thisavrou_log | here we go again

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undertale: chara dreemurr

here we go again

Who: Sans and Chara. Yeah, again.
When: The 23rd
Where: One of the Moira elevators, predominantly
What: Chara broke the deal. Sans is peeved. They need to have a talk.
Warnings: General "Chara" warnings for violent imagery and threats. General Sans warnings for existential depression and also threats. Good times for all.

It's been a while since Sans last took up the mantle of following a child around. No promise bound him to the task this time, but he felt no less serious about it. After all, there was more than just his vested interest in Chara's well being on the line here.

Monsterkind didn't make up a huge proportion of the ship, but they did make up the weakest percentage. Sans might stand a chance against the child for a little while, but Papyrus and Toriel and Asriel? None of them would fight back the way they would need to, should Chara decide that they were sick of waiting. Or worse, got bored.

So Sans shadowed, Sans watched, Sans hid -- not interfering, that's not his style, but he listened when he could. And over the course of a few weeks, one thing became abundantly clear: Chara didn't care about their deal, not one bit. Bartering against Chara with threats wasn't working. Maybe the child simply wasn't that scared of him.

Sans pulls out his MID, typing out a quick message.

To: Chara Dreemurr
From: Sans

hey, kid. meet me at the aft elevators, alright? i'll be riding up and down, lifting my spirits, heh.

don't be late.

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stop using that name.

---

They take almost as long to arrive as they did last time, a passive aggressive feat that could only have been intentional. Too bad for them it backfired: their lip is raw from nervous chewing, and they can't quite hide the strain that forty five minutes of deliberate inaction has brought them. It was a whole forty five minutes of suspense. Why are they meeting? Does he know about--? About what, about the fights, about that actual human murder? ... Is Chara going to die again? The thought of Sans having to face another public trial doesn't fill them with nearly enough satisfaction to make any of it worth the pain. They don't want to die. The ship's justice system was a pathetic flop, and they were still bitter about his last trial's results.

Sans isn't standing outside the elevators. Nor is he visible when Chara paces up and down the short hallway, looking around corners. This isn't some bizarre kind of prank--is it? Maybe. He could also be inside an elevator already. Didn't his text say something like that?

They push a call button. Watching the unlit arrows and thinking about the meeting to come... Chara inhales bracingly. It fills them with--air. And determination.

Chara doesn't have long to wait. The Moira is large, but the elevators themselves are as technologically advanced as any other part of the ship. Sans never had much use for them himself, preferring to skip the wait and warp wherever he needed to go. Laziness was a job he had full time dedication to, after all.

This, though. This is another job altogether. One that, much like slacking off, Sans puts all his energy behind.

When the doors slide open, Sans is grinning and alone.

"Heya, buddy. Come on in."

Chara almost overcomes their nerves just out of sheer irritation. It was one thing when they were tormenting themself, but the sight of him and this little setup puts them in mind of a deliberate ambiance. Is he trying to make them nervous? If so, they'll refuse to be it. He probably even manipulated them into making themself wait those forty five minutes, though Chara can't imagine the slightest way how.

They step in, occupying the side of the elevator furthest from him.

"What do you want now?"

The doors close, shutting them off from the hallway in a literally airtight seal. The elevator doesn't immediately move. It feels unnatural.

"Got a floor preference?" Sans asks, reaching behind him without looking and sliding his bony fingers down the button panel, catching most of them. It didn't matter what Chara's answer was and Sans didn't seem to care, anyway. Where they're going, buttons don't really apply.

"Nah, don't tell me, I like to guess. Anyway." Sans shrugs, leaning back casually against the closed doors. "How about you and me talk a little, kid? Elevate the discourse, as it were. Hehe."

With a lurch -- and an unusual grinding of what sounds like metal on metal -- the elevator came to life and the pair began their slow ascent. With it, Sans' friendly tone took on a decidedly sharper edge.

"You aren't keeping up your end of our deal, Chara."

"Yes I am," they say immediately. The metal is like nails dragging slowly across their mind, and god damn if he didn't choose the elevator with this in mind. Would it be giving way to defeat if they got off at the next floor?

"I have been. Every bit of it."

Edited 2016-03-29 06:04 (UTC)

"Don't lie, kiddo. You're really bad at it."

The elevator continues its scraping, completely bypassing the first floor -- despite how Sans pressed its button mere moments before. Whatever force is fighting against the elevator's mechanics, it seems much stronger than the cables and pulleys at work. The doors quiver, but refuse to open.

"It'd make my job a whole lot easier if you fessed up."

Edited 2016-03-29 06:14 (UTC)

"I'm not lying," they snap, cheeks coloring. 'Lay down your weapon and, well...' Memories nip at their heels, crawling on their back and whispering things they can't understand. Air presses down with the weight of the floor's inexorable march upwards, and their heart pounds faster without permission. Something's wrong.

"I barely got into any fights. The ones I did were in the Training Simulation Room, you're supposed to fight there. I also didn't attack her." Don't let this waste of space throw you off. He's the one that should be scared.'

"... She's fine. I didn't even throw her pie."

"Fine's an interesting word for it, but yeah, I know. That's not what I'm talking about." Chara's treatment of Toriel isn't ideal, but Toriel is alive and these things take time.

"Miles. Andrew. Whatever you've been getting up to offship. I hate to break it to you, kid, but you gave up your rights to the honor system a long time ago. I took it upon myself to keep an eye socket on ya."

Sans shrugs again, elevator jerking upwards even moreso as he raises his hands from his pockets.

"So what's the deal?"

... He would do that, wouldn't he? Crap. They should've known.

"No deal." Chara hasn't moved. "I'm telling you that it's not what you think. It's not my fault if you don't want to listen." Chara's eyes lock on the floor number blinking over the elevator doors while they talk. Pride keeps them where they are, but they'd rather continue this in the vacuum of the ship's outer hull than spend another moment trapped here with him.

Oh. They're trapped. Aren't they.

Just like that, the elevator shifts from an uncomfortable mistake to a tomb, and they can't quite believe they walked right into this. It's a hell they deserve, of course, for stupidity at least. How are they going to get out this time? Maybe they'll have to kill him. Maybe they'll try and be stuck here forever because of it. Maybe everyone will let him leave them there, because Chara deserves it, and Chara will starve and spend every last second of ghost-hood or zombie life trying to kill everyone who didn't open the doors.

Some small -- or not-so-small -- part of Sans is satisfied to feel the cornered, anxious energy Chara is projecting. It's that same part that wishes he could ask just how it feels, to be on the other side of this for once. How does it feel, to be cornered with someone who would kill you without a second thought. Because they could.

Because they were bored.

Except that's not what this is. The greater part of him, the part that loves his brother and Toriel and Frisk and Asriel, knows that can never be what this is. He's still a monster, after all. Sans never had the option to shut off his feelings completely.

But as the elevator grinds to a scratching stop, anchored between two floors, Sans allows himself to enjoy the fear just a little longer.

"I'm listening. Why is what I saw not what I think?"

Edited 2016-03-29 21:22 (UTC)

Chara's mouth is dry, and they open their mouth to speak. No words come: what could they possibly say? 'Oopsie I got mad'? The choking haze of trauma that clouded their judgment around Miles is impossible to describe, and it excuses nothing besides. And Andrew...

They take in a breath. Their throat is tight.

"Neither of those were supposed to happen."

It's a confession that leaves a weeping wound behind, but it's still not nearly as abject as it needs to be. They can't make it deeper: begging for their life revolts them so much that they'll make and eat a salad made out of their own hair before they ever do something so humiliating. This is agonizing as it is, especially when this isn't even about justice. This is about satisfying San's lone knight vigilantism, his own self appointed judgments on the lives he doesn't live. Who gave him the right? Who's ever given him the right? Chara's jaws keep trying to lock up, and their hands open and close. Everything is awful, and getting worse.

"Miles--wasn't ever supposed to be there. And. Andrew." It's like each word is a tooth that they're having to pull loose to show.

"Got out of hand."

The world hates them almost as much as Chara hates it. Maybe they should just give up and get dying over with. It'll probably be less painful, in the end.

The confessions come halting and defensive, but Sans listens all the same. It's hard to forget in times like this just how young Chara is. A child who murdered his people, yes, but a child all the same. If the rage boiling hot under Chara's skin was a typical childish tantrum, it might as well have been Papyrus throwing a tantrum about wanting a second portion of pasta when he was a baby bones.

Only Papyrus didn't have skin, and definitely didn't have it in him to look so hateful.

Sans' eye sockets narrowed slightly, in thoughtfulness rather than doubt.

"That happens to you a lot, kiddo. I'm not trying to be accusatory here, but it seems like the common denominator of stuff getting out of hand is... you." Sans' smile tenses slightly. "And maybe we gotta figure that part out if this is ever gonna stop."

Chara's eyes burn a hole through the elevator floor, but they don't disagree.

"I'm trying." They make a face as soon as they've said it, some air rushing out with exasperation. "I'm--I didn't get into as many fights this time. I only broke one person's arm." Most people got through their days without breaking anyone's arm. Chara must be special.

"And if I told Andrew where I was, nothing would've happened. He wouldn't have gotten a scratch," they amend.

Their mouth twists like the excuses taste bitter. How is Sans reacting? They sneak a glance.

Sans looks at the kid for a few silent moments, sizing them up for the hundredth time. Each read he has on them routes back to the same source -- heavy, weighted down with sins. Slowing down their empathy and making it all the harder to go back, if that was even an option anymore.

It's so easy to picture them with the dust of his friends and family cooling on their hands. Too easy. The image came to him near-nightly, after all. Still, his smile remained unwavering. There's no fear, anymore. Not for either of them, he could only assume. He should have thought of that before attempting to scare Chara straight. Careless of him.

"I believe you." And he did, surprising himself. "But you gotta get yourself some fresh coping mechanisms. Pride is a drug, kid, and it's a tough habit to break, but you don't have a choice." Briefly, his smile flickered. "Anger doesn't solve a thing."

There's a very, very subtle easing of their shoulders. They did it. He believes them. Doesn't he? Was all of it sincere, on either end?

Maybe. The bigger question is, what difference does it make? How much do honesty and accepted excuses (apologies) really matter, when Chara thought they were coming here to die no matter which ones they gave? It's Schrodinger's meaning. By the conversation's end they'll know who--if anyone--is dead, and who decided to trust.

"Do you really think no one's ever told me that before?"

"Nah. But I'd bet a lot of G that you've never listened to it." Sans offers, casually, leaning back against the double doors. It's tough to size the kid up in a place like this. They look smaller, cornered, but coiled like a spring all the same.

"Hey, kiddo. Can I ask you a serious question? You don't gotta tell me but, hey, maybe you'll feel like opening up. Anyway." Sans made an approximation of clearing his throat -- difficult to do when you didn't have one to clear. "Why do you hate me so much? I mean, I think it should be pretty obvious why I've got some hard feelings in your direction, but y'know, it's always been kind of a mystery to me what I did to deserve all that mess of anger my way. Heck, our way."

Sans took a beat, drumming out a soft tattoo against the elevator doors.

"It didn't have to be the way it was, y'know. We could've been friends."

"Hah." He means it. He must, of course, since that's the whole angle he seems to be trying right now. Chara smiles thinly.

"I'm sorry, Sans. Would it help if I told you I didn't hate you?"

Would it be true? 'Hate' is a tricky thing when it's stuck in the tangle with everything else, but that doesn't mean it's not there. No, they hate him, and they won't explain it: telling him 'why's would mean he'd be able to apologize, and Chara's not ready to deal with that. No--not 'not ready'. They don't want his apology. He doesn't deserve it, and they don't want to start.

None of that will ever be said out loud. Without the privacy of their own mind, Chara suspects the words would come out defensive, and that's not what this is. At all.

Edited 2016-04-08 03:25 (UTC)

"It's sweet of you to try and spare my feelings, but that's not exactly why I'm asking."

But once again, Chara was shutting down. They looked like a child, but 'wall' would be a better characterization. A very, very bitter wall. One with a real mean look on its face, but impenetrable all the same.

"You're a smart kid, or at least you think real highly of yourself in that area. I'll let you figure out what I'm really asking here for yourself. Maybe get back to me with the answer once you have it."

Prejudice is a cruelty monsters have seen endlessly throughout their violent history. History books are littered with atrocities borne of nothing, and the very recent eradication of his race is still fresh in Sans' mind. If that's what this is, if that's all this ever was, if the answer is because you're a monster, well... what more is there to say?

"I really didn't hate you," They repeat, smile gone. Not all of this had been some cruel joke, even if some of it had been. Their eyes flicker. "Not like now. Before the Last Corridor."

They take in an even breath.

"It wasn't personal." The seams between wall-panels have a faint, low-colored groove. Chara studies it. "You were just..."

Their frown darkens. Every reason seems to loop around at itself circularly, and finding the start is like searching a mobius strip. Yet another reason to have avoided telling him, not when explaining like this would be this inept a process. The pieces they've tossed out already seem even more paltry on the table than they did while hidden away.

Edited 2016-04-08 05:10 (UTC)

"In the way, right?" Sans supplies for them, grin flashing a little more brightly as he shrugs his shoulders with a short laugh. "At least, that's the impression I got. Stepping stones on your great journey of... well, I'm still not sure on why you did it, but again. That's for you to tell me, I guess."

Sans examines his nails, ignoring that he doesn't have any to speak of.

"But I know one thing. Monsters don't go down the way they did for you unless there's some real hate in someone's soul. And I don't see why anyone would hurt someone who... heh." No point in finishing that thought. It's clear who he's talking about. And, knowing what they know, Chara's probably heard his advice a hundred time's before.

Sans heaves a breath, banishing that particular image from his mind. No matter how many months pass, no matter how real Papyrus is here on the ship, that pain never seems to quit.

"Anyway. Point is, I wanna make peace with you here. I wanna keep the people on this boat safe. I wanna find a way to vent your anger. If that means killing me once a month, I'm willing to negotiate that out. I just need it to stop." I need them safe. "Alright?"

The hate staring back at him through eyelashes, the one confirming every word as he talks--it vanishes in an instant, buried under visceral surprise. If they 'vented' their anger, like--like taking it out on someone helpless, some martyr willing or unable to get away, like a friend to a friend, or an adult to a child--

Their gut has turned to stone, and they don't understand it. Hurting people is nothing different from what they've already done before, to Papyrus or anyone else, but somehow this bald offer makes them want to hurl. Since when did he say things like this? Since when was this the game they played?

"That's not possible." It's not the game. "I can't do that. That's not going to work."

Edited 2016-04-08 05:35 (UTC)

"Hey, I'll give you a fight if that's how you get your kicks."

But Sans is being indulgent now, and the chuckle that follows proves it. With a quick wave of his hand, the elevator starts to move again, albeit with a new scrapping noise that wasn't there before. Troubling. Someone is gonna give him an earful about that, if they ever find out it was him.

"Seriously, what will work? 'Cuz kid, I dunno how many times I can prove it to you, but... heh. I'm just a guy here. I got a family, just like you do. We're not that different."

Edited 2016-04-08 05:58 (UTC)

"We are that different," they shoot back sourly. Disquiet lingers like a bad smell, and they put the details of his offer as far from their mind as they can manage.

"I don't have a family. And there's not anything you can do. I..."

... Want to kill everyone on the ship? Yes, but also no, because they also don't want to. They just want to be able to kill everyone. But if they could, then why wouldn't they do it? Maybe they want to slaughter everyone on a planet. But if they did, then they'd have to stay long enough that the Moira would escape.

Internal war draws on, and they turn away, pinching the bridge of their nose. It doesn't really help, and they're not sure why adults do it.

Finally they mutter without looking. "... Give me names, and I'll stay away from them."

Or at least leave killing them for last, like Frisk. They can't think of any other solution. Expecting perfection with the way things are is impossible, but they think they could promise this much without making it a lie. He'll just keep coming back to harass them, otherwise. They can't kill him every time.

It's a lie -- Chara does have a family. A family that's desperate to see them happy, healthy, and safe. But Sans doesn't argue with their assertion. This won't be the hill he dies on, not this particular meeting. As much as Toriel's wept words sting at the back of his skull, there's nothing he can do for her now except push her child further from her.

What he can do is plain to see -- Chara all but said so.

"Alright. Deal." Sans takes a skeletal approximation of a breath, looking away for a moment. It's a sign of uneasy trust, or at least that's how Sans chooses to see it. Taking his eyelights off the child for even a moment is a herculean effort. "I'll need some time to think about it. I'll drop a list by your MID inbox some time tonight. Won't be more than you can handle."

He's quiet a beat longer, rolling around what he wants to say next, mentally testing the waters. Like it or not, Sans has learned a lot about Chara these last few months. One of which is how hard to push and when to back off.

Whether it's against better judgment to speak or not, well, Sans never claimed to be an expert.

"Y'know, for the record... there are ways to be near people and not hurt 'em. I get you don't wanna hear that from a monster, but talk to Frisk. They're a lot like you. Give 'em a chance to try and help. 'Cuz between you and me, I don't think you're any happier with how things are going than I am."

Edited 2016-04-12 19:16 (UTC)

Their nostrils flare, and it's the first sign that he's pushed too far. They surge forward with a hand outstretched, and it's reaching right for Sans' neck. (Collar. Jacket. Any hand-hold works.) He's a slippery little shit, of course, so they don't expect to catch him, but they can damn well try.

Either way they'll stop when they they meet the wall, fixing him with a glare that burns like lasers.

"Shut up, Sans. If I wanted your advice I'd ask for it. You know you're just as bad as the rest of them, right? You think you know everything, what's best or worst, but really you don't even have a clue."

Well. Apparently he went too far. Sans made a mental note to toe that particular line going forward, right as Chara's hand found traction at the collar of his uniform.

If Sans was afraid, he wasn't showing it. Chara could do their worst. Nihilism came with a lot of perks, chief among them is caring very little whether you live or die. Sans eyelids droop, grin stretching lazily across his skull.

"That's where you're wrong, kid. I'm smart enough to know I have no clue. You should take a lesson."

Edited 2016-04-12 20:32 (UTC)

Contempt oozes out of every pore, and they could kill him as easily as cracking an egg right now. He'd deserve it, but if he's dead then they're definitely not getting out of the elevator without questions. There's a scream in their chest. It's not fair.

This smug, lazy, judging bastard. At least he's all talk, even if his talk presses needle-like words into their skull. They push a little roughly as they let go, then step away, wiping their hand on their shirt.

"Nobody asked you, Sans. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to get out of this damn elevator before I'm thirty."

Edited 2016-04-12 21:06 (UTC)

His skull bonks against the back of the elevator, though not with enough force to do much damage. Rolling his neck, Sans cracks any lingering stiffness from his joints. They pop like bubble wrap.

"Heh. Alright." Rubbing the back of his skull, Sans merely shrugs in response to the snotty tone. Chara hates monsters, that's fine. For their mother's sake, Sans can't give up just yet. And while not giving up goes against most of his personal belief system, Toriel, well...

She's Toriel. Kind, wonderful, tough as nails, and unfaltering when it comes to her children. She deserves happiness, at least for a little while. Her and his brother both. For them, he can't give up, no matter how much this kid seems to hate his kind.

He lifts a hand, snapping it to get the elevator to spark back into action.

But nothing happens except for a long scrape of metal against metal.

"... Huh."

"... What are you waiting for?" Oh no. This isn't what they think it is. "What's going on?"

There's not a lot of answers they could get. Chara puts a hand on the wall, but feeling the scraping through the walls does nothing to help them, and after several seconds the motion stops altogether. It's quiet. Well--quieter.

The door is right there, but their human fingers are too blunt, too big to pry them apart."Sans--..." They point and step back. Chara might grow up to be a leader like Toriel someday, but as are now they only carry a shadow of her presence, and the front of a demanding child.

With a look between the child's finger and the door, Sans fixes Chara with a perplexed look. It's possibly the most honest expression the child has ever had the occasion to see on his face, but in light of what he assumes Chara is asking...

"Wha--you want me to blow a hole through the door?" Sans looks like he might laugh, though less at Chara and more at the absurdity of the situation. "Kid, I'd probably just wind up hitting someone. Or, hell, breaching the hull and sending us both into space. I dunno how these are laid out."

"I'm not saying for you to use your skull canon," Chara huffs. "I mean the other sort. Couldn't you turn the doors blue? Or could you lift the entire elevator to the next floor?"

If Sans was planning this fiasco beforehand, then they'll kill him. They sort of want to push him off a brink of some sorts just for getting them both trapped anyway, but the thought reminds Chara of the unmeasured chasm waiting beneath their feet. How far would the elevator fall before its users turned into pancakes? They've never died this way before. What a delightfully unwelcome treat.

"I kinda already tried that." Sans begins, voice flat but not exactly unkind. Practicality is on the agenda for now, replacing his trademark joie de vivre. This encounter was intended to have a time limit; anything longer than that and Sans has about as much interest in sticking around as a cat enjoys bathwater.

Resigned, Sans extends his hand.

"C'mon. We'll take a shortcut."

Speaking of cats and bathwater...

"No." Chara puts their hands behind their back. "Get us out of here the normal way. You broke this in the first place." If anyone could convince someone to try harder by force of will, Chara will do so. Sans has mental 'try harder, you idiot's and 'you're not doing enough's flying at him like a tiny rain.

"Kid, trust me, this wasn't part of the plan." Sans frowns, looking up and around at the metal box he is now trapped in. Unfortunately, leaving Chara behind isn't an option. The kid could actually get hurt, for one, and it would completely undo whatever limited progress he's made so far.

"If I try, I might send us both hurtling down to the bottom of the elevator shaft. And believe it or not, I don't want you dead any more than me."

"Of course you don't." It takes tilting their head back to look down their nose at him, but they still manage. Their hands reach the wall behind them.

"Find some other way. It's not as though we're short on time."

"It's not scary, if that's what you're worried about."

Sans leans back against his own wall, arms crossed over his front.

"It's just a few seconds. You don't even need to hold my hand if you don't want to."

They churn this over for seconds that stretch on for years. Of course they're not scared. They've done these side-along shortcuts with Frisk, before. What makes these so different now?

At last they sigh.

"Fine, then. Get on with it."

It's not the reaction Sans hopes for, but he doesn't look a gift horse in the mouth. With a sigh, he does some math in his head, inviting Chara to walk towards the door with him.

In a matter of moments, the elevator strips away, leaving them at... the med bay? Sans had to think quick, and this is one of the more neutral places he could think of. Gardens, aft, too much baggage. Observatory? Way too much baggage.

"See? Not so bad, right?"

He's the one that got them trapped, so in Chara's mind the fact that he got them free again shouldn't get any congratulations. He should get an acrid scolding for the danger they were in, or maybe some neutral statement to hail to the nicer person Chara once was.

Chara gives him a long look. At the end of it they simply turn and stride towards the medbay doors.

This evening is over.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

here we go again

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sorry for the delay, busy weekend!

It was worth the wait!~

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