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entranceworks2016-01-23 12:13 am
vitaelamorte) wrote in entranceworks2016-01-23 12:13 am
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+ ENTRANCEWAY TEST DRIVE MEME +
You have isolated your victim to study it at length, seeking to become them. You are nearly satisfied you know your chosen subject, ready to take on its form, leaving the poor soul to rot. You crave bottomlessly to be more, more powerful, more skilled, more inspired, and being them will be so much more interesting.
They will tell you what they think, they will tell you what they feel, they will tell you what they see. Are all these shapes useful? Will they let you know them? Will they tell you more about them?
For you must see more. You have not yet seen enough. You must rise--
--to the occasion at the
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no subject
[They shout it, voice tearing, cracking at the edges, fracturing with dismay, disuse, pain, humiliation, horror, regret. Their cheek stings, red with cold and the hard print of a hand. The snow is burning into their back through their striped shirt. The handle of the knife digs into their spine, pinned between them and the snow-strewn dirt.
It hurts to scream.
It'll hurt more to die.]
There's no LOVE here! No RESETs! We're somewhere else!
[Look up, they want to say. Look up and see the sky again. But all that springs to their mind is the name - ]
- Wonderland.
no subject
Slowly, almost theatrically, they draw their hand back once more. Another slap, more demoralizing than vicious.
* Doesn't it hurt?
* Don't you resent that you can't stop it?
* Can't move your body. You tried to reach for your SAVE file... nothing happened.
* The little power you do have is worthless now. You can't SAVE this creature. You can't even SAVE yourself.
Chara leans down. Tenderly, almost. Smiles that lovely smile they do so well. Whispers a sweet little secret, as supportive and intimate as a "despite everything" in Frisk's ear.]
I don't care.
[No Asriel, no Toriel and Asgore lovingly nose-nuzzling. This is just another flawed ending. Not what Chara wants. Another meaningless world to pass through like a detached spectator, devouring it as they please. If no RESETs means no undoing the bodies they leave behind, means turning the whole world against them until either there's nothing left of the world or of them, then so be it. It's still oblivion, no matter how they achieve it.]
I still can't feel a SOUL inside me, Frisk. Nothing has a point. Existing is pointless.
[They tilt their head back, like they can hear the unspoken request fit into that single world. An infinite, snowy sky. Ah. So lovely. The surface.
The place they threw themselves down an endless pit to escape.]
So. If none of it matters. Then I think I want to see what you do.
[They shift, adjust one of their knees. Dig it into the snow instead. Allow Frisk a single free arm. And then, one more time, they straighten up. Draw their hand back to lash out.
FIGHT. ACT. ITEM. MERCY.]
no subject
[They never talk this much but it's all spilling out in a streamlined burst, part prayer and part plea. How do you FIGHT something that you never had to FIGHT, but was inside you all along?
They freeze, rigid in indecision. The knife's pommel is digging a painful lump in their back. They could twist around, reach for it.
They don't have anything else.]
How do you know you don't have a SOUL here?
no subject
If I could regret, then I would know.
[They wouldn't be able to take even a single step if the sins crawling on their back were capable of having weight again. They would surely be paralyzed beneath them, sobbing too hard to speak. Crushed by remorse, starved for redemption, screaming out for help.
Or maybe they wouldn't. Maybe a SOUL wouldn't make a difference. Maybe they really always were just a bad person.
Starting over. What a nice thought that would be. Maybe nobody here knows them but Frisk. ...Frisk, who surely wishes they never had a voice whispering poison in their ear. Frisk, who surely sees them as a scapegoat. A warning. Not a person, but an example of what not to do.
Ha. They are already a demon. Chara knows that.
Again, they raise their hand. Again, just enough of a pause to coax a reaction out of Frisk -- to toy with them, to goad them closer and closer to fighting or crumbling. Attack or run away! What are you proving this way?]
no subject
[They don't want to hurt you.
And the problem is, well, Chara knows their head. Chara's been there, sick and heavy and familiar and crawling all over their thoughts, clinging there like a tumor.
Frisk twists, and retrieves the knife from beneath them. Their movements are clumsy and unpracticed, but their grip is tight and unyielding.
It's more than likely that Chara knows them well enough to call their bluff. But maybe they'll be curious enough to let the knife serve as a barrier between them.]
no subject
Chara knows Frisk, of course. They know it wouldn't be satisfying or entertaining in the least to kill someone who chooses not to fight back. That these slaps will bore them long before the stinging in their hand or the look on Frisk's face can pierce through the wall of empty space where a SOUL should have been.
They know Frisk doesn't want to hurt them. They know Frisk just wants to be good.
But Chara. Chara is proving something this way, too. Chara doesn't want to be the cautionary tale. Chara wants to prove that naive sentiment wrong -- even the worst person can be good, if they just try? Chara wants someone to drag down, because they once wanted to be good, and they only ruined everything. They're beyond redemption now. Beyond goodness. They had a second chance to be a good person, and merely poisoned everything they touched.
They want proof that sort of fate can even befall the good human.
They take a good, long look at the knife in Frisk's hand. Red eyes, gleaming with the ghost of a strange, unhealthy sort of excitement, sharply slide up to meet Frisk's.]
Make me.
[And again, they swing. Aim to hurt. Press harder and harder for Frisk to use that knife for its intended purpose. If it's already in Frisk's hand, then it's only one half-step further to use it. Won't that be satisfying, Frisk?
* Won't that just be what Chara deserves?]
no subject
Weak, weak, weak.
It would be so easy.
Is that what makes it so wrong?]
Get back!
[They swing the knife in a deliberately clumsy arc, just enough to serve as sort of a buffer between Chara and themselves. Maybe it's an attempt to drive them away. The intent to hurt, to kill - it's not there. They're too scared of themselves.]
no subject
Frisk.
You don't get to pretend this is hard. We were there together, were we not? When you conquered someone Undying. When Toriel, when Papyrus, when Mettaton fell at your hand. When Asgore did not receive mercy. You know what a real swing feels like.
I will not "get back." I refuse to do what you tell me. So put me in my place, Frisk. You have it in you. Even when I'm not there to take the blame, you have it in you.
[They tug harder on the locket. Tighten their grip. Offer a little less breathing room. A reminder which of them is in a position to make the rules, and which one is... ha ha. Which one is at their mercy.]
no subject
[It slips out before they can take it back. It slips out before they can do anything. They flinch, but the nagging fear still seizes them.]
What happens?
[Their grip trembles.]
What happens when something without a SOUL dies?
[It's what Asriel had been afraid of. Flowey.]
cw for suicide mention by the way HA HA SHIT
I became despondent. I just wanted to love someone. I just wanted to care about someone. Chara, you might not believe this... But I decided... It wasn't worth living anymore. Not in a world without love. Not in a world without you.
So... I decided to follow in your footsteps.
I would erase myself from existence.
Chara laughs, softer and shakier, but somehow... sharper.]
I don't care.
Maybe I'll vanish at last. Just like Asriel wanted. You can have whatever ending you please, without a devil on your shoulder whispering "what if?" Everyone can be so very happy.
Wouldn't that be nice, Frisk? How lucky for you that I'm solid at last.
see above warning this thread is gettin DARK LMAO
[How can they not care? Is every moment just too painful for them to beat witness to it? Is this what drove them to chew up the buttercups until blood ran from their mouth and Asriel cried?]
You can start over. Please.
[They shake their head. They can't do it. They can't do it.
There has to be intent before you can FIGHT. Before you can kill.]
someone award chara the ABSOLUTELY NO CHILL trophy
Their grip is too tight, but they neither push nor pull.]
What's the point, Frisk?
Toriel and Asgore have been ruined beyond mending. Asriel hates me. I couldn't be good if I tried. No matter how many second chances I'm handed.
What would change? It'd just be another RESET.
chara u had ONE JOB
But there aren't RESETs here. Everything just...goes on.
[Even, people are saying, after death. But they both know what that's like.]
Asriel would forgive you. I forgive you.
[They plead, but they can't know what Asriel would say.]
i mean if that one job was RUIN EVERYTHING then mission accomplished
* ...What? You didn't do that?
No. That isn't Frisk. That's Chara.]
* But it's not funny.
[Mumbled to themselves more than Frisk, with shaking shoulders and white-knuckled, quivering hands. One on the knife, one on the locket. The last things that were theirs. Best friends forever.
They let go.
Bury their face in their hands, hunch over the body they pinned to the snow and struck over and over again. Why would you go and say something like that, Frisk? After Asriel already buried their memory, already declared someone else the friend he always wished he had?
Why would you be so nice to Chara?]
You don't forgive me.
* You don't forgive me.
[The asterisk creeps into their voice again, like it's something they can announce and have it become unalterable, undeniable fact. Like they can force Frisk to think that way. To deny Chara's existence, to make but I'm not like that into a mantra again.]
smh
Get away from me! I'll kill you!
Their face is still raw, their throat still sore from the locket's chain pulling tight around it. Frisk lets the knife drop back to their side.
Then.]
Two hundred and forty-eight times.
[They say it quietly, barely a whisper.]
Two hundred and forty-eight times.
That's how many times Undyne killed me. I counted.
[A count racked up over timelines, over attempt after attempt. Undyne the fearless, brave warrior against whom they'd never raise a hand to hurt, and Undyne the Undying, determination incarnate. Two hundred and forty-eight times.]
no subject
They say nothing. They're no longer in Frisk's head, so they can't simply drag out the answers. Where Frisk is going with this, they don't know, and they don't trust. They regard it warily, like even this is a trap, like at their most vulnerable moment, Frisk will sink to their level. Like the moment they actually let themselves believe they could be shown mercy, they'll pay for it.
But...]
I counted too.
[Admitted just as quietly for Frisk. For darker reasons, they guess. The numbers going up. The feeling of conquest. That was all Chara had left.
But they died, too, alongside Frisk. Every time. They were there when a tough foe was finally vanquished, whatever method Frisk chose, but they were along for the ride when a determined SOUL snapped to pieces over and over again as well.]
no subject
[They want to reach out. Help them. Put a hand on their shoulder.
But they don't.
Who's to say whether that would be interpreted as a threat, or something worse?]
Why would you be any different?
no subject
Every monster got mercy. Toriel got a child to love and the school she dreamed of. Asgore got a chance to live on, move past the blood of six others staining his hands. Asriel was forgiven, comforted, decided his own fate. Got to say that Flowey wasn't really him.
Even Frisk gets to wipe away their mistakes. Live happily with friends and family that love them, that never have to remember that the two-hundred and forty-ninth time, they melted away, became dust. Gets to pretend they never died at the hands of the people they loved, whether that's really such a good thing for them or not.
But Chara... isn't exactly the nicest person. Is the demon that comes when it's called. Was not SAVED like other lost souls. Cannot be redeemed.
* Try as you might, you continue to be yourself.
They're usually so good with words. What spills from them is inevitably flowery, refined, but laced with buttercup poison. The lackluster nature of their response now... it's frustrating.]
I just am.
[They shift again. Freeing Frisk's other arm, then getting off them entirely. Their knees pulled to their chest. Their face still buried. It's not an angelic smile. It should not be seen.]
Stop it. Fight me or leave.
no subject
[A challenge. Not spiteful, but genuinely curious. Frisk rights themselves slowly, crawling back upright in the snow that burns the pads of their hands with how frigid it is. They stay crouched at Chara's level. One hand goes to the locket.
Best friends forever.]
Do you think you - don't deserve it?
[Quietly now, like a whisper. Not daring to believe it.]
no subject
I'm not sorry. I won't learn anything from this.
[Attack them or run away! Fight them or leave! Bitterly refusing to give or accept MERCY. Insisting the only option is to FIGHT. Sparing them won't change anything. Killing them is the only way to end this. They'll kill everyone Frisk loves.
If they realized just how like their family they were, they might be moved.
As things are, they only feel empty.]
You'll try and try, I'm sure. You must pride yourself on sparing everyone. But it won't change anything. You can't fix me.
no subject
The action is practically tired reflex by now. MERCY. Spare.
MERCY. Spare.
MERCY. Spare.
Frisk sits there, marinating in their own uncertainty, before they tentatively slip the locket off from around their neck and hold it out.]
I won't give you the knife. [They say it firmly. Of course, seeing as the closets fulfill everyone's desires, there's very little that'll stop Chara from getting one anyway. But maybe it's the symbolism of the thing.] But I think this belongs to you, now.
[And maybe they need it more than Frisk does.]
no subject
And yet starving fingers snatch the locket away from Frisk, swift and alarmed, like the very second they reach out they expect Frisk to yank it away. It slides around their own neck in a way that's painfully familiar, despite the stiff, trembling clumsiness of their hands.
* Right where it belongs.]
I'm not sorry. I won't say thank you.
[But still, they clutch it. Like the subtle pulse and residual warmth are things they could take into themselves, somehow.]
...I chose mercy once. Just to see what would happen. Do you remember?
[Were they even awake enough to? When they had gone down that particular path... Chara's voice had only grown stronger and stronger, and Frisk's had grown more subdued. There was a point when Chara stopped listening entirely.
They were so confused when they awoke. Uncertain why they were here. What purpose there was to their existence. Perhaps, they supposed, it was to be to Frisk what they'd tried to be to Asriel so many years ago. Just close your eyes. You don't have to do anything. I'll kill all of them for you. I'll be strong where you cannot.
But they saw, too, each time Frisk chose to Spare. Fighting against a monster who wished them harm, fighting against Chara's insistent tug towards hitting back. And so. The confusion persisted.
It didn't matter, really. Just one more try out of countless attempts to win. But the words settled in all the same:]
* Sans is sparing you.
[Chara's smile creeps back now, in stilted, crooked little jumps. Was it their own choice to reach for mercy? Frisk's, overpowering Chara's will in one last, desperate reach for help? The two of them reaching together? In some of those timelines, Chara has a harder time separating what was "I" and what was "you."
Whatever the case. They remember. Mercy was a trap. Mercy was a cage. Some people are too evil to ever get forgiveness. A SOUL broke, and Sans had crowed with unbearable, derisive smugness. Laughed at their naivete. To think they could be forgiven, after everything they had done.
So they look at Frisk with wary, fatalistic anticipation. Just waiting for the trap to spring. For whatever string might be attached to the locket, because Best friends forever was obviously a lie, and this must be a lie too.]
no subject
They remember the way Sans winked, arms open for a hug. And they'd shuffled forward, dangling on the edge of a precipice they didn't want to acknowledge, practically collapsed into his arms, and then the bones hand sprung from either side and from his ribcage and his grin had been unfailing as shards of white slammed through their body with an unrelenting grimness and left nothing in its wake.
woah. you look REALLY pissed off.
heheheh...did i getcha?
But there's no caveat here. No secondary agenda. Frisk simply stands there, watching, waiting. They make no movement other than to slip the knife back into their pocket, out of immediate reach.]
We don't have to follow those rules anymore.
no subject
Without those rules. Without the feeling of HP, ATK, DEF, LOVE... without any of it going up. Without the enemies going down. Without kill or be killed. What is Chara, without those? They are the demon that comes when its name is called. The thrill of conquest. The idle amusement of chewing up every last inch of a world just to see what might happen.
Chara's been gone a long time. Chara wasn't exactly the nicest person. if we're really friends... you won't come back.]
You're making a mistake, Frisk. You'll only get hurt, Frisk. That knife will be mine someday. I won't hesitate to kill you if you get in my way. I'm not tethered to you anymore, so if you die, it won't affect me at all. Nothing will.
You can't expect to invite a demon into your home and have everything work out nicely.
no subject
[They admit it sadly, but without hesitation. It takes more than a single act of MERCY to unravel years and years, timelines and timelines of sheer enjoyment in the act of destruction.
If nothing else, they've learned that much.]
But we're not tied to anything here. Maybe things can be different.
[No script. No predetermined outcomes. Flowey can't snatch away a happy ending with grim abruptness, and no one can trade Frisk's SOUL for a new world to play in.
They begin to back away. They're done here.]
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