thisavrou_log | [CLOSED] you, beneath the bed, i know all your tricks

"Nothing of note," Gregor says thoughtfully, then answers their rapid-fire questions in order. "No, not if you don't count helping to collect taxes, not if you don't count active combat or training exercises, no, absolutely but I don't really feel badly about it so don't bother trying that one. Ah..."

That last syllable is breathed out like he took a body blow, pressing his spine vertebra by vertebra against the wall behind him as he exhales, watching Chara with half-lidded eyes as the corners of his mouth tighten in some private memory before his whole body eases again, his voice very even.

"Why don't you go first?" he says, his wrists turning his hands outward in a releasing gesture. "Since we're trading, and I've answered quite a number of your questions this round."

Color drains from Chara's face, but they don't burst out with loud retorts. Or, well, with anything, really. It's a rare window that he's seeing, how for once they have nothing left to fling at him, and they curl a little in on themself, burning a hole in the floor with their eyes.

They don't have to answer. They know it, and they're considering just telling him where he can shove those remaining ration bars on his way out. It'd send him on his way and keep Chara above all of this, because this is his own game that he's set up, and Chara never, ever promised they'd play.

Their eyes search the floor. A muscle jumps in their jaw.

The whisper is like cloth brushing the edge of a saw, soft and a little rough.

"I killed Papyrus."

Their answer isn't finished, but they stop there as though the answer needs time to soak into the room's air before they have room to continue.

Gregor watches them quietly, his posture still loose and open and his gaze steady. There's no anger there, or fear, or judgment--he's just listening, silent and attentive. He nods a little and waits for them to continue.

There's something wrong with the air in the room. Chara's lungs can barely stir, and each motion gives them only the shallowest of breaths.

Slight breath in.

Slight breath out.

Slight breath in.

"... And my mom. And dad. And brother..."

And so many more besides. Those were the worst, though, weren't they? They had to, sure, and every death was as meaningless as the lies Chara'd once held so tightly, but none of that changes that Papyrus had welcomed them with open arms. His arms were open. Only the most vile person in the world would kill him, and only they would also kill their own family, too, so Chara guesses it all fits. It could only have been them. They were the worst.

They're numbly aware that they've brought their knees up to put their hands around them, and that their lungs are burning for air, but they still can't take even the slightest breath more. Their body feels weak and far away, and it's a little like they're dying. They dimly think that they should die. It might not stick, but they certainly deserve one more death, and god knows it would get them out of this cell. Not that they really deserve to be out of here either, of course. At least in here they can't hurt anyone but themself.

They turn their face away from him slightly, though their eyes remain fixed on that point on the floor.

Gregor shifts, finally, pushing up from the bed and stopping a safe distance from Chara's side to kneel carefully on the floor next to them, his hazel eyes dark and still.

"Why, Chara?" he asks, his voice very soft. "Why did you kill them?"

Their eyes look dead as they slide towards him. There's no real focus, and they slide away again as their head tilts slowly against their arm. They hadn't anticipated feeling this awful when they started. None of this is anything they haven't dealt with before, though, so when their head swims too much they finally suck in a sharper, shuddering breath of air. It helps. They take in another one, and then a sigh.

"You wouldn't get it." They're back to the same insurmountable barrier that faced them before. They know better who he is, now, but neither Chara nor Frisk have ever taken that first step forward.

Chara's chin tucks in. Everyone was dead. Papyrus was here. Maybe this was the afterlife. Maybe people remembered what happened in different timelines. Maybe they didn't. It probably didn't matter. Killing was killing, and even as awful as everyone had been, Chara was still worse. They turn their head away a little more, opening their mouth.

They were going to kill me. Chara pictures saying it so vividly they wonder if they actually did. They close their mouth, though, and they know they didn't. They open it again.

Their family would've never killed them. And even if they had, it was probably because Chara made it that way. They got Asriel killed. They wanted to leave the ruins. They wanted to leave at all.

They'd never had to. No one was forcing them. They close their mouth, and their teeth are cemented shut.

Edited 2016-02-13 04:26 (UTC)

Gregor settles onto the floor, seated tailor-fashion, but doesn't quite touch them yet.

"Yes, breathe. That's it," he says, his voice low, and he hesitates for a long moment before he reaches out and strokes a hand gently over Chara's bowed head, smooth against the soft fall of hair there.

"You might be surprised," he says quietly. "And I won't lie to you and promise you that I will get it, but I will promise you that I'll listen. I want to listen." He swallows hard. "You aren't the only child I know who's killed members of their family by a long shot. I'm not angry with you, or disappointed, and I don't hate you--I just want to know."

Edited 2016-02-13 05:23 (UTC)

"They didn't do anything."

Chara lifts their head a little, and the press of the hand is so familiar that they can almost imagine it has feather-soft pads and dull claws. Ruffling their hair had been something their mother only did for Asriel and Chara, and it had been special.

Then she found replacement kids, and apparently it wasn't. They haven't stopped hurting like they're dying since the moment they started, but they've begun to acclimate, and they take this comfort where they can. They hate him even as they do, for seeing them weak, for making them weak, because they were right, he is the child with a cricket. Chara now has nothing left but a body and a head. It's his fault.

What was the question again? Oh, yeah. "Literally nothing," they sigh.

Gregor watches Chara with the same steady expression, no pity or fear or anger in him, only a kind of tired, resigned sadness that settles into his bones and makes them ache, seated on the cold, bare deck and stroking carefully through Chara's hair.

"I can see that it's causing you pain, to speak about it," Gregor says, his voice low and even. "In my experience, children--or anyone, for that matter--don't kill for no reason. It might be an opaque and incomprehensible reason to an outsider, but it's still a reason. I believe you had a reason, Chara--I just can't advise you to be released until we can confirm that you aren't a danger to the skeletons, or to anyone else. But I'm not here to force you to tell me anything--this is a talk, not an interrogation. If you want to talk about something else, we can."

Chara lifts their head completely, now, batting at his hand when it doesn't leave their space fast enough. Their eyes go from the bed to where Gregor is sitting now, then to the room at large, and it's as though they'd lost track of where and when they were, and are now regaining it.

"Right. Ok." Their eyes focus back on him. They'd never anticipated that confiding in him would have tapped into them so deeply, and yes, they can see now that they had been 'confiding', not just 'answering'. That was their mistake. They're still off-kilter now, but the emotional distance is helping, and it's a lot easier to regain than it was to lose.

"What if I promised not to attack him again?"

Their word is worthless, but they might as well try.

Edited 2016-02-13 06:38 (UTC)

Gregor pulls his hand back at the first sign they don't want him touching them, and he hesitates for a long moment. His word had clearly meant something to Chara, and his own reluctance to accept theirs grieves him unexpectedly, but...

"No," he says slowly, pushing to his feet to stand over them at his full height, his face a blank mask again, eyes steady. "No, I can't take you at your word. Not yet."

His hand goes to his hip and he draws what looks like a gun out of his pocket, holding it loosely at his side as he regards them for a long, thoughtful moment. Then he steps around them, fiddling along the barrel to set it to 'low stun' before he turns between Chara and the door, his hand tightening on the smooth grooves of the grip under his palm.

Then he sets it down between them, the power pack grip slot towards Chara, and turns around to take two more steps towards the door before settling into an easy parade rest.

"If you want to just get out of here, Chara, now's your chance. I'm unarmed, and there's no way I could stop you from firing first if I can't see you. I don't know if you've ever shot someone before, but at this range it shouldn't be too difficult. If you're tired of working with me while I try to get you safely released, then here's your alternative."

Then he just waits, calm and still, his knees a little loose and his hands at his sides, ready to move forward or back to catch himself in case they do just grab the gun and stun him in the back.

The wrappers and bottle brush gently to the side. Chara had looked at him as though planning to stare him right in the eye while being shot where they sat, and they're just as unhurried now that that option's clearly not happening.

The movement reaches where the stunner is, then changes direction and quality. They're not crawling anymore. They've stood, and their soft shoes pad back until wrappers crinkle.

They'd seen him fuss with the barrel, and there's some buttons and a switch. Chara fiddles with the lot, leaving the trigger where it is.

...

What a stupid piece of crap. Things probably weren't complicated when they'd picked it up, but they'd wanted something else from it than to make it shoot, and now they can't figure out how to accomplish either goal. Completely worthless. This bastard's an idiot and it'd serve him right if they'd used this right at the start. Does anything about this piece of shit come apart at all?

Goddammit. They should've just shot him. Him and his fucking displayed back, what a bullshitty moron. In a fit of temper they squeeze the trigger while it's pointed at the bars just beside him, and the device whines, but doesn't fire. God dammit. What buttons had they pushed so far? It wasn't too many. They're disgusted, but they're also backtracking fast.

Edited 2016-02-13 18:29 (UTC)

Gregor tenses briefly when he hears the sputtering whine of the stunner but no beam strikes him, or anything else. After another beat he risks taking a peek over his shoulder to see Chara fiddling with the weapon furiously and the very slight widening of his eyes is the only thing that betrays the smile that's trying to curve his mouth. He presses it flat hard, his lips a thin line as he turns completely and walks back to Chara, dropping down onto one knee in front of them.

"What were you trying to do?" he asks, sounding fascinated but not upset. He doesn't reach for the stunner, just inspects it in their grip. "It would have fired just fine, if you'd tried to shoot me, you have my word."

Edited 2016-02-13 18:54 (UTC)

God fucking dammit. He's not mad and he's back and his eyes are laughing up a goddamn storm. Chara shoots him a poisonous look, because yeah, they fucking knew, and they're not going to tell him, and they can't even remember what all the letters on the little screen were supposed to be, now, but this is probably fucking close enough. They point the stunner right at his forehead and wrap two fingers around the trigger. They'd had it that way before, earlier--their hand is too small for otherwise.

"Open the door," they snarl. Rage is staining their cheeks and making fingers shake, and if there were ever anyone who was conflicted about what they were doing, it's sure as hell not Chara.

Gregor looks into the open muzzle of the stunner, his gaze very, very steady before it slides slowly up to Chara's face.

"You know I won't do that, Chara," he says. "Not if you're going to hurt people, and any argument that you won't doesn't hold a lot of weight when you have a gun pointed to my head." He reaches up, snake-quick, and closes a hand on the barrel, twisting it back and to the side to peel it from their grip. He stands, after that, making sure that the safety is still firmly on and resetting the stunner almost absently before he slides it back into his pocket and zips it shut. His jaw is tight as he looks down at them, his face smoothed carefully blank, but the disappointment in his level, hazel eyes is clear enough.

"I'll bring you food later, Chara," he says quietly. "Not too much later, I promise. We'll talk more, then."

They don't fucking care. The gun's been slipped from their grip like it was nothing but clingy cooked noodles, and he's settled a weight on their shoulders that they never agreed to, because they never ever fucking volunteered to give a flying shit over his disappointment. The pain and outrage of it fans the fire in them white-hot. Light shines through their eyes like the fires of hell, and it's all the warning either of them get.

Chara launches themself towards his face, one hand driving towards an eyeball and the other towards the opposite side's ear. They don't think about how impossible this kind of leap is for most people their size, or about the consequences that will follow, or even about how they want any of this to end. All they know is emotion, a savage edge to their teeth, and the need to destroy him rip him apart make him pay.

Gregor startles when Chara gets their legs under them and flings themself at him, his eyes widening helplessly. One hand comes up to catch the hand coming in for his eye, the other catching at their torso--their fist boxes his ear, hard, smarting pain radiating out from the side of his head.

He sucks in a ragged breath and shifts his grip as he drops to one knee again, twisting Chara's arm up behind them and pinning them tightly for a long count before he lets them go, pushing them a half-step away from him. He breathes deeply and watches them with flensing, focused eyes, seeing if they'll make a run for him again.

Their shoe plants on his chest to shove back and away, but he has their arm like a leash, and suddenly it's turned traitor. They're twisted down, and if they didn't have that shoulder they might be able to smash him with their own head, but they do have it, and they can't. Their arm presses hard at their back, and their other hand is equally trapped.

They kick and stamp back, but he's not there. They roll their head, but he's not close enough to reach there either. Throwing their weight gets them nowhere, and all pushing their arm's limits does is hurt them. They do it anyway.

They've just paused to consider dislocating their arm when they're nudged forward, and their arms fall from that grip. An odd disappointment flickers, like they'd missed some chance to get at him in an especially vicious way, but they can't be actually mad about not having to fuck up an arm, so they shy back in the only way they know how: fists crush closed on weapons they don't have, and Chara springs forward again.

Their foot comes up again to kick off, except this time they're aiming for his gut. The same motion swings their fist up where his face might go if he actually wheezes and doubles over like a fucking normal person, but they don't even care if they reach him at all, because anger is a dull roar in their ears and they're so mad over being held still. They were tied up before getting there. He just pinned them seconds ago. It's the worst thing they could imagine, and both of them had done it as easy as his pat on their head. Chara hates him more deeply than they can think, because he doesn't care. He'll do anything to get what he wants, just like anyone else.

They're not stopping. Like an animal possessed, they're going to try to keep up this furious scramble to their most physical extremes.

Gregor meets them again as they power forward, both hands coming down to deflect the foot swinging up to his belly. He tilts his head so their small fist connects hard with the edge of his cheekbone--it hurts but it doesn't really do serious damage, and they're lucky if they don't damage the more fragile bones of their hand in the process.

Gregor can feel his lips peel back faintly from his teeth in concentration as he breaks their forward momentum and shunts them to the side, shifting again, his hazel eyes burning even as his belly twists. He knows that look in their eyes and he's reminded forcibly, nauseatingly, of Miles--small Miles, barely mobile, just out of traction and snarling with the pain of moving his damaged legs, gray eyes blazing with the determination to either walk forward or rend himself to tattered shreds trying. Gregor swallows hard and watches for Chara's next rush--he won't let them hurt him, not really, but he also isn't interested in letting them hurt themself in this adrenaline-fueled flurry of hatred and frustration. A deep calm sinks into Gregor's core and he holds his hands silently open and out, ready for the next assault, ready to deflect again without injury as best he can.

Chara deflects past him, spins, and swings right back. It's goddamn frustrating that they're landing hits and he doesn't even flinch, but if whittling him away until there's nothing left is what it takes, then so fucking be it. They've done it before.

His hands are up. Chara dives down at the space between his feet instead and slides past. It's a scramble to go left while kicking right, but if his knees fly out from under him while they're still there too there'll be more trouble than floor-scrapes. Not that they'd feel pain from either--they didn't flinch when their knuckles landed--but more because being fallen on would end the fight just as thoroughly as getting knocked silly.

He's such a fucking asshole. Him and his goddamn human-ness and how fucking hard humans are to beat. Chara's doing the world a favor by taking this one out now. One less human. One more step.

Edited 2016-02-13 23:28 (UTC)

Gregor lands hard on one knee and is up again in an instant, his shin aching, his cheek aching, his chest aching. He's breathing deeply but not hard and his eyes are sharp and wide as he watches Chara move, intent on their face. He knows nothing he can say right now will make anything better and will likely only make things worse so he just waits again, intent on their movements, patient as he watches for their next strike.

He won't wait long: Chara throws themself forward as soon as they make it to their own feet. He's already up and ready, and goddammit, fine. He's holding out hands? Chara will take his hands. They grab the fingers on his right, trying to divide and twist them back in ways they shouldn't--can't--bend.

Edited 2016-02-14 01:09 (UTC)

Gregor hisses and curls his hand into a fist, catching Chara's own against his palm. His other hand comes down, long fingers wrapping easily around Chara's forearm and pulling firmly as he releases, dragging his fingers out from between theirs. He follows it up with a firm strike to the center of their chest, pushing them back a few paces and flexing the hand they'd grabbed slowly as he watches them, his lips pressed into a thin line and his eyes sharp. He doesn't pursue, or do anything further to hurt them, just... waits. Again.

There's a strike--an impact, like a spear, or a splintered femur, or any goddamn thing that's ever punched straight through their chest and stuck out like it could hold them up--but when they look down, the weapon they phantom-feel disappears, and it's just their smooth, slightly worn sweater. Their lungs work. The phantom red fades. He didn't twist their hands back, and hell, this is the first time he's even hit them at all, and all it did was push them away.

Papyrus' mercy inspired a rise in hysteria that flooded them out of their mind. Gregor's displays have drained them, as though each block leeched the life energy they needed to slaughter him like the pig he was.

They bring their fists back up, but they don't know what the point is anymore. They can't control how long they stay in this cell. They can't control a fight. They can't even control themself. The rage from before has burnt without cleansing, and all that's left is a hate that stews and infects.

Chara makes fists and throws themself forward again, trying to strike anywhere soft and vulnerable. They're so fucking tired. They have some vague notion of fighting until he kills them and they can start all over, but that's only if they can get through his goddamn mercy. This fucking bastard. Asshole. What a dick.

Gregor half-catches them as they pitch into his chest, shifting to make sure their punches and kicks don't hit anything too tender but otherwise just letting them land. They swing hard at his face and he tilts his jaw, letting them catch a glancing blow on his chin before he looks down at them again, watching their face.

He doesn't say anything as they exhaust themselves slowly, punching and kicking, flailing at him uselessly. He doesn't quite reach out for them yet, not wanting to work them into a frenzy again, but he doesn't fight back.

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