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Who: Chara and YOU!
When: After they resurge on the 8th, and ending when the voting on their murder sentence is determined.
Where: Galley, Bow, Housing Decks, Hold, and potentially anywhere else.
What: Catchall for Chara post resurge. Chara kills Sans. Chara stays in the hold after the murder.
Warnings: Dark themes and warnings for Chara, plus strong likelihood of Undertale spoilers.

Galley

The second work week in the kitchens is nearly over by the time Chara finally shows up. They offer no explanations for their absence on their own, and it's clear that they're only there to avoid having to be anywhere else. Still, their work is good; sometimes they'll appear at someone's elbow to reach past them for a utensil they've been sent after. Other times they'll lay out ingredients, and when they make the occasional mistake they correct it without complaint.

Everyone else has already had a few shifts to learn the ropes, and Chara sticks out like a sore thumb. It doesn't help that they're smaller than everyone, and it's a fact made especially obvious when they're sent dish-washing. They have to lift their elbows to reach into the sink, and their apron has been folded over at the waist so as to not reach their ankles.

They could probably use some help. That dirty cooking pot looks heavy.

The Bow

It's like the observation deck, but it's also not. They don't feel anything while standing by the same stars that watched them die, and for all that their eyes move over them, they're not even paying attention.

The Gunnery is empty. The door is closed, and Chara is standing mere feet away from it, arms crossed and chewing on the inside of their cheek. They haven't been here since the ship was struggling to escape with its precious load of rescued lives, and the lights are out at this time, with a stillness that seems oddly bereft. Chara's not making any attempts to get inside; it's as though the room itself has echoes of an intent that they're absorbing passively, like water creeping up strips of paper.

They seem lost in thought.

Nomo and Mero Deck

Both of the decks they're not on have communal bathing areas. That's about as much as they can tell from the looks of the doors, and they're reluctant to talk to anyone at all, let alone recruit someone to help them explore. This is perhaps the second time they've appeared on these levels. Like the first time, they walk through without going towards any specific room, and when they're done they pause at the end to look back.

They're still standing still when someone else appears. As though not wanting to seem lost, Chara stirs immediately and begins to leave.

Moro Deck

Generous lighting, soft beds, and desk sets that all match. The hallway wasn't dim outside, but Chara stands in the doorway and blinks anyway, adjusting. At some level they'd pictured their old room. They knew it would be different, but somehow the contrast between a shared room for children underground and this housing deck really drives it home.

Chara steps inside. They don't have anything to put down, and they own nothing that isn't 'borrowed', or ruined by their own grisly demise. That's fine. They avoid having to think about it by exploring the room, reaching for light switches and opening drawers.

Wildcard and catch-all! Suggest a place, or just assume they're taking a meal in the emptiest corner of the Mess Hall they could find and clearly need someone to eat with them.

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CLOSED - Sans

Nomo Deck is silent: everyone who's awake has left for work or places more interesting than rooms with beds, and everyone who's not is sleeping strong. Chara stands at the end of the hallway for the third time of their search--their hunt--and listens hard.

They think they might've heard a distant snore. Maybe they didn't. These walls are pretty thick.

Chara walks up to his door without any hesitation. It's a tall door. The keypad beside it stares back, displaying for all the world that there's an order to these rooms, and that Chara is intruding. Chara looks back, and then takes the stack of cups they're holding into one hand, raising the other to knock.

Three times. Like nothing's wrong.

Chara separates the cups, tensing with the impending deed's adrenaline like it's an old friend. There are two cups in each hand, one stacked inside of its partner, and they're all brushed stainless steel. The sheen isn't quite reflective. The only features are seams where the rim was folded back to create a nice drinking edge.

They're ready. They hope they're not wrong.

Edited 2016-02-16 01:20 (UTC)

This isn't Link's shift, but he doesn't mind. In all honesty, he doesn't really know what to do with himself when he has free time. "Free time" is a strange, strange concept to him; he can't even remember the last time he had it. If he isn't asleep, he needs to be working. If he doesn't keep himself busy, then his mind starts to wander, and that...

Well. He'd heard that the ship needed as much help as it could get right now, so he's certainly more than happy to pitch in at the kitchens when it isn't his shift.

There's another kid in here, taller than Link, but he understands their awkwardness with reaching for things. He's taken to nudging a box around with his feet so he can climb up to properly reach the higher shelves. He's actually up on it now when he notices them struggling with a very large pot. He hops down off of his box and hurries over. Wordlessly, he plants his hands on the sides of the pot and helps to lift.

The ship seems really big until you spend a lot of time on it. Experience has a way of making things seem a lot smaller. Of course, Steven had grown up in an incredibly small town, and had never really thirsted for anything beyond it. The knowledge that he had the choice seemed to make all the difference, though.

The Moira is feeling pretty claustrophobic, recently. Maybe its because the 'honeymoon' phase of a new experience has passed. Now it's just all problems and homesickness, and it's not uncommon for him to wish for the comfort of his tree mom or the familiarity of the Gem's house in Bavan. He believes he's here for a greater purpose, but...sometimes that stuff doesn't feel like it matters, when you're sad.

He isn't specifically looking for Chara when he comes to the bow of the ship, but he's been keeping an eye out. So, he isn't really shocked or uncertain of what to do. He's been thinking about this for a while.

"You're Chara, right?" he speaks up, from several feet back. He doesn't really consider that Chara is eyeing up the gunnery of all things. That feels like it would be absurd.

It's a precarious distraction when the pot shifts in ways they didn't expect, and then when Chara realizes they literally don't see anyone past the pot's lid, but maybe it's just a really short monster they hadn't noticed before. Chara gives the other party perhaps more weight than they would've if they were at a good angle to spot his very small human child hands, and together they wrestle the pot home. The sink overfills and some dirty water splashes over its edge. It's another mess to clean up, but Chara just sighs and wipes their cheek on their sleeve, turning towards him.

And then stares. "Uh-hm." Who let a tiny kid this small into the kitchens?! How the heck did they not crush him with the sudden weight of the pot?

"Thanks?" They shrug and tilt their head a little, not really sure how to take any of this.

Ratchet find Chara purely by coincidence. Although the odds of that coincidence are fairly high given the inordinate amount of his free time Ratchet spends on one the two decks.

He’d known that Chara was likely going resurge. Come back to life. It didn’t make what Sans did any more palatable, and he still feels sick thinking about it. And even knowing it was going to happen, seeing Chara standing there, unharmed, like none of it had ever happened…it still takes him by surprise. They look small, and young and utterly incapable of everything that they were capable of. Up until this exact moment Ratchet had wondered what it was going to be like to look at them now that he knew what they’d done. The people they’ hurt, and maybe even the people they’d killed. Wondered if the newfound perspective would make them harder to look at, or if there would suddenly be some obvious, telling flaw about them that he’d just missed by being too willing to assume the best. If they’d look like the monster they were.

But they looked the same. They look like a kid. Something hard in Ratchet’s expression, something he’d put there to make it clear that he didn’t think any of this was right or okay, dissolves almost instantly. He stands still, just staring at Chara’s turned back, and he opens and closes his fists once, a nervous gesture, a circular movement that meant he didn’t have to move. When he does finally speak, his voice is tight and edged with caution, unsurity.

“Chara.”

What was he going to say? This was worse than Sans, even. At least he knew Sans, even just a little. What did he know about Chara? Who even were they?

“You're...alive.”

Edited (no reason) 2016-02-16 02:01 (UTC)

Tuesday afternoons (like Monday afternoons and Thursday afternoons), Crona is in the kitchen. It's easy enough to get used to, like helping Rin in the kitchen back in the Bastion, just with newer, fancier equipment. And the little one is banned from this kitchen, after trying to fight with the pans a few times too many times (you can take the monster out of the RPG but you can't take the RPG out of the monster).

"Do you want me to scrub them or dry them?" Crona's not asking for permission to help, just letting Chara pick what task Crona should help with. Those dishes aren't going to scrub themselves, but no one really wants to deal with dirty pots and pans after a long shift cooking, so Crona might as well make the job go a little bit more quickly.

Chara jerks out of their thoughts, turning to look. They find... plants? There's a lot of them on this monster, and yet they still all have a human-ish face. Chara gave up trying to understand what was or wasn't unusual for monsters a long time ago, so they don't think much on it.

"Yeah." They turn to face him completely. "Who're you?"

They've never seen him before, and they wonder if this monster is here to follow San's lead. Or, well, try. Could he also just want Chara's soul, slaughter aside? That's what other monsters wanted from Frisk. He doesn't seem like much, but neither did Sans. Maybe he knows magic.

Chara realizes their hands are stuffed in their own pockets in a subconscious echo of a certain slouch, and they take their hands out, standing extra straight.

"I'm Steven," he says. He drops down onto all fours for a moment to scamper ahead a few paces, before standing back up. His tail is swishing uncertainly. His leafy ears fold back in contemplation.

"I'm sorry you got killed," he starts. His first instinct isn't to like someone who tried to hurt Papyrus, but Chara looks younger than him, even, and Steven has never really believed that anyone deserves death. Not really, anyway.

[Zam’s out in the hall when Chara enters Moro Deck, looking over the various assortment of “rewards” the captains had issued them for this month. The sabacc deck and coins are nice, though he has a bad feeling about all the winter wear -- here’s to hoping they aren’t stopping by an arctic planet any time soon.

He looks over at the sound of footsteps, doing a double-take when he sees who it is and then giving them a slight smile.]

Look who it is. Welcome back to the land of the living.

The other kid must've really needed the help, given the amount of weight they decide to share. Link doesn't mind, though. This is heavy, but nothing he can't handle. It isn't easy, getting the pot where it needs to go, and they even spill a bit, but together, they get it done.

They seem surprised when they finally get a good look at him, though. Link vaguely assumes it's because he hasn't been on this shift before.

He offers them a small smile when they thank him. "You're welcome." He'll go ahead and help clean up the mess they made before he goes back to what he was doing before. He looks around to see where the mop went off to, reaches over to retrieve it, and returns.

"... Yeah?" They agree slowly. They'd jerked their head up to look at him, and there's an odd, searching look running across their face. Its intensity jumps until they might as well have burned straight through his head, before receding again to something--knowing. They know what's inside of him. Something warm is gone, and something heavy and unpleasant has taken its place.

The shift is subtle. It could be a tilt of their chin, or the loss of some previously unnoticed light being stamped out. The friend he made in the Mess Hall has retreated behind closed gates, and all he's looking at are the locks.

"That happens here normally. Right?"

There's no actual curiosity in a look this serious. They're measuring something else.

Frisk hasn't been sleeping well. It's all in fits and bursts, nightmares of dust and bones and horrible laughing plants curling around their mind, not letting them get a moment of true rest. They're tired, mourning, hurting, but there's no one they can lean on. Asriel is hurting just as bad, Papyrus is so worried about Sans, and...

They shuffle into the hall quietly, not noticing that anyone else is around until that flash of movement in the corner of their eye. Frisk turns to look automatically, and freezes when they see just who it is. There's no way. There's no possible way, they would have felt a RESET, they would know if Chara had LOADED, but they're still--!

Frisk isn't even thinking when they break out into a dash after Chara, reaching to hug and hold them, cling desperately to keep them from leaving again, they're back, they're back--!

Asriel hasn't left his room much ever since the news of Chara's death. He'd left in the beginning, searching tirelessly in hopes that maybe it was all a bad joke, a bad dream. He just saw them, after all this time he'd finally found them again.

To have them ripped away almost immediately after hurt too much. When it became clear that Chara was gone, he secluded himself and let himself bawl his eyes out and wish that he'd never been brought here at all. It wasn't fair to Frisk, who looked just as tired and miserable as he felt, but he just didn't have it in him to reach out and seek comfort in anyone else.

He steps out for a moment, when the familiar figure passes by his door. It'd be easy enough to assume it's a ghost, and really... Asriel wouldn't be all that far off.

"Chara...?" His heart tightens in his chest as he says their name. He's afraid of being wrong.

All told, being a free man isn't that different from captivity. The bed is more comfortable and his meals come when he wants them to, but the broader details remain the same. Four walls, limited contact with the outside, and an impossible sense of waiting for something to happen. Nearly twelve days of waiting, now, since striking that creature down and destroying what little goodwill he had to trade on.

Not that he has regret. Hell, none of this will matter soon enough. Hence the waiting. Sans was a pretty patient guy, but even he was starting to get antsy. Luckily, nothing passes time quite like sleep. So sleep Sans does.

And sleep. And sleep. And...

"Nn?" Light sleeper isn't the right word for Sans, so much as an opportunistic sleeper. If it's funny and the conditions benign enough, Sans could easily sleep under a jet engine. Times like this, though, the knocks cut through his exhaustion like tissue paper. Sans drags himself up from bed towards the door.

It was Papyrus, probably, here to read another bedtime story. The role switch this last week was nice, in a way. A sign that his brother isn't giving up on him, not that Sans thought he ever would. Though the disappointment he feels and their shared destructive decision to not talk about it under any circumstances makes these meetings less of a comfort and more of a grim reminder.

"'Sup, bro." He begins, before the door is all the way open. "You find somethin' coo--"

Edited 2016-02-16 04:56 (UTC)

He walks away, and Chara picks up a towel and starts on what slopped onto the counter. Tasks like this are mindless, and there's a strange sort of quiet to be found in them. There's no one out to get Chara hurt. There's no one to hate.

No one except this little boy that's come back, apparently. The mop in his hands is as surprising as discovering his height, and Chara stops with the cloth in hand, looking between the two.

"What're you... Seriously?" Chara sort of wants to take offense at how much he's butting in. That, or mock him for whoever he's trying to please. What kind of kid does this kind of thing? He must be a real teacher's pet. Look at him and that good mood.

The mop is adult-sized, but the kid doesn't struggle at all. Chara puts the towel down in the last puddle on this side of the sink, watching him surreptitiously. If he wants to do that, then he can be their guest. It's enough that they'll avoid stepping in the water he hasn't gotten to yet, even though it doubles how far they have to reach to wring out the towel.

"Uh." It's like watching a jock separate from a team to apologize to a nerd he used to bully. Except, well, Steven's not a jock, and Chara is far from a victimized nerd. They watch him with the same distrust, though, and Steven's not going to make a single move without Chara spotting it.

"O-kay..." they drawl. 'What's your real point', their tone says. No returning olive branch on Chara's part. Frisk would reach out, but Chara holds grudges like collectible cards. It makes for easy categorization: just by being a 'monster', and a part of this ship's crew, Steven's already being judged.

Chara looks over in surprise. Then they look at Crona's arms. "You scrub," they order, picking up a towel. Crona's presence is invasive, but if Chara's the one bossing them around, then they care a lot less.

The dish rack already has occupants. Chara reaches for them while Crona starts their own part, and they haven't even gotten past the first dish when they glance up at them.

"You work here too?"

*It's a question that makes them stop. They know their death--their lost fight--was played for all to see, and it grates on their nerves. There's nothing they can do about it now.*

*Nothing except antagonize whoever's stupid enough to remind them of it. They give this unknown person a flat stare, speaking without inflection.*

Thanks. I always wanted to die young.

*There's nothing playful about their reply: it's an accusation, armed for whatever it'll bring.*

Peter's been zipping back and forth between his room and other parts of the ship all day, taking in cat naps during breaks from ignoring his job. But there is only so much sleep he can get in a day; he's running out of things to pretend to be doing and the few people he actually likes around here are off being responsible. Finding some little kid poking around seems like a good waste of a few minutes. Besides, kids tended to be more entertaining company than most adults.

"Yo, kiddo what are you standing around for?" He calls from his doorway. In the next instant he's standing beside of Chara, grin softer, kinder and hand brushing absently at the mop of hair, like he would to his little sister-until he gets a good look at the child and the smile slides right off his face. In another blink there's more room between them, just a few feet and hand pulled back so quick the child might have mistaken the touch for an odd breeze instead.

"Oh shit. Someone totally went Night of the Living Dead on us."

Link pauses in the middle of his task as the other kid speaks up again. He looks over at them curiously, a little surprised and confused at their confusion, and their tone. He isn't doing it wrong, he's pretty sure... He's gotten used to maneuvering around the height of the mop by now, at least.

"What's wrong?" he asks, blinking. He looks down at his boots to make sure he isn't at risk of stepping into it and thus tracking dirty water across the rest of the kitchen.

Ivan saw them once, didn't think much of it. He doesn't avoid ship politics -- he pays it the same attention he does politics back home: will this kill me, and how quickly do I need to amble slowly away from it in order for it not to. So he'd been aware of the murder of a child by someone he'd regularly gone drinking with, but he doesn't think... Sans is the sort of person who'd normally do that sort of thing.

Anyway, thinking about it gives him a headache that he likes avoiding, and so it doesn't register until he sees them a second time.

"Oh," Ivan says, in an accent that Chara should find familiar. "You're the kid." The stabby, recently dead one. Right. This means he should... avoid, and get away as quickly as possible without being shanked. Damn, he'd hoped to just not deal with this at all.

The base of the cups slams into his chest like the hoof of a great beast. Chara rips back and holds them up high, eyes huge and teeth flashing. It's almost a smile. They could be an animal. They are one, heartless and soulless, baring fangs.

Chara presses into the living quarters and closes the door behind them. "I hope you didn't think I was gone," they say softly.

Eggsy spends a lot of time in the kitchen. Eating, visiting the people he knows when they're working, or when he's got a shift there himself. It's not unusual to see him pop by, just to say hey, and that's exactly what he's doing when he sees Chara at the sinks washing some dishes.

"Need some help, yeah?"

He's already tugging an apron on, lifting a pot from the soapy water, reaching for a scrub pad with his free hand. Eggsy doesn't mind spending some time helping out down here, even when it's not his time to work.

"Name's Eggsy."

No lungs meant no breath to steal, no organs meant no stomach to flip, and yet Sans feels all those sensations and more as the dull edges of the cup dig into his sternum. It cracks elegantly in four different directions, spidering off towards his newly loosed ribs.

A choked laugh escapes, soundless save for the bony rattle of Sans' shoulders.

They were back. They were back and he remembered. Time wasn't reset. Nothing was reset. He suspected this might happen, but seeing the child here and now, Sans is forced to admit he never truly believed it would.

"Heh..." Pain blurs the edges of his vision, remaining static as he stumbles to his knees. He is dying. He is dying and there is nothing he can do. There was nothing new in that statement; he'd been a dead man since the moment he arrived on the Moira.

In a way, the fact that it still manages to surprise him at all is sort of hilarious.

Edited 2016-02-17 03:19 (UTC)

They're back.

It's the same cell.

... Their cell.

It's been a violent conclusion to a grisly few weeks, starting with a child's death and ending with a child murderer. No sign of it shows on Chara's face; after a stint of pacing and wall kicking, they've spent most of their time curled up on the cot.

Boredom. Thought. Hate. Any one of these might be set into Chara's eyes when someone enters the hallway, and traces of them linger even after distraction. Chara climbs to their feet every time and walks to the door to wait. It's not a welcoming tic, but a restless one.

They're dying for some kind of mental stimulation, even if it's from someone they hate. At least standing here lets them glimpse who it is, first.

Edited (changed cell description slightly) 2016-02-17 04:37 (UTC)

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galley

The Bow

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THE BOW

Galley

Re: The Bow

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moro deck

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Nomo Deck

Mero Deck

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Mero Deck

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nomo. you asked for this.

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Galley;

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[Open - The Hold]