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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
For that matter, how does Chara know about Frisk? Did they... did they hear him calling them?
He feels sick. Swallowing multiple times as Chara talks; to him, at him. Beyond him. It feels like he's getting a lecture; on the way the world really works. Kill or be killed.
Asriel didn't pick up those words from nowhere, even if the way he'd phrased them was slightly different. His image shakes; can't keep his hands steady.]
I know.
[He sounds sullen. Nothing to deny, there, nothing that isn't another sin to add to the pile on his back. Still. He has to be- he has to be strong. Visibly steels himself, though his words and expression are as soft as always.]
There was never...a right way. And people got hurt even after we were gone, but...
[He's so scared. So scared. Please, don't look at me like that. Please, don't hate me. Monsters are weird.
It doesn't take a lot for them to love someone.]
If there's already so many Floweys in the world, then- why do we have to add to that?
no subject
Asriel... don't you think it's a little late to be asking that?
Do you really feel better, forcing your father to become a Flowey instead? Does it feel like such a relief, to say all those bad choices weren't really you? To pretend you're pristine. Just like your new and improved best friend. The one who does everything right. The one who acts just how you want.
The one who surely never had dust on their hands. Surely never scribbled out their mistakes so everyone would love them again.
No, only bad humans do that. Ones who don't deserve you. Sweet, forgiven, comforted you. So much better than those bad humans, those Floweys. You're above that now.
no subject
...Probably. Probably; it really wouldn't surprise him that the intention is to have him hastily fumbling with the device, just so he and swipe at his cheeks with a clumsy hand.
You feel your sins crawling on your back, right, Chara?]
I'm not- I'm not pristine. I know I can't make up for all the things I did, I know that. Me, and you, and- and d-dad. Frisk-
[Everyone made mistakes. Everyone keeps making mistakes. His spine might snap under the weight of them. Such a struggle, to just get some words out.]
But I'm- I don't want to keep making those mistakes, even if I can't make up for everything.
I just wanted you back.
[Blurted out; stumbling on the last word, wide eyed for a fraction of a second before he looks away from the screen. Asriel braces. Braces for words he probably deserves that Chara seems more than happy supplying, right now. Remind him again, of that joke. The one with those two kids in a muddy garden?
Or maybe just the one with the kid sleeping in the dirt.]
no subject
[Our plan. It was always our plan. It was ours to Flowey, it was ours to the demon that comes. We'll free everyone.
They haven't forgotten the unpleasant taste of buttercups. They haven't forgotten blood in their mouth as they drank the sap, the agony of a death that could just look like a mysterious illness, a body devouring itself from the inside out, trying to spill everything out in horrible dry heaves.
They haven't forgotten control slipping away. Screaming, begging, sobbing. Please, Asriel, just let me do it. You don't have to do it, I'll handle it all. Just six.
Even just one.
Please, Asriel, you'll die too. We'll both die.
They can't forget someone else's determination waking them up again. They're constantly reminded, over and over again, route after route. An unnecessary passenger, a mere spectator, watching as the last person who still called their name replaces it with a much nicer one.
Their grip gets a little less perfect. The lens lowers. Their eyes are out of frame. Only the smile and a green-and-yellow sweater are still in frame. A chest where a locket will never hang again.]
You wanted someone better, and you got them.