[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

[sassifist]

Well, they've made it this far. Why stop now? Wouldn't be the stupidest thing they've done in their life.

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..."

[itstheend]

The sunk cost fallacy does not serve anyone well.

"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.

[sassifist]

"...Oh. Good." And at that, there's a small sigh of relief. A crooked smile, and they fidget with one of their sleeves. "Might take some getting used to, though. I mean, the Ruins weren't too bad, but I still got attacked every few steps. And Snowdin's only gotten worse..."

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?"

[itstheend]

Frisk really has tapped into Chara's secret weakness of exposition. Once a narrator, always a narrator, it seems, even across universes.

"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.

[sassifist]

"...Goat monster, huh? I wonder if they're related to Asgore." There's a thoughtful stroke of the chin at that. There are... things they saw in Asgore's home that made 'em wonder, but they don't wanna make assumptions. For all they know, goat monsters are a dime a dozen. Dogs certainly are. "Dunno about any shadow men, cloth people, or white cats, but I know of Mettaton, and I definitely know Sans."

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."

[itstheend]

"Gosh, Frisk," Chara says, mock-shocked despite them pondering this very question once upon a time and finding out the answer was yes. Their palms have gone to their cheeks. "Not all goat monsters are related, jeez."

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!

[sassifist]

Their cheeks puff up a little, and their nose wrinkles. "Well, excuse me for not knowing, buster. It's not like the Underground's crawling with floppy-eared fuzzballs." But whatever indignation they show fades fast enough. They open their mouth to comment on Sans, but... demon.

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?"

[itstheend]

Chara's cheeks, already with a cutesy blush by default that they absolutely hate even in it's occasional utility, start spilling red out onto the rest of their face entirely against their will. There's only so far pretending it's a flush of anger can take them.

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.