[Post-Event Post] I don't need safety, I've grown up

[itstheend]

They wake up.

They wake up, and for a moment it's a confusion as two sets of impulses try to sit up, try to roll over, what is this why can't I move-

It all comes flooding back, and the thrashing, twitching body goes still, glassy eyed, panting.

*...
*Hi Chara.

Breathe. Breathe.

*Sorry I kicked you out.

Chara groans and presses their palms to their eyes. There's a dual storm of self-loathing here, turbulence kicked up by the past crashing into the future. Things that neither wanted to come to light, exposed. Breathe.

Well then. Damage control. Lock this all away and focus on getting up. They've been sleeping under a bench in the chapel this past month - they touch the back of their head with their fingers where they just cracked it on the pew. Didn't notice, in the heat of the moment. It seems that the Castle always shoves Frisk back into Chara.

They get up, and start walking - no particular destination, but places they are avoiding. The library. The balcony. The swings, certain spots in the garden, the kitchens. They just need to run, and they do, and when running's not enough, when their legs burn and their lungs are filled with knives from the cold air they screech to a halt and scream and punch a window, bright glass shattering, before turning on a vase. Anything inanimate nearby is getting destroyed.

Frisk makes no move to stop them.

For Poke-Frisk and Sparks:

There's something that needs to be done, and it has to be done sooner rather than later. Frisk would prefer to give the apology in person but... that would raise some questions they don't think Chara would particularly want to answer right now.

While they do have control over the body (it aches - Chara themself has retreated to a ball at the far back, spent) they spend some time making enquiries - they don't know where the Frisk with red eyes and the dog monster live, and need to to slide this under a door. They've written an apology letter (and not a Bureau of Communication one).

They feel terrible about attacking Sparks -  they're pretty sure that was Sparks, even if he looked different - and it profusely says so.

Comments

[lawofcycles]

[The crash makes one particular human look up from her spot in some hallway or another and come running. Its Ms. Meddlesome to the rescue! There are so many fighting violent sounds in the castle, and Madoka just can't leave them be. She turns the corner, nearly slipping into the room with these ridiculous heels and catches sight of a grade schooler who looks to be a year below her standing bloodied in a room. ]

O-oh my gosh! [Her gloved hands go up to her mouth. She looks around at the smashed glass and the blood on their hands.] I uh, your hand! Oh, w-were you attacked! [She's nearly ready to draw her bow and start dashing down the hallways to find it. But helping people out first is more important, that's Mami's creed! ] Its ok, I can help with that!

[itstheend]

[There's nothing being fought here other than Chara's own inner - hah - demons. A blank encounter.

*But nobody c-

Somebody has come, and they slowly turn their head to look at her. Ordinarily they might mentally comment on the overwhelming impression of pink, or Frisk might point out how much she looks like a magical girl to catch Chara's interest.

Neither are in the mood today. Chara's mind is a television turned to channel Static, and the expression they fix her with is somehow simultaneously blank and withering. A drop of blood spats to the floor.

Their jaw works, as if shoving gears back into place. Jeez lady, you sure know how to pick 'em. An attempt must be made.]

No.

[Well, it's something. No, they were not attacked. No, she cannot help.]

[lawofcycles]

[She practically wilts under that glare, taking a step back and looking down, hands gripping her skirt. Oh. Ahahah. Stupid thinking then, that she could help. She kind of wants to wither up and dissapear. ]

O-ooh. Um, oh I'm sorry if I'm bothering you. [She gulps, fixing her eyes straight at the floor instead of their eyes. Internal screaming abounds. She doesn't find the red weird, but the way they look at her like she's the worst thing in the world hits a little hard. She fixes on a little shaky grin. ] I j-just meant I can uh, fix your hand!! I thought maybe you'd want that? You probably don't huh. Uh, I'm sorry.

[itstheend]

[It's easy for pink eyes to seem red in this light, especially since the glimpse was brief. Another one, then.

You're not the worst thing in the world, Madoka. That would be them.]

You can do healing magic.

[The tone is flat, more statement than question. This fits with what they've learned of demons in one sense and is odd in another.

The thought of foreign magic being used on them is about as pleasant as that of foreign touch, right now. They flex the bleeding hand, feeling the shards still in there move, and flick more blood to the ground and let it fall to their side. It hurts like a motherfucker, but that was largely the point.

*...she's like Alphys.

No response to and for that.]

What is it you want, Pinky?

[A nickname used previously for Mettaton, but very apt here, they feel. They would like her to get to the point, if there is one, and the tone says as much - not hostile so much as brusque. The talk of healing and bothering - it just feels like the lead in to a sales pitch, for Chara. Why is she here?]

[lawofcycles]

Uh! Yeah! That was my wish see! To heal something! So I can heal lots of things now! [She's not making a lot of sense but this kids gaze is making her feel so terribly nervous. She glances at their hand again and winces at the flick. ] Um you s-shouldn't do that!! You don't want to damage a nerve!

[She's the nurses aid after all, and having healing magic has only been a plus. She knows that there's a lot of important stuff in hands! Stuff you don't want to mess up! ]

Pinky? [She sounds befuddled.] Oh uh, you mean the outfit. It is a little much...isn't it? [Pinky is a little rude though, and she somehow deflates a little more. They're speaking English, she thinks, so it'd be best to introduce herself by first name. ] I'm Madoka. Madoka Kaname. It's nice to meet you?

....I just wanna help. It's my job.

permissions post on this account if u want to set bounderies

[collectyourfriends]

No matter who they ask, there'll be no leads for most of the day. Frisk isn't in the mood to be found, and neither are their Pokémon--Sparks for the same reason as his Trainer, and the rest due to feeling...strange. Being blinked out of existence due to not being born and returned was an uncomfortable experience, and the fact none can remember what happened left them all on edge.

Not all of them are content with hiding and sleeping it off, however.

Hush delicately steps from stone to stone in the garden, avoiding leftover snow and swathes of mud and grass.

He catches coiled distress and a thought of Sparks in a hall nearby, and chooses to float himself up to press against the window. He doesn't dig, as that's considered rude, but he wants to see if there's going to be obvious trouble.

no worries! o7

[itstheend]

Over the course of a day without any sense of getting any closer Frisk has only been getting antsier and antsier. It's enough that it's been seeping through to Chara's side like liquid sandpaper, with snappishness as a result, and Frisk pushing back because they just can't right now okay and- it's a mess. The equivalent of a mental scribble.

They've been down this hallway before they think, but they just... don't care right now. They've become increasingly fixated on the letter and stopping only makes the restlessness worse.

But they do catch movement in the corner of Chara's eye, and turn to look. Oh. It's a monster they haven't seen before. Well, it's always worth asking. Maybe they'll know. They fold the letter into Chara's sleeve and then come over, waving as a hello.

Their face isn't really wanting to be as friendly seeming as they need it to be right now, stuck in a flatness, but they do their best anyway - the corner of their mouth twitching and going still.

(also probably going to be a lil slow whenif frisk themselves gets involved tbh)

[collectyourfriends]

Demon eyes certainly seems to be a theme, doesn't it? There's a pair of huge ones on this creature.

He doesn't need to press for their thoughts and feelings to ram into his space. Letters, words in a human way. Sorry, they whisper. Overlaying it is arguing, sharp and rough and smooth and red.

This window is one of those with glass, and Hush opens it with a graceful swing of an arm without a hand touching it.

The argument stains in his mind in spite of the focus turning to him. It echoes stronger than a memory or something imagined, and it was more than one voice.

His politeness isn't worth so much consideration in the long run. Still, he'll wait before pressing in too deep. What do they have to say?

One step inward until he's balanced on the very edge of the windowsill on the inside. He seems taller this way, and he inclines his head to show he's listening.

no worries! o7

[itstheend]

Silly, red eyes are normal for monsters. They can't be demons.

(Nobody is happy in this head at the moment, but the argument's subsided for now in favour of paying attention to the new interaction by both parties.)

Frisk watches Hush open the window with interest, but interest born of familiarity with mundane magic. They're getting the sense Hush can't speak, like Moldsmals, or just doesn't want to.

"Hi! Uh. Really sorry to bother you but I'm looking for someone? It's kinda important."

They fidget with the letter in Chara's sleeve, but don't withdraw it. It says something about their current off-balanced-ness that they haven't asked for the monster's name.

"A blue and yellow monster, um. About this high?" They indicate with a palm. "Or... a red eyed human with a bandanna? I need to give them something. D'you know where they are?"

There's the wheedling edge of stress in the words familiar to anyone who has been sent back and forth across a building with red tape, only this redness is entirely self-inflicted.

[collectyourfriends]

Stress scrapes across the air like a cat's tongue even without their words. It seems more happened than his trainer told them. Though Frisk told them all little in the first place before retreating into a silence, and he won't dig into their head easily.

...A monster, this human says.

Sparks is not a monster.

He begins by informing them of that.

Hush's pupils contract to slits.

In their head: a Moldsmal, since they thought of them already; a Snowdrake; a Froggit. All so very tiny, Sparks dwarfing them in a way he can't in reality, something far more solid, as well as the creature in front of them himself. Solid. Strong. (Smells like red.)

He advances in deeper than that, a soft breeze brushing across their mind--minds. There really is more than one human in here. He wonders why, but that's not what he's looking for--they're looking for his human and Sparks, and he needs to know why that is. In return, he filters a memory from just a few hours ago, silent and vivid:

Sparks lying down, Frisk sitting with their back against his side, a few other indistinct-yet-solid creatures huddled around them too. The air is filled with something buzzing--static, emotions fear-rage-confusion echoing and feeding into itself. Frisk is covering their face, red eyes wild and barred by their fingers, Sparks periodically jerking his head to look at them and back to glaring daggers in the wall.

Hush doesn't give them the information they seek--all there is is they're somewhere dark. The walls are stone. That could be anywhere.

sometime before my post. if this isn't okay, lmk.

[voidster]

Did someone call for a punching bag?

They're running. He can't. He's incapable of moving that quickly in this body made of voidstuff, even if he does away with his illusion of his old legs and chooses to glide along instead. He doesn't bother to try. Sorry, child, he tried to keep his promise, and his black 'coat' stands out like a sore thumb. He'll surely be seen. Mentally, he's facepalming, sensing disaster to come.

perfect, my friend. might tag u later for a twofer : D

[itstheend]

Disaster would be right. They are very much not in the best mood right now - their mind roars for LV, and half the reason they're running (bruises from crashing into corners too fast, they don't care) is to keep it down like bile. Difficult to attack and run at the same time. A good way of avoiding people.

Until it isn't, and- they know him. Their experience with him when younger wasn't unpleasant, but that's only churning up sick anger and hate now. He, or one of him, they can't be sure, saw them shelless.

It doesn't matter. Their Frisk presses the argument with scarf-Frisk into their mind and they toss it roughly aside.

"Doctor," they hiss as they slow to a halt in front of him. They don't make a move to attack - useless, just goes right through, but they are straight-backed and smiling and very, very pissed off to see him.

omg plz do I can never get enough frisk, driving chara or not

[voidster]

The best (only, really) damage control he has to offer is to turn and go the opposite way. Speaking is right out. Other than his eyelight fixing on their face for a moment, he doesn't acknowledge them at all.

Unfortunately, he's no faster than he was sixty seconds ago. He can't possibly outrun a young healthy child. What a blessing it is to have a physical body 99% of the time and how frustrating it is this very moment. So damned slow. He needs to work on recovering his ability to teleport, too.

He's not even concerned about himself. What will they do, stab him again? No, it's their feelings that matter. Even still. And poor Frisk, trapped inside the other child's body somewhere, having to feel the rage and fear ...

so you have wished it, so shall it beeee

[itstheend]

Hey, hey! Don't just walk... er, ooze away when they're menacing you! Rude!

They pick up the pace, moving to a brisk walk beside him, the smile having curdled on their face a little at the edges. "Excuse me, are you going somewhere?"

Frisk, for their part, is used to entrapment, although technically they could take over Chara's body any time they wanted. But while they're keeping an eye on things, they know as well as Chara that nothing Chara can physically do can harm him.

And they're so tired. It's exhausting, and the aftermath of the event is hitting them hard. They're Done. Compassion burnout is in full play here, and later they'll hate themself for it.

"We need to talk, Doctor. And I have no intention of letting you leave until we do."

That's already more civil than Chara was planning to be here, but they need to crosscheck. A certain conversation with one of the Frisk's here has set them off-kilter with regards to Gasters, and they need to right it.

[voidster]

He turns again, remaking his legs and adding a bit of detail to his form, now that he need not concentrate on moving. Hands raise and begin gesturing, his 'tone' very placid. [Very well. I was only leaving for your own sake--as I promised. What is it you want?]

What, indeed? He can't think of anything more they'd ever need to say. Surely the way he behaved towards them during the rollback isn't that offensive.

because intense first impressions are aaalways fun :>

[sassifist]

This... is unexpected for a number of reasons. Truth is, they just went looking for Papyrus and happened to stumble upon this castle by happenstance. They aren't entirely sure what's going on, truth be told.

The sound of shattering draws them closer. They don't mean to intrude. They know anger. They've tried not to be angry for the longest time. Tried to be the good kid. Friendly, fun, patient, appealing. But they know anger. They know what it's like to lash out.

It's not their place. They don't even know who this is. The smart thing to do is to run. To give 'em their space.

Foolishly, they approach instead.

"Um." Smooth, Frisk. Real smooth. "What happened?"

Because it's obvious that something did. Better that than to ask if they're okay when they obviously are not.

yessss : D

[itstheend]

Chara's head whips up at the speech (didn't hear them walk up, too silent or too focused, stupid) and the gaze the other is fixed with flashes murderous before settling into an expression of neutral distaste. They're breathing heavily, blood dripping from numerous cuts.

They straighten, slowly, and turn to the other fully, every line of their body and every deliberate movement a fluffed-fur horror-movie attempt to broadcast 'danger, do not touch'. They tilt their head, smiling, looking the other over with close scrutiny. A Frisk. Typical meddlers. They don't think they recognize this one.

"I should think it obvious to anyone with working eyes."

Which is to say, they just broke some things. They find themself not really caring too much about the blatantness of the question-dodging.

[sassifist]

Frisk winces. This isn't going well. Did they mess up already? They just wanted to help.

Maybe they should...

No.

No, they're not leaving. They know how awful it is to be alone at times like this. It never helps. It only makes things worse. It just creates a cycle of self-loathing and destruction and mistakes happen and people get hurt and it's awful and-

They draw in a breath. They can do this. Maybe? Hopefully. Everything is fine.

"I mean what happened to make you wanna break stuff. There's always a reason."

There. That wasn't so hard.

[itstheend]

"The reason is your business, none of!"

It's chirped, almost brightly, but definitely not duchenne as they clap their hands together, the noise echoing off the stone. It sends a sharp spike of pain up their arm but do they care? No, they do not.

"I am not here to satisfy your curiosity, Frisk."

There's always a reason. Shall they tell them, then, of being forced to be someone you were, someone you hate as much as you hate yourself, of being a skin you shed and thought burned?

Shall they tell them that it was actually somewhat pleasant sometimes, which furthers the ire tire fire, because that terrifies more than anything else?

Haha, that self sure would have! Handing people knives in the hope they don't dig them in, the hope of controlling the harm, the hope that maybe someone would ask 'who gave you this' and see the wound in their back.

That's not who they are any more.

[sassifist]

"I just wanna help..."

They wince again, hands balling up. This was a bad idea, wasn't it? They don't even know this person. They probably look like an idiot right now. What were they thinking? Maybe... maybe they should just go. But now their feet are glued to the floor. This person, whoever they are, knows them. But how?

But their voice. So maybe? But that's weird. What do they even say or do?

What can they do?

"But... I'm not asking outta curiosity. I'm asking because it's obvious that you're hurt, and something tells me beating up a bunch of pots isn't gonna do much." They laugh, though it's wheezy and uncomfortable. "Believe me. I've tried."

Breaking stuff. Temporary catharsis, maybe, but what does it really accomplish?

Lashing out at objects is one thing, but rely too much on force, and then what?

One accident too many.

But that wasn't lethal. Asgore was. But they RESET. He's better now. They're better now. They don't FIGHT.

This person, whoever they are... would they attack if provoked too much? And if they did, what then?

Still, they can't bring themself to move.

[dustless]

Frisk's around.

Not looking to be found, though, not really. They're just...they're tired, they guess. Even though they've been sleeping well for the past few weeks. Better than they have in over a year, in fact. And that's probably over with. 'S like their body's draining energy in advance.

There's a nice window seat in one of the halls, all cushioned and soft and mostly hidden by curtains. That's where Frisk is when Chara tears by, and they poke their head out for a moment once they hear shattering.

...Nothing really wrong with breaking stuff. They withdraw, hopefully before they were noticed, and go back to staring out the window.

[itstheend]

It is a while before Chara returns, coming back the way they came, but there is only a finite amount of things to break - at least until the Castle repairs itself again, which may take a while. They're panting, and fuming - they've had a couple of encounters that have kind of unravelled a large portion of what stress relief this might have given.

Purple and blue in the corner of their eye. They snort, and straighten.

This Frisk. They have memories - a library, and peppermint winter, and confusion. They can feel their Frisk surreptitiously looking at them, and they fold them away with a snap, hoping that non-existent nose gets caught in it.

"Frisk," they greet.

The red stuff. Determination. Restored their voice too, in the end, though recovery was much longer. It took them a while to idly try instead of defaulting to sign, habit carrying over from the event.

[dustless]

Thunk.

That's the sound of half a face hitting a window.

"'Lo, Chara," they greet in return, surprised by how exhausted their own voice sounds.

Which Chara is that right now? They kick at the curtain they're behind, showing them a little better.

...But they're not sure what to say after that. 'How are you?' They think they know. 'What are you doing?' Does it matter, and they were just breaking stuff, so they know that already. 'Are you okay?' That's so dumb it doesn't stay in their head for more than half a second.

Frisk says, "'M I in the way?" They're off to the side, in the hallway, but that's the first thing their brain settles on for 'should I leave'.

[itstheend]

"Frisk, to be less in the way you would have to have somehow relocated yourself to an entirely different planet," they snark. "NASA would honour your burnt and/or frozen corpse."

There's mining operations on the moon in Chara's time, but they're for the most part un-manned. No-one's gotten to Mars yet, although there's been increasingly more serious attempts as climate change starts heating up. They don't know if it's the same in this Frisk's world.

So the answer is no, in both the literal and the metaphorical. They watch the other Frisk's cheek slowly become one with the glass, catlike idle, before speaking again.

"Perhaps it would be better for me to ask that question."

They are, after all the one who came over here and spoke, and while it grinds their teeth and gears to say it (however bluntly, airily and unapologetically they can muster) because it reminds them far too much of how they were and they have to wonder how much of that other self has stuck in them like glue... they would leave scarf-Frisk to their rest, if the other asked.

[dustless]

Who doesn't like Mars? Not that it's cheap to get there. But the mental image Frisk gets is more 'being catapulted out of Earth's atmosphere' than 'being brought by rocket ship', and that could result in either, depending in the direction. Or both.

Anyway. They shake their head.

"No. But you look...busy." Or did. A little while ago.

Frisk folds up, in case Chara wants to sit on the seat across from them, no legs in the way.

"And don't, um....please don't tell anyone else where I am right now," they request quietly.