[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 -
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
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.
no subject
[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.]
no subject
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.]