fulllifeconsequences

[Beside Chara's bed, is a neatly wrapped box- and inside, a sweater! Simple and white- but patterned with a ring of hearts along the waist, chest, and sleeves, and a larger heart right in the middle- right above an image of the emblem on Toriel's robes. To hopefully make them feel a bit more like they belong.

She hopes they like it.]

[Holy heck. She just exploded that cupcake. There are crumbs and spatters of icing freckling one side of their face, and for a second or so, they just gape in complete and utter awe of the mass baked-good destruction Commander Shepard ushered in with a single decisive death blow.

Then, they completely lose it. Like, bent in half, staggering to lean against the wall, would probably fall over shrieking with laughter if they didn't have something to lean against levels of lose it.]

This - this hallway looks like a crime scene. God only knows what kind of cupcake massacre took place here!

[They can barely stand upright, but they scrabble to snatch another cupcake. It's too late. This wild, giggly momentum has seized them. They're gonna make a mess. They're committed to being a bad kid. Being loud and ridiculous and wasting food even though there are starving kids in the world and they're gonna get in trouble.

Chara spikes a cupcake on the ground, tries as hard as they can to achieve as much splatter as Shepard did.]

Death to the sugary baked oppressors!

You really know how to lie without batting an eye. It's impressive.

[His tone is a bit dry, but there's no admonishment to it. He's an actor; he lives in lies.

Their tone, coupled with their abrupt demand that he give his reasons as to his presence makes him sigh a bit.]

I'm here because you died during that last event. I wanted to check in on you and make sure you were ok. I know things have been extremely rough with you lately, what with Frisk and events and everything in between.

[His smile remains gentle as he continues.]

I don't want you to think you're alone if Frisk isn't around. You're not.

[Oof, maybe he laid the sentimentality on a little thick. He's sure Chara will brush it off easily, but there's no taking it back now.]

found them

heading there now

can you feel when they save?

if not when i text you in a minute i need you to throw a save of your own down

if you save over them they won't be able to load me away

I can. They've been laying SAVEs very frequently.

But you should text me regardless. I need to know which SAVE counts.

[Can't overwrite every single one they've been making for the past few weeks. They didn't have much of a SOUL left to begin with. They've got even less, two deaths later. It's only going to get harder and harder to match a whole SOUL's worth of determination, let alone exceed it.]

I'm not sure I can SAVE over them more than once.

now

[They're practically immune to sappiness. Can effortlessly roll their eyes at it, laugh at it, ignore it. Their armor is far too thick to be so easily shattered.

But it's been... two months is a very long time. Two months of regret, two months of being unable to make up for a mistake. Two months of it not getting better. They never had the respite of being undetermined. They only had the ability to hold their breath, to fake as hard as they could that they weren't affected at all.

It's getting hard to keep holding their breath.

There should be an easy answer here. Blasé remarks about their exceptional talent for lies. Laughing about how everyone seems to forget they were already dead before they came here, so obviously they're used to it. Brushing off the idea that anything could possibly be rough for them, unfeeling and in control and heartless as they are. Some breezy, joking remark about how they actually vastly prefer alone, ha ha, they've never felt loneliness or attachment in their entire wretched life!

But he says they're not alone and he acts like the fact they died matters (Why would he act like that? Why did anyone even notice?) and they... they... it's stupid, right? Of course they're alone without Frisk. Frisk was the only person in the whole entire Underground who knew they were even there. Everyone else found a new child, a new future, a new best friend, a new spot to scribble over a memorial. Of course they're alone. They're - ha ha, they're so alone!

Chara feels like - like a glass that's been filling up, drop-by-drop, and now there's nothing but surface tension keeping everything held together. Like this is just one droplet too many, and now that tiny little speck of nothing is enough to set the whole thing to spilling over the sides. They clench their fists and bite their lip and screw their face up, because they can feel their eyes starting to burn over such a tiny, insignificant remark. Their cheeks are burning with shame, because he'll think they're absolutely looney if one stupid fake smile and one just-as-fake corny remark are all it takes to - big kids don't cry! They don't even cry! They've got nothing to cry about! This whole thing is their fault, so who gave them the right to go fishing for pity by crying?]

I'm fine. Of course I'm fine! You must really be bored if you're wasting your time on this, huh?

[They try to keep smiling. It's just a joke. It's all just one big joke to Chara! They're laughing this off, just like they laughed off using buttercups instead of butter. Just like they always laugh at suffering, because that's what demons do.]

[On the 25th, outside of Toriel's room since that is where they are currently staying, there are two packages wrapped smartly and primly waiting outside. There is a beautiful glamor shot of Mettaton lounging attached to them and a note written on the back.

Dear Chara,

I know you wish you had monster magic to use and make flames with, but you should remember that human ingenuity and science can be a magic all of its own. You're a very smart child and I hope you enjoy these gifts! Maybe one day you'll be back to being my pyrotechnic expert! I'll keep the position open just for you. ;)

Love, your favorite star,

-MTT

When the packages are opened, Chara will find: A book on fireworks and a beginners chemistry set, complete with an instruction manual for various experiments and detailed explanations as to why they happened.]

Understood.

Where are they?

checkrhils .

[As soon as they go down, she does too. She drops into a squat, arms folded on her knees with her head resting on them as she tries to suppress her full-bodied laughter. God, she hopes the mansion cleans itself. It probably does? Well, she sure hopes it does before Toriel makes it back.

She hears the cupcake hit the ground and feels it, and she leans back on her butt and is only stopped by the wall holding her upright, hands falling to her lap as she throws her head back and laughs.

This is wonderful. This is everything she hoped this might be.]

That's right, Chara, don't let the Cupcake Lords hold you back! Show them what-for!

[There's one more cupcake on the plate and she doesn't even know what to do with it, until she finally looks up and knows. Knows exactly what she has to do. She pulls herself to her feet, grabs the last one, and throws it directly upward.

It hits, frosting-first, and does not come down.]

... Well, uh, that's someone else's problem now.

[That's it. They're dead. RIP in pizza, Chara Dreemurr. They slide the rest of the way down the wall, end up an utterly ungraceful lump on the floor, shrieking with childish, giddy laughter. God, the trouble they'd be in if someone saw! The hallway's a mess, from top to bottom. How in the world would you even go about cleaning a ceiling cupcake? They know the mansion will probably undo it, but all the same, the idea of a cupcake just being stuck up there for so long it becomes like a part of the interior decorating just - god, it's too much.

They sit up, gasping for breath and wiping their eyes. Still up there. Still no signs of coming unstuck. It's like performance art, honestly.]

Maybe you'd better come inside, before somebody shows up. If anyone asks, we were the victims of a drive-by.

[Chara screws their face up to stop themself from crying, and Mettaton feels his heart ache.]

Darling, even seasoned actors need to take a break and get off the stage. You're not fine and it's all right not to be.

[He holds out a hand to them but doesn't touch; merely offers it.]

I'm not sure how you are with touch or hugs, but if you need one and want one, I will gladly give it.

[His smile takes on the slightest edge of a smirk.]

Tsk tsk Chara. Do you really think I would waste my time on someone I didn't like? Please. I'm not that generous.

[It's been a rough few days, but he didn't forget. Just didn't really have time to go get it until this evening. He just sort of shows up at their door before he can talk himself out of it. Everyone else is at a party getting ready for the New Year, as if there is anything right now that's worth celebrating.]

[He's holding a plain, brown paper bag. He sighs and knocks on their door.]

[Another fight with Frisk today. Futile to have offered anything. They're not going to associate with the sort of hypocrite who only wants an angel.

There are burns on their fingertips and streaks of ash against their palms. Their eyes are red from smoke. Ha ha, that's a punchline. That hilarious old chestnut about how their eyes are always red.

They tug their sleeves down lower, over their hands, and answer the door.]

Sans.

[Flat. Removed. Not curious. An easier way to be. Should have stuck to being like that all along.

He's got a paper bag. Grown-ups hide their booze in those, Chara knows.]

On your way to a party?

[It's supposed to be another holiday, after all.]

[They look exhausted, maybe worse than they did in the hallway a few days ago. He honestly can't imagine that any of them look too great right now. They're all tired. It's been a wild few months, a wild year, and it's almost over, for all the good that will really do. Weird, though. Weird to think about a new year, a year gone by with no Resets, but--he's trying to avoid thinking about that now. That's for later, when he's staring at his ceiling and trying to sleep.]

[He holds out the paper bag.]

me, party? hell no. got nothing to celebrate. i just finally managed to go get your present. wanted to, uh...give it to you in person. i thought you might throw it out if i left it at the door and all you saw was my name on it.

[He just wants them to see it before they decide to get rid of it.]

Oh.

[A Gyftmas present, on New Year's Eve, wrapped (for a certain definition of wrapped) in a plain paper bag. They smile, because they think they should smile, strictly because it's an automatic and expected response and not because it's a little bit funny, almost charming in how it-]

That's very Sans of you.

[They hold out their hands for it, not sure whether to expect something fragile or like. A fistful of old socks from his trash tornado or something.]

i meant to get it sooner.

[But he's very rarely on time, after all. Like they say, it's very Sans of him.]

i kinda suck at wrapping things. plus i wasn't sure how to wrap this one anyway.

[He hands it to them. It'll feel a little heavy, but not overly so. If they take it out, they'll see why he didn't even bother trying to wrap it.]

[It's a potted plant.]

[Delicate white flowers on long stems with tiny leaves. A relative of the daisy. They'll probably know what it is right away.]

it's chamomile. i've, uh. been reading up on flowers. i guess you can use this one to make tea? so it's...safe.

[A safe flower. Both pretty and useful. Not that he--not that the implication is that they're immediately gonna chow down on it or something, but it's--symbolic? Or something? He doesn't know. It just feels important that flowers be...safe again.]

frisk got something similar.

[Another pretty, safe, non-toxic flower with a ridiculously ironic name.]

[The pot itself is plain metal (aluminum, no sharp edges, unbreakable), and wrapped around it is a similarly plain red scarf.]

that, too. it's--just a copy from the closet. it's more frisk's style, i guess, considering their outfit lately. but--well, it's...like i told them. i'm not the only one who lost him. he's important to a lot of us. not just me.

[This is probably going to wind up being a mistake. He's still not sure if it was a mistake with Frisk.]

[It's so silly. Maybe they could have shaken this off, recovered from this humiliating slip of composure.

But he reaches out. He's just... offering. Asking permission. Like the Dreemurrs learned to do with them. He doesn't just go and grab them because it's normal to like touch, normal people don't freeze up and go limp and compliant because if you behave then the skin-crawling sensation of roving fingers where they shouldn't ever be will end that much sooner, just topple out of yourself and pretend the popcorn stucco of the ceiling is a snowy field in a wonderland miles and miles away from here and...

He asks permission. Even if they didn't ask him to, didn't go through the exhausting and uncomfortable recitation of it's not you I'm just weird ha ha or anything like that. He just... asks.

And their eyes burn so hotly they cannot bear to keep them open, and they seize his hand in both of theirs even if they should be stronger than the temptation of comfort. Cling to it like it's a lifeline in a stormy sea, even if they try to laugh at themself, try to think some stupid joke about how robots are just hard clunky metal and probably suck at hugs or something.]

Stop. Don't be nice to me. Just... just don't. I can be fine if I try harder! I haven't even - what have I done for you lately, huh?

[They haven't earned this. What gives them the right to ask this of him when they've given him nothing of value? They should be stronger than this. They shouldn't need anyone to like them.]

I don't need anyone being nice to me. I don't.

[It's... it's a flower. A flower you can make tea out of. And there's - their gut reaction is a split-second of irrational, inexplicable panic, because they've been caught liking things, because they've somehow allowed him to link both flowers and tea to them when they should be something indefinable and unattached and...

The paranoid instinct doesn't last long. Gives way to some weird, equally irrational guilt, because of course he has to worry about a flower being safe. Even the things they love become dangerous, become mired in death and pain and all the horrible things that Chara spreads over the things they dare to care about. Flowers shouldn't be scary, shouldn't have to be tiptoed around, but Chara made them into that. Chara made them into a weapon.

And then, underneath all that, there's... Chara doesn't even know how to identify this feeling. The idea that all their stupid boring talk about hydrangeas and soil pH and narcissuses might have actually been not just heard, but listened to. The idea that... he'd know, he'd hear, he'd get that flowers are a nice silent, subtle way for a human to express things - remembrance of the dead, expressions of love and gratitude, a whole soft language in the background that doesn't force itself to be heard, but patiently waits for anyone who might take the time to look into it and listen. Beneath that fresh apple-ish scent is patience, material wealth, a plant with the power to calm and soothe and heal. A plant not entirely unlike the person that red scarf is meant to represent, really.

They bite their lip.]

...Thank you.

[It's always their fault when he has to say goodbye to Papyrus. They're the one with power, the one distant enough to leave it at a dismissive and impartial "forgettable." It's not about them, it's about him, because losing a brother is the single most painful thing they can even think of. They just hold the cold metal of the flowerpot against their chest, struggle to find a way to say "thank you" that's more significant and meaningful than just "thank you" could be.]

Wonderland gave me a golden flower. I can... it'll have some company. They can grow together. I can...

[Can what, raise a garden? Can have a happy little windowsill? It feels like such an awkward, irrelevant thing to tack on that their rosy cheeks just go tomato-red. They don't - they don't know how to accept gifts graciously, how to translate the things in their miserable backwards little heard into genuinely grateful words. They're bad at this. They don't know how to be - how to be not an ass around Sans, ha ha.]

[They seem kind of, uh. Blown away. Didn't expect this from him, huh? Probably didn't expect anything from him at all. Probably heard him mention he had a gift for them back in the hall a few days ago and dismissed it out of hand, or expected him to just forget about it.]

[Is this--is this a good thing? Do they like it? He can't really tell. Maybe they don't even like chamomile tea. There's other plants you can use to make tea. Lavender? Uh...vervain? Or was it something else that began with V? There were a whole lot of medicinal plants in the book he read, all of them with weird sounding names.]

[They say thank you, though. They say thank you, and he thinks it might be the second time they've ever said it to him, ever had reason to say it to him. They never struck him as the kind of kid who says "please" or "thank you" unless they're either being insincerely polite in that frightened way they have sometimes, or unless they really, actually mean it. Especially with him.]

[They don't even...make a joke. They don't even have anything sarcastic to say.]

[So maybe he did okay.]

you're. heh. you're welcome.

[Right, Wonderland. It gives out little things this time of year. He's not going to mention what he got. This is, uh, this is a nice moment right here, and telling them about the picture he got might just upset them.]

yeah. you could, uh. have one of those things you put on the windowsill, or something. when it gets warmer, anyway.

[They could pick a room in the mansion and turn it into a garden. Frisk could plant their forget-me-nots there as well, assuming they kept them. Boy is that some sappy, wishful thinking. Some flowers aren't going to just fix everything. It's gonna take a lot more than flowers.]

[But maybe they actually helped a little.]

[They've both... really needed something to go right for once, huh? It feels weird that they'd be getting it from each other, of all people, but they've really needed something to go right for once. It's not even anything that huge, not compared to all the problems that are hanging over everyone, but it's still...

They like flowers, and he remembered that. He could have weaponized it. Could have rubbed it in their face that they picked a bouquet of narcissuses, could have told them they weren't allowed flowers anymore because they ruined it, couldn't be trusted with it, wrecked it. But he just... gives them something nice. It's not even withering or anything, even if it looks like it was sort of clumsily replanted. They think it will flourish, with a little care.]

Yeah. Yeah, I could. I don't think Toriel would mind. It's... a good gift.

[He maybe needs to hear that. Good job. You did a good job, Sans. You did something nice, you helped, you made a gray and somehow endless day have a lighter gray spot glimmering in the middle of it. The silver lining, ha ha, because silver's gray too, right?]

You... got one for Frisk, too?

[He mentioned something about "like I told Frisk." Maybe it was just the scarf, or the scarf was wrapped around something else, but - well, that's not the important part.]

They accepted it?

I don't hate you. I never should have said that. I never apologized for that. I know you hate apologies, but I'm sorry anyway. There's no excuse for what I've done to you.

Sans told me he forgives me. It's like he doesn't mean a lot of things he said back home. I think maybe I believe him. It took a long time for me to believe it though. It's not his job at all, to forgive people. But maybe sometimes people say things they don't mean, or they say things when they don't know everything that's going on. They say things and don't think about how they'll hurt after, because they're scared or they're angry or feeling alone.

You're allowed to be mad at me. It's okay. I've done a lot of horrible things to you. I haven't been a very good friend at all. That's not your fault. That's mine. I don't know how to love very well I think. That isn't your fault either. I never have, really. That's part of the reason I ended up Underground. I don't know how to love, and I don't know how to be loved either. It's terrifying. But you know that, don't you?

I think sometimes I'm not the greatest person either. Kind of a lot, actually. But I don't think I know anyone who is just...great and perfect and never messes up ever. Not even Papyrus, but don't tell Sans I said that.

I miss you.

I just wanted to

If this is going to be goodbye, and if we're never going to be friends or siblings or partners or anything ever again, I want you to know that I've loved you very much. Maybe more than anyone in my life. I want you to be happy. And if you're happier without me, then...that's what you want, and I shouldn't get in the way of it.

Thank you.

Please take care of yourself.

Sincerly, Frisk.

I cannot understand what it is that you want anymore.

I know it is repetitive of me to ask. I know it does no good to stipulate things like "I cannot endorse or support 'to erase myself'" and "I am not asking what you think others expect of you," but I would like to stipulate that regardless.

Are you able to tell me?

I don't really know what I want anymore. What am I supposed to want? What do other people want me to want? When someone asks me what I want, I don't really know what to say. I guess that's why it's been so hard.

I just know I don't want to be alone anymore.

[A selfish thing to say. Look at all the people who've come to see you, Frisk. But you can be surrounded by people and still feel utterly, achingly alone. And sometimes, frequently - they do.

That's their own fault.]

* IC Inbox

12/25; a gift left inside their room

no subject

The only cure for it is TV, snacks, and sleeping

text, 12/27

no subject

12/27, a little later

what about Staring Vacantly at Nothing For like 15 Minutes at a Time

Backdated to 12/25!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Yes, perfect, also quietly rubbing a soft blanket while thinking of nothing helps

12/31, action, i hope this is okay

s'all good bru

no subject

no subject

no subject

a national pastime tbh

no subject

no subject

no subject

1/03, text

text, several hours later

text