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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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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.]
no subject
They can't be different. They can't change a thing. They already know what happens when they're given second chances: they make everything worse. And they laugh it off. They effortlessly distance themselves. They don't even care one bit.
Their hands relax around the locket. Remember gentleness, or at least try to do something close to that. It's only for the 99 DEF. Best friends forever doesn't mean anything at all. Frisk still has the knife, Chara still has HP to spare, the stick is still lying in the snow where they discarded it. They could giggle in the face of this pointless gesture, go right back to lashing out until the drying tear-tracks on Frisk's face are wet again.
But Frisk is ready to leave, and Chara is ready to let them go. Ready to be alone.
* Chara is... s...
* ...
* Chara is sparing you...?
God, no. That sounds horrible and wrong. Absolutely laughable. Chara is merely bored with this.]
Then. You've made yourself perfectly clear. Do what you will... and we'll see what happens.
no subject
...sort of?
It's a step in the right direction. A direction. Whatever it is, Frisk will take it.
Thy offer a small, tentative smile.]
I'll see you?
[*go to hell.
*see ya.
But...no. Not this time. It's an extension of peace, the olive branch.
Maybe, given time, it'll mean something.]