I Am The Eighth (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
itstheend) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
castle_perrault2017-02-12 01:54 pm
itstheend) wrote in castle_perrault2017-02-12 01:54 pm
[Post-Event Post] I don't need safety, I've grown up
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.
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.
yessss : D
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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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Sarcastic and dry. Chara's composure seems to be returning, back straightening as they take their smashing and smashed hand into the other and examine it, very pointedly not looking at Frisk as they do so.
"Will you look at that, it seems I am. What does it matter to you?"
Nobody is so pushingly nice without ulterior motive. Even their Frisk isn't without one when they do it. They wonder which it is. Probably to feel good about themself, as if Chara is themself catharsis fodder. They don't appreciate being such.
"You've tried," and it's just as sharp as everything else they've said. They might still attack, if provoked, but the level of provoking required has settled down a little - as long as the other Frisk doesn't touch them, keeps their distance, and avoids hitting certain verbal buttons, they're safe.
They take out a shard of glass from the hand with their teeth, because they are just a little bit Extra, and spit it aside.
"It does enough."
Inanimate objects is an upgrade from people, that's for sure. This is progress.
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They're lost. They're confused. They haven't found Papyrus or Flowey. They're just aimlessly latching onto the first person they find. It's not a smart move. They know, but they stay regardless.
They've lasted this long. Might as well keep tempting fate.
They shift their position a bit, fidgeting with a sleeve.
"I mean... objects won't fight back. You can't really hurt 'em." It's better. Better than picking fights. "But..." Sigh. "I... don't think it'll help you feel better. Never helped me."
Heh.
"But what do I know? I'm not you. I don't even know why I'm here."
They just showed up. Outta nowhere. Ha.
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Their own Frisk stirs just long enough to press against them - even in a deliberate daze the emotions bleeding through are hard to ignore. There's a bleary sense of 'just woke up' from them, and they dully observe the other through Chara's eyes, thoughts about as fast as a molasses-race and still stuck in 'oh, it's another me again' for now.
Temporary catharsis is enough for Chara, even if it doesn't last, they feel. But Frisk inadvertantly hits on a little bit of a sore spot.
"No, you are not," they agree, and the tone is cold. No, Frisk is not them, and they are not Frisk, whatever so-called Flowey might yammer on about, whatever their one has done with their body in the past.
Latching onto them might have been marginally more wise had certain events not occured, although personally they'd say there were no conditions in which it would be.
"You are here because Frisks can seem to keep their noses to themselves." That's not quite true - the one with the scarf and the one with the bandanna have been pretty good about not prying. Having one that's very curious in their head has skewed their perception quite a bit. "You are here because something has decided where you really should be right now is not in your dimension."
They're not sure how true that is, but it's a sign they're calming down somewhat if they're willing to exposit, however frostily.
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At first, they're quiet. They avert their gaze. What can they say to that? They're a good pretend optimist... to a degree, but they aren't Papyrus.
...
But they can guess what Papyrus would say. Hm. Do they dare? It would probably feel cheesy. Forced. Even so...
"And you're saying there's no way to make you feel even mildly content? 'Cause if that's what you're saying, then... challenge accepted."
Okay, no. That was stupid. They are probably going to regret that, especially because of that nosiness comment. Oh well. Too late to turn back now.
"It sure beats wandering aimlessly around some mystery dimension, anyway."
Honestly, they fully expect more of the cold shoulder. But... well. At least they haven't broken out the flirting.
Yet.whoops that was suppoised to be 'cannot seem', hhh
They exhale, pointing their fingertips at the other.
"Do I get no say in this? Perhaps I like being this way." Even leaving aside the snarky, flippant, darkly-somewhat-joking contrarianism, they do have strong opinions on consent and personal control shaped by their past.
So it's a cold shoulder, but more of a standard level, 'such is interacting with Chara' cold shoulder.
"What, has the resident welcome-Frisk not swept you up already?"
Are they really that new?
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"I mean, it's not like I'm gonna force feed you rainbows and lolipops until you smile. I just don't get it. Who would want to be unhappy?" It just... doesn't add up. "And no, nobody's 'swept me up' yet."
Another Frisk, though? That's... strange, but at least Pap's talk of alternate dimensions sorta prepared them.
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Chara scowls a little at the memory being replayed - no thanks to a suddenly mischevious inner Frisk. They elect to just... draw themself up and pointedly ignore that. However prickly they might be, there's no dere under there. Really.
They spread their arms, the scowl stretching cresentlike across their face, full of faux-cheer.
"Well then, I suppose introductions fall to me. Welcome to my special hell! Where you can only die for three days at a time and the only food is fruit and cake, and we're out of fruit. It is not exactly rainbows and lollipops, but it sure is being force-fed!"
Their grin is a little manic. They really, really hate it here, especially right now. By temporarily making them a different person, the Castle really did shove happiness, however brief, onto them.
They would really rather be unhappy, if the other option is no choice in the matter.
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But where to start? This is a lot of info to take in at once, and if they want to make good on that challenge, they gotta pick their words carefully.
"...And there's seriously nothing else? No meat? No gardens? Just a buncha sweets?" On one hand, that's a kid's dream come true. On the other hand, it's a health nightmare. Then again, you could make the same argument for all the food in Snowdin Town, particularly with the shop solely selling sweets.
What a strange situation to wind up in.
"And, uh. Duly noted with the death thing, but it's not like I'm in a big hurry to die any time soon." The first time was bad enough. Their close calls with Sans hardly help, even if he spared them every time.
frisk bby
Meaning no guarantee of finding anything of that sort, and it's currently winter, even if the snow seems to be fading now. Their arms fall to their sides, and the smile loses it's teeth.
A short term paradise, as one particular work puts it. Even kids can get utterly sick of cake, sometimes literally. Chara probably needs some dental work done by now, but good luck to any dentist to be honest.
Not in a hurry to die soon. Didn't fall for that reason, or changed their mind? Chara isn't going to turn over that particular rock, snorting instead.
"That is entirely your perogative. You are in luck it seems."
they try. they really do. poor kid's too soft
Still, the death comment's troubling. "And... is coming back really such a bad thing?" Because if it's their special hell, as they put it, then you'd think resurrection wouldn't be on the top of the list. Just what kind of person is this?
Do they have their work cut out for 'em? It's certainly looking that way.
and they try. oh my god do they try (cw suicide talk)
Warning: this is a task you've taken on that will be extremely difficult. Proceed anyway?
Chara's bright smile congeals, and the look they give Frisk is somewhat thousand-yarded. They'd let that stand by itself, but their own expressions can be a mystery even to them, sometimes, and they wish to be clear.
"How many times have you died, Frisk? Or worse." Yes, there is worse. The kind of things death is meant to be an escape from, not just another source of pain.
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They tense up at Chara's statement, teeth clenched, eyes slightly wider than before. Oof. That's a tough spot, isn't it? Granted, it only takes a few seconds to respond to.
"I. Um. Just once. I haven't let myself die again. I've RESET a couple of times, but only one death."
They rub their shoulder, head ducked. "I don't wanna have to go through that again..."
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"Then perhaps you can see why I am uneager to in my own way," they state. The tone is casual, explanatory, rather than sharp. This is as soft as Chara is willing to get right now. They spotted that tensing.
Only once. The memory must be fresh.
Chara suddenly feels very old, older than this Frisk, which is stupid since they appear to be roughly the same age. They shake it off.
"If it is any consolation," it probably won't be. "The monsters here will not try to take your soul."
No, they'll hurt you in other ways, but Chara isn't going to just spill all that. Perhaps they've said too much as it is.
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The difference there is that Snowdin gave them the gift known as Papyrus, and he's been excellent at providing morale and protection. Still, couldn't one argue that due to his protection, they've grown too complacent? They really aren't sure how to feel about that.
Sans nearly killed him, and he was holding back. "So, uh. What kinda monsters are here, anyway? Is there anyone named Asgore? Maybe Papyrus?"
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"Bear in mind," they say, "that my policy of avoidance means I rarely come in contact with them." Or anyone. Still more than they'd like, for certain people. All the same it means their knowledge of who is or isn't in the Castle at any one time isn't comprehensive. They start to tick off on their fingers. Since this Frisk has apparently gotten as far as Asgore (*They only died once??), they use names rather than descriptions. Their Frisk supplies some meetings of their own.
"Two Mettatons. Three Sanses. An small goat monster... two small goat monsters. A blue and yellow dog. A person made of red and gold cloth. A man made of shadows. A white cat." Their teeth grind the next name with vehemence. "Gaster." They aren't going to elaborate on him if asked. "There is a rather timid Papyrus, but no Asgore."
They're not sure, exactly, what the Frisk means by kind, an uncertainty they dislike, but there they are. Some of the people on the list aren't really monsters per se, but that's the closest classification Chara was.
"If you mean in the more derogatory sense, well, there is always me."
And several of them, at that.
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But a timid Papyrus? That's just weird. How could such a loud, enthusiastic goofball be shy? However, before they can comment on that, their focus shifts to something more troubling.
"...Hey. Don't call yourself a monster. You seem fine to me! ...Not that I've got anything against actual monsters."
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Except that this is, in fact, the case, thanks to the war. Chara passing up an opportunity to mess with someone when it's so clearly presented would be a harbinger of an impending apocalypse, however.
"Everybody knows Sans, it seems." Or at least he gives off that impression. Since the hat-Frisk knows of Mettaton, Chara assumes they're further ahead than they personally remember getting, their own experiences of him being from their Frisk's second-hand memories or their experiences here in the Castle. Chara then smiles the smile of impending contrarianism.
"Perhaps 'demon' would be more correct! If I seem fine you have not been looking hard enough." Even though Chara feels it's very clear. Maybe willful denial is in play here. It's not unusual amongst Frisks.
*Hey!
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Demon.
They don't mean to, but laughter bubbles out of them, and they arch their brow.
"Ohhhh, I see we've got an edgelord among us. I mean, I'm not judging. But isn't demon taking it just a little bit too far?"
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This Frisk isn't the only one amused, although the unseen one is making a token effort at contrition that's not entirely sincere, or working. This only makes things worse on Chara's end. Betrayal!
Chara does their best to rally, fingers closing and opening by their sides as they draw themselves up. It would be perhaps more impressive if they weren't twelve and wearing bright colours, although the blood from scraped knuckles and cut glass probably does add a bit to it.
"If you have a more fitting definition for an un-natural creature with red eyes and inhuman powers that makes deals, by all means tell me it."
*D'you want a shovel?
Shut.