thisavrou_log | [open] Perfect weather for a game of catch.

Entry tags:

[open] Perfect weather for a game of catch.

Who: Frisk, Asriel, Chara, and YOU
When: Sssssssometime this month, wibbly wobbly have fun with it
Where: A park in Kauto R1
What: Kids having a picnic, what could be better?
Warnings: Chara, will be updated as needed

It's been a long trip.

Definitions of 'long' are a little variable, but all three children have been anxious to see an end to their travels. It didn't start when they crossed through the Ingress, but long before that.

Someone climbed a mountain for an unhappy reason.

Someone carried a body to a field of golden flowers.

Someone took a long journey, just wanting to live their life.

But now they've come, not to The End, but an end. It's not perfect, not quite what any of them were expecting. But it's better, it's theirs, and...they can stay. What it means to each child, what they think of it and what they have to say, it all varies. But no one and nothing can or will take this from them.

The three of them are gathered together in a park. Birds are singing, flowers are blooming...a blanket is laid out on the grass, and in a cooler drinks and snacks are kept on hand. A few toys lay nearby, but it seems that for now the trio is content enough to relax and talk amongst themselves. Smiles adorn their faces (though one face in particular wears theirs a little sharply), and the scene is...nice. This is nice.

Even if they may not agree, they have long since earned this respite.

(( ooc: Feel free to come and pester the kiddos! Everyone will be responding separately, though there may be threadjacking or some doubling up. Have fun! ))

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A familiar face, naturally, is not necessarily a well-liked or even remotely wanted one. That must be the general assumption; people seldom actively desire that creatures such as themself occupy the same space.

They watch him as he watches them, back ramrod-straight, hands folded neatly in their lap, eyes boring into his silhouette. Their cohorts are observant and to claim otherwise would be a disservice to the pair of them, but they are trusting - entirely too trusting, to a very particular fault.

It does not do to grow complacent as one is being watched.

Assuming he does not speak first, they will do so in his stead:

"Have you something to say, Mr. Shiro?"

He lifts his head from where he'd been staring, letting his mind wander. Just trying to absorb the situation. Adjust. His name makes him blink, and the sudden, familiar voice gets him to turn his head.

That blank look shifts into something closer to a smile.

"Hey. Glad to see you made it."

Genuinely glad, albeit tired, if the lines under his eyes have anything to say about it.

"I didn't mean to interrupt. Sorry."

An error, most likely. It is a detriment to most everyone, an unfortunate mistake, that they made it, as it were. Only then Frisk would have cried. Asriel, too, would have cried. It is for their sakes alone that they remain here now, and not drawn a bright red smile over their throat.

He is a poor actor. He does not keep anything contained, nor does he appear to be making any attempt to.

"How very unfortunate that you think so." Their tone is wry, as are their words. Far easier to deflect than to acknowledge the possibility that he may be, poor actor that he is, genuine.

Even more unfortunate.

"You've interrupted nothing. It is perfect weather for a walk, after all."

"Really? Most people just say 'thanks'."

But his voice stays light. Propping his chin up on the palm of his hand. If he was any kind of actor, the fact he hasn't slept well since the body floor, or since his housemates started fighting battle royales with the doors, would probably kill it.

He looks more like he needs a nap than anyone trying to hide anything.

"That's good to know. Hate to think we ended up somewhere walks were illegal."

"I have it on good authority that my continued existence is a crime, actually." All said with a winning, dazzling smile, of course, as is their prerogative. Most people just say "thanks." Chara is, unfortunately for all parties, not what one would or should call highly usual.

The term anomaly would imply as such.

Always wise to place the potentially intruding party on the offensive. Potentially, in any case, though he resists such preoccupations. Clever of him, but - not ideal, in the long run, if they wish to intimidate.

They always do wish to intimidate.

"... I can't tell if you're joking, serious, or if I'm tired enough I'm hallucinating this whole conversation."

All of that is likely. Given his life lately, it's literally all likely. And probably something he shouldn't say to anyone and everyone. A thought which crosses his mind belatedly.

And he's running a hand down his face again.

"Sorry. It's. Been a long few days."

Admitting one's weakness to a demon is an elementary error at best. Perhaps standard fatigue is all they may blame, though they're certainly inclined to believe that Shiro is stricken with a fatal case of baseless trust.

"No rest for the wicked?" Their tone is not soft. It is, perhaps, not as hard as it has the potential to be. To cultivate a false sense of security, possibly. That seems suitably cruel - demonic, even.

As befits their nature, of course.

It might be a bad move, but he's honest to a fault. And he's also aware he looks as exhausted as he feels, these days. Since so many people keep reminding him to get some rest.

Hiding it wouldn't work, if the tried.

"There's a couple people in my house who'd agree with that."

And that's why he's so tired, god help him.

His apparent insistence in treating them as a person rather than something less than human is most vexing, it is true; largely due to the fact that their claims of satanic origin have been greeted with acceptance to their undeniably cruel nature, warnings and caution as should be suitable.

And yet, this one. He offers them the opportunity to call for help.
Yet they know what happens when creatures like them call for help.
"Perhaps you should be more selective about housemates." With their smile, it is very possible they are playing a joke. It is equally plausible that it is no such thing.

"Nah. Two of them are my teammates. The other... I don't go back on my word."

And he'd offered it to Darin long before they showed up here. So far, Fareeha has been the least stressful person in the entire damn house. He should thank her for that one.

"Where are you living?" he asks them. Totally neutral. Like this is any other normal conversation between people who've only met once or twice. "Pretty sure the other planet has less people on it, like you wanted."

Teammates. A curious word for it, and as indicative, in its own sense, as Partner or humble servant. The question elicits nothing more than a sufficiently vague response; one cannot trust that such queries are innocent, after all.

"I have an obligation." The minute tilt of their head to indicate the two children sitting atop the picnic blanket - one human and one monster, both smiling as though their lives have not been hell in the interim. Ragged at the edges, yes, and weary in their own respects, but smiling.

It isn't much, but it is something.

He looks in the direction of their gesture, nodding after a second. It's weird how much more relaxed Frisk looks from the last time he'd seen them. That's good, though. Weird in a good way.

Something in his expression softens. He nods.

"Hey, that makes two of us."

An obligation to his friends, to his team. The people living in that house. That... he understands. Whether or not this particular kid wants him to.

Their eyes narrow accordingly. He persists in finding means to bridge this gap, as though there is some aspect of them that is fundamentally relatable. Kids like them, creatures like them, are nothing but abominations, smears across the surface of a world that utterly disgusts and is disgusted by them. There is no rational means to step around the implication they have just set upon the playing field.

An irrational one would doubtless raise too many questions.

"Yes, well." They despise filler words, stepping about the question and stalling for time. This is Frisk's doing; of this they are certain. "Someone must keep those two from throwing themselves atop every sword that comes their way."

"Funny..." he says, though his eyes don't leave Frisk and their alien friend. "I'm pretty sure most people on my team say that about me."

He should be feeling some kind of trepidation here. But nah. They're just talking, far as he's concerned. Maybe this kid is from some world where they've seen too much. Where it's aged them too much -- making them this cynical.

Boy. There's something he can understand, if that's true.

Then he glances back at Chara, a little wryly. "Do they tell you to 'relax and take a nap', too?"

"Frequently."

The word is drier than bone but that does not, in point of fact, make it any less true. Relax, Chara. There's nothing left to worry about. Except they know full well what platitudes such as that mean, do they not? Those are subtle lead-ins into narrowing in on the problem in everyone's lives. One could never predict YOU, Chara. The last threat to everyone's happiness!

"What a shame one cannot simply turn such impulses off." Out comes the smile once more, cultivated and polished into a reddened curve. What a shame, that there is no thing as a helpful number to track your ability and willingness and capacity to hurt.

Oh.

Wait.

"Gets old after a while, huh?"

But there's no real malice or annoyance in the question. Not from him. He knows it's because they all care. As much as it grates on him at times, it's from a good place. They wouldn't do it if they didn't worry.

He can't help but shake his head.

"Hey, believe me, if I haven't found a way, there isn't one. Sleep happens." A beat, before he adds, scrunching his nose up thoughtfully. "Usually when you really... really don't want it to."

At that, their smile widens. Usually when you really, really don't want it to. How very true that turns out to be, in certain routes for those who smile so very easily.

"Believe me, I understand this pitfall quite well." They cannot say they are personally acquainted, for demons - do not sleep, or eat, or require such things. Most certainly not. "From a purely...external perspective, of course."

Of course.

He quirks his eyebrow. All right, that's... a weird way to answer him. There's something here beyond just smalltalk.

"Right..."

Because, really, what are you supposed to say to that?

"Hopefully, it'll be easier for you than me. They seem like easygoing people to be around."

"Demons do not sleep." They've yet to abandon that point, succeeded as they have on pressing it upon several unsuspecting humans in succession. Frisk may deny it all they like. Creatures like them only understand one thing.

And they understand their place.

Easygoing certainly is a word for it. Their tone chills somewhat, their gaze sliding away from the pair of them, partner and best friend, broken promises and walking betrayals granted sentience.

Absurd, of course. A selfish thought, of course.

Children should not be selfish.

"Friendly to a fault, some might say."

Okay then. That... jumped off the deep end into some significantly darker territory than expected. Either this kid was way older than they looked, or... they were some kind of other race entirely. Something with bad history. Enough to where they'd call themselves that.

"I'll keep that in mind." Maybe it's stupid to keep thinking of this person as a kid. But... it's hard not to. And he can't say why.

The next part though -- he might as get mood whiplash for his own reaction to it. The shake of his head, and the huff of bemusement.

"Yeah, but, you know. Most kids are. Some don't ever grow out of it."

"Some do not grow up at all."

Significantly darker territory is rather Chara's personal specialty. They would apologize, but they find they aren't sorry at all, really. The onus is never upon them to present their pain in a palatable and acceptable fashion.

It should not be on Frisk's shoulders, nor on Asriel's. But they take that burden upon themselves regardless, of course.

Children are knives. They don't mean to, but they cut.

They cut so very, very deep.

For a long, silent moment, Shiro just looks at Chara.

He's probably thinking something deep, something inspiring and charismatic. Something to spur this conversation into a revelation. Or rally the metaphorical troops around them.

Instead, there are visions of teens and grown-ass adults slamming each other with broken pieces of doors and using pastries as fake eyeballs. And getting handcuffed to alien trees because they could not keep their hands to themselves.

He looks over at where Asriel and Frisk are harmlessly doing something wildly more appropriate than any of those aforementioned memories.

And then, he says, with the gravity of a person who has looked after people far more trying and far more exhausting than a monster and their sibling:

"Buddy. You have no idea."

He looks at them. He speaks with a weight and gravity that is, all things considered -

Precisely the opposite of that which they were implying.

They meet his gaze evenly, and for a long moment. Perhaps cursing the bounds of humanity, of the body that took so very long to die; that even now, clings to life with an unfair tenacity.

They take the words as they are likely to take everything: as a challenge, deep and implicit. And they smile.

"Try me."

"If you want to talk immaturity?"

He pushes both hands through his hair, blowing out a breath into his palms.

"A guy my own age... who decided our commander's pet mice insulted him... and tried to hit her with a door." Now he's just ticking things off on his fingers. "One of my team, who has access to an incredible weapon, couldn't keep his hormones in check and got said weapon hijacked... another teammate almost getting herself killed because of her temper... all three of them screwing around in training..."

Another deep breath.

"And a guy several hundred years older than all of us combined faking an alarm drill to see whether or not we'd all die."

Immaturity. Whether that was deliberate on his part or not, it is a cunning maneuver. Twisting things about, subtly, so they land far from Chara's macabre machinations, and injecting them with a brand of absurdity, of humor.

Something of that, its sheer unpredictably, appeals to them. They could tear things down and strip them to their CORE and draw everything back to the origin, the End. Or they could play the game.

The only winning move is not to play at all, a lesson they should have learned long ago. But perhaps the Game has changed.

(The Game never changes.)

"A true test of Patience, then." A SOUL wrapped in cyan, perhaps. They all resonate on frequencies of that sort, do they not?

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