determinedest | ic inbox

[A few hours later, Sayaka's phone will receive the soft chime of an incoming photo. Attached is an image of Frisk, posed with their scarf slung fashionably around their neck and shoulders and paired with a wide grin.]

Check your doorstep (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧

[Outside her room is a red-and-green striped ceramic pot, undoubtedly painted in a child's wobbling hand. Within is a small selection of helleborus niger - also known as a "Christmas rose".]

[Mae has left a wrapped present outside their door. Inside is a wrapped package of gel pens in multiple colors, as well as a new journal. This one's a bit different, though--it's a copy of Wreck This Journal where the whole point is to create a semi-organized mess on paper. Attached is a card.]

Merry Christmas, Frisk! I had one of these a few years ago, they're rad. <3, Mae

[He debated it for awhile, but he did get them a present. It very plainly has a small card on the front that says from sans on it--no tricks or anything, in case they want to get rid of it.]

[If they do open it, however, they'll find a hoodie inside. It's a plain white hoodie in their size--maybe a bit bulky--and it comes with a shirt decorating kit, the kind with puffy paint, iron-on patches, some dyes, and a little booklet on how to tie-dye clothes. Inside is an additional note that just says so you can make it your own]

[Funnily enough, giant anime shields don't get caught by the PG filter.

So this one's real.

But no one's signed their name...]

[Oh, a gift!! Very nicely wrapped too.

Inside is...a scarf, with blue and purple stripes! There's even a note that says, 'NOW WE CAN BE SCARF BUDDIES!!!! MERRY GYFTMAS!!! NYEHFULLY YOURS, PAPYRUS']

[There's a wrapped box left on the floor by Frisk's bed.

Last Gyftmas, they didn't get Frisk anything.

This time, they're willing to begin again.

They've recreated the sweater they burned, down to the last stitch. They don't really know, to tell the truth, what makes a piece of armor have the DEF stat it does. They can read the numbers, but not the thought process that coded that value to it. They're aware they never told Frisk about the sweater that was destroyed, that there's no way of them knowing what thought is being woven into each and every knit and purl.

All the same, over the long month or so that it took to create, they never once let their thoughts dwell on the sweater curse. Each and every repetition of each and every movement in this long labour, they decided, should be done with an air of repentance. Every fiber of this should be bound with the resolve to protect them, not abandon them.

This year, they can do a little better.]

[There’s a painting left on Frisk’s doorstep, with a tag that says, ‘Merry Christmas! Sincerely, Turing’

The painting in question is turquoise with purple stripes resembling a music staff. This is punctuated even further with several notes painted onto the staff. Turing clearly took inspiration from Frisk’s ukulele playing here!]

Heya Frisk.. What've you been up to?

[Several hours pass.]

[Then days.]

[It occurs to them only on glancing at their phone in passing that they haven't dealt with that notification that still bobs cheerfully on the clear glass screen. And then...then, several more hours pass, while they try to design a reply.]

[What they come up with isn't much.]

nothing

That's no good!

[The words are an attempt to toe the line between lightheartedness and worry.]

You wanna grab some tea with me?

[It'd be cruel to say "no," even if the urge to deny that offer outright - it's not small, if they're honest with themself. A good thing, then, that honesty isn't their policy. Not at the moment.]

[No one wants to hear you sing about tragedy.]

what kind

Any kind? Wonderland doesn't discriminate against tea!

What kind would you like?

golden flower

[That's not their favorite. But it was mine. And so it's the closest they can get to having them back, in the room, like they're not gone. Like their SOUL hasn't stopped thrumming in tune, in time to Frisk's own.]

[Golden flowers again. Max knows they're Chara's favorite. And she's pretty sure why that's the tea Frisk wants- she fingers the crumpled pack of cigarettes in her pocket, thinking of the way they smell.]

Okay. Uh, I'll get a cup ready? Is the third floor tearoom okay?

[...now? She means now?]

[Of course she means now. Why wouldn't she? The clearing of that hurdle somehow seems that much more insurmountable because of the lack of preparation, despite the fact that they must have...should have expected this. Should have seen it coming.]

[Another pause before they can answer.]

ok

[But they'll have to take a little bit of time getting there.]

[Their hair's grown awfully tangled. Rummaging in search of a comb is too much, but they can work out the worst of the knots with their fingertips, trying to smooth down the unwashed strings into something at least vaguely presentable.]

[They really are a mess without you, Partner.]

See you there

[Max heads over to the tearoom with... trepidation? Anxiety? It's impossible to convince herself that this is a normal meet-up. She has some idea what Frisk might be going through- and she has no idea how to deal with it. To heal it.

She doesn't even know what golden flower tea is, so all she does is draw out some hot water and set the table. All the while she scolds herself for doing this in such a haphazard way. In such an unprepared way.

She steels herself for Frisks arrival, but that little preparation falls short at the sight of them.]

Oh... Frisk...

[It takes a deep breath before she can approach, opening her arms for a hug, similar to how she hugged them before.]

[They must look...terrible. For all their efforts to seem somewhat presentable, they've still failed in some fundamental fashion. Twitching, pulling down the hem of their sweater, tiny adjustments of the stitches and threads of their sleeves, long since stretched and distended and mistreated into shapelessness.]

[She opens her arms at once. They shrink, duck around her instead.]

[They...can't. They can't just now.]

[(They might not ever let go.)]

It's okay.

[She watches them duck away, shrinking back as they do, all at once realizing that she probably came on too strong. She straightens and rubs the back of her neck.]

Yeah... Sorry. I've just been worried...

[She gnaws at her lip as she casts about for something to say. Trying to break the awkwardness. A rewind won't even help- not with Frisk.]

I, uh, don't actually know what golden flower tea is, so...

[People are worried about them, though no one will say it. No one will say it aloud, though they do in other ways - in how they step carefully around every conversation, refrain from being too forward, won’t mention certain names or look back too far. Treating them like they’re too fragile to handle it.]

[Maybe they are.]

I can find it.

[It takes them a moment of concentration, but they do - extricate it from one of the cupboards, a small tin of dried golden petals.]

[Max nods- useless given that Frisk is looking away- and meekly watches them prepare the tea.

Eventually the silence gets a little too much to bear.]

...Frisk? You know you can tell me anything, right? Pen pal?

[...]

[She’s trying. She is. They can appreciate that, on a distant level. They just don’t know how to answer to that. It’s no great secret. There’s nothing to tell about.]

What’s there to tell?

I guess... [She runs a finger along her cheekbone, for a moment lost in thought.] What you're feeling? And if there's anything I can do.

Nothing, really.

[They're not doing a good job of explaining, are they? "Nothing" isn't the same as "it's okay," or "it's fine," or "I'll live." It just means...nothing. The days pass in an idle blur. Everything has slogged together into the same awful slurry, until they can no longer pick the hours that they're awake from the ones where they aren't.]

[So, nothing.]

[She looks down. Once again she doesn't know what to say or do. Maybe that's why she put this off for so long.

But it's not about her. It's about Frisk. And if they're not feeling anything at all, then maybe she can make them feel something over tea. A little bit of lightness. Not even happiness- she doubts she could manage that- but just feel a little like the weight has eased.

She sits at the table and fiddles with her tea.]

You know when I first... uh. Do you... do you mind if I talk about Chara for a bit?

...okay.

[She was always going to talk about it. No one else really has, but they said that they would be here, to talk about stuff like that if she ever wanted. And now she does - it'd be cruel to turn her down.]

[She wants to talk about them.]

[She should be allowed to.]

ic inbox

no subject

12/25

12/25

12/25

12/25

12/25

Backdated to 12/25

[Text]

...two days later. [text]

[text]

[text]

[text]

[text]

[text]

[text]

[text]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action] ahhh thought I replied to this

all good!!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject