determinedest | ic inbox

[How? Boy, if only they knew. They try and try to bootstrap it. To suck it up. To shout themself into place, to keep the leash so tight it strangles, and still it isn't enough.

It is weakness, they wonder, if they don't accept that it must be a lack of willpower? Is it giving up if they stop thinking that, gee, guess you don't want to be normal badly enough?

What would Toriel say, they wonder? She's maybe the wisest adult they've ever known. Knows best for you.

Well, they know what Frisk would say. They have their partner's guidance. Carefully, blowing on the mug, they venture a sip. It teeters on the border of too hot, just barely shy of scalding. Good.]

Ha. The flesh prisons strike again, huh? Sometimes the roof just caves in arbitrarily, I guess.

[Frisk laughs. Flesh prisons. Their little inside joke. Something darkly humorous, maybe, but humorous all the same. Being human, they think not for the first time, really and honestly and truly sucks. They might be sturdier than a monster, but it comes at a price they're reluctant to pay.]

Yeah. That's...kinda why I thought it was such a good word. Prisons.

'Cause you can't control anything about them. Whether they're thirsty or hungry or shaking or anything.

[Wouldn't it be nice to be able to just magic that away? Or just, or just exist based on happy feelings and light fluffy imaginings? Subsist off magic food, not having to sweat or bleed or cry.]

[Can't control anything about them. Hah.

If you're acting that way, then I guess you must not want any supper. Sometimes they don't, sometimes they don't want to face that uncomfortably silent table, just waiting to snap into interrogation and argument, but they're weak. Too weak. Hunger makes them give in, makes them hoard fruit snacks and chocolate bars in the crevice between the dresser and the wall.

Demons don't eat, they lie.

They whimper in their sleep. Mutter things that are hard to explain, that Asriel eventually learned to stop asking about. They wake up with sharp gasps and horrible flinching jerks when the house creaks and settles, when Asgore only opens the door a teeny bit to check his children are sleeping peacefully. On the very worst nights, they sleep under the bed, pray it's so strange and inhuman that nobody will even think to look there for them.

Demons don't sleep, they lie.

Someone claps a hand on their shoulder, a thumb sweeping against the nape of their neck inattentively, and their stomach turns inside-out, jumps into their throat, they twist and lash out and they've given another kid a black eye. Why did you do that? Demands a tearful voice, and how are you even supposed to say you had a good reason to do something so mean?

Demons like hurting people, they lie.]

Sounds like I was getting the better end of the deal back when I was a whisper in your head. Never had to rest. Couldn't taste a thing.

...Actually seems like kind of a fair trade, right? If you can't be made of magic and love, you can at least get by pretty well being made of nothing at all.

Edited 2016-10-20 07:11 (UTC)

I'd rather be made of magic and love.

[But without that, what would they be? It'd mean sacrificing every ounce of their determination, the sole thing that truly, truly defines them. It would mean that they might as well be no one at all, huh?

Maybe that's for the best, hah.]

But, um. Since we're not. I...don't think it's bad if you have some bad days. If sometimes things make you scared and you don't know why.

[Immediately after saying it, they feel like they should say something else, keep talking, fill the silence, but don't have a single thing to say to compensate. Is that a flesh prison thing, or a 'Frisk is inconsolably speechless sometimes' thing? Talking a lot, even to the people they know is - it's still...

They lift their mug to their lips and take a sip of their tea to give their hands something to do instead.]

[Not bad. Isn't bad. It's not supposed to be bad?

Everything they do is bad, though, right? They're inherently something evil. They can only pretend to be something else. Act like someone else, someone nicer than they are. Trick people into buying that they're human, that they can act like a reasonable human being, that they're a real person. Just suppress that LOVE with all your might, put a smile on, and fake it 'til you make it, right?

They sink into contemplative silence, turning it over in their head as they stare down into their tea. Keep taking tentative sips, keep letting the... it smells like lavender, they think? Keep letting the something-or-other do its job. They don't really... ha ha, they don't even really notice the quiet stretching between the two of them? It feels too natural to be around Frisk, whether they're talking or not. Too used to narrating to someone who didn't necessarily have to offer up commentary in return.

When they pipe up again, it just comes on its own. Born of taking some much-needed stillness and silence in. It's tireder, softer, because the crashing tsunami of panic that tore through them feels like it tore them down completely, but it's not so taut.]

...It's... nice, sort of, the atmosphere when it's this late. Like we're the only two people in this entire house. Just us.

[The oddly liberating idea of... of what it'd be like if the end of the world happened, and everyone was just gone. Roaming through empty, still streets of cities they knew to be swarming with people, surrounded by absolute tranquility.

They realize belatedly that the idea might carry scary connotations to it. Trudging through Snowdin, completely empty save for a single child. Helping themself to the contents of an empty shop.

Please don't hurt my family.

And they hadn't.

Only because they hid too well, of course.]

Like, um. Like Waterfall. One of the only places Underground that didn't feel confined or crowded, right?

[Even if it was. All the Underground was confined and crowded. Frisk never saw the capital, stacked up on itself. Aquariums and parks and museums all being converted into housing, monsters desperately paring away everything as they tried to fit inside their cage.

But it's still presenting a prettier picture, they hope, than a ghost town.]

[It does feel nice, they won't deny that. They let the words linger in the air without any undue pressure to pursue them further. Sip their tea, when it cools enough.

But the prolonged quiet, the blissful, complete emptiness, that is something that has a certain lure to it. They can't say it doesn't in good faith, because it's absolutely true. Even if staying up late is...bad for children, isn't it. Supposed to get a full night's rest. But no one ever told them what would happen if they tore awake, gasping because of nightmares of hands reaching in through the windows or from beneath the bed, because the first and only time they woke someone up because they were sobbing, scared, they'd -

They'd never done that again. They'd stomached it silently. Held themselves rigidly beneath the covers with the sheets screwed up in a damp sweat-stained wad in their palms, afraid to move, afraid to peer out from beneath the covers for fear of the great nameless Thing that might be lurking there, whatever extant remnant of their nightmare might be waiting for them to let down their guard so it could rear up at them, shrieking.

It's nice to simply be able to roam about like this, without worrying about being accosted by people who might skewer them with concerned looks.

Frisk smiles, one-cornered.]

That was my favorite spot. Waterfall.

[They'd liked it for the way it looked and sounded and felt, and not simply because it fell between the two extremes of Snowdin or Hotland. The wetland sometimes squished underfoot, and the soil had been dark, and they'd been running scared for most of it, and it hadn't always been pleasant, but there was something soothing about the bioluminescent glow of the flowers, the formless whispers of long-gone wishes, the strange lights that hovered, inexplicably suspended, like fireflies. Something about the quiet rush of water running over rocks that they'd found calming.

Something about that secluded spot, just a bench and a quiche and an echo flower, that had allowed them to stay there for a long, long time, maybe even hours, before they could fill themselves with enough determination to continue.]

I dunno why. I guess I just liked how quiet it was most of the time.

[When Undyne wasn't throwing spears at them, anyway.]

I could tell.

[They don't offer up any commentary about what their favourite spot was.

Those blurred lines obscured a lot of things, but even in that muddled-together state, they could remember long, still silences.

Hiding behind a waterfall in a secret cave, holding the remains of a lost child. Hearing an anonymous voice that just wasn't ready for the responsibility, and staying immobile on a bench for so long it felt like they might sprout roots. Standing next to a monster child, gazing at a far-off destination. Staring at glittering stones in the dark, thinking about how monsterkind confined their wishes to a single, tiny room. Learning of the Delta Rune and the prophecy they all pinned their hopes on. The angel who had seen the surface.

Ancient glyphs and a very unsettling illustration.

Listening to a tinkling music box.

It sounds like it came from over here...
Oh! You've fallen down, haven't you...?
Are you OK? Here, get up...

Chara, huh? That's a nice name.

My name is A s r i e l D r e e m u r r .

* Those flowers...
* One day they just started to grow there.
* I swear, it's like they have a mind of their own.]

Go figure you would find the place you're hunted relentlessly the most peaceful of all. Nothing says quiet and tranquil like being cornered by a spear-throwing maniac, right?

Edited (i forgot how many ellipses are in this dang game's script. also: grammar, stanley) 2016-10-21 05:07 (UTC)

[Perhaps it was a sad place for a couple of humans like them to be. A place where monsters whispered their wishes and hopes, and where those dreams would gradually wither into disappointments, as all dreams inevitably do. Wishing upon sparkling stones stuck in the ceiling just isn't effective as wishing upon stars, it seems.

But it's not so hard to figure why Chara would have fond memories of that place as well, though. A music box, a solemn statue with its head bowed and the soft strains of a chiming tune. A piano that opened a hidden crevice in the wall. It had been nice. Peaceful.

When they weren't running, screaming for their life.]

I guess it's a little funny.

[They laugh, a quiet, rueful little chuckle.]

I don't know. I miss them sometimes.

Echo Flowers.

...I liked them too.

[They'd loved flowers.

Traced their roots, even, deep into the soil. Dug their fingers into the dark crevices between the world's arcing ribs, pulled up whispers from Echo Flowers too lost to ever be found. A broken refrain of Error! over and over.

Whispers. Lost wishes.

* I’m gonna run around in a huge field of flowers.
* Maybe I could jump without hitting my head.

* ...I wanna... I wanna...
* You wanna ride a train, right, honey?

* I’ll climb this mountain, and...
* I just want everyone to be happy...]

I thought Waterfall was mournful.

[They blurt it suddenly, then regret saying so. Frisk liked the tranquility. Didn't think it was haunted, thought it was serene.

Maybe it wasn't Waterfall that was mournful.]

But... in a pretty way.

Maybe if you asked, the closets would let you have Echo Flowers.

[But Chara's always liked flowers. The flowers on the surface, golden and perfect, a patch of them that they'd so loved. One of the few things they must have genuinely missed, because that seems to have carried over. Love of gardening, of watching things grow. Botany.

Herbology.

The foreign word flits across Frisk's mind, but they dispel it before it can take root. Ha, take root. That's a good one. They'd have to tell Sans sometime. Or maybe not. Maybe that'd just worry him further, and he's got enough to worry about.]

I guess that's why I liked it. I didn't always feel like I really...belonged there, though. You know?

[They shift on the spot, their expression twisting.]

I mean. It was a place where monsters wished for things. And there I was, a human, just...taking all those things away. Taking away all their hopes.

[As though they were sullying the ground with every step, painting it black with each tread of their sneakered toes. Corrupting it, spreading their awful human taint everywhere they walked.]

You were their hope, Frisk. You are our future, remember?

[None of us can do it without you, human. We'll never be free unless you do something.

Just don't go thinking of yourself as an angel, though. That's somebody else's job.

They pull the tub of rainbow frosting closer, take a spoonful. It's almost unbearably sugary, and it makes a weird pairing with a tisane, but they don't mind.]

...All those times we went through, you never wished on any of those rocks, did you?

My SOUL was the hope.

[They weren't anyone's future until they reached a certain point, and by then Waterfall was mostly a memory, or a place where they would trek back to speak to Undyne, assuming they hadn't killed her or anyone else.

They weren't important because they were special, or especially kind, or whatever they happened to be during whichever loop. They were the future because they had a human SOUL. Because of what they were. Not who they were.]

I dunno what I'd wish about. [It's an honest admission, but then their brow crinkles in thought.] Did you? Ever...wish on those rocks?

[...They don't refute that. Their SOUL was the hope too, back when they still had one. It wasn't anything about them that made them the future of humans and monsters. Nothing about the way they spoke or acted or what they hoped for. Just... just the useful resource lurking inside of their chest.]

No. Never.

[Yes. Yes, they had. More fervently and wholeheartedly than they'd ever wished on the surface. They'd believed in those stupid rocks even more than they'd believed in real stars.

But that just sounds... it sounds stupid, right? Naive. Pointless. What kinds of things would a bleak little destroyer like them ever wish for? The only thing an inhuman force of nature like them wants is destruction.]

I thought you had plenty to wish for back then, though. To stay alive. To make it out. To be safe. To be free. For... for a real friend, right? For someone who wouldn't hurt you.

Edited (casually leaves entire words out) 2016-10-22 01:58 (UTC)

I wished plenty on stars on the surface.

[There's a bitter twist in their gut as they say it. They still remember that, that frustration, that clenching in their stomach as they'd wished and wished and even prayed, sometimes, for someone to hear. Supplicated themselves to whatever deity might be listening.

That was the first time they learned that nobody came.

And nobody ever would.]

If that didn't work, what good was a bunch of fake stars gonna do?

[They stare down at their tea, something in their chest sinking a little. Just like it does every time Frisk verifies that the bleak, dark ugly things weren't all just Chara's murky venom leaking into their SOUL. Underscores that humanity hasn't improved one bit in the past... however many years it's been since Chara's death. Underscores that they never, ever will.]

Guess it's no good waiting around passively, hoping someone else will come save you.

[Didn't work for Asgore. Didn't work out for Flowey, really. Guess it sort of worked out for Alphys, though? Worked out for all monsterkind. And it's not like taking matters into your own hands ever got Chara anywhere, either. It just made things worse.

...Turns out it's a good thing they didn't admit to wishing on those rocks. Frisk was smarter than that. More grown-up than that. Chara just would have looked like a baby.]

It's like that one saying, right? If wishes were fishes, then... something something.

[They don't know how the second half goes. Then beggars would ride?? They'd ride the fish?? That's stupid, Chara. That doesn't make sense.]

We'd all be fishermen? I forget.

[If wishes were fishes, we'd all be eating sushi? They don't know how the saying goes, really. Waiting passively and hoping for someone to SAVE you never really works out, in their experience. They saw some of those grainy old movies, sometimes. Stories about princesses who got whisked away to magical balls thanks to a kindly old woman with wings. But they could wish and think and hope and dream all they wanted - they'd never be deserving of that same kind of cosmic kindness.

The most they could do was hike up that old mountain themself. That was the only out they'd be getting.]

I dunno. I guess wishes lost their luster a while ago.

Well, we just outgrew it, that's all.

[Makes it sound normal. Makes it sound like a good thing. See, you're getting how the world really works! Taking off the rose-tinted glasses and hauling yourself up by the bootstraps. The world has enough dreamers who are never getting anywhere.

And you... you're not a dreamer at all, no matter how hard you try.]

Wishing and make believe are for babies. We're a lot more pragmatic than that. Practical. Go-getters.

Go-getters, huh?

[Frisk sips at their tea to mask the fact that they're not sure how to really respond to that. They are - determined, that's for certain. Determined to go, or to stay, or to do whatever they like. Being told they can't do something is still a concept they have to mentally adjust to, whenever it happens. Losing people, and not just because they killed them.

They forge their own path. With knives, with dust, with love or LOVE - with whatever's on hand, they guess.]

Guess you're right. I dunno. Is it really wishing when you're determined enough to make anything happen?

[...Is it?

They stall for time by drinking their tea. Or maybe they're just sipping it to mirror what Frisk's doing.]

* "Dream" Heals 12 HP
* The goal of "Determination."

[They wonder, sort of, if Frisk had been disappointed that it healed less once the battle was over. Maybe they were relieved that they didn't need the extra boost anymore.

Maybe they were just unsettled that a Dream would behave so similarly to a Bad Memory.]

Does that answer your question? Or am I maybe just reciting things that don't really mean anything?

[They laugh a little. They don't know the answer to that question, honestly.]

I can't say that everything I was determined to do was necessarily something I'd call a "wish" or a "dream," though.

[A "way out," perhaps. Or a "last resort." Wonder how much HP one of those would heal!]

[Well, they suppose that does answer it, for a time. Hoping and dreaming. Not just esoteric concepts, but things you could reach for and actively attain. Tangible things that helped you, and made it all hurt a little bit less.]

I guess, [Frisk murmurs. They're not sure how much they're meant to derive from things like that. Maybe a Dream is just like Determination. Something able to be made manifest through sheer force of will. Just about any law, it seems, can be bent if one has enough will to forge behind it.]

Hopes and dreams.

[They laugh, quietly, though there isn't much strength behind it. Mostly just a strange sadness they're not sure how to place.]

Monsters are weird.

Monsters are the least weird of all. I think it's us who are the weird ones.

[It's weirder to not know how to wish than to be made of optimistic and bubbly things, isn't it? It's weirder to hate something you don't even know at all than to love it.

They don't want this to be normal. They don't want this to be all they can expect. Easier to keep being an aberration, an exception, something that deserves different standards than real people do.]

I mean, we're having tea and frosting at midnight.

I guess.

[Humans are equally baffling, sometimes. They're still not sure how they got to have so many friends, both children and adults. How they got to feeling so safe around people who've killed them, who've threatened to kill them, who acknowledge their sins but choose to love them anyway.]

Well. If we're weird, we can be weird together, [Frisk says, trying for airy and landing somewhere between tired and strangely fond.] That way neither of us is alone.

ic inbox

PLEASE

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject