[Nothing to worry about!! Their brain is just different!! No big! No problem! No need to worry!
A hideous peal of laughter tears out from their throat, a bark of mirthless mirth that has them coiled over on the spot, a fist stuffed in their mouth, teeth worrying at one knuckle until it bleeds. It's fine! It's totally fine! It's all fine!]
I see! Your brain is different! No need to worry, then!
[No need to be concerned, if everyone has begun to change, spontaneously, with no hope that they'll be returning to what they were!]
[Oh, this is...this must be bad. A crease forms between their eyebrows, and they start their descent down to earth again. They flick on the video feed, not realizing that seeing the receding edge of space might be slightly alarming, nevermind their starkly altered coloration.]
I'm still me, Chara. I'm just thinking differently now. It's...it's hard to explain.
Their skin is different, their hair, their eyes - all of it is bizarrely altered, and a thin slice of scarlet iris is visible, briefly, before the feed tips forward and their TAB lands on the floor with a dull clunk.
Another hastily stifled burst of rattling laughter, and they have to clap their hands across their mouth. Stop being so weird, Chara, ha ha!]
If you wanted to follow in Asriel's footsteps, you could have just said so!
But you certainly look different! What was it, then? Another gene mod? I thought those were dangerous!
[Another giggle, a high-pitched shrilling that rasps in their throat like nails across stone, the same sort of noise they'd claw out from their vocal cords if they could. Why are you laughing, Chara? It's not even funny!
No, I didn't do this to myself. I don't think the asteroid could have done this to me, anyway.
[This is something beyond the body, beyond the bounds of the physical--that much they know. This is something fundamental in their SOUL, in their very existence that has been twisted around and made into a strange reflection of themself.]
Kaworu said they called him an angel at home, so I guess that's what I am now.
[Chara doesn't sound like they're taking this well. They laughed like this in the Lab, in the End...never in good times. There's something they should be able to say here, they're sure of it, but memory alone can't help them here.]
Chara, you don't have to be upset. I don't know what did this, but I'll be safe until it goes back.
[The words smear past in an indistinct slurry, a handful of unknown variables molded into the very picture of calm. And they are, indeed, at the moment, completely and utterly calm. No need for concern. No need to worry. It's just you, Chara, who can't seem to understand, who can't seem to handle this. It's just you, Chara, overreacting, because you don't know what it is to love someone for them, and not for their utility. It's all fine, because Frisk says it's fine, and Frisk would know better than you would, Chara, what's best for Frisk! Hasn't Frisk earned the right to define their own path from here on out, free from you, free from anyone? Why can't you be happy for them? Why can't you handle this? Why can't you just be normal, and calm? Because the only one who has a problem with this is you, Chara!
Still just you, right? But don't you dare say it. Don't you dare steal those words, appropriate them for yourself. You've stolen enough from Frisk, and imposed enough on their territory, and why are you still laughing?
[A choking burst of hysterics, and they ended up - under the bed, where they belong, like the little abomination they are, ha ha! Huddled there like a dust bunny, like the monsters under the bed, like a piece of garbage, like some food they used to be desperate to hide where no one could see it!
Because they're the angel. The one who has seen the Surface. Was there ever any doubt, really? Was there ever any doubt at all? It's always been you, always been you you you, and that's what they've earned, so it's all right! Be happy for them, Chara! Be happy for them, because anything other than that is just you being your selfish self. Unable to accept it. Unable to appreciate it. Unable to let go.
Laugh like it doesn't sear something hot and inescapable down the back of your throat. Like there isn't something - slipping - down the corner of one -
No, no, I don't mean that one! It's just the word they used, I'm not...it's not like that.
[The disconnect is almost worse than the distress they should be feeling; this long and aching void between themself and the mass of emotion and feeling that Chara flings at them with every breath. It slides past with almost no effect at all, except...it doesn't. Part of them still hurts, distantly, wants to cocoon that pain away from Chara. Because if Chara is hurting, then...they've failed, failed at the one thing they care about, now and always.]
I'm coming home right now. I'll be there soon. I...I don't know what I need to say right now. I'm not Lilim anymore, I can't help you how you need right now. But I know you need me. I won't leave you.
[They catch maybe one word in ten. None of it makes sense, and none of it - matters, really. Frisk is fine, and perfect, and untouchable. And if they're huddled here in a daze, dizzy with complete incomprehension, lying there like it isn't impossible to breathe, to breathe.
What's it matter? What's it matter? It's what Frisk wants! Frisk is fine with it, just like Asriel was fine with it! Why can't you just stop - doing this? Stop acting like it's about you!
Their laughter trails into a high, thin sound, like a wire being drawn taut.
[It's a while later before Frisk touches down in the backyard. They don't need to search for Chara--they can feel their SOUL, a strange and delicate thing that still beats with as much power as any human holds. (As any Lilim holds.) Quietly they make their way through the house, pausing outside the door and knocking twice before opening it.]
[Time passes in an uncertain drag. Their breath may as well be swollen in their lungs, rasping in the back of their throat. Can't even be the slightest bit happy for Frisk, or Asriel, or anyone! Just have to be the same selfish fixture you always are, incapable of acknowledging when someone else gets a nice thing! So you have a fit. You have a stupid fit and you hide under the bed like the horrible little rotten thing you are and everyone has to drop everything to race to your side, because you can't help but make everything, everything, everything all about you!
Frisk receives no answer; not of the verbal variety. There's simply the rattling staccato of laughter winding out from under the bed, and Chara buries their face in their hands, back to the slice of light blazing through the open doorway.]
[Frisk pauses for several long moments before walking in quietly. They come over to the bed, kneel, then lay down on their side so that they can see Chara. They remember this much at least--it's easier when you're able to see the person talking to you.]
[Even if it seems to be the last thing Chara wants right now.]
I didn't mean to upset you. I'm sorry.
[Their expression remains calm and far too even, even with the crease between their eyebrows and the frown tugging at their lips. It's all performance, and act, and...they don't think they're doing a very good job.]
...I hope I'm back to normal, soon. You need that me.
[What's any of that meant to mean, exactly? There's someone laid down here now, but they're not -
That's not Frisk.
Skin paler, their demeanor false, hair alit with invisible fingers of some sort of holy backlight. A front, a mere mimicry of Frisk's desperate mumbling, their reaching fingers, their fumbling hands, their tripping over themself to be heard and registered and acknowledged.
It's not Frisk. It's not Frisk. It's not Frisk.
They receive nothing in turn. Nothing but a strangled huff of sound, and Chara buries their face in the crook of their elbow with a shrill giggle.]
[They blink, slowly, red eyes to mirror Chara's own watching in silence for too long, waiting for a visible sign of acknowledgement or rejection. They more expect the latter, but they need to know.]
...did you hear me?
[Maybe they need to approach to provoke anything. Frisk rolls onto their belly and crawls under the bed, and reaches out to touch one of Chara's hands. Not to grab, only lightly, an indication of their presence.]
[A ragged bark of a laugh, and they jerk back, away. Curling up where they are like the horrid little thing they are.]
Don't touch me.
[The words emerge a low hiss. A threat. A warning.
Don't touch me. Not like this. Not now. Not without warning, not as though they're entitled, because we love you, Chara, we want to make sure you don't go running off again, and we want you to stay right where you are, so don't you move, don't you leave Mommy's sight, don't you try to wriggle out of your consequences.]
[Frisk blinks in surprise, pulling their hand away. They stare at Chara in confusion for a moment before folding both arms in front of them and resting their chin atop.]
Okay.
[A simple enough request. A memory drifts to the fore of their mind and they frown, looking down for a moment. A time when Frisk had been new to one of the houses, and scared. Some of the older kids were looking for them, and Frisk had been hiding under the bed until one thought to look...]
[They should stop laughing. Stop - doing what they're doing, hands roving up and down their arms. And then the scratch, the dig of nails into skin. Dry, graying motes of dead skin the outer carapace, ha ha, before they get to the juicy center. The burn, the widening streaks of red.
Deeper, deeper. Maybe if they keep going, they'll carve everything apart and fall to ribbons. Wouldn't that be nice, for everyone?
The words are rough, hoarse with the lump swollen in the bit of their throat, jarring everything, blocking everyone.]
[The blooming red catches Frisk's eye and they stiffen slightly, eyes fixed upon it. They promised not to touch, but they can't let Chara just...do that!]
Stop that. You're hurting yourself!
[Their control isn't fine enough to slip their AT field in under Chara's hand, but Chara's told them not to touch them. They have to obey that. But they have to stop this as well, it's...important?]
I'm still me, Chara. I'm just...I'm not Lilim.
[It's not an explanation. They know it's not an explanation, but there's not enough time to figure one out. They don't have that kind of mind anymore, that can take an idea and mold it with such speed and precision, to take something and turn it to an entirely new purpose. They remember what it was like, but searching through those moments to find the right clues is...it's hard. They don't even know what they should be looking for.]
Please, tell me what I should do. I still want to hep you.
[They've got no clue what the heck a "Lilim" is or why they should care, but their only response is to snort, dismissive, like a horse shooing away flies. What does it matter, what they do? It's their stupid borrowed meat-sack, is it not? Can't they do what they like with the body the Ingress thoughtfully supplied them with? It's better than being stuck as a ghost in someone else's head for life, right?
It's supposed to be you, always you. It's always to be still just you. And yet - whoever they're looking at now, whoever they're talking to now, what part of that is Frisk? What part of that is they of the fumbled speech, of the uncertainty in encroaching upon anyone's space, the steely determination underlying, the fear of the same callous, dismissive words they've launched at them now? Where are they? Where are they now?
Layered beneath? Gone? Gone?
...gone?
A soft thrill of something in their stomach and a noise akin to a moan, desperate and pained. Like the weight of something that can never be removed.]
[They crawl back out, and pause for a moment to watch Chara before they stand again, brushing off their clothes and turning to walk out without another word. They're probably going to regret this later, but it's simply too frustrating, too difficult to maneuver their way through these social quandries, all the emotions and complexities. Easier to let things be, distance themself so Chara might not be so distressed.]
[They do leave the first aid kit by Chara's bedroom before they leave however.]
[Immediately, the irrational urge to call them back wells in their throat like a weeping wound. Why can't they make up their mind? Why do this, subject everyone to this, this pushing around and being unable to decide? How are you supposed to communicate what it is you want, Chara, if you can't even decide what it is you want for yourself?
The scratch of fingernails across skin doesn't dwindle into silence. It intensifies, faster, sharper, until their forearms are raw. But the sores cover up evidence of the scars, ha. Can always call it a Tanglesnake attack, or any number of things.
Doesn't matter. Doesn't matter.
They're alone now, like what they wanted in the first place, right?
What does it matter, what happens to Frisk? They're not supposed to care at all. And Frisk will come back, anyway, because they always do, and when that happens -
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text
i saw other people confused too when i went out
[The next response takes a while. It's hard to form the explanation in a way they think Chara will understand.]
i knew someone on the moira thats like how i am now
my brain is different and i forgot i need to let you know
im sorry
[Or at least, they know they will be once this wears off. If it wears off.]
cw self harm
A hideous peal of laughter tears out from their throat, a bark of mirthless mirth that has them coiled over on the spot, a fist stuffed in their mouth, teeth worrying at one knuckle until it bleeds. It's fine! It's totally fine! It's all fine!]
I see! Your brain is different! No need to worry, then!
[No need to be concerned, if everyone has begun to change, spontaneously, with no hope that they'll be returning to what they were!]
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I'm still me, Chara. I'm just thinking differently now. It's...it's hard to explain.
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Their skin is different, their hair, their eyes - all of it is bizarrely altered, and a thin slice of scarlet iris is visible, briefly, before the feed tips forward and their TAB lands on the floor with a dull clunk.
Another hastily stifled burst of rattling laughter, and they have to clap their hands across their mouth. Stop being so weird, Chara, ha ha!]
If you wanted to follow in Asriel's footsteps, you could have just said so!
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[How are they...does Chara think they're a monster? They don't have fur or claws or the right kind of magic. Why would Chara say that?]
I'm not a monster.
[Simple, plain, to the point. Frisk doesn't even realize anymore there might be a need to embellish, or clarify.]
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[Another giggle, a high-pitched shrilling that rasps in their throat like nails across stone, the same sort of noise they'd claw out from their vocal cords if they could. Why are you laughing, Chara? It's not even funny!
It's not even, remotely, funny!]
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[This is something beyond the body, beyond the bounds of the physical--that much they know. This is something fundamental in their SOUL, in their very existence that has been twisted around and made into a strange reflection of themself.]
Kaworu said they called him an angel at home, so I guess that's what I am now.
[Chara doesn't sound like they're taking this well. They laughed like this in the Lab, in the End...never in good times. There's something they should be able to say here, they're sure of it, but memory alone can't help them here.]
Chara, you don't have to be upset. I don't know what did this, but I'll be safe until it goes back.
1/2
Still just you, right? But don't you dare say it. Don't you dare steal those words, appropriate them for yourself. You've stolen enough from Frisk, and imposed enough on their territory, and why are you still laughing?
They haven't stopped laughing.
They couldn't stop laughing.
Because they're an angel.]
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Because they're the angel. The one who has seen the Surface. Was there ever any doubt, really? Was there ever any doubt at all? It's always been you, always been you you you, and that's what they've earned, so it's all right! Be happy for them, Chara! Be happy for them, because anything other than that is just you being your selfish self. Unable to accept it. Unable to appreciate it. Unable to let go.
Laugh like it doesn't sear something hot and inescapable down the back of your throat. Like there isn't something - slipping - down the corner of one -
Big kids don't.
They don't.]
Guess the prophecy was true after all!
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[What does Chara--]
[Oh. Oh, no.]
No, no, I don't mean that one! It's just the word they used, I'm not...it's not like that.
[The disconnect is almost worse than the distress they should be feeling; this long and aching void between themself and the mass of emotion and feeling that Chara flings at them with every breath. It slides past with almost no effect at all, except...it doesn't. Part of them still hurts, distantly, wants to cocoon that pain away from Chara. Because if Chara is hurting, then...they've failed, failed at the one thing they care about, now and always.]
I'm coming home right now. I'll be there soon. I...I don't know what I need to say right now. I'm not Lilim anymore, I can't help you how you need right now. But I know you need me. I won't leave you.
cw panic
What's it matter? What's it matter? It's what Frisk wants! Frisk is fine with it, just like Asriel was fine with it! Why can't you just stop - doing this? Stop acting like it's about you!
Their laughter trails into a high, thin sound, like a wire being drawn taut.
And then the feed cuts.]
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[It's a while later before Frisk touches down in the backyard. They don't need to search for Chara--they can feel their SOUL, a strange and delicate thing that still beats with as much power as any human holds. (As any Lilim holds.) Quietly they make their way through the house, pausing outside the door and knocking twice before opening it.]
Chara. May I come in?
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Frisk receives no answer; not of the verbal variety. There's simply the rattling staccato of laughter winding out from under the bed, and Chara buries their face in their hands, back to the slice of light blazing through the open doorway.]
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[Even if it seems to be the last thing Chara wants right now.]
I didn't mean to upset you. I'm sorry.
[Their expression remains calm and far too even, even with the crease between their eyebrows and the frown tugging at their lips. It's all performance, and act, and...they don't think they're doing a very good job.]
...I hope I'm back to normal, soon. You need that me.
[That much, at least, isn't a lie.]
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That's not Frisk.
Skin paler, their demeanor false, hair alit with invisible fingers of some sort of holy backlight. A front, a mere mimicry of Frisk's desperate mumbling, their reaching fingers, their fumbling hands, their tripping over themself to be heard and registered and acknowledged.
It's not Frisk. It's not Frisk. It's not Frisk.
They receive nothing in turn. Nothing but a strangled huff of sound, and Chara buries their face in the crook of their elbow with a shrill giggle.]
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...did you hear me?
[Maybe they need to approach to provoke anything. Frisk rolls onto their belly and crawls under the bed, and reaches out to touch one of Chara's hands. Not to grab, only lightly, an indication of their presence.]
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Don't touch me.
[The words emerge a low hiss. A threat. A warning.
Don't touch me. Not like this. Not now. Not without warning, not as though they're entitled, because we love you, Chara, we want to make sure you don't go running off again, and we want you to stay right where you are, so don't you move, don't you leave Mommy's sight, don't you try to wriggle out of your consequences.]
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Okay.
[A simple enough request. A memory drifts to the fore of their mind and they frown, looking down for a moment. A time when Frisk had been new to one of the houses, and scared. Some of the older kids were looking for them, and Frisk had been hiding under the bed until one thought to look...]
[...is that...?]
...are you afraid of me?
cw self harm
Deeper, deeper. Maybe if they keep going, they'll carve everything apart and fall to ribbons. Wouldn't that be nice, for everyone?
The words are rough, hoarse with the lump swollen in the bit of their throat, jarring everything, blocking everyone.]
You're not Frisk.
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Stop that. You're hurting yourself!
[Their control isn't fine enough to slip their AT field in under Chara's hand, but Chara's told them not to touch them. They have to obey that. But they have to stop this as well, it's...important?]
I'm still me, Chara. I'm just...I'm not Lilim.
[It's not an explanation. They know it's not an explanation, but there's not enough time to figure one out. They don't have that kind of mind anymore, that can take an idea and mold it with such speed and precision, to take something and turn it to an entirely new purpose. They remember what it was like, but searching through those moments to find the right clues is...it's hard. They don't even know what they should be looking for.]
Please, tell me what I should do. I still want to hep you.
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It's supposed to be you, always you. It's always to be still just you. And yet - whoever they're looking at now, whoever they're talking to now, what part of that is Frisk? What part of that is they of the fumbled speech, of the uncertainty in encroaching upon anyone's space, the steely determination underlying, the fear of the same callous, dismissive words they've launched at them now? Where are they? Where are they now?
Layered beneath? Gone? Gone?
...gone?
A soft thrill of something in their stomach and a noise akin to a moan, desperate and pained. Like the weight of something that can never be removed.]
Just - get out. Go.
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[They probably should have expected this.]
Okay.
[They crawl back out, and pause for a moment to watch Chara before they stand again, brushing off their clothes and turning to walk out without another word. They're probably going to regret this later, but it's simply too frustrating, too difficult to maneuver their way through these social quandries, all the emotions and complexities. Easier to let things be, distance themself so Chara might not be so distressed.]
[They do leave the first aid kit by Chara's bedroom before they leave however.]
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The scratch of fingernails across skin doesn't dwindle into silence. It intensifies, faster, sharper, until their forearms are raw. But the sores cover up evidence of the scars, ha. Can always call it a Tanglesnake attack, or any number of things.
Doesn't matter. Doesn't matter.
They're alone now, like what they wanted in the first place, right?
What does it matter, what happens to Frisk? They're not supposed to care at all. And Frisk will come back, anyway, because they always do, and when that happens -
When that happens, there will be nothing to say.]