But only for the good parts, right? Only for the parts that are Frisk-patented and Frisk-approved!
[No control allowed for this demon! Since when were they the one in control, right? But that is nothing new, is it. No, no, of course not; we cannot trust you to make your own decisions, Chara. We cannot trust you to decide anything for yourself, Chara, can we? You will do what all children do, and you will make a mess of things. They are and never have been in control, and never will be, should their Partner have their way.
Which they will. Of course they will. When the story does not bend to your will, simply rewrite the book!]
[Frisk grips their hair tightly and curls into a small ball, wheezing as they try to find the right words. What are they supposed to say, what choice of dialogue will fix this? They don't know, they don't know and they're helpless, can't do anything right, never could, never could.]
[They just keep breaking everything.]
[It's a few long moments before their voice obeys again, quiet and almost barely understandable.]
[A high time for them to have grown a conscience, where successfully manipulating the data is concerned. Some Partner they are, right? Generating endless distress, second-guessing, internal doubt -
And Frisk missed this?
They turn away, hands closing about the Knife as they slide it up their sleeve. Somewhere nice to keep it, for now, out of the way. A few unhooked threads in their sweater will keep it in place.]
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no subject
[No control allowed for this demon! Since when were they the one in control, right? But that is nothing new, is it. No, no, of course not; we cannot trust you to make your own decisions, Chara. We cannot trust you to decide anything for yourself, Chara, can we? You will do what all children do, and you will make a mess of things. They are and never have been in control, and never will be, should their Partner have their way.
Which they will. Of course they will. When the story does not bend to your will, simply rewrite the book!]
no subject
[Frisk grips their hair tightly and curls into a small ball, wheezing as they try to find the right words. What are they supposed to say, what choice of dialogue will fix this? They don't know, they don't know and they're helpless, can't do anything right, never could, never could.]
[They just keep breaking everything.]
[It's a few long moments before their voice obeys again, quiet and almost barely understandable.]
I...I'm sorry...
[What do you want them to do?]
no subject
And Frisk missed this?
They turn away, hands closing about the Knife as they slide it up their sleeve. Somewhere nice to keep it, for now, out of the way. A few unhooked threads in their sweater will keep it in place.]
Do what you want, Frisk.
[Cold words, and a distant tone.]
I am hardly the one to stop you.