hadriel_logs | Event Log: Fourth Wall, Part One

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Event Log: Fourth Wall, Part One

Who: Everyone in the city + Fourth Wall visitors!
What: Part one of the fourth wall event, hosted by Fear, Confusion, and Delight!
Where: All around the city
When: October 24th-November 1st
Warnings: Visitors from other worlds!

If you're not from around here, you may be wondering what's going on. You've woken up out of the blue in the colosseum, or near a temple, or in one of the numerous other locations in the city. You're somewhere underground and it's dark, cold, and maybe a little unnerving.

Luckily, shortly after your arrival, the road below your feet begins to light up in a gentle, warm glow. The light points you in a set direction and, if you choose to travel that way, will lead you toward the center of the city, where there is a large gathering of others who are lost here like you, people who might know their way around a bit more, and even some of the gods who rule this place.

There are lights strung up on poles throughout the large clearing, casting a comforting glow onto the tables beneath them. The tables are abundant with lots of food that looks simply delicious- though, none of it tastes quite like it should. The tarts taste like green beans, the mashed potatoes like cheesecake, and the chocolate seems oddly reminiscent of steak. In addition, there are decorations artfully placed around the meeting point. If you see them moving, don't worry- that's probably just your imagination.

Also distributed along the tables are shot glasses, filled with a sludgy, yellow substance. If you're brave enough to consume them, they taste strongly of mint and will give you a much needed energy boost, circumventing the need to eat or sleep for a full 24 hours! After that, however, everything hits you all at once, so use them wisely. Some of you may remember these shots from our How Delightful event earlier this year!

In addition to all of the above, there are also party poppers strewn around the area. Each popper can jet out some strange objects- glitter bombs, seashells, plastic dinosaurs, maybe a live lizard or two- so be careful! Feel free to use your discretion on these, but remember to keep it small!
_

Of course, you can always not travel that way. The rest of the city has plenty of places to explore- maybe you'd like to stumble in our Silent Hill zone, have a quick look around the alien orchard, or check out any of the god temples that can inspire their chosen emotion. Be careful not to get lost in the tunnels leading away from the cave- none of them can actually move you above ground, but you may run into a few monsters on the way.

For those of you who have been with us awhile, please bear with the gods while they try to adjust around these new folks! Join in on the festivities if you like, or try to orient as many of the others as you can. Start a community outreach program, start a fight club, introduce your parents to your weird cave girlfriend- nobody's judging!

Well. Some of us might be.
_

Enjoy the fourth wall event at Hadriel! Once you're settled in feel free to explore the rest of the city! Find a house, find a new monster, or simply scavenge for supplies.

Fourth wall characters do not enter with phones so they cannot reach the network- however, if you'd like to handwave that they somehow got ahold of Mello's Newcomer guide to avoid the 'where am I/what is this' sort of questions, then feel free!

Good luck, and enjoy your stay in Hadriel!

► This log covers October 24th-November 1st.
► Feel free to make your own logs as well! Fourth wall characters will not have posting access, so grab an in-game friend if you wanted to do anything separate from the main log.
► Fourth wall characters will be in the city for at least one week, though they can stay for longer. The party will go on throughout the entire week, thanks to Delight's boundless energy!
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!

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[It comes to him in sharp little pieces. The nervous twitching of their movements, the way the words come out as though they mean to apologize for the utterance of each and every one, the jerking, disjointed shudder of their movements, as if second-guessing every step they take.

He almost does not dare to think, but -

But so many strange things have, today, already happened.]

...Chara?

[This isn't fair.

Haha. This isn't fair, but nothing in life is ever fair, right? That's how it goes. They probably deserve this, and if it's just one more step on the way to The End, then fine. That's what it is.

It won't matter in the long run. It doesn't matter, turning about sharply as they tilt their head up- and up, and they were always so afraid that one day, one day, he would be just like he was.

It's hard to remain afraid of that when he already has been. Or so they tell themself.]

Sir.

[Sir. Sir.

Overly formal, overly distant. Cannot bring themself to address him with anything but the most professional of language, as if afraid he may scold them otherwise. Or perhaps...

Well. They may call him whatever they like.

He drops onto one knee with remarkable ease, trying, desperately, to memorize every line in their features, every inch of their face - in case this, again, is the last time he sees it. He hadn't know it would be goodbye, the last time he had seen them. He'd known their time was close, but he had...he hadn't thought it would be so...

It is always sudden, even if you see it coming a mile away.

Forgive him, child. He is having such difficulty forming words with the fat tears running down his face and into his beard, the way his paw trembles as he reaches for them.]

...h-how is this...possible?

[He's crying over them.

Of course he is. And there's a part of them- a large part- that views his actions dispassionately, as if from some far off, distant space. He cries, as one would, without the knowledge of what they've done behind him, without the knowledge of what he's done in turn.
Every part of them is tired.
The part of them that isn't distant is angry.

The part of them that's angry probably isn't angry at all.]

I do not know. [And they don't. It has to be some choice of black humor, presenting them with this scenario. Has to be. And they stand there, and take it for what it is, unflinching at an outstretched hand that's hurt them more times than it will ever know.]

I...could I just...

[He just - he needs to touch them. Confirm to himself, confirm that this is all real. If they will let him, he will...gently, oh so very, incredibly gently, touch a heavy paw to their shoulder and settle it there, as if afraid they may shatter at the slightest touch.

A choked sob bubbles out of his throat.]

You're here. You're here.

[At least

he asks. But he was always doing things like that; always- checking, confirming and announcing himself in ways that made it so very obvious as to what he was doing and how soon, never quick to act.

They'd felt so guilty about it too. It had taken so many frustratingly bad starts in a variety of colors, until all they'd had enough of was the pink wool, because good quality wool didn't just fall out of the sky every day, and Toriel's basket couldn't handle all their mistakes. It hadn't been perfect but they'd tried and they'd thought, at the time, that he'd appreciated it.

He's still acting like he did. Why?

Is he just that disappointed in them?]

I can't help existing. [What a weak protest. How...utterly pitiful.]

[They...it is like an apology. It is an unfair, strange thing, the way they say it, as if they are an imposition upon him, as if seeing them again has not filled his SOUL with a pulsing hope and a joy that he has not felt in years, and even if it is laced with pain it is better, far better, than the grayscale emptiness that it was before.]

I am - it is good that you do, child, I - I have... [A supremely unmanly sob chokes out of his throat, and he makes no effort to hide it whatsoever.] I have never forgotten you. And I am sorry, I am so truly, truly sorry...that we could not - that we did not save you.

[They take it back. They'd take it all back, if it meant that they could deal with the anguish of having him push forked metal through their- Frisk's arms and chest again, listening to their partner scream in a space where no one else could. Joining in unison, because death is never easy, or pretty, or righteous.

It would hurt less. It would hurt far less than this. He's never forgotten them; but he couldn't say that to them before, could he? He just missed his wife. He just missed his child.

Their laughter sounds choked. A breathless, wretched thing, bursting out of their throat because they can't, and don't, and won't believe him. They can't. He can't. Why is he doing this to them? Why?]

No, you're not.

[They start to laugh. It is a peculiar method of coping, of not saying things that he thinks should be said, and he would be lying he said he understood it at any significant length. Perhaps he learned something about it over time. Perhaps he learned that, when you have nothing but dusty photo frames and an old knit sweater, all you can do is smile when someone comes by to see how you are. Tell them that it is such a beautiful day.

Perhaps he is wrong. They were always a reserved child. He lowers into a crouch, slowly, so he may meet their eyes evenly. He cannot refute their words, spoken like a childish refusal of something he knows, deep in his SOUL, to be true. To simply scrawl over that phrase that must come from somewhere, that must have some etiology even if it is unclear to him, would be - wrong.]

I have missed you, child. I have...not a single day has passed that I have not thought of you both.

[They shake their head, still laughing. Is there a worst sound in this world, Chara wonders, then their own laughter? They hate it. They hate it so much.

They hate that they can hate and there's no one to blame but themself, falling back into that trap after timelines of losing the ability to do anything but End it. They've done this to themself.

And he probably doesn't want to deal with it, but he's too- nice to pretend otherwise. Not good. Just nice; the type of guy who offers you a cup of tea and then asks you for impossible feats in the same breath.]

I suppose my death ruined quite a few plans for you, yes. [How terrible. Giggling and on the brink of hysteria and terrible.] I am sorry for the trouble. Sorry.

Sorry.

[It is Asgore's turn to laugh, a sad and tremulous chuckle that is so choked through a wracking sob that it is hardly definable as laughter. It is so - it is so absurd to him, that they would feel sorry for their death. Sorry for the trouble they caused.]

That is not your fault, Chara. It is those who were left behind that coped poorly. I...I used your death for terrible things. I used it to declare war. I should not have...

[Words fail him, for a moment, but then he continues.]

You were always one of us. Perhaps that is why I thought...

[It is of no consequence. Things did, inevitably, unspool, and Toriel may never forgive him. But at least their venture into the surface has been, for the most part, peaceful.]

...Thought what?

[That they were one of them. That stings. That stings more than anything. More than a thousand deaths, more than it'd be nice if you kept pretending to be one. More than barely visible signs of their existence; a chocolate bar, a sweater tucked away in a drawer. A coffin in the basement.

Chara Dreemurr is dead. Whatever they are now- whatever they are now, all they want is to be just as dead. They don't want this; this kindness, perceived understanding. They don't want any of it.]

That I was simply ill, yes? As I intended?

[They hate their smile. They hate all these sharp edges, they hate the underlying exhaustion that stretches their lips beyond kindness and into territories unknown. Fake it till you make it.

They never made it.]

Perhaps that is why I thought it was...acceptable. To do what I did. To use your death as an - as an excuse to revive an ages-old enmity. Can you...

[In his voice there is a disgust that runs deeper than any cut, even the phantom slashes of a knife or a dagger that may have ended it, outside the scope of his memory of his insight. Whatever terrible things Toriel continues to think about him, say about him, he knows it is nothing, nothing, compared to what he feels for himself.]

Child, can you...can you forgive me for this?

[The words drop from his mouth like weights, like boulders - low, heavy, defeated.

He cannot say for certain what possible answer of theirs would make him feel better.]

[Can they forgive him.]

Do you know

How many times you killed that child?

You never even asked their name. It was just a trip to the dentist, but you never even asked-

One of the most rudimentary of questions. No one ever did. You didn't want them to be human, you just wanted their SOUL. You just wanted to see your wife.

You just wanted to see your child.

[Just the one, Asgore. No plural. It didn't really matter if that child reminded you of another, with eyes full of hope- you only ever brought that child up when it came time to do the deed all on your own.

When you followed in their footsteps.]

How many times was it, father? How many times did you kill them? Do you remember?

I do.

[Because they're one of you. Every one of you.

Asgore Dreemurr; his own child's legacy. Just like the rest of the Underground.]

You used me. And perhaps if you had not been such a coward, I wouldn't have minded this much. Perhaps it would have been different. It should have been.

But it wasn't. You and I, we did the unthinkable.

We made Asriel's death be in vain. And I will never forgive you for it.

[He takes their words as they come. They cut, oh but they cut, deeper and deeper than anything Toriel could have said. Deeper than any scornful diatribe.

He knows he has made such errors. Such errors. His paws heavy and wet with a hot, lapping red that matted his fur into spikes. Human blood spilled, SOULs kept preserved and possibly even alive. It was an unbearable cruelty.

The child had told him that he had...killed them. Too many times to count.

He had nodded, the graceless parabolic arcs of human children being struck down filling his mind's eye.

He never asked any of their names.

He had thought it would be better...easier, that way. It had not been. It was another foolish delusion, another foolish thought made by a foolish fool.

The tears that had begun to dry start to flow again, thick and fast. He takes their judgment with his head bowed, as he knows it - it is what he deserves. It is what he has told himself, countless times. Watching photographs growing thick and indecipherable with dust, until the smiling family was little more than a memory shrouded in thoughts of unhappy times.]

You are...right. I did not honor, nor Asriel. I did not...

[Something in his throat chokes, a terrible pressure like a paw being clamped over his esophagus.

The words that peel from his gullet squeeze their way out before he can stop them.]

You are...so like your mother...

[Of course they're right, Chara wants to say. They are right. They've been right all along, about everything. Every, miserable part of it. Humans and monsters are no different, really. Everyone wants their pound of flesh.

They never would have learned that without him. And when he-haha, when he has the audacity to bring HER into it, like SHE'S EVER done any better-!]

Don't you say that to me- don't you dare say that to me! [They flinch back- away, right into a bookshelf, hitting it so sharply and so hard the wood creaks and books already on the edge come cascading down. One hits their shoulder, and they don't care. They don't care, they never cared, they can't care about a LIE and that's all it ever was!]

You wanted this! You wanted me to give myself up, you wanted your future! I gave you what you wanted- I killed myself for YOU!

[There's a buzz- no, it's

it's a high pitched, keening noise. It doesn't stop, or let up. In fact, if anything, it's just getting louder.

It takes Chara far too long to realize it's coming from them.]

I ruined everything for you.

You couldn't even tell a kid you wanted to see me again.

Edited 2016-10-30 08:25 (UTC)

[He had said...he must have said the wrong -

Of course he did. He brought her up, in a moment, yet another moment of weakness and fallibility and foolishness, and he is momentarily torn between shame and defeat and worry, as they back themself into a bookshelf. Heavy tomes spill from the shelves full to bursting in a protracted slide. He lurches forward out of instinct, a paw stretching toward them until he wavers, hovers, uncertain. Not afraid for his life or the state of his paw should he put it out to steady them, but afraid for how they - how clearly and utterly they despise him, as they should, and what it would mean, for them to be touched by something that has broken everything beneath its fingertips.

He cannot remember the last time he saw them so distraught. And again out rises that guilt, pitted and awful and curdling in his chest.]

Of course I - Chara, you...

[For a moment he has to trail off, unable to complete the sentence for fear of saying something blandly predictable, something about how they are the future of humans and monsters and that they should not give up. Those words are dust now, and he was the one, he was the one who placed that weight upon their shoulders while they were so young.]

Chara, I...I never should have made you carry my burden.

I never wanted a future without any of you in it.

[The worst part of feeling is knowing that they don't hate him.

Not even a little bit. Not even at all.

What they feel, more than anything- what sits heavy in their chest to steal their breath and choke any possible intent to think clearly, is that sensation of being lost. Of not belonging. He- it was always difficult, wasn't it? Always difficult to trust him, always difficult to let him near. A sweater presented with a smile that hurt their cheeks and a joke stitched into the fabric, because if it was a joke, then it didn't matter.

It did. It mattered. It mattered a very great deal.

And he couldn't even tell a child that he wanted to see them again.

No. The worst part of this isn't that they hate him. It's the reminder of everything they've done.]

It was always supposed to be my burden.

I was- I am the future of humans and monsters.

[Where is Sans.

Perhaps if they beg hard enough, he'll finally see fit to give them some MERCY.]

It was unfair of me. It was - it was unjust. To saddle you with that burden, to place that pressure upon you, as if it would not hurt...

[I ruined everything for you.

They did not ruin anything that was not already broken, or perhaps simply fated to be. Things - topple. They crumble and they fall apart. It burns, that sad and solemn acknowledgment. It aches in his SOUL with an unfair, overly-harsh, overly-sharp resonance, a shard of ice piercing his heart.

Perhaps it was his fault that they chose to place that blame upon themself, solely upon themself.

His paws flutter at his sides as he so badly wishes to take them into his arms, but after what they have said, after spitting out that they could not and will never forgive him, knowing that he cannot force them to - cannot force them to be a stepping stone on the road to whatever goal he may someday find for himself - they must want nothing from him.

He does not dare touch them.]

You did not ruin anything, child. It was my - my responsibility, to treat you, to treat what happened, better than I did.

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Event Log: Fourth Wall, Part One

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1/???

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Done.

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You put the FUCK in FUCK THIS.

i am to please

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