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hadriel_logs2016-12-21 06:49 pm
save_theworld) wrote in hadriel_logs2016-12-21 06:49 pm
Entry tags:
In my head, I am still there
Who: Fruks and anyone of the nosy sort.
What: A small child holes up in a library with indecipherable notes from a man who doesn't exist. Nothing goes wrong.
Where: The librarby.
When: Evening of the 20th, through to the 21st.
Warnings: Ten year olds have all the existential queries, really.
i. ssssSSSHHHHH!
[With the discontent rumblings (and...explosions) of the past few days beginning to die down, Frisk decides, in a token flash of alacrity, that some personal space is necessary.
Or- no. Not really. What's needed, more than anything, is a break from the cycle they're in. A rinse and repeat of getting up, trying to clean streets that are never really going to be clean, having dinner and going right back to bed. They've been in such a cycle before. It never ends well for anyone. Sans left them a hot dog, a month ago.
Sans left Chara a hot dog. Things aren't going well.
Still, better things to focus on. Things like the fact that large, white bookshelves prove to be over twice Frisk's height in many places, and problems like how many of the books and papers within reach are filled with nothing but nonsense, or information that doesn't help. They don't really need to know about the statistics of immigration throughout the year 201X, thank you, or The Most Ridiculous Laws Still In Place Today, even if it's kind of funny, that wearing hot pink pants is illegal on Sundays.
Hence, climbing said bookshelves is fine. It's fine. It's- its fine until they reach the top.
Then it's just a matter of contenting themselves with the view for a few hours, until they figure out how to get down.]
ii. Can you even call this a librarby, I didn't get a chocolate on my pillow or anything.
Whilst it does take most of the night to traverse the many, many shelves for something even close to useful- as well as sort out the issue of how one gets both up and down from such fixtures- inevitably Frisk makes a small pile for themself in corner, just beneath one of the many luminous light fixtures. It's not the most comfortable position, but it is out of the way.
From there, it's a matter of opening each book in turn, and burying their nose into it. It would be in bad form to leave permanent marks on the paper, but a small, lead pencil to write in the margins, and they think- well, it should be okay, right?
It would be okay, if anything they'd found so far was useful. The most recent book lands back on the pile with a loud smack, and the child slumps back against the wall, rubbing their eyes. If it feels like they've been at this for hours
That's likely because they have.
What: A small child holes up in a library with indecipherable notes from a man who doesn't exist. Nothing goes wrong.
Where: The librarby.
When: Evening of the 20th, through to the 21st.
Warnings: Ten year olds have all the existential queries, really.
i. ssssSSSHHHHH!
[With the discontent rumblings (and...explosions) of the past few days beginning to die down, Frisk decides, in a token flash of alacrity, that some personal space is necessary.
Or- no. Not really. What's needed, more than anything, is a break from the cycle they're in. A rinse and repeat of getting up, trying to clean streets that are never really going to be clean, having dinner and going right back to bed. They've been in such a cycle before. It never ends well for anyone. Sans left them a hot dog, a month ago.
Sans left Chara a hot dog. Things aren't going well.
Still, better things to focus on. Things like the fact that large, white bookshelves prove to be over twice Frisk's height in many places, and problems like how many of the books and papers within reach are filled with nothing but nonsense, or information that doesn't help. They don't really need to know about the statistics of immigration throughout the year 201X, thank you, or The Most Ridiculous Laws Still In Place Today, even if it's kind of funny, that wearing hot pink pants is illegal on Sundays.
Hence, climbing said bookshelves is fine. It's fine. It's- its fine until they reach the top.
Then it's just a matter of contenting themselves with the view for a few hours, until they figure out how to get down.]
ii. Can you even call this a librarby, I didn't get a chocolate on my pillow or anything.
Whilst it does take most of the night to traverse the many, many shelves for something even close to useful- as well as sort out the issue of how one gets both up and down from such fixtures- inevitably Frisk makes a small pile for themself in corner, just beneath one of the many luminous light fixtures. It's not the most comfortable position, but it is out of the way.
From there, it's a matter of opening each book in turn, and burying their nose into it. It would be in bad form to leave permanent marks on the paper, but a small, lead pencil to write in the margins, and they think- well, it should be okay, right?
It would be okay, if anything they'd found so far was useful. The most recent book lands back on the pile with a loud smack, and the child slumps back against the wall, rubbing their eyes. If it feels like they've been at this for hours
That's likely because they have.
no subject
Chara probably would. But that's Chara, and Chara is kinder than they like to think they are. Chara cares deeply about people; even people who kind of cheated their way into their heart, stole their ability to run, to push them away, just by being there at all. It's no surprise that Chara would care.
Asriel used to, they think. Just not for them. Not really.
They hope the friend he always wanted is doing okay.
Who else does that even leave? Sans?
...]
Why?
no subject
Don't have to be.]
You need a reason to care about people?
no subject
[Their lips remain parted as Frisk thinks on it, brow furrowing. They know he feels bad for what he's done, and they've forgiven him; discarded it easily in the wake of what's new, what's now.
They know he hasn't forgiven them. It's over. They know.
Some things just aren't reciprocated. Some things never should be.]
The other Frisk's.
I can't do what they did.
[You shouldn't have to settle for second best, Sans. Not even that.]
no subject
They're always determined, though. Always got that little thing called "determination."]
And? Not much either of us can do about that here.
no subject
I think you should pick a better one to stay.
[Possible, to replace them. Possible, to have their pick; the better partner, the better Fallen Child. The friend he always wished he'd had. Someone who always liked bad jokes, and good friends. Not just food.
One who never, ever raised their voice. Wouldn't that be nice?]
no subject
[He don't finish the sentence, though the meaning is likely - it's clear enough, huh? Even if there was, what the hell would a guy like him do anyway?
He can't get the words to sound like anything other than what they are: resigned, weary. 'Course they gotta stick themself on a gradable scale, don't they? Maybe tick it down based on the LOVE they've earned, or the number of times they've died.]
And what happens to you then, huh? You think everybody here would up and let that happen, just like that? You think Chara would be all right, havin' another Frisk there without knowin' what happened to their Partner?
no subject
There are.
[He shouldn't have to question that. He's met some of them, hasn't he? Told them as much; they know him well enough to get that a guy like him doesn't miss the chance to compare. There were better ones; they were all better ones. None of them were left standing on the middle ground.
They'd finished, and just by being here, Frisk- the one that is them, in the here and now- they never will.
Fifty percent, twenty percent. They're both failing grades. No one wants that. Sans doesn't want that. Chara doesn't want that. And Frisk certainly doesn't.]
...Chara would figure it out.
no subject
He looks at 'em long and hard. Trying, failing to keep the stern frustration from his tone.]
Real generous of you. Makin' it their problem to deal with. Like that'd be makin' it easy. But hey, guess sharing is caring, right?
[Too scathing. Too accusatory. Yeah, go ahead, guilt them into feelin' even worse for a purely hypothetical situation. Hypothetical, sure, but it plays into something real disconcerting he's picked up on, regarding the way the kid thinks. And - god. If he could figure out how to talk to them without just hammering home every scrap of bullshit he blazed into their brain early on - ]
Look. Point is, it ain't happening. [Wasn't gonna happen before, and sure as hell ain't about to now.] You're stuck with us, kiddo.
no subject
They stop breathing, for a moment. Fingers curling under the edges of their sweater, stock still. Open their eyes a little wider, so he knows they're looking at him. Don't let your lips move- don't make a sound.
Can't they just
Haven't I done enough for you?
do one thing right?]
Sorry.
[The word is so tiny; not going to be enough, but they don't lower their head, so maybe-
I just don't know why I bother anymore.
Probably won't help either. They don't dare to breathe until he speaks again; until the words change; until the tone's gone, until they're sure they can speak at all.]
Sorry.
[Repeating themself isn't going to help either.]
no subject
This ain't helping anyone. He stops. Shuts his eyesockets and takes a moment.]
It ain't your fault, kid. I'm sorry.
[How many times does he gotta screw up before he finally manages to get through to 'em? How many times does he make 'em feel bad for everything before their seemingly limitless forgiveness snaps and severs?]
We're gonna do what we can with what we got. Not any of us chose to be here. Can't choose who we care about either.
And like it or not, I, uh, I wanna see you be all right.
no subject
Frisk can't really bring themself to relax fully. Softer and quieter; wanting them to be okay, but things like to linger. It's almost sad, to think that this is the part of him they've missed seeing for so long. They were never really friends after all, were they?
But he said he wants to try. He does that; doesn't make a very good job of it. It's the opposite problem than Frisk has, they think, even if it seems to constantly lead to the same result. They both mess up.]
Okay. [They agree externally. No more talking about it- in fact, don't think about this anymore, Sans.
They'll sort it out on their own from here.]
no subject
More than they do already, anyway.]
Kid. [A pause.] Frisk.
[Their name is an important factor, and he's still cursin' himself for never askin' for it back home. And they never offered it either, huh?
Yeah. Funny how that worked out.]
You can choose who you're gonna be, y'know. That's somethin' else we all gotta do.
no subject
But the voice is gone, now. They've killed it once already, and even if it told them that was okay, it's obvious that a lot of people- two people, the only other two who know- don't agree. Wasn't that a choice? Haven't they had choices to make already?
Why can't you just do one thing right? So they nod. They nod, and they don't tell him they're tired, or that they don't want to make choices anymore. He doesn't want to hear it; in the same way that no one wanted to hear excuses when they hurt something, when they broke it. When they did it wrong.
If they want him to be happy, then they have to pretend, for a while, that they're happy too.
And maybe that won't be too hard. After all, most people...
They don't really pay much attention, once they think they've gotten their way.]
Yeah.
no subject
What a world, huh?
He scratches at his cervical vertebrae, tryin' for something marginally lighter.]
And, uh. Next time you get a gift from somebody - maybe think of keepin' it. They gave it to ya for a reason.
no subject
They're looking. They are, most definitely; it's just a pity that they can't (haven't, won't) share that.]
Sorry. [For making him feel bad. Thinking on it, even a child can understand, or assume, that perhaps, he's feeling a little...upset. Next time, they should just- keep it.]
It's a good 'dog.
[Until someone else needs it, at least.]
no subject
['Cause they learned to put everyone else's lives above theirs, tiering it out. Chara's more important. Asriel's more important. Everyone's more important than Frisk, when Frisk gets due consideration at all.]
But y'know we worry about you too.
no subject
Or because if he keeps treating them nice, maybe they won't hurt anyone else.]
I'm okay. [As he knows already. Funny, that their eyes are more red-rimmed now than they were the first time they'd come to that conclusion- sitting together, one barely able to move, the other-] Just gotta...
[A pause, a shrug. Their fingers are in constant motion, worrying their sweater.]
Stay determined.
no subject
...yeah, that ain't helping anybody. He keeps that thought to himself.]
It's okay if you ain't always okay, kid. We went lookin' all over for Chara. You don't think we'd do the same for you?
no subject
No. They don't have hypocrisy in their dictionary yet. But they don't believe what he's saying. Not at all.
Good kids? They stay quiet. Sometimes they just need a reminder, that monsters and humans really do expect the same things.]
...M'gonna find more books.
no subject
[Figures they've gotten as close to communicatin' as they'll ever be. He ain't gonna push 'em any further. Pushed enough for a while.]
Hope you find what you're lookin' for.