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[determinedest]

You've reached Frisk. If I'm not answering my phone, please leave a message or find me on the second floor, Room 12.

( text | audio | video | or literally anything )

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[juego]

I don't need to cross.

I have you.

And I have others.

But what I want is merely a message delivered to my Real. You can handle that, can't you? My dear, little protagonist.

[determinedest]

I'm not your protagonist.

[They should have SAVED. But even if they had...would it matter? Maybe he's one of those who can remember. He seems to know so many other things he shouldn't, like Sans...

Like Sans, who sometimes scares them.]

You can't do a thing to me from there. And if you're talking about my Mirror, I - they already know I can't protect them.

[The politest possible way to put it, maybe. But they don't want to give him anymore ammunition, even if he could easily learn of that enmity from their Mirror.]

[juego]

I wasn't talking about your Mirror, little puppet. But thank you for the idea.

[Little too late. One of the things that the two shared between them was that the mirror was always one step ahead.]

But you seem to have forgotten I am not capable of harming you. And my message in equal is just as harmless. Feel free to deliver it to him. I recommend it.

[And back to the orange pen again to write something simple:

"YOU MISSED ONE."]

[determinedest]

[Frisk...hesitates. They're not sure what he means, either in his tacit threats or his message. They hate ceding this much instead of cutting the conversation off prematurely. It feels like giving him a hold over them.

But if he has any advantage over them, it's one they've already given freely, without asking for the "cost" or the "price" or whatever it is he wanted all this time.]

Is that your price, then? Me telling him that - that message, whatever it means?

[juego]

That is all. I have just arrived so we are at a Beginner Level, much like he is. It is a very important message but you can take your time in delivering it to him.

[A...reminder of sorts. Zacharie didn't forget things. So anything he did was on purpose. And that way he'd know where the mirror was. So much fun! A very fun game. And they even had a cute child protagonist here.

It all comes back around in the end, doesn't it?]

And my warning to you in the beginning of this conversation still stands. But by this point you would be skipping the dialog of the NPC so you can resume killing monsters.

[determinedest]

I don't kill people. Monsters especially.

[The words come out sharper than intended, a challenging spike leveled at him like an icepick to the eye. It's all kinds of suspicious. Whatever interaction is going to happen between them when they inevitably end up telling him this stupid, cryptic message and...god, and they like Zacharie too. They like him, and then they turn around and do this to him.

They should never have let him get this far, the Mirror. The Mirrors are nothing but trouble.]

Fine, [Frisk snaps, short and to the point.] I'll deliver your message. And then we're done.

[juego]

[You know what he could do?

From what he gained from the conversation that this child's world almost functioned the same way that his Real's did. But they didn't kill monsters. The reaction suggests there's a reason behind it. But they don't kill monsters! Ha! Oh this is really funny.

But do you know what he could do?]

Attack
Competence
Objects
Defend
Flee

Thank you for your time.

[Frisk doesn't have to worry, the Mirror does leave. They're free to break it anyways.]

[determinedest]

[Attack - FIGHT.
Competence - magic, SPELL, that something that they don't have.
Objects - ITEM.
Defend - ACT
Flee - MERCY.

It's almost exact. It's almost exact. And they could claw the glass away but they know the words will be scratched into their mind, the way they line up with a chilling finality. A menu. An interface. A cursor in the shape of their SOUL flipping through the options or, in some cases, blipping from place to place with a frantic, remembered instinct, to keep the bones that lurch out from the sides from catching them with their KR-soaked ivory.

The writing lingers. It lingers for a long while, they think, long enough to suspect that he's gone.

That's not good enough.

A few weeks ago, they might have used their fists. But after three times, three times their hands have been damaged and three times their hands have been bandaged to make up for it, they know better. Instead they pick up a chair and cave the mirror in with the high, bring, rending sound of breaking glass, watching the splintering fragments of it shower to the ground with a series of musical tinkles.

They put the chair down.

They retreat to their bed.

They hug their knees, they cover their face in their hands, left with nothing but their regret, and their frustration, and their...

Ah, yes.

That's a familiar one.

And their guilt.]