scream hallelujah [open]

[inconsequence]

Who: Chara and YOUUUUU soulja boy tell em
When: Throughout March
Where: All the heck over Kauto
What: Everyday life requires adjustment
Warnings: Chara. Will update with any others if necessary.


region one grocery shopping; so many stifled thoughts and long forgotten dreams

[Region 1, it turns out, contains what can best be described as the intergalactic equivalent of Walmart. The entire complex is the same sort of sprawling, uniform gray, fluorescent lights glaring overhead. And in the center of it all, here they stand: the future of humans and monsters, the demon that comes when you call its name, the hellion, the catalyst of a destroyed marriage and a destroyed kingdom - pushing an innocuous shopping cart through the aisles of a disarmingly ordinary store so they may tip half a dozen cheap, easy-heat meals into the cart, barely pausing to survey the titles. Macaroni and cheese. Chicken pot pie. Crustless peanut butter and jelly. Frisk will eat anything.

They're not hurting for funds. They can provide for the mouths that need feeding with simple meals, things that involve no actual cooking. Touching food meant for other people means they will simply pollute it with their...

Ha ha.

Even as they move through the place with pointed disinterest, the Knife at their side indicates they did not arrive here unarmed and unprepared. Whoever may approach will receive a sharp look, as pointed as the blade they carry, scrutinizing them as one would a potential enemy.

One can never know, even here.]

region one medical facilities; long lost opinions, all the words you can't redeem

Things on Deslora...did not go well. They could have gone worse than they did, but that does not excuse the direction things took. The steps that now must be taken to rectify it.

The culprit, initially presumed to be human, cannot so easily assumed to be as such any longer. The glow of her tattoos, the method with which she'd deftly manipulated the world, as though it were little more than lines of ones and zeroes, pulling them across one plane and into another, insisting it was for their own good -

It always is.

(Sit still, sweetie. Go to your room. I don't have time for this. This is for your own good.)

No.

So they progress sharply, easily, cleaving through the branches of the myriad choices at their disposal, a path hard-marked and as intent as the one treading it. If it entails slipping into one of the many medical centers littering the Region and making polite inquiries as to an "Angel," requesting disclosure of information on her behalf, then so be it. Initial requests will be denied, naturally; any doctor worth their salt would uphold confidentiality of their patients. But knowing which facilities have treated her is the first step.

The next is slipping inside under the cover of darkness, threading their way around security protocols if possible, to attempt to uncover any files that might explain whatever enables Angel to do and ACT as she does.

region one sparring arena; 'cause all you have is an axe to grind

[If they must pay to use one of these facilities, it is just as well; they have a job, and a steady supply of sencs to be allowed to enter and shadowbox in whatever hours in which they are not engaged in the legwork required of an employee of Normandy Securities. The Real Knife is kept sheathed safely at their side; for the purposes of sparring with imaginary opponents, one of the countless others they've purchased and pilfered from settlements will do.

For all their ability to practice for lengthy periods of time, stopping only to check their TAB here and again and, ensuring no one may be watching, suck down a hasty draft of water, it may be plain to anyone with actual combat experience that they've a rudimentary understanding of the FIGHT at best. Their motions are bereft of Rinzler's fancy acrobatic stunts and tricks, devoid of flourishes, each telegraphed strike precise and deliberate.

They FIGHT like a scrapper. For all that the FIGHT is all they know, it may not be nearly enough.]

outside region three; breaking the silence like i'm bursting at the seams

It has been too long.

They ensured the place was quiet and empty when they first selected it, empty but for the clear pool of water surrounded by clumps of springy reeds, or whatever one would call the alien equivalent of the very same. There's something darkly poetic about the whole thing, about the remarks one could make about Narcissus, gazing at their own reflection.

Don't be ridiculous. They are nowhere near delusional enough to presume themself a Narcissus. Narcissus was beautiful. Narcissus loved himself to a fault.

But there may be something to said about how he would grow to be little more than a flower petal, spreading itself open beneath the dappling sunlight.

A lock of hair tucked behind their left ear, and a small trio of golden flowers spring from their position just beneath their temporal region, growing from their skin. Spared the relentless picking over of floral scabs and dark stains jammed beneath the crescents of their fingernails in ugly black half-moons that plagued them following the first weeks after their arrival. With nothing else to occupy their time, they had succumbed to the impulse easily, for all the sprouting growths but the ones beside their ear.

Even I could not destroy the last of the thing I so loved.

One of their many knives lifted, positioned. A cut parallel to their throat, clean and neat and even. One may even expect the hot rush of red to follow, spilling wetly across their front.

A lock of hair drops limply to the ground instead.

Human bodies require basic care, it seems, to maintain the external impression of the perfect, unnaturally well put-together demon. Matching their outside with their in.

And that, too, is a joke.

wildcard; don't come round here and be a slave to old ideas

[Want a closed starter? Want CR but don't like the starters here? Hit me up via PM or over at arrpee! I'll match prose or brackets, no preference!]

Comments

groceries

[a_shadow]

There's probably little explanation for the fact that Tex is in the dog food aisle when she spots Chara. She pauses, having been comparing two brands, one can in each hand. Chara's knife is fully visible, even from here. Something about it tugs at Tex—she's settled for a domestic existence here, even as she carries out the duties of a mercenary during her work hours, and doesn't think much about there being dangers for the more helpless among them. She ends up putting both cans in her cart, then turns and steers her groceries in Chara's direction.

She really has no idea what she's seeking. She supposes it has something to do with her time on the Moira, when she had been the ship's schoolteacher—there had been so many children she'd barely been able to do anything with. Maybe she just wants to make sure this kid has a home, a place to belong, somewhere to go during the day where she can learn something beside how to stab people in self-defense.

"Hey, kid," she says.

[inconsequence]

Kid. A common epithet, apparently, for those who lack the requisite vocabulary to refer to them as anything better. Is hellion not vague enough? Is demon simply too difficult?

Or do they all assume that they are, inexplicably, just as human as they initially appear?

The latter, almost assuredly.

"Greetings." Much as it would befit the aloof persona they best occupy, they cannot simply refuse to look at her, can they? They eye her sharply, as though sizing her up for attack, eyes darting to either end of both aisles, casing their exits. Hand falling to their side, where the Knife stays sheathed.

[a_shadow]

It's funny, because Chara doesn't really seem scared, but nevertheless, they seem sure Tex is planning to attack, or otherwise do something drastic. She keeps her hands on the push-bar of the cart, not seeming at all ruffled by Chara's response.

"Just wanted to check on you," she says. "I know you didn't come to school much on the ship, but I always liked to be sure things were going okay."

[inconsequence]

Perhaps not. But one can never be too sure, as externally cordial as she may seem. Their gaze snaps back to her, narrowing slightly in obvious suspicion.

"I wasn't aware my actions merited such scrutiny."

[a_shadow]

"I guess they sort of put me in that position when they made me the teacher."

Something which she doesn't really know why she had ever been chosen for, and which had had its way of getting under her skin. Yet, here she is, fulfilling that role, or something in the manner of it.

groceries

[gainedlove]

[It's odd, the things that can remind someone of home. The feeling of carpet under their toes, the way light fades as the evening rolls on rather than a sudden dimming of ship-board lights. Even something as simple as the layout of a kitchen, only meant for a few rather than a crew of a hundred. And now, trotting down the aisle with their siblings, it takes an effort of will to not check the prices on the cans, figure out which meals can be skipped or split over a few days.]

[It's fine now. Not like that anymore, hasn't been for...a long time.]

[Instead Frisk fixes their attention on the boxes and cans themselves, pulling down what staples they all need and piling them into the cart. With Chara and Asriel unwilling to cook, the few things in the house that do need preparing fall to Frisk to handle. Not that they mind, of course! It's not as though they haven't done this sort of thing before.]

[Standing in front of the long array of cereals, Frisk frowns and looks up and down the selection before turning to Asriel and Chara.]

Which one d' you two want?

[pleasereset]

[Going to the grocery store was always kind of an amazing experience for Asriel. There were so many choices, so many different flavors and brands and nothing like the kind of stuff you'd find in the Underground. It was kind of weird to go to a store and not see an MTT brand slapped on everything.

No offense, Mettaton.

Asriel looks up and down the shelves of cereal, before his eyes settle on some cocoa puffs. He picks up the box and holds it up.]

What about this one?

[inconsequence]

[Cocoa puffs. The sort of excellent choice one would only make if they possessed a refined palette.]

Perfect.

[Chara doesn't hesitate before dumping a box into the shopping cart. And then another. And then another. And at this point, it looks like they're about to just casually sweep the entire selection of cocoa puffs into the cart. Why not?]

[gainedlove]

[Two, three, four, five...Frisk giggles and starts helping Chara to load the cart up, grinning ear to ear.]

I dunno if they've got enough for us here, ehe!

sparring!

[survivra]

[ Katsa is not without her preferred training partner here in Thisavrou, and she could find him to keep their skills sharp whenever she wished; but she cannot shake the anticipation either that it could be any day soon that she'll need to keep her skills sharp all on her own.

Which is why she's here: not training, really, not even going through the forms and motions of a morning warm-up, but simply exploring. Taking it in, the kinds of things and the sorts of people here. And eventually, from somewhere off to the side, a child—and this captures her attention well enough.

He moves like he's fought before; and Katsa notes this immediately, for a child should not have to know how to fight, but it is well at least that he knows it in case he has need. But he doesn't move as though he's been trained much, or long, for though he seems to know the idea of it she can see each strike and blow well before he makes it.

Of course, he's only a child. And that's what's to be expected from most children, but a child can still be taught. ]

That's quite a knife at your side for someone your size, [ she says when it seems that he's pausing for a moment. ] Has someone taught you to use it?

[inconsequence]

[A grown woman implying to their face that they know nothing of how combat is meant to work? Perish the thought. Clearly they are a fine-tuned expert in how to cut down every monster in their path, even those which will not stand still long enough for them to do so.

That's the idea, anyway. They pause, eyeing the woman dully before smiling, brightly.

They have always been told that it is rather unnerving, when they smile. Why can't you be normal, Chara? Why can't you stop being creepy, Chara?]

Of course not. [Cheerful sarcasm benefits no one, Chara.] Hence why I carry it on my person at all times!

[survivra]

[ Katsa crosses her arms, eyeing Chara with little more reaction to their smile than a closer look than the one she'd given them before. What kind of child indeed, she wonders—but out of far more simple curiosity than anything else. ]

Just because you carry a knife doesn't mean you know how to use it, beyond sticking it where you wish to stick it.

[ And sticking it usually does the trick. But against an opponent who would know how to block such a thing, the goal might become a little more difficult.

And how well could they use it without faltering on the grip, or slipping to hurt themselves? And perhaps more importantly: ]

How have you come to carry it at all? A child rarely uses such things, without a need for it.

[inconsequence]

You got me. I'm actually a collector of unique weaponry.

[Sticking it where you wish to stick it does indeed usually do the trick. That, or simply continuing to hit the thing until it inevitably falters. That will generally do away with whatever might be standing * In my way.

One eyebrow lifts, telegraphing boundless skepticism in regards to that little comment.]

Have you seen the sort of world we live in? Who wouldn't be carrying a weapon, in an economy like this?

closed to GINKO; no one needs to hear the words you read

[inconsequence]

[Region three is a mix of the familiar and unfamiliar, both packed with trees and disarmingly natural. They enter it on something one cannot truly call a whim, one knife dulled, their hair several inches shorter from the length it was starting to reach. Their trimming job is rough and uneven, but it will have to do; no one else is to be allowed that close to them with a sharp object in hand.

They commit to the ground all too easily. Hands in the dirt, streaking their front with soil and grime. They had not planned on turning this detour into an expedition, but one will find them in the thick of Region three regardless, digging up a clump of bulbs that have not yet sprouted.

Perhaps the blooms themselves will be golden.

Wouldn't that be fitting.]

[notyetsore]

[Ginko doesn't have much reason to be here, either, honestly. Even an alien forest feels more familiar than none at all - maybe, given his experiences back home, that shouldn't be as comforting as it is. But it's not like it's a problem.

Usually, when he runs across someone else out here, his first impulse is to avoid them. But-- he recognizes Chara. He's seen them before, long ago and then not for some time and then again recently, and he isn't quite sure what happened there but... they're Frisk's friend. Probably their best friend.

From what he can tell, they don't actually seem to... like him all that much. But. He guesses it wouldn't look good for him to keep running off each time he sees Frisk's best friend, right...?

He climbs a couple branches down on the tree he's been crawling around in, and leans over some.]

Did you find something?

[inconsequence]

[By default, Chara does not typically bother to remember the names of pointless NPCs and side characters. Frisk has deemed this one to be slightly more important than the rest of the featureless rabble, but Frisk considers everyone important in some sense or another.

Their primary concern, now, is smoothing their features into a complete and utter lack of surprise after the initial, mild shock at being addressed from so very high up.

Craning one's neck is hardly a dignified means of holding a conversation. A good thing they are used to doing so. Being this small does them very few favors.]

No. [A lie. But they make up for it with a lovely smile.] I'm looking for buried bones.

[notyetsore]

Oh.

[Ginko actually doesn't look too distressed by that thought. Lots of things can scare him that one might not expect, but bones in the woods just... happen. And they can be interesting.]

I found a dead tanglesnake the other day, but I dunno if it's still there.

medical facility - lmk if i should change anything!

[presidentfuckboy]

[It's sheer luck (or rather, a total lack of it) that places Rhys leaving the clinic just in time to hear someone in the lobby ask after Angel. This mostly confuses him, granted this is a child, and one he doesn't recognize as his roommate's friend, and the last time he saw her, she wasn't out of sorts more than usual. He almost approaches them right then and there, but he'd really rather not get into a discussion in a waiting room full of sick strangers.

Instead, he waits outside of the facility until the child exits, and waves them down with a splinted wrist, which he promptly regrets. Stifling a most pitiful whine, he lowers his organic hand and rubs tenderly at it with metal fingers as he approaches the strange kid.]

Uh, hey... You know Angel? Is she okay?

ur good!

[inconsequence]

[Being the child they so obviously are will grease the way, when it comes to actually engaging in the retrieval of what they need. No one suspects children of being capable. Even if they - if it would be better that they don't need to -

No matter.

They don't expect to be waylaid as they exit, much less by a man with two arms that seem to be in less than working order. Or rather, one hand that appears to be in a splint, and another that appears to be wholly inorganic.

This place and its apparent fixation on one-armed, seemingly well-meaning adult men is - troubling, to say in the least.

Chara eyes him impassively. They can't say they recognize him. But then, Thisavrou is a big place.]

Who's asking?

[presidentfuckboy]

[Sure, Hyperion and Pandora made him paranoid, but not enough to be overly suspicious of a kid, even one who's deliberately withholding information about his friend. If he's even in a position to call her that.] Her friend? Housemate, whatever.

[Rhys has half a mind to pull up his TAB right now to call Angel and make sure she hasn't collapsed in the hours he's been away, but for now he favors fussing over his own injury.]

Were you looking for her in there, or...?

[inconsequence]

[Angel has friends. Unsurprising, given the eagerness to please she apparently flaunts at every turn. This "friend" of hers, at least, does not seem predisposed to be overly suspicious.

Unfortunate for him.]

Yes.

[They will let him construct his own story around whatever vague breadcrumbs they dispense. It will make refuting any claims all the easier.]

Deslora was a strain upon her, I fear.

grocery shopping

[takeitslow]

You'd think most people would have a rule about bringing weapons into a store.

[Peter doesn't have to do the shopping, not when there are so many (other) adults occupying the mansion the mutants had overtaken. Xavier took his position over the school seriously. But Peter still liked roaming aisles, picking up the junk food the Professor never seemed to stock. Even now he's got boxes of cookies tucked under his arm.]

Don't you kids have anyone else to do the shopping?

[inconsequence]

[A man who does not believe any claims they make, entering the scope of their influence, vision, and insight, purely to inform that they are doing something they should not be doing, and additionally that they are doing it wrong.

He is everything an adult is, and everything they will know adults to be.

They hook an arm around several cans of soup and casually sweep the entirety of them off the shelve with a series of loud, metallic clatters as they land in the shopping cart, all without shifting their gaze from Peter's.]

I fail to see how that concerns you.

[takeitslow]

[He surveys Chara's chart. His mom, in her more sober moments, would probably make some comment about the lack of balanced diet. Peter just considers sitting the cookies into the cart.]

You could get arrested. End up attacking someone because they tried to arrest you. You get into more trouble. Frisk cries about it and I hate seeing the kid cry. Totally concerns me.

[He shifts his gaze back down to Chara.]

Or, and I guess you didn't think about this, I could just not want you to have a hard time. People care sometimes. Wild, I know.

[inconsequence]

[Ah yes, of course. He cares a great deal about Frisk. Who doesn't? A baby-kicking mercenary who enjoys disemboweling puppies would care about Frisk, simply because Frisk inspires that level of devotion by default. It is one of the known laws of their universe.]

I've yet to be detained.

[They've come here before. The anonymous white walls are simultaneously too reminiscent of the sprawling, impersonal stores they remember of the Surface, and just distant enough from the real thing to be something of a relief, a reprieve from the domestic hellscape of their daily life.

There is nothing less normal than pretending to ACT as such, and failing miserably.

There's a can of something that looks like pasta sauce. They tip it in, indiscriminate. If it ends up too bitter for their tastebuds, Frisk will doubtless eat it. Frisk will eat anything, up to and including literal garbage.]

Funny. You've done nothing to indicate as such.