[...They love kitchens. She's the reason why. Warm, comforting smells. Cinnamon, butterscotch, pastry, fire magic. Coziness. Security.
But Chara... they're worried. Sans feared them from the moment he saw them, because Frisk told them. Alphys knows about Resets now, and Chara can only guess exactly how Frisk went about explaining the less happy timelines. Papyrus comes from the very dustiest timeline. Chara is exactly the sort of unwelcome presence that Frisk and Sans warn people about.
It won't last. They can't have this. She'll find out what they really are. She'll realize they aren't a good person, that she's better off without them. That Frisk is the child she always wished she had, not Chara. All she has to do is say their name, and they're positive that everyone will tell her about how frightening and vicious and uncontrollable they are.
And if it's going to burn down no matter what... if they don't really have any power to change things or choose their own fate... they can at least take control of how quickly it burns. Do the right thing, Chara.
So they stand. Clutch the doorframe with tense, uneasy grip. ...Mom? Mother? Not really Mrs. Dreemurr anymore, so not Mrs. Dreemom. Not Your Highness, either. Toriel? Too familiar, perhaps, considering how she'll surely react. How to address her. How?]
HA HA I'M HERE FOR 1 HELLO
But Chara... they're worried. Sans feared them from the moment he saw them, because Frisk told them. Alphys knows about Resets now, and Chara can only guess exactly how Frisk went about explaining the less happy timelines. Papyrus comes from the very dustiest timeline. Chara is exactly the sort of unwelcome presence that Frisk and Sans warn people about.
It won't last. They can't have this. She'll find out what they really are. She'll realize they aren't a good person, that she's better off without them. That Frisk is the child she always wished she had, not Chara. All she has to do is say their name, and they're positive that everyone will tell her about how frightening and vicious and uncontrollable they are.
And if it's going to burn down no matter what... if they don't really have any power to change things or choose their own fate... they can at least take control of how quickly it burns. Do the right thing, Chara.
So they stand. Clutch the doorframe with tense, uneasy grip. ...Mom? Mother? Not really Mrs. Dreemurr anymore, so not Mrs. Dreemom. Not Your Highness, either. Toriel? Too familiar, perhaps, considering how she'll surely react. How to address her. How?]
...Ma'am. I would... I'd like to talk.