[There... was a lot they hadn't stopped to consider. A shaky period where they hadn't even been sure there were two people there at all. They were so sure of the things they liked. That instant noodles were better dry, that soda was gross (sickly yellow liquid), that Mr. Dad Guy's favourite tea was the blatantly correct choice. Was that them? Did Frisk agree? Disagree?
Even if Frisk was the only one who could hear them speak, they sure did a lot of talking for Frisk, and very little asking.]
I don't think... I wanted to know you.
[Though they announce it with a little uncertainty. They didn't want attachment, they claim, but...
* You are intimidated by Froggit's raw strength. Only kidding. * Ah! Wow! Gee! It's a "Hole." * RATED TEM OUTTA TEM. Loves to pet cute humans. But you're allergic! * Recovers HP. * (Hit Poodles.)
They couldn't really call the journey from one end of the Underground to the other strictly formal and businesslike, huh? The whole way through, they weren't always disinterested. They'd been... sort of joking with each other the whole time, even as they'd been warring with each other, struggling to push their body towards fighting or towards mercy.
But even that... even that didn't always change when they went back. Some little things altered, but... the same jokes, the same advice about how to avoid Aaron's attacks, the same false air of mystery around the cameras hidden in Snowdin and Waterfall, even though they knew Alphys was watching. Never ignoring the pomeraisins in a sentry stand to instead ask when their host's birthday was, or what colour they liked best, or if they liked dogs more than cats.]
I guess we... never even tried, did we?
[The quiet hint lurking in a comment about a bed so comfortable, you might never get up, maybe. Force-feeding memories into Frisk's consciousness, reminding them to stay determined. Picking them up after a sharp plummet into the garbage dump, waking them up with a voice that had once picked them up after a plummet of their own. The sepia-toned image of a boy who saved someone who cried out for help, memories thick with love and gratitude and the hope that he could be saved too. They weren't... they weren't very direct ways to talk, were they?]
I only started talking about myself when I thought you weren't listening anymore.
[The date I came here. My drawing. My bed. It's me, Chara.]
I never gave you a chance to talk about yourself at all.
I Deeply Enjoy not knowing When The Fuck
Even if Frisk was the only one who could hear them speak, they sure did a lot of talking for Frisk, and very little asking.]
I don't think... I wanted to know you.
[Though they announce it with a little uncertainty. They didn't want attachment, they claim, but...
* You are intimidated by Froggit's raw strength. Only kidding.
* Ah! Wow! Gee! It's a "Hole."
* RATED TEM OUTTA TEM. Loves to pet cute humans. But you're allergic!
* Recovers HP.
* (Hit Poodles.)
They couldn't really call the journey from one end of the Underground to the other strictly formal and businesslike, huh? The whole way through, they weren't always disinterested. They'd been... sort of joking with each other the whole time, even as they'd been warring with each other, struggling to push their body towards fighting or towards mercy.
But even that... even that didn't always change when they went back. Some little things altered, but... the same jokes, the same advice about how to avoid Aaron's attacks, the same false air of mystery around the cameras hidden in Snowdin and Waterfall, even though they knew Alphys was watching. Never ignoring the pomeraisins in a sentry stand to instead ask when their host's birthday was, or what colour they liked best, or if they liked dogs more than cats.]
I guess we... never even tried, did we?
[The quiet hint lurking in a comment about a bed so comfortable, you might never get up, maybe. Force-feeding memories into Frisk's consciousness, reminding them to stay determined. Picking them up after a sharp plummet into the garbage dump, waking them up with a voice that had once picked them up after a plummet of their own. The sepia-toned image of a boy who saved someone who cried out for help, memories thick with love and gratitude and the hope that he could be saved too. They weren't... they weren't very direct ways to talk, were they?]
I only started talking about myself when I thought you weren't listening anymore.
[The date I came here. My drawing. My bed. It's me, Chara.]
I never gave you a chance to talk about yourself at all.