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

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[It sounds the way stories should sound; grand and sweeping, vague in all the right ways. Zacharie lapses into silence for a moment, and they chew on their lip as they wait.

They should be patient. They are patient, but - they want to make sure he's all right. He shouldn't be telling such a story at the expense of himself. He only has so much air. They both do.]

Are you okay?

[They shouldn't leave things off like that. They're - they want to know how the story ends.]

What...was it? The gift?

[The camera moves a little bit but it's mostly due to him shaking his head.]

I am fine amigo, merely trying to keep the story straight.

[The comment about the belly of the world lead straight into The Up Children Down and, depending on who you asked, was a little bit of backstory into the game. An odd way of presenting it and the font was awful but it was also a rather morbid story.

So...he shakes out an Eye from the sleeve of his free hand, the bright green iris staring at Frisk as he holds it up. Hi.]

The gift was the leader's own eye. In an effort to be able to make the people happy, the bugs found a way to see things for what they were. So with this gift the traveler was able to continue safely on until the end of their days, with their friend as their guide. Once the traveler passed away, many attempted to replicate it but it was missing the bound between the two, hence why the rest are all fake. And it was that way until the world itself came to an end and was born anew. The end.

How was that?

It's good.

[They've never heard a story like that before. It's a little bit strange and a little bit unsettling, but that's all right. It's a feeling, like watching cloudy shapes on a screen torn through with static, whispers about creepy faces and pies made from buttercups - a story they were never supposed to watch, or see, or look in upon.]

Are your Eyes the real ones?

Sadly not. They are replicas but they are also my own. [A pause, then Zacharie realizes that may sound a little morbid.] Metaphorically speaking.

[He's human in the end, so it wasn't like his flesh and eyes could grow back if they were removed. And, well, there's not a whole lot of use that Zacharie's eyes could have.

The NPC slips the Eye back up his sleeve. When the water because apparent and the threat of it all caving in, Zacharie packed up his more important things: the Items, the Grand Chocolatier, the swan Sucre gave him and the books Frisk brought him. Just in case.]

If you would like to share a story, feel free. Or I can tell another one.

[That's almost funny. A tiny sound hitches at the back of their throat, something that almost approximates a laugh or a giggle, and they tuck their head in between their scabbed knees for a moment.

Their face re-emerges from between those knobby peaks, chin propped up on one kneecap.]

You should SAVE your breath.

[The same pun as before is lazy work. Forgive them, Zacharie; the fog has already begun to creep across their brain and fuzz their thoughts.]

[The camera is jostled again as Zacharie laughs and it doesn't sound muffled like it does with his mask on. Frisk might guess why he's not showing his face right now and it was probably a combination of practicality, oxygen starvation and apathy that made the NPC not care all that much.

Free falling was a wonderful thing, wasn't it?]

Perhaps, but I would rather LOAD up on happier things in the meantime before I have to move. And as I said Frisk, you do not have to worry about me.

[Zacharie will die here or he won't. Fate is fate. Him, of all people, can't call for help. Please, accept it.

But hey, at the end of the day, both of them still had bad jokes. And Zacharie's not one to judge for a repeat performance.]

Are you feeling a little better amigo?

[They worry. That's just...their nature. They worry about people, and they worry even more when they tell them not to. When someone tells you not to worry, nine times out of ten it means there's something to worry about.

You don't have to worry about me, they almost answer. But that'd be...pretty hypocritical of them. Throwing words back in people's faces. They're supposed to be getting better about that.]

I am. Thank you.

[A nature that's bent on worrying and one that is not. They may just feed into each other, undercut by the sound of someone far, far away laughing.

But that's that.]

You are welcome Frisk. If you feel you are at risk, please move rooms. But I will see you later, dear friend.

You too.

[They don't stay in contact for long after that - not in visual contact, in any case. They sever the feed there. It's best to conserve their oxygen.]

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