points to spinal chord on brain diagram [open]

[inconsequence]

Who: Chara and YOU
When: 11/23 - 11/24
Where: Literally all around Avagi this child is wandering in a disoriented post-fight daze
What: Chara fought in a trial. Chara got a prize. No one is happy with this.
Warnings: Emotional distress probable, in addition to the usual Chara warnings.


The temples began to sing.

They emerged bloodied and ragged along the edges, one hand clasped around the rust-brown stains fringing every tear in their clothing. One side of their hair has become uneven where a hank of it was roughly and sloppily cut away mid-combat. They limp. Their eyes are glazed with hunger, with emptiness, with exhaustion. Their motions are stiff and automatic. Whenever someone draws near to them, they flinch and hold ready, a blade of red steel gleaming in their hand. A smile tears over their features in a blaze of forced and painted-on glee.

They emerged from the Trial of Life victorious, in a manner of speaking - in a very loose manner of speaking. They emerged from the Trial of Life, having not died or fled, and thus are eligible for something of a prize.

That is when the temples began to sing.

They ignite with a soft blue glow, ethereal, illuminating their surroundings in a cool sweep of runic light. The light takes root inside them, nestling like a seed in the center of their chest; not patience-blue, not integrity-blue, and certainly not determination-red, but something else entirely. It aches in solemn acknowledgment of itself. The child's eyes squeeze shut. The blood has begun to hammer in their ears anew, as if rejuvenated enough to feel like it ought to redouble its efforts to spill out from their torn veins.

The hum pressing across their ears has begun to vibrate in their bones.

As they cross through the portal's bridge of light back to Avagi, the whispers and fragments of other people's thoughts begin to trail after them, silver-tinted specters of other people's thoughts.

[Chara scored the empathy reward for their participation in the Trial of Life, meaning that, to quote the info post: others stay inside their body, but gain a sense of those around them. This manifests not as telepathic knowledge of their thoughts, but an empathic resonance—ghost-vision showing their emotions in stark clarity.]

[This more or less gives them the ability to know and feel anything your character is experiencing emotionally so that's you know fantastic. Feel free to tag in with prose or brackets; I'll match you! Let me know here or over at arrpee if you want a closed starter or something more specific!]

Comments

[gainedlove]

The song is over, but it feels like the voice of it will never leave.

The echoes and mirror images follow in their wake, in the trail of every passing soul. Unreal figments that cry out in joy, in sadness, in frustration and worry that pounds and presses down upon their mind and self. Splintered pieces of other selves sliding under their skin and it's too much, too much to handle at once--

There's no hallway or room empty enough to escape it, not on so small a station. There's always a wordless voice calling out, jarring and smothering them inside their own skin, until they feel another. Distant, discordant and wracked with as much internal chaos as they feel, and yet...

Can you feel it?

Their feet move of their own accord, like a blinded cripple stumbling toward the sound of a burbling creek. It's not the same, not the same sharp edges and bitter resentment they'd known before but forged and twisted into it's own beautiful shape, a self and being that flares and ignites into something wholly unique. And though Frisk doesn't know it, with each step closer something in them calls out with a keen longing, with regret and sorrow and an affection that could never be contained.

[inconsequence]

What meets them is a muddied, pained swirl. Memories overlapping memories, associations altering associations, whispers and fragments and glittering pieces of advice, of counsel, of speculation, of ACTion prefaced by an asterisk; the sensation of fingers rubbing warm around mugs of tea; the throwing of a blanket around human and Boss Monster while the third of their number watches solemnly, never forgetting the spindle of white, the intermediaries lingering always at their periphery.

A raging and incalculable envy for everything they never will be, soaked in shame.

They curl beneath the bed with both hands clasped over their ears. Their back presses against the wall with an intensity that aches their spine. The hilt of the Knife and every other hidden knife digs into their hip, their ankles, their wrists.

Where else could they think of to go?

[gainedlove]

Ideas of memories, echoes of pasts they do not know flash in their eyes and it staggers them, the force of tangled emotions that wind tight around their own and nearly strangle them out, so easily could if they just let it, allow themself to become a whisper in their own body and let the Human take it's course. But it's just a projection, they're barely even there and what there is becomes so jumbled and confused in translation--

They feel rough bark under their hands, smell the over-florid air of a pleasure club, the edge of a cold arena seat digging into their legs, a constant press of 'I have to be enough' pushing them onward and onward until their side explodes with red-tinged pain. But the instant it appears it's shoves away, dampened and sealed and ignored because it's not important, they are not important, and all focus falls to the doorway they have so often sat outside fearful of the reaction opening it would bring.

This time, the fear is ignored.

Frisk does not approach closer than a few steps inside. They don't need to--they know better, now, and instead stand shuddering in silence as scattered thoughts and wishes and questions attempt to organize. A green-tinted wash of concern leaking through tight cyan bonds that try to grasp the right words, all fueled by flames of red and soft violet that burn by effort of their own shattered hurts.




* Check

[inconsequence]

* Guess.
* I'm not helping you anymore.

That's cheating. It's too much, hearing too many thoughts and whispers bumping up against the soft tissue nestled in their skull. Maybe it was easier, when they could contain infinite strings of code and broken lines of old and disused pieces of things such as files and numbers and sprites. Maybe it was easier, when they could comprehend the sprawling monstrosity that was FLOWEYTALE and marvel at the way he rewrote every inch of the world to suit his whims.

Scarier, and far worse, of course, when they did it.

Do they shrink back because they wish it, or because not important, not enough, not important not enough has pressed down along the edges of them anew?

How are they supposed to know?

[gainedlove]

They aren't entirely surprised by the response, and the thorns of self doubt dig all the deeper, winding around throat and limb but not stopping them, not yet. Frisk lowers themself slowly, until they lie flat on the ground in a mirror of the other's pose. But where Chara is coiled and tense Frisk is limp and open, not out of any sense of comfort but a lack of care what might take advantage.

"...I know..." Their voice is quiet, softer than normal, almost unheard past the unreal fog of knotted-up emotion. "I know you...care. More'n you wanted to. An' you hurt, from what people've done. What I did. You...you like t' joke, 'n make people confused."
* No one belongs to anyone.
"...I don't know what stories you love th' most. Or what your favorite games are. Or...what foods you hate. ...what happened before here."
* That's what makes friendship so special.
"I know I..."

Frisk's voice trails off, but their self continues on where they can't speak. Their curiosity, concern, regrets, worries; hopes of a future with hands wound together and quiet words exchanged, held in check by bright yellow that pins it down. It was never, never something they should have assumed.

[squadgoals]

[She had not been on Kaittos for the ceremony, the Awakening. Puttering around the house, cleaning, doing laundry (other people's), and fiddling in the kitchen with a tiny bottle simply labeled 'COCOA OIL' with a piece of tape and a marker.

The sensation doesn't hit all at once; it trickles, like a crack in the wall of a dam. A shadow here, a flash of vision there. But the degradation, and subsequent deluge, happens suddenly, and completely without warning.

You're in a tree, sun in your fur, gorging your mouth with fruits--

You're screaming a war chant at your enemy, twin stars eclipsing each other overhead--

You're deep in the ocean, in a submersible, the lights go out, someone sobs as metal creaks and groans--

By the time Chara gets back, Shepard is sitting on the couch, loosely wrapped in a blanket, staring at nothing at all, face a drawn and harried mask of confusion. Every so often, she shakes her head, as if attempting to dislodge something, frowning as she does. It must be a hell of a distraction—she doesn't so much as notice the door slide open when they enter the apartment.]

[inconsequence]

[They can see that distance, the million miles away of someone else's thoughts and someone else's life, as though it were flaring in their mind in a distressing, rapid-fire flutter of images. A mire of confusion, each attempt to adjust to the images presented before they're snapped to the wayside. Of the images themselves they catch only vague impressions, and largely based on the landscape of how she reacts to them in due time.]

[Was this her prize? Her...]

[What sort of reward is this?]

They did the same to you. [They croak it out faintly, dismal. Their face, pale and framed by an atypically uneven fringe of hair, is deathly white.]

[squadgoals]

Did the-- what?

[The images don't stop, but there's the mental equivalent of someone attempting to hack rapidly past them with a machete. It's Chara who's saying it, after all.

Her attention turns, fully focusing on them—a myriad mix of care, of concern—a gold-wrapped brick of devoted worry through a flurry of alien birds.]

Did someone do something to you?

[Despite the visions, she's already up, twitching the blanket off, making her way towards them. Her own cerebral strife be damned; there'd be hell to pay if someone had messed with Chara's mind again.]

[inconsequence]

[No.]

[No, no, no, no they can't shut it out they can't shut it away because it's abruptly there in an unmitigated blaze and it's every painfully earnest thing they've never wanted to admit was real and it's Toriel smiling fondly at them as she gently snipped away the bangs shielding their horrid eyes so she could get a better look at their "beautiful face" and it's Asgore showing them how to dig the trowel into the earth just right to dig up the weeds by the roots and it's every cupped hand over their cheek and every squeeze of a great fuzzy paw on their shoulder and it's]

[Still, she was stunning. She made me want to be with her again. There was a warm light, like her afterimage, softly glowing in my heart. That must be what they mean by "charm." Like Helen Keller when she understood "water" for the first time, the word burst into reality for me, its living example before my eyes. It's no exaggeration; the encounter was that overwhelming.]

[She's already up. It hits them like a pall, like a tide crushing over their shoulders.]

The trials. [They manage to work the word out faintly. One hand has pawed at the doorway to keep themself up with the unbridled force of it.] They did something.

[squadgoals]

Is that what this is? [Her forehead crinkles, furrowing at the connection.] Some reward. Think we probably-- [--open plain, stricken by drought. The ground, brittle, crackles open as if someone has sped up the video. Something large, with too many teeth and claws, shudders its last breath, and dies—then decomposes at high speed, into the--] --could've done without it. How are you holding up?

[She's almost to them, Chara's form resolving itself clearer as she approaches. There's a brief urge to reach out—and it's quashed, just as quickly, a red line drawn around "TOUCH". As if compensating, her voice picks up the slack, a low, gentle reverb of warmth, crouching down as she addresses them.]

You don't look so good. Do you want me to get you some tea?

[shiro2hero]

[He missed the ringing. And the gifts. He'd missed out on a lot of things, he realizes, still slowly weaving his way back from the medical area of the station. Pushing a hand through his hair, trying to process... everything.]

[Where he goes, so follows an almost tangible wall of fatigue, of tension strung out like piano wire. Memories and adjustments being made, like fractal bits of stars. Worry, worn like a second skin.]

[It's a lot to get used to. New memories. Plans... And the memory of a voice literally starting to make his skin crawl.]

[inconsequence]

[Exhaustion. Confusion. Concern, edged with a weary exasperation they recognize even if they've only heard it ringing his tone, and not singing a spiraling, eddying swirl in his thoughts. It could conceivably belong to anyone - certainly, enough people here seem to be walking advertisements in regards to the dangers of sleep debt - but in the end, is there any question, who these thoughts belong to?]

[They stop abruptly, their gaze locked at a point just to the left of him, trying and failing to suppress the awareness for the weariness that seeds every bone of his being.]

[A bit belatedly, they realize that he can probably see them staring into empty space as well.]

[They ought to rectify that.]

...sir.

[shiro2hero]

[His head pops up. Recognition on his face. Chara -- they're still here too -- good -- glad to see them in his head. He offers up a tired smile. Hunk said he'd been out for a week, or something like that. But it doesn't feel like it.]

[He really, genuinely is relieved to see them.]

Chara. Hey.

[Refraining from mentioning they're still here, because. Like Hunk said. It'd been less than a week.]

You... look a little confused. You okay?

[inconsequence]

[Good.]
[Glad to see them.]

[He means it. He means it, and they cannot even deny what they now know without question. It's an ache in their chest, the beat of a heart settling a little heavier in the cage of their ribs. They're still here. He's even - relieved.]

[They are already pale beneath their hair, unevenly shorn as it is, but they blanch even further. At the present moment, they can recognize the lack of wisdom in spinning an unbelievable lie. Their smile is tight-lipped and wan, their breath short.]

I've been seeing things, of late.

[shiro2hero]

[That's the fastest way to crank the concern up to eleven. Like a fire flaring to life under the hundred small lights of everything else pushing down his shoulders. He accepts it. There's no fighting it.]

[He hunkers down. Immediately. Doesn't move to grab Chara, or tilt their head up. Nothing. Just gets to their level.]

Seeing things? Like what?

[What can I do? - how can I help them?]

[mttbrandlegs]

[It's only providence that Mettaton happens to be near the portal, holding some trinket or other that he'd gotten from Kaittos. Certainly not for participating in any trials, but it was nice either way. His attention is drawn to the hum of the portal as Chara emerges, and for a moment--one brief moment--a trickle of apprehension is practically tangible in the air.

But then it fades. No, he's not going to act that way around Chara. He's had his time to resolve his uncertainties.

...Doesn't mean he has, but he can still play the part.

So he buries that feeling underneath every other thing he feels day to day--a mixture of self-pity and a deplorable lack of confidence and ego wrapped in neutral acceptance of the worst.

Bit of a liar, isn't he, when he greets them so hospitably?]

Well, well well. It has been a while, hasn't it? What have you been up to?

[No pet names. He knows better, and resists the urge.]

[inconsequence]

[That's the thing about acting; it doesn't work nearly as well when someone has a backstage pass. And they can truly see everything as it unspools behind the curtain. Worthless self-pity. A supreme lack of confidence. An ego shattered beyond repair. More LOVE than they, even, which they'd find impressive in its own disgusting right if they weren't already reeling from their inability to prevent the inexorable skimming off the top of his emotional resonance.]

[They flinch, a sharp, faint stutter of motion. Their eyes are fixed just to the right of him, as though there's something there that's just - incredibly interesting.]

[In a way, there is.]

[But still, they will not file the edge from their words when they speak. Call it habit.]

Disappointed that I'd not disappeared in the interim?

[mttbrandlegs]

[The sharpness and the scathing words which swath around it like a wall of pins don't surprise Mettaton, not in the least. This...was how they spoke. If it changed, he'd have thought it strange.

The flinch doesn't escape him, of course. His features are guarded, for what little good it does to hide the...concern?

Just a bit. He doesn't realize that they could have any inkling, and so he feels he's safe in his own head to let himself experience that.]

Of course not. I wouldn't want you to disappear. [Though they do test him so, he's starting to deal with it better. That was the point of his little sabbatical from home, though he doubts they even noticed. He doesn't blame them either.]

I simply wondered if you'd want to come back at all, and here you are. Empty handed, too? How uncharacteristic of you.

[Says he, who feels concern for such a cold child.]

[inconsequence]

[Why is he continuing this...charade? It can't possibly be legitimate. And - no. It would have to be tethered to something else. Some sense of obligation, perhaps, or guilt, or reluctance. Whatever they've done for him to warrant this, it would be helpful to know, so they could reverse it.]

[Concern is just as sullied as pity.]

Not necessarily. [Their lips twitch, but their expression remains...strange. The smile does not come easily.] Some come bearing that which you cannot see.

[mttbrandlegs]

[Chara had made mention of his poor acting skills before. Do they still think those skills poor?

Not that he's wondering as much, he's too busy trying to figure out how to approach each aspect of the conversation. He...knows that more than likely, it'll end badly. But even still, he's decided that he'll at least attempt to end conversations peaceably nowadays.

He needs to remind himself he's not bad.

And he needs to remind himself he can still feel.]

Oooh, ominous!

[Or perhaps Chara's just full of it. He's pretty sure it's that.]

Well...since we'll be going to the same place in the end, shall we walk and talk about our experiences?

[Yeah...he's pretty sure they won't go for that. But...there's no use in acting as if they don't live together. And even if Chara just pisses him off this time...it's something to occupy his mind, and serves as a test for his methods of tempering his aggressions.

His LOVE.]

[pleasereset]

[It might be lucky that Asriel didn't win any special powers, forced to give up halfway through the Trial of Life. As disappointed as he was, it was pretty obvious he just wasn't really cut out for that kind of thing.

He's currently sitting at the kitchen table, picking through a bag of hard candies that he managed to get from one of the vendors on Kaittos before he went home early. He doesn't seem to interested in eating them, just trying to do something mindless with his time.

He seems deeply worn down. As if there's something he wants to mourn, but can't.

When he hears Chara, he glances up and offers a weak smile.]

Howdy, Chara. How did the trial go?

[He hasn't quite realized that anything's wrong yet, and keeps talking.]

I got some candy from the vendors. Do you want some?

[inconsequence]

[Can he hear them? Can he hear them? Can he hear them? Can he ]

[He can't hear them. That much is evident. He has not registered that things are not as they should be. He smiles placidly, and he eats candy as though nothing is wrong, and they can sense the exhaustion that radiates from him in waves despite the mantle of friendliness that becomes a clean linen drape over that teeming morass of emotions they have no right to see.]

[They shut their eyes in a protracted blink.]

...I succeeded. It seems I was rewarded for my efforts.

[They must appear normal. Or, ha ha - as normal as things get for them. They indicate the candies with a faint dip of their chin, with some difficulty.]

Did you...did they reward you, as well?

[pleasereset]

[Asriel spreads out the candy. It's a variety of different flavors - strawberry, lemon, caramel, butterscotch, and cinnamon. It looks a little like he raided a grandmother's candy dish, with this kind of selection. But he takes a butterscotch and unwraps it, leaving Chara to help themself.]

No... unless you count the bruise on my tail. I had to quit halfway through.

[He couldn't do it. It was disappointing but, probably unsurprising. If he can't even figure out where he belongs on this ship, why would he have a better idea of which Trial he should take?

It's unsurprising that Chara won... or maybe it's just relief that they did.]

What'd you win? Was it something cool?

[inconsequence]

[For reasons they cannot particularly enumerate to themself, they settle across from him, cross-legged, with barely any persuading. There's a cinnamon one, which they pick from the selection and role between their fingers. They don't yet unwrap it, but rather - study it. Like it's merited that level of scrutiny.]

[All the while, his disappointment and directionlessness and relief and dull lack of shock radiates from him like a beating pulse.]

[It requires great care to speak levelly, as though they are not experiencing his words twofold.]

It wasn't worth the effort, I'm afraid.

[pleasereset]

[He pops the butterscotch into his mouth. He's learning to appreciate flavor so much more, ever since coming here. ... Or maybe it's just that particular flavor.]

Really? That's disappointing... for all the work you had to do in there, the least they could do was give you something good for it. Like a... um...

[Asriel lists off in his head the previous "gifts" he was given from other planets. Genetic modifications that ended up causing more trouble than they were worth, a face full of spider venom... just to name a couple.]

... nevermind. They probably didn't anything good to give away.