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

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undertale: chara dreemurr

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

Who: Gregor and Chara
When: A short time after this.
Where: The hold.
What: A much-needed talk.
Warnings: Mentions of canon-typical violence, which is approx. a jillion times more violent than anything should be, basically ever

Gregor schools his face to careful blankness before he opens the door to the hold and steps inside.

His eyes flick around the room until he locates Chara, curled up in a corner and clearly sulking. Gregor latches the door behind him and moves farther inside, his steady hazel eyes locked on Chara as he sits carefully on the edge of the cot and leans his elbows on his knees, his posture open and nonthreatening, his hands loose as he draws in a slow breath and debates how to begin.

"How are you?" he asks. Better to start simple, and his tone is polite and genuinely interested, but his gaze is watchful and alert as he tracks them from across the room.

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Chara's eyes flick his way. "I'm in jail." They resume glaring at the bars opposite to them.

As far as they're concerned, that's a more than complete response. Who's ever 'good' when they're behind bars? When they've been caught, when they're trapped, when their head is starting to pound from how hard they're concentrating on making everything go away, but nothing's actually happening? They should've been able to undo even more than the past hour, but they can't. They don't regret the chaos, but they do regret being interrupted. They could've been faster. They could've waited. It would've gone differently.

They've had nothing to do but think about this and what-ifs since that goddamn skeleton finally left, and none of it's given them peace.

"Mmm, well, fair enough," Gregor says, settling a little more comfortably on the cot. "Though I'm not exactly sure what you expected to happen, attacking another crewmember like that."

His gaze sharpens a little, but it's merely focused, no judgment in it.

"You wanted to kill him, didn't you?" he asks, sounding curious, like he's inquiring about an odd shift in the weather. "I could see it in your face, I think. Would you care to tell me why?"

Chara thinks about how much they fucking hated him, with his goddamn promises and his fucking stupid glee, like there'd be anything to celebrate at all or ever again. His vertebrae had been under their fingers. Every bone had clacked together uncontrollably. It'd smelled like bone and terror.

They'd been so close to putting him out of his own misery. Chara opens and closes their hands, gaze dropping.

"Wanted to shut him up." They're almost too quiet to hear.

"Ah," is all Gregor says for a moment, tilting his head in consideration. "An impulse with which I sympathize intensely, despite being quite fond of Papyrus myself." He arches an eyebrow. "I tend to be able to curb my more homicidal tendencies, however. ...did he say something out of line, or was it just the general... Papyrus-ness of him?"

Their glare burns, because it was his words, but was also everything and nothing else in the world. They'd been ready to let him go, like some grounded bird they couldn't be bothered to throw rocks at (or didn't want to, since it was just a bird), and instead he'd hopped right up to them and shined.

He'd cried. They hated him. He'd offered to help, and when they'd fled he'd called them back to pick, pick, and pick at their wounds, like he had the right or the need--

Their nails are digging into their palms, but they don't really feel the pain. The tension is like a glow around them, and they growl through gritted teeth, "Nothing! I just wanted to shut him up, that's all!"

He hadn't even done anything. Just stupid little things, and each one slide a knife under their scabs.

Edited 2016-02-11 03:57 (UTC)

"I see," Gregor says, and he sounds like he really does, up to a point. He presses thoughtful fingertips over his lips, watching Chara closely. "I wasn't sure how to feel about Papyrus when I first met him, to be quite honest. I don't think I disliked him, exactly, but his utterly unflappable cheerfulness was... not pleasant. It took me a little while to realize that I was so put off by it because it seemed like he was faking it, somehow, waiting for... I don't know. An opportunity, for me to drop my guard, a kind of opening, something, and that fake cheerfulness would go away and leave something dangerous in its wake. It felt like a lie and I do not particularly care for being lied to."

He nods at Chara again, watching their small, furious face with attentive, academic interest. "Is it the same for you, or do you hate him for some other reason?"

He knows what's up. His words are spelling it out as though he's reading it from their goddamn mind, and maybe he is, because who the fuck knows about people on this ship anymore. They send him a low glance, but no, it's not that: he's just an academic in the fine art of humanity is fucking awful, so he's explaining it like a teacher. He's also watching Chara for every detail he can get, so maybe he's even reading some of it out of them.

Maybe he's just reading, and doesn't know at all. That mild face--it'd be no surprise if those secrets are written over Chara's skin where they can't see it. Maybe he's just tugging, like a child at a cricket's legs. They look back at their hands.

He's got some of it wrong. He just doesn't know monsters. Sometimes it's not their hate that they have to watch out for, because monsters' kindness can rip hearts out just as easily, and ones like Papyrus are the most deft.

He's just reading, so he doesn't know...

"It's kind of like both," they tell their knee dully, unfolding stiff fingers. Their knuckles feel like leather.

"... He's not lying," they add quietly. "In case you were wondering."

In a flash they wonder how he'll continue. Will he keep listing dark little things as they get darker and darker? Pchyh. He can try. Nothing he says will match the paranoia of Chara's own certainty, because they know people are fucking awful, and they've already sampled around. Still, they think he aims to tear the cricket's legs off at least partially, maybe to see how they squirm.

How's he going to do it? They're not sure.

"Yes, I'd... figured that out," Gregor says, but he frowns a little at Chara, thoughtful as opposed to displeased.

"If you know that, though, why do you hate him so? Why did you want to kill him?" He pauses, considering whether or not he wants the answer to his next question, then asks it anyway.

"Have you killed many people you hated, Chara?"

The question is so fucking preposterous that the first breath of a snicker bursts out of them like a sputtered flame, then vanishes just as fast. He's not as good at reading people as he thinks, is he? 'Have they killed--' Chara wonders if they hated every single person in the underground, or if they were just kind of hating in general, and if it made any difference. Maybe they should've gone back when they lost count that time in Waterfall, because then they'd have a number, but that was around the time when they stopped caring, and they don't actually care much now either.

Their hate is a bed of coals, still smoldering and scorching their ribs. They shrug. Chara thinks they know what he's getting at, and it's a little impressive, but also kind of pathetic.

"Not a lot," they say casually. And it kind of wasn't, was it? (H-hah.) They didn't get some people that really, really deserved it, at least. And they still haven't gotten any more since leaving.

Gregor's face goes even milder when Chara laughs, impossible to perturb, despite how unnerving they are.

"I'm just trying to understand, if I can, I suppose." He stops, considers. "Let me rephrase, for my own curiosity--have you killed many people, full stop?"

He wants to know. There's a curious pressure inside of them, like a bubble-thin outline of the hysteria, and screaming, and rage, and sheer hate that poured out of them like a volcano. Their face is warm, but they don't feel full of energy--it's just all rising in their chest, abandoning their arms.

They don't want to expose that sin. What would happen even if they did? Would he get them in trouble for some distant thing he can't prove, would this rickety, shitty box be their room forever? Would he laugh it off, leaving Chara exhausted with burdens they can't rid themselves of but still clutch as possessively a greedy mother and her firstborn? They refuse to put them down, even if other people don't realize the magnitude of their actions, Chara will never forget. They're awful, but at least they know it. If they didn't it'd be even worse, because doing terrible things without feeling them would be--

--just like them, sort of, wouldn't it?--but not--

They notice that they've turned a little towards the wall away from him, leaning their head slightly. He's cruel. The hate him, but they can't get rid of him or it'll be just like every damn person they've tried to kill on this ship. Nothing works. It's like they're broken.

The silence has crept on long enough that it's an answer all on its own.

"...I see," Gregor says after a long moment, his lips thinning as he settles back to consider them, his voice low and even.

"It brings me no joy to keep you locked in here, Chara. But I need you to understand my hesitation in letting you wander the ship at will, not knowing if you plan to attack or attempt to kill anyone else. It would be irresponsible of me to do so, considering my duty to the others aboard. This is not a punishment, in the strictest sense, but a precautionary measure, and it can be lifted when we no longer feel that you are a danger to others, or to yourself." Gregor settles a little where he's sitting, comfortably entrenched in their space. "What I am not here to do is to judge you, or to attempt to court-martial you for past indiscretions far beyond my jurisdiction, regardless of how severe those indiscretions might be. But you're angry, and you're in pain, and you seem to think that hurting people will help, and I think knowing why that is might help me understand better what precautions we might need to be able to clear you for release. Does that make sense?"

They bristle and frown. Some of that was pretty presumptuous of him to say; sure he's probably in charge, who cares. What Chara wants to know is who gave him any right to tell Chara that they were in pain. He's acting all high and mighty, like he didn't just walk in off the street to take out someone else's trash, and it's like he's getting ready to fix things. Like he could if he tried, even though Chara has already opened and closed that book plenty enough for it to be final.

They chew on the inside of their cheek. He's just filling paperwork, Chara needs to not blow up at him if he's just trying to get his goddamn work done. He needs some way to tell his superiors that he didn't just let some loose fuse out on the ship once Chara's done rotting here a while. Cops always want promises, like teachers, and social workers, and priests.

At least he won't--can't--isn't going to get at them for wrongs they've already done. It helps. Chara gives him a sullen nod, keeping their eyes fixed on their hands. There's some scars on their finger and thumb from grabbing knives wrong in a past life, white parallel lines.

"What do you want to know?"

Gregor watches them, the subtle shift of expression on their face, the slight easing of the rigidity of their spine when he reassures them he won't be punishing them for anything in the past. God, what had they done, that retribution for it was an immediate primary concern? Not crucial now.

"Something important first, I think," Gregor says briskly, sitting up a little straighter and shifting, tilting his head at them. "Are you hungry? Thirsty? I'm not looking to unintentionally starve any answers out of you--I have rations if you'd like them."

It's such a harmless question that their attention is dropped on his shoulders, leaving anger to trail behind like a kite's tail. It's not like they've never been plied with food before, but they hadn't expected it here. Somehow. It looks like their sins haven't run ahead of them yet (maybe), and with a cop teacher bozo like this, this offer makes perfect sense.

Especially if he'll leave soon and not come back at breakfast time. Would he do that? Maybe. Yes. ...No. He's nicer than that calculating bit sounded earlier, so they don't think he would, but the idea of a break to chew and sit quietly now has already been planted.

They nod.

"Both. Please."

Gregor digs into his pockets until they disgorge a full bottle of water and several ration bars, which he leaves on the other end of the cot--well within Chara's reach should they approach but comfortably outside of Gregor's personal space, leaving them out of danger of being grabbed by him unexpectedly.

"I deduce," he says slowly, "from your earlier silence that your body count is relatively high. Why is that, Chara?"

Chara unfolds enough to crawl closer, but there's too many ration bars to take everything in one small hand, so they sit on their haunches and pass everything back and forth until it's all pressed between the crook of their elbow and their chest. They retreat again, but stop a little ways before the corner.

The ration bar wrapper seems to have completely absorbed their attention, and its crackling fills the silence where Chara's answer should be. Their face is turned down towards it, and their hair is a curtain keeping it out of sight.

They open the bar and shrug, taking a bite.

"They deserved it." Why else would anyone do that kind of thing, their tone says, but they still haven't looked up, and the next bite is enough that they're going to have to wait before talking or risk choking.

Edited 2016-02-12 17:59 (UTC)

Gregor watches them retreat again, calm and still and perfectly patient, though his eyes don't leave Chara for a moment.

"Ah," he says, sounding marginally enlightened. There are quite a few reasons for mass murder that Gregor can think of, but that is not a discussion for right now. "Would you mind telling me why they deserved it, please?"

Yes, they would mind, but if anyone cared they wouldn't be talking at all.

They wonder what on earth they could tell him. A reminder of the war between humans and monsters occurs to them, but it was so long ago that to the victors it's lost all meaning. What about the six--or, well, seven human souls? Talking about it might work better, because this guy's a cop, and he's supposed to look out for people like that.

Still, they keep chewing silently. The idea of confiding their more personal reasons was dismissed almost from the start, because no one would care, and good people wouldn't get the logic they had, nevermind the fact that Chara had been right. They've lost their courage to act with impunity, no matter how strongly the urge batters their heart.

They swallow the last of that bite, and they're not out of time, but they also kind of are. They still don't have an answer.

Except maybe a smaller one. "They were hurting me," they say as-a-matter-of-fact. It's incomplete and it doesn't really mean anything, but it's as good a reason for them to have punched back in an immediate sense. Maybe he'll buy it and leave them alone.

Gregor watches Chara consider their answer, the gleam of calculation in their eyes sharpening his attention. He waits patiently, nodding as they explain, then lifts his chin as he turns over his own answer in his head, his own eyes flat and unreadable.

"Was Papyrus hurting you, Chara?"

Ah... shit.

"He did," They mutter, but they know it's useless already. They're a little freak that skips through time, and he wouldn't remember, and no one has any proof.

They twist the bottle cap off like they're snapping a small rodent's neck and take a small drink.

Gregor takes a slow breath, still for a moment... before he just nods, his dark eyes level and surprisingly clear.

"I believe you," he says simply, flat and unadorned and unmistakeable, though there's an odd weight in his gaze. "Please tell me what happened, Chara. You're giving me bits and pieces, and I need more if I'm going to be able to sort this out."

Edited 2016-02-12 19:39 (UTC)

Their heart jumps a little, but it's like a bird stuck in a tar pit. They have no way to explain: Chara's just going to be a liar, even though they're right, and they're crazy but they're not completely crazy, not that way. No one's going to care, though. That, or maybe Papyrus'll be punished for things he would do but hadn't actually done that last time around, since he'd been too busy standing there like some goddamn baby, and then people will figure out he hadn't done it in the past timeline anyway, and Chara will be punished right back and even worse and they'll just be back here--

The plastic bottle is creaking in their hands, squeezed just enough to show its fragility and tested again because they can't do anything else. They want to punch Papyrus' face in, to pop his head off like a football and watch him blow away in the wind. They want to stab this guy and splash his innards around, but there's no way to do it and no end in sight. Despair mixes with hate like water on fire, and the sizzling might as well be a physical burn in their gut. They hate Gregor so much. He brought them food, but it was only the least he could do. He's trapped them. They hate him.

Their hand shakes slightly, but their eyes are dry, and the trembling disappears when they take another drink and pick at the next ration bar. He won't understand, of course, but this is one struggle they're refusing to start. Why rage when they're already inside a box that they could've fought to keep from getting inside of in the first place? They can hate him perfectly fine without having trusted at all, and they can do without giving him anything painful to target.

That asshole.

Edited 2016-02-12 19:41 (UTC)

"I'm sorry," Gregor says, his voice distant almost as though he's thinking aloud to himself. "I'm hurting you right now, without even meaning to. It isn't my intention at all."

He sits, watching Chara for another long moment before he shifts and leans forward, earnest but not threatening. "Let's try something else, I think.

"I swear to you by my word as Vorbarra, by my name's word, that I will never lie to you, Chara." The words are formal, but there's a gravity to them, like he means what he's saying, straight down to the bottomless core of himself--at least until the corner of his mouth turns up. "Now, I don't expect that to cut any ice with you, necessarily, not being Barrayaran, but it means a great deal to me, and it is an oath I am honor-bound to keep. So, with that out of the way, please." He settles back and spreads his hands wide, opening them up in a releasing gesture.

"As me anything you'd like. I cannot promise you complete answers to all your questions, or that my answers will be one hundred percent factually accurate at all times, but I'll tell you whatever I can, to the best of my ability. It's only fair."

They're sneering at their hands, because no shit this dick-head is hurting them, and he's going to keep right on doing so. Fuck him. Fuck these tasteless rations, and screw everything. They tear half this next ration bar off like a carnivore, pretending they're some kind of hyena for real.

His tone shifts. It's like he's laying out a new cloth and making the room bigger--or, well, no, they don't even know what, but for a few seconds there something has changed, and they can sense it on a level beyond hearing. It's distinctly un-cop-like, and not like anything else they'd ever heard on the surface of Earth.

The name has a physical weight. Vor-bar-rah. He's tied rocks around his neck for Chara's convenience, calling on 'oaths' and 'honor'. They recognize that weight more starkly than they'd thought they could. Apparently names you don't pick for yourself really are that different. They don't like it, but they don't have to. Chara fixes him with a shrewd scowl, and they lower the half-eaten ration bar.

"Have you ever killed kids?"

Those rocks around his neck will hold him down. If any of their hits land--well, he opened himself for this, didn't he?

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

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