[Frisk isn't sure if they're right to wait so long in handing it over, or if it's an unfair judgement of the one they call their Partner. But they had hesitated each time they thought to do it, and the Dagger remained in their inventory, stored carefully in Frisk's deepest pocket. The longer they put it off, the more awkward it feels, and the less they want to admit they've been keeping it from Chara. But with Gyft--no, Christmas, it's Christmas here--with the season upon them, the time feels...maybe not right, but at least more appropriate.]
Chara.
[Frisk sits in their small bedroll, watching the walls of their shared tent ripple with the wind blowing by outside. It's going to be a cold day, seems like.]
[The days roll every on and on, and they make little difference to Chara. The date may as well be six months ahead or back, and it would be utterly - inconsequential. There's a truly inspiring joke buried in the levels of meta there, but perhaps saying it aloud would spoil the mood and completely strip away what semblance of control one has over the situation. Can't have that, can we?
They've not been sleeping, and when they do it's in fitful bursts, easily jolted awake. This is nothing new. The tent snaps with each gust of wind, jarring them back into their typical state of hyper-alertness even as they do not flinch or falter.
Frisk speaks, and they turn their gaze in their direction.
For a moment, they regard them warily, as though anticipating a burst of laughter and a Just kidding! But no, this would be pointless - Frisk is altogether too sincere for that sort of thing.]
I...um. 'S Christmas. I heard some people talkin' yesterday.
[Wouldn't have known on their own. Dates have become a vague and confusing thing after so many loops. Frisk chews their lip, then turns to Chara and holds out their hand. The Dagger lies flat in their palm, just as well cared for as the Locket had been.]
I should have...I meant t' give you this back earlier. I'm sorry.
[Christmas. Not Gyftmas, no, because humans do not deserve the traditions of monsters. Christmas, the day of glittering lights and ornaments and pine needles. The smell of hot wax and a thumb held to a candle flame. Oven heat and the thickness of pillows and a veritable bullet-point list of associations that they scratch to ribbons the instant they occur to them.
The day itself is utterly irrelevant.
They eye the Dagger with flat eyes. A trick. A trap. It must be.]
You would give this over to a murderer? Not terribly responsible of you, is it?
[Frisk watches Chara evenly, the corners of their mouth pulling down slightly and thick brows wrinkling ever so slightly.]
We both did the same.
[Frisk can remember cutting down Toriel. In one strike, after a long and desperate fight...in her most vulnerable moment. They remember Papyrus dissolving away, Mettaton breaking apart, Undyne melting in horrifying fashion. Asgore falling apart in front of their eyes over and over and over and over. Countless other monsters turned to dust at their hand.]
[They will receive no such argument from Chara. Not fair, they'll insist, how they appropriated those possessions, stole away everything that pertained to the first human child that fell, scratched away Chara's name and replaced it with their own. Stealing everything away - as is their wont, and as everyone desired. No one had anything to say about that first child, after all. Toriel mentions children who leave and who die and Asgore speaks of missing his child, but their name, their name is purely secondary. Easy to change, isn't it?
A pair of gifts await a human in New Home. They open the boxes and take what lies within. Might as well belong to them, just as everything else does - their Home, their bed, their best friend.
The friend he wished he'd always had.
Chara smiles thinly.]
And should I orchestrate the murder of everyone you love, would you acknowledge your flagrant irresponsibility in facilitating such a thing?
[Frisk's throat closes for a moment. They know this, they've seen it. A happy ending, peaceful and right, interrupted by a sinister smile, a photo with faces scribbled out.]
[Swallow it. Swallow it. Don't let them see that panic. Have to trust them.]
Do you want to?
[They had tried before. Attempted with Papyrus, succeeded with Sans, came terrifyingly close with Toriel...if they'd had the Knife then it would have been a slaughter.]
What do you think, Frisk? That I woke up and found myself cured of myself overnight? That perhaps the power of friendship burned away the demon and made them all better?
[The words are heavy with scorn. No. No, Frisk. This is not the storybook ending they apparently desire. They think to ask the question, as if anything has changed. As if they are the partner Frisk remembers, infinitely superior.]
[They stop, bite their tongue. Don't know what to say, never knew, had to be led by the hand just to make a few friends. Led that hand down a path of disaster and ruin, corrupted it into something it never should have been.]
[* Look at what you've done.]
I think I'm not above consequences.
[Frisk meets Chara's gaze, holds it. Holds the Dagger out again.]
[It's certainly an improvement, is it not, over the child who might have forged blindly ahead, content in knowing they could simply RESET their mistakes into oblivion.
They have no reason to argue, and so they do not. They retrieve what is theirs by right.
The effect is instantaneous.
The blade ignites like a torch, bathing the faces of both children in its harsh red cast, limning the tips of their hair in a spectacular wash of crimson. The pattern spirals from pommel to blade tip, the crescent vine-like patterns winding 'round and 'round, sparking the end in a trail of dust motes, flakes of white and scarlet.
[There's a sick coiling in their gut, a feeling of dread that washes over them, leaves a phantom feeling of grit on their hands and legs. Silence, silence that lasts forever, that howls in their ears--]
[Frisk swallows hard, pushing the memories away. It doesn't have to end like that here. They have to believe that.]
...mm.
[They pull their hand back, watching the specks of light fall off the edge of the Knife. They never really understood how Chara did that, how their will was so strong as to forge the best items out of something so simple.]
[Hold this moment in time for as long as you must, Frisk. Remember always that you did this, willingly. 99 ATK and 99 DEF and an utter freedom to reap as much EXP as they desire.
As for the Knife...consider it simply a rotation of perspective.
[Frisk pulls their knees up to their chest, wraps their arms around and hides their face. This is the right thing to do, isn't it? It was never theirs, should have given it back before...]
[Chara laughs. A bit late for remorse and regrets, Frisk! You made your decision, and they gave you ample chance to back away. They have been utterly transparent regarding what they want and what they will take.
[They flinch, curl inward. The wrenching feeling of their SOUL being ripped away, scrambling desperately to reach out. Calling out desperately, hoping, * Hoping--]
[You thought what, Frisk? That a shower of rainbows and Hopes and Dreams would SAVE them anew? That they would be bestowed with a happy ending that they did not deserve?
Let Frisk live their life. Let them live safe from the demon, the final threat. Let them live free from YOU.
They are and will continue to be what they always have been.]
Is that so? [They have nothing to fear from anyone, and so their smile is absolute.] Because the person who once asked whether that was possible - he was the absolute pinnacle of sincerity, was he not?
[Not wrong? Perhaps merely insincere in the worst possible way. Cold irony, served with a sufficient side helping of ruthless, implacable judgment. But of course Frisk misses him, don't they? Just as they apparently missed their demon.
They've always missed that which hurts them most.]
[History informs the future. History informs the way things are headed, the way they end up. And all historical evidence would indicate that stuttering to an anguished and unprecedented halt mid-run is very, very low on the list of likely endings in store for the pair of them.]
[Frisk looks at Chara quietly for several very long moments, considering their words carefully.]
...I think...you'll get people mad at you, an' hurt them. Mostly on purpose. An' you'll keep doin' it, because you think that's how it should be. But there'll be nice people, too, that want t' help you. An' they won't give up just because you make a scary face at them.
There's a lot of determined people out there. An' we both only have one shot at things now.
[They'll get people mad at them. Oh, that's nice. A lovely way to sugarcoat it and wrap it up in a nice neat bow.
They could pursue those words, scatter them like flocks of pigeons, drive after them with a reckless and ruthless intent, blast a hole in every section of that stupid, worthless argument.
But instead, they lift the Knife and run their fingertips along the blade wonderingly, almost reverently.]
[It's not hard to hear the longing behind that simple phrase, and immediately Frisk regrets pointing it out. Their lips press thin, and their hand clenches up into the fabric of their sleeping bag.]
Don't.
[A plea? A warning?]
[Or a promise?]
[They won't go anywhere Chara isn't anymore. They already decided that.]
[Again, they have to ask themself - what did Frisk expect? Their eyes remain locked on the blade, on the 99 ATK that could scythe through 99 DEF so cleanly and completely. Could it not be over? Could it not over.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
action; morning of December 25th
[Frisk isn't sure if they're right to wait so long in handing it over, or if it's an unfair judgement of the one they call their Partner. But they had hesitated each time they thought to do it, and the Dagger remained in their inventory, stored carefully in Frisk's deepest pocket. The longer they put it off, the more awkward it feels, and the less they want to admit they've been keeping it from Chara. But with Gyft--no, Christmas, it's Christmas here--with the season upon them, the time feels...maybe not right, but at least more appropriate.]
Chara.
[Frisk sits in their small bedroll, watching the walls of their shared tent ripple with the wind blowing by outside. It's going to be a cold day, seems like.]
I...um. I have something for you.
action
They've not been sleeping, and when they do it's in fitful bursts, easily jolted awake. This is nothing new. The tent snaps with each gust of wind, jarring them back into their typical state of hyper-alertness even as they do not flinch or falter.
Frisk speaks, and they turn their gaze in their direction.
For a moment, they regard them warily, as though anticipating a burst of laughter and a Just kidding! But no, this would be pointless - Frisk is altogether too sincere for that sort of thing.]
What for?
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[Wouldn't have known on their own. Dates have become a vague and confusing thing after so many loops. Frisk chews their lip, then turns to Chara and holds out their hand. The Dagger lies flat in their palm, just as well cared for as the Locket had been.]
I should have...I meant t' give you this back earlier. I'm sorry.
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The day itself is utterly irrelevant.
They eye the Dagger with flat eyes. A trick. A trap. It must be.]
You would give this over to a murderer? Not terribly responsible of you, is it?
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We both did the same.
[Frisk can remember cutting down Toriel. In one strike, after a long and desperate fight...in her most vulnerable moment. They remember Papyrus dissolving away, Mettaton breaking apart, Undyne melting in horrifying fashion. Asgore falling apart in front of their eyes over and over and over and over. Countless other monsters turned to dust at their hand.]
[That wasn't just Chara. Frisk knows that.]
It's not fair for me to keep this.
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A pair of gifts await a human in New Home. They open the boxes and take what lies within. Might as well belong to them, just as everything else does - their Home, their bed, their best friend.
The friend he wished he'd always had.
Chara smiles thinly.]
And should I orchestrate the murder of everyone you love, would you acknowledge your flagrant irresponsibility in facilitating such a thing?
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[Swallow it. Swallow it. Don't let them see that panic. Have to trust them.]
Do you want to?
[They had tried before. Attempted with Papyrus, succeeded with Sans, came terrifyingly close with Toriel...if they'd had the Knife then it would have been a slaughter.]
no subject
What do you think, Frisk? That I woke up and found myself cured of myself overnight? That perhaps the power of friendship burned away the demon and made them all better?
[The words are heavy with scorn. No. No, Frisk. This is not the storybook ending they apparently desire. They think to ask the question, as if anything has changed. As if they are the partner Frisk remembers, infinitely superior.]
no subject
[They stop, bite their tongue. Don't know what to say, never knew, had to be led by the hand just to make a few friends. Led that hand down a path of disaster and ruin, corrupted it into something it never should have been.]
[* Look at what you've done.]
I think I'm not above consequences.
[Frisk meets Chara's gaze, holds it. Holds the Dagger out again.]
I'm trusting you.
[For better or worse, this is their choice.]
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They have no reason to argue, and so they do not. They retrieve what is theirs by right.
The effect is instantaneous.
The blade ignites like a torch, bathing the faces of both children in its harsh red cast, limning the tips of their hair in a spectacular wash of crimson. The pattern spirals from pommel to blade tip, the crescent vine-like patterns winding 'round and 'round, sparking the end in a trail of dust motes, flakes of white and scarlet.
* About times.
Chara smiles, undeniably satisfied.]
Right where it belongs.
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[Frisk swallows hard, pushing the memories away. It doesn't have to end like that here. They have to believe that.]
...mm.
[They pull their hand back, watching the specks of light fall off the edge of the Knife. They never really understood how Chara did that, how their will was so strong as to forge the best items out of something so simple.]
Please be careful.
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As for the Knife...consider it simply a rotation of perspective.
Chara continues to smile serenely.]
I'm not the one you should be warning.
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[Frisk pulls their knees up to their chest, wraps their arms around and hides their face. This is the right thing to do, isn't it? It was never theirs, should have given it back before...]
Please.
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Their laughter is like knives. How fitting!]
You made your choice long ago.
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[Did nobody come after all?]
[For a long few moments, they're silent.]
...
Even the worst person can change.
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Let Frisk live their life. Let them live safe from the demon, the final threat. Let them live free from YOU.
They are and will continue to be what they always have been.]
Is that so? [They have nothing to fear from anyone, and so their smile is absolute.] Because the person who once asked whether that was possible - he was the absolute pinnacle of sincerity, was he not?
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[Frisk lifts their head, looks over at Chara with wet eyes and a mouth pressed thin.]
I believe in you, Chara.
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They've always missed that which hurts them most.]
Why settle for disappointment?
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[They swallow, straighten up. Keep their mask in place, hide behind the illusion of calm to try and make their point.]
You don't--neither of us knows what's gonna happen.
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[History informs the future. History informs the way things are headed, the way they end up. And all historical evidence would indicate that stuttering to an anguished and unprecedented halt mid-run is very, very low on the list of likely endings in store for the pair of them.]
no subject
...I think...you'll get people mad at you, an' hurt them. Mostly on purpose. An' you'll keep doin' it, because you think that's how it should be. But there'll be nice people, too, that want t' help you. An' they won't give up just because you make a scary face at them.
There's a lot of determined people out there. An' we both only have one shot at things now.
no subject
They could pursue those words, scatter them like flocks of pigeons, drive after them with a reckless and ruthless intent, blast a hole in every section of that stupid, worthless argument.
But instead, they lift the Knife and run their fingertips along the blade wonderingly, almost reverently.]
We only have one shot.
[No one will bring them back.
Imagine that.]
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Don't.
[A plea? A warning?]
[Or a promise?]
[They won't go anywhere Chara isn't anymore. They already decided that.]
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And this world would let me go.
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[They stare hard at Chara, intent and near deathly still.]
[They mean this, Partner.]
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