's impossible to avoid, and they hiss through their teeth as stars explode in front of them. Their grip loosens a little, then bulldog-tightens.
Hey buddy pal amigo homeslice breadslice dawg, give them a moment to recover and they're gonna pull your wrists towards them at the same time as they kick forward into your midriff.]
chara voice: i may have made a slight tactical error
Date: 2016-11-10 08:17 am (UTC)Well, needless to say it makes them reconsider their level of danger very quickly.}
Don't you "no" me!! That's not a request I'm going to fucking stab you!
{When they're wrists are pulled forward they let out a yelping growl and try to redirect the knife towards the others chest. Stab yourself, shithead. They get a kick in the stomach for their efforts. They're back on the defensive, trying to wriggle away and regroup. They can't take this person restrained (if they can take them at all)}
the risk was calculated but i'm bad at math
Date: 2016-11-10 08:43 am (UTC)It's just noise. Of course they're scared. Chara is the thing people fear. The demon people run from. Unappeasable. Implacable. They feed on fear.
*You don't!! This isn't you!
The knife manages a gash in their before the kick connects. Chara winds up for a headbutt. Only fair to return the favour, is it not?
*You're acting just like them!
Chara stills. Stiffens. Their grip tightens further.]
Leave.
[The same tone. This time when they kick, they let go of other-Chara's wrists at the same time. Push them back a distance, because if they know themself they'll attack again as soon as they're free. But this time they'll see the knife coming.]
thank you based frisk
Date: 2016-11-10 08:54 am (UTC)Their heartbeat roars in their ears.
God they hate feeling afraid. You're not supposed to be afraid of other kids, Chara would reserve their usual fears for adults but!! suprise!! Apparently there's a whole world of honestly terrifying children who can kick their ass out there.
They don't trust the sudden shift in behavior at all. They know this trap, a back turned is an easier target. They step back instead.}
You first.
{They will not back down before the other.}
u welcome pls don't die
Date: 2016-11-10 09:47 am (UTC)Frisk breathes a sigh of relief.
Rationality begins to trickle in a little. Chara puts up their palms and then lets them drop. They likewise take a step back and then begin circling the other Chara, slowly increasing the gap between them as they align themself with the nearby castle entrance and away from the Edge. The other Chara is always in their vision, and there's no way they're turning their back to them without a decent distance built up. They stop and face their double, their cute, polite smile still plastered to their face.]
Chara is sparing you.
[There's a tone there now at least, even if it's wry and dry. They turn on their heel and head through the doorway. A brisk but measured walk. They're banking on the fact that the other Chara would have to run to catch up to them now, and that this would make noise. They're also banking on the idea of them not being stupid enough to throw away what appears to be their only weapon.
Even more, they're banking on the other Chara thinking twice before engaging them in combat again. They'd be lying if they said they didn't enjoy that sense of power, of satisfaction. You should see the other Chara.
Time to see if any of the hoarded food they made as a monster still counts as 'monster food'.]