hadriel_logs | Event Log: Dead Ringers

Entry tags:

Event Log: Dead Ringers

Who: Everyone participating in the event!
What: The event log for the Dead Ringers event!
Where: All around the city
When: January 16th-January 25th
Warnings: Evil doubles, so we can assume manipulation, violence, murder, and maybe some nasty words

Everything seems normal on the morning of the 16th - actually, everything seems normal about the city for the entirety of this event. Nothing is strange, nothing is obviously wrong. Well, except that the population has mysteriously doubled, and the new residents each look exactly like one of the old residents. So weird! Definitely not ominous at all.

At least until your new double gets down to business. After all, their only goal is to ruin your life, and that can take any form. Smashing your favorite coffee cup? Telling your worst enemy they're right? Kissing someone else in front of your girlfriend? Brutally murdering you and then hiding your body in a closet so they can more effectively destroy your life? The possibilities are truly endless, and the only way to protect yourself is to kill your double first. They're not really open to negotiation, after all - but they sure might pretend to be in order to trick you.

So watch your back, and try to make sure that really is your best friend and not an evil clone masquerading as them. Boy, that would be awkward. If you can stick it out until January 25th, good for you! But if you didn't manage to and your double survives until the end - well, just as a final 'fuck you', there's a chance you'll come back to life and remember every awful thing your double did. Hey, at least that'll make it easier to fix, right?

► This log covers January 16th-January 25th.
► Feel free to make your own logs, as well
► Please tag headers of threads with content warnings where they apply
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!
► If your evil clone happens to take you out, please let us know here, and remember that you will not revive until the event is over.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It's okay, kid. It's me.

[He's met the other guy by now - knows how he stands, how he talks, how every word, once he shows his true colors, curls out like a sneer. And Sans - he just sounds tired. He sounds tired, and he feels like shit, but however bad he feels, he knows it's gotta be nothing compared to how Frisk must feel. How Chara's feeling.

They haul themself to their feet slowly, and he lets them. He's not...heh, not in the greatest condition at the moment, but it's all right, it's okay. He's tired. That's the only real great thing about 1 HP. You never have to deal with dragging an injured body around and haul it behind you like dead weight.

Heh. "Dead."

Frisk's fingers curl into his jacket. He does his best. He's shaking as he stands there, feeling just about as tapped out as is possible, but he gets one arm around their back, like that might keep them upright a little longer.

Keeps one hand on Chara's shoulder.

And he doesn't move.]

We're all who we're supposed to be.

[They're all who they're supposed to be.

Despite everything.]

[They don't try to throw either of them off. Internally, Chara is just to locked up in their own mind to pay attention to the voice that equates 'touch' with 'pain', even if it is screaming at them.

Does this say something about them? Sans's double had said they didn't have it in them to kill his real, but they had enough to easily kill their Partner? LV 14 clearly couldn't hold up to LV 20 with maxed stats, but that wasn't the problem here. The problem was with Chara. They could have grabbed Frisk and ran as fast as they could.

But...ahhaha. They're Chara. They will always FIGHT.

Doomed from the start. * Your LOVE---

They flinch, almost as if their brain finally caught up to the fact that they were being touched. Chara's eyes widen and it almost looks like they're going to be sick in a second.

But it's not because they're being touched.

It's not because of the body of their Partner before them, even though Chara knows logically that the one that they treasure is still alive.

It's because---]

[The Demon is calling their name.

"Greetings. I am Chara."

And we all now know where that ends. Just like everything else did, once upon a time.

* You called for help.

"I don't have time to deal with you Chara."

* You called for help.

"I'm sure your parents love you Chara."

* You called for help.

"Don't act like a spoiled child Chara."

* You called for help.

"You know what happens to children who misbehave, Chara."

* Please, someone help me!

....

* Everyone was there.
* But nobody came.

"But you know better than anyone, how to help yourself, don't you "Chara"?"

*ͥͯ͋́ ̦ͮ̓̎̽͆̆Y͔͓̞̟͉͖ͦ̔o̷̠͒͋ụ̗̠͒̈̿ͯͮr̭͕̋̓ ̗̤͆͑̒Ḷ̺̦̗͍̣ͬ̌̈́͋͂̎O̡̦̺̠͆̃͂͆ͅV͙̰͙̘ͯ̚E͇̥͎̺͇ͫ͑ ͙ͧi͖̙̓̌͋͜n͚̲ͮ̊́̈́̿͑c̥̦͊̄ͤͭ̂̈̑ṙ͙̲̞͍̦̺̭ͫ̒̆̋̓͆ę̣͛̃ͧ͑ͪa̴͖̪͈̣͇̍ͅs͉̤̻͕̩̪͉̽͒̈̐͜ḙͦ̆̃ͯ̒͋s̫̭͈̓̅ͮ͝.̉̀̂ͮͤ̐]

[But that's just in their head, right now.

Chara wraps their arms around themselves, curling smaller and smaller as if that'll save them from all of this.

Don't cry.

You're a big kid, so don't cry.

....well, we're beyond that point, aren't we? Hot tears slide down their face as Chara works to not scream, even if the sound escapes either as a red voice with no impact.]

Despite everything...this still hurts.

[And they finally give into it and just scream.]

[Chara's movements, their words, their everything- it's proving a point, somewhat. What Sans told them, in the library; no matter how angry or callous the wording, he was right. Just make it all their problem. Sharing is caring.

FIGHT. Don't FIGHT. Try. Don't try. No matter the decisions they make, they continue to be themself, and therein lies the problem. Look at what they've done.

There's a noise, soft and quiet, something that repeats itself as Frisk shifts, takes Chara's hand. Works to collect the other off the hilt of a knife; soft, so soft, as they untangle white knuckled fingers and give Chara something they can take with them as they shrink in on themself, something alive, something that continues beating if they squeeze hard enough, harder still.

They take Chara's hands and let their- the other Frisk's body crumple down like wet paper. They died.
Sorry. They're sorry. But good riddance.
And for...not the first time, but close enough to it, Chara can't be their strength. They aren't the voice in their head, warm and witty and cold and oh so very angry anymore, they're just a kid. They're both just kids.

That never mattered, before. A little too late for it to matter now, isn't it?

And Frisk- haha. Well, Frisk would like to think that maybe, they could be the stronger of the two, now and again. The one who picks Chara back up when they fall down, who looks past the blood and the pain to make a joke, to talk about coloring books, and cooking, and number games, until they can both curl up on a bed and breathe, sleep it off. Let the pain slide away like water from a duck's back; staying determined, someone might call it. Just staying determined.

Frisk can't be the one to hold them both up right now. And so... so even if he's exhausted, even if he's been let down yet again, because they couldn't do what they were told, didn't think it could be this bad, Frisk leans on Sans. They lean on him, and try to keep every sharp, agonizing breath shallow and quiet, and mumble and hum a platitude of nonsense as Chara screams and they do their best to keep Chara from hitting the ground completely.

And a little, tiny piece of them pretends this could've been better, if everything was the same, but they didn't exist.]

[They're crying. They're both...both kids trying to hold it in, trying to hold everything together, and he does his best to keep his grip on both of them. Red words shrill over his ossicles, numbly, and yeah.

Yeah. It still hurts. Of course it still hurts. With a kid who ain't a kid anymore bleeding out into the rocks, and a pair of 'em who've been through more than he even wants to hazard in terms of guesswork, and all he can do - all he can do - is say that it ends with him. It ends with him here, and he'll stop looking back at what might have and what did, and look into what will.

Foresight. Stop thinking about the way things were.]

I gotcha, kid.

[The words are soft, murmured, quiet, a murmured litany for the both of them, the both of them.]

I gotcha. I gotcha. It's okay. I got-

[C R U N C H.]

[He manages little more - little more than a stunned, startled look down at the trio of femurs that have sprouted out from his ribcage. Can almost see the chain of red 9's unfurling across his front. There's nothing - no words to be said, no hastily-guzzled condiment to stain the tile so he can work in that final, fatal punchline.

There's nothing but d u s t.

There's just so much of it.

And the pieces of him wick away into nothing as the rasp of words drag out from a lack of an esophagus - words that have not and never will be formed.]

Nice work, kid.

[And with a coarse squelch of bone that sounds - wrong, all wrong considering the dryness and emptiness of dust and bone, he rips the bones free.

He grins with undeniable, savage triumph as now, inevitably, satisfyingly - a number increases. And bones fold to dust.

Perhaps that's the very best thing about it. The most gratifying thing. The way he tries to stretch the seconds out, the way he reaches for the kids, both of them, with something approaching desperation, the way he tries to say something, something doubtless profound and meaningful - and yet, fails to do so before he crumbles, dissolves, and fades.

He dies just as he always lived.

Without any of it meaning a single thing.]

Edited 2017-01-19 02:33 (UTC)

[For a moment, everything is quiet. The demon leaves, happy with the work it's already done with Chara's mind. But for once they stop thinking.

Frisk is alive and - well not unharmed, but they're alive. Sans is here and warm despite being made of bone.

Someone finally came. It's...that's the important thing here. After everything that happened, killing themselves and Frisk and Asriel and everything, there is a moment to rest.

There is a moment of peace.

There is ---]

[

Dust.]

[The funny thing about killing Monsters was that everything tended to disappear, clothes and all. Poof, and it's all gone.

So bone grinding through bone produced did not produce a different result than a blade slicing through ribs. Just the sound was different.

It falls on them like snow, Sans's final words dying in the air, on Chara's ears and on Frisk's to be replaced by...

....by

By his own.

Sans was the only monster who could take them to LV 20.

Oh god no.

Y̢̛̱̝͋̐͛ͯò̸̝̦̫̞̫̈́ͮ̐̍ͭͨ̔̀̕u̞̲͕̹ͬͥͮ̍̔͑̿ ͖̎̐͊̍ͅk̹̭̼͑ͮͮ͞n̴͈̼̝͔̹̜̤̅̓̒̀̅o͓͈̜̦̓̉̑̇́͊w̜̭̼͖͔̠̬͍͂̅̌̏͒ͅ ̙̝͚͕̭͎̠̉̏̊ͯȩ̐͛ͤ̏̄͛ͥ͟҉͕͚̥̮x̡̯̣̮̬̾̋̆́ͭ͢ą̰ͮͯ͝͡ç̸͕͎̞̙͇̳͆́ͧ͊ͮ̌̒t̯͓̖̠̐̏̕ͅl̸̫̟̮̭͙̱̋͊̐ͨ̐̔͝ȳ̨͎͒̓͋̚͘̕ ͎̱̰͇̺̙͐̀̊̅̎͊͗w̧͔̣̱̝̳̓̓̀̾͂̈́ͅh̪̟͉̉͛͜͡a̹̥̠̞̰̬͒͠ẗ̵̨̟͍̰̥̦̤̘͍̘̏ ̉̉̔͗́͗҉̶̧̯͉̼͕̟͍̯̩̞ţ͙̰̺̻̒ͮ̃͂͊́ͭ̅̀̀h̦̘̰͕̜̯̣̩̩̍͋́a̤͙̮̘͖ͦͯ̃̈̋͋̅ͩ͠ẗ̷̶̩̦͎͈͙̖́ͨͣͅ ̬̗̯͓̰̠̩̠̊͆ͮͯͫ͟m̶̬̝̱̹̜̫̳͇̌́́ͣ͛̈̇͊͋͠e̟̳͍̲̫̪ͮͨ̒͛̈̇͋ͫͣaͬ̊̾҉̥͠n̻̼̰̝̫̰ͬ͗̇͊̑͐͟͝ś̴͕̜̟̊̋ͣͮ.͓̱̳̻̬͉̱ͥ̃͛͠]

["Nice work, kid."

Chara doesn't have it in them to grab the Real Knife again as they turn their head to look at Sans's double. Things were blurring once again, falling again and looks like jumping from the second floor of a building really did a number on them anyway.

Can't be fixed by a Hot Dog.

Can't be fixed.

And Chara looks downright horrified.

...Frisk. They move, trying to get in front of their Partner as a form of protection. It's useless. He's LV 20 and Chara doesn't have it in them to try again.

They still try to meet his eyes but all it's doing is making their expression much more clearer.

* You try to speak...

* Nothing happens.

* You're just scared.]

[Blood stains clothes.

It's a pain, sometimes, when they've only been injured, and monster food can heal the wounds, but clothing doesn't have the same luck. In Snowdin and Waterfall, at least they could try to clean up straight away, but they remember (vividly, like it's right there in front of them, can taste that disappointment and feel the fabric under their skin as they tie knots in their sweater or roll up their pant legs to hide the evidence) that in Hotlands, things always dried really, really quickly. There was no chance to salvage dark red into washed out, muted brown smudges. The stains stayed. There was nothing Frisk could do about them.

Dust is so much worse. Dust gets everywhere, and it doesn't matter how much they wash, doesn't matter if the world has just reset, they can still feel it. A fine powder, a rough grit, like sand between their teeth, stinging their eyes, under their finger nails, coating the ridges of their ears-

Dust is so much worse.

Dust and blood?

Haha.

It's a nightmare.

And Frisk doesn't have it in them to scream. Some part of them, they think, or they don't, must be screaming, at least a little. Some part of them is screaming on the inside, pounding against metaphorical walls, kicking and writhing in agony. But it's all muted.

It's all muted.

Sans turns to dust. Chara scrambles to cover them, somehow, knocks them to the ground in their rush, and Frisk's gaze sticks at where Sans was, where "Sans" is, and what they see blurs between the person reaching desperately out to them, and the (dark. darker, yet d̢̧͟a͠r҉̧ķ̸̵̴͢e͟͟ŕ̴̡̛) creature that stands there now.

No tears. No sound. They stare blankly, and wait for the rest of them to catch up to the rest of the world.

What else are they supposed to do?]

Edited 2017-01-19 03:22 (UTC)

[He steps over the white granules, the little heap of it powdered onto the floor, with a quiet crunch. One kid moves in front of the other, protectively, with a harsh, jerky motion. He could turn 'em both to absolute jelly with a wave of his hand. He could grind them between Blasters, with the shearing crunch of bone cutting through meat, and the give of flesh beneath that unremitting pressure. He stands there, serene in getting exactly what he came for.

He could.

But he doesn't.]

Don't worry, kiddos. [He chuckles, curling the word into something akin to a sneer - taking a term of endearment and curdling it, perverting it, as is his wont and his want.] I ain't here to kill ya.

[Instead, he digs around in one pocket for a second before withdrawing a thick binder of research. The font it's written in is very, very interesting.

But what do you two think?]

Where's the Fun in that?

[He throws the thing to the ground with the harsh slap of two surfaces coming into alignment.

There's something clipped to the outside of it.]

[And the thing is? Chara knows it too. They know it because that was the power that they once harnessed. LV 20, stronger than anyone else. There was nobody to actually use it on, from where they stood, but Chara knows if there was somehow a way of going back while keeping all that LOVE.

No one could stop them. Not even the Undying. Not even Sans. Unless one of them also got to LV 20, there would be no stopping Chara.

But they don't have to deal with "What ifs" right now, since one of those options is standing right before him. He reaches into a pocket and old instincts rev up despite Chara themselves being dulled by pain, yanking the Real Knife out of the double's chest. That sick red magic flares and--

They see the font and something just...stops. Something stops in Chara because it feels like a glitch. The Knife falls as they slam it into the ground. Falls out of their grasp and becomes the Warn Dagger because they weren't touching it anymore.

Chara looks down and sees the photograph. The real one. The nice one. Sans's photo.

Great minds think alike, apparently.

They don't pick it up. Just speak. Vomit up old dialog.]

I don't like this game anymore.

[It's with a belated tilt of their head that Frisk looks down. Catches the writing first, before their eyes focus on the photograph. And they see Sans... and themself. Surrounded by

Surrounded by a lot of monsters they know. He looks...
Like he should. Like he would have, if they hadn't come into the picture.
Happy.

It's a two for one deal. How could they not be happy with that?]

Sans.

[Belated. Far too late to hold any credence, and Frisk looks absolutely lost as to why they said it at all. The gaze travels back up to him, uncomprehending, though slowly, slowly, slowly, things do try to click into place. They do try.

They're sorry they yelled at him. They're sorry they told him he didn't care. They're sorry they wanted to disappear.

They're sorry. That's usually enough, right? To tip the scales back a little. Bring him back, from dust to an exhausted, shuffling mound of bones and fabric and Okay, in that special way that Frisk understands, and he understands right back. They can go look at stars again. Frisk can bury him in the sand. They'll take a photo.

They're sorry. It can stop, now. They're sorry.]

[There's something incredible, truly incredible, in watching the face of someone who takes such pride in being impervious - crumble so completely. No smiles, no blank, locked-away flatness; no. Just the slow collapse of every brick they've laid down, the protracted crumbling of their very foundation, as it all skids and slides away into nothingness.

But still, despite everything, there remains the fact that everybody just seems so terribly eager to overlook.]

Y'know, good ol' Sans was right about one thing.

[He stares down at the pair of them with a cold, ruthless grin, and he hurls upon them the meanest insult he thinks will stick, for a pair of children like them.

He surveys them with something resembling pity. Cruel, blank, flat, devoid of any actual meaning, but pity. In knowing they are not, and never will be, enough. Not for each other. Not for Sans. Not even for themselves.]

You really are just kids.

[And kids will cry for help. Lost, scared, alone, and unheard. Always, unheard.]

Pity it took him so long to realize, huh?

[And the minute he did, someone else was there to take his feet out from under him. A number increases, and he grins, victorious. Content in knowing - he got what he came for.

He got what he came for, and everything else can burn.]

[Sans, at LV 20, wasn't a concept that should scare Chara.

There was fear, but that was reserved for Frisk's well-being. They knew full well that he was capable of killing them with an ease that was ridiculous. Bones could slice through them as easily as a Knife did Sans, once upon a time. Chara's fear of a LV 20 Sans come from there.

But it wasn't just Frisk's possible death that was frightening them beyond belief. They could lose their Partner but it's likely that this Sans was smart enough to realize that Chara didn't put much stock in their own life. There was nothing to gain from killing them, unless he wanted to take that last precious person from them.

And that's the thing, isn't it? Took a life. Just like Chara did, carving their way across the Underground, slaughtering everything they came across. Using every method to get every single Monster until nothing was left. Grinding it all out and leaving a blot where love once was. All with a smile on their face.

Once upon a time, The Human was friendly.

Once upon a time, so was Sans.

And nobody likes looking in a mirror. The roles were reversed. This is what it was like to face down a LV 20 Chara, wasn't it? This was the terror of having your life threatened by such a thing.

But it's not just that. Sans had been hugging them, telling Chara it was okay. That they could stop. That moment of peace had allowed them to understand the words that he said when he slammed Frisk's double into the ground. They called. He came. Sans helped them, despite everything Chara had done to him. Despite it all.

But that's just the setup to the whole joke, isn't it? Chara doesn't have to say the punchline either. Everyone here knew.

Sans had been killed at his most vulnerable moment. Just like Chara had done to Toriel.

Something snaps. Something deep inside of Chara just breaks. It may have to do with the font they're still staring it. Maybe it was the Demon. Or it was just simply breaking under the events they had gone through just far. But something just...slips out in a quiet voice, begging in the way the words had been when they first read it.]

Please don't hurt my family.

[He's not

He won't. He won't. Frisk can't know that for absolute certain. Can't know that Chara doesn't have a point, begging for their life (their life, not Chara's. Please don't hurt my family. The words are familiar, make their flesh crawl. They have their sins) and they're just a kid, after all. Just a kid. What does a kid know, about anything?]

...I forgive you.

[Soft. And it would be hard- still is hard, to say which him they're talking to. The smudge of an outline that's still reaching them, or the one that's standing right there.

But outside of Frisk's head, there's still only one pair of eyes to meet.

They're meeting them. Slowly reaching out to pull that folder to their side. Slower still, they slump down. Press their cheek to Chara's shaking shoulder, and close their eyes.

Either way, it's the End. No one said Frisk had to watch it coming.]

[Isn't this just precious? The both them quaking like leaves, reduced to nothing but regurgitating old pieces of an old script - the very same script they sought to burn, page by page.

He cocks his skull to one side as he hunkers down, just so he can look the pair of 'em in the eyes.]

Now why would I do that?

[The words drip with a condensed derision, laced with a sickly falseness that he's certain that one of the two, at least, can recognize full well. A plastic smile. A hollowness behind it. But you could swear he almost sounds giddy as he continues.]

You've already done such a great job of it.

[And he starts to laugh. It's an - awful sound. It's quiet, and it's cruel, and perhaps the worst thing about it is that it sounds far more genuine, far more real, than any courtesy chuckle Sans ever made on anyone's behalf. It's full and complete and, for once in his life, it's sincere.

He's just so excited, you see. He's just so happy.

He's free.

He jolts back upright again, kicking the notebook with the toe of a slipperclad foot.]

Now be a couple of good kids, and be brave for once in your lives, yeah?

Do something nice for other people.

[There's no reason for you to exist. Not a couple of selfish, rotten little humans like you. You take too much, too fast, and ruin it all with your corrupting touch. So why don't you make it easier on everyone else, and wipe that slate clean.]

[Chara looks up when he does get down at eye level with them. They stare at themselves, that LV 20 monster with that painted smile, with a voice that has a hint of the same sort of giddiness that Chara themselves once had when they first arrived to Hadriel. When they thought that they could do it all over again.

They didn't. The ideal of consequences was one that they upheld. They didn't escape Sans's judgment but reviled in it because you can't judge someone who's already condemned themselves. It's nothing Chara hasn't heard before. It's nothing they haven't heard before...

But things change here. Time moves forward. And...people can die. Asriel was killed by Chara's own double and they can just imagine the look on his face as his best friend stabbed him to death. Frisk saw the picture that Chara had hidden, had taken away from them even though it was their right to know. Made them feel like it was okay for them to disappear, "Not needed" and those words will ring in their head for a long, long time.

Asriel was that flower that Chara terrified back in New Home. Alphys had her own demons and if they had it in them, Chara would be angry all over again. And....they fought Sans again. The outcome of that fight had no real meaning. It was the words that broke them in the end. A blurred line because no one like seeing themselves in a mirror.

"Until next time, kid."

They had fun throwing water balloons at each other.

"Now be a couple of good kids, and be brave for once in your lives, yeah? Do something nice for other people."

* You called for help.
* And Sans died because of it.

"I have seen no happy ending. I do not deserve one."

Self-judgment sure was something.

Chara doesn't reply to the double's remarks but he can see their smile from where he's standing. The same one that they wore during their runs, that followed their morbid line of thought.

"What's one more on the chopping block?"

Some laughter escapes out of their mouth. Just a little bit. Because it's funny. So laugh! Just laugh!]

* 1 left.

[He knows that Chara doesn't mean Frisk. But that probably doesn't matter to him, does it?]

[The edges of his sockets curl, almost crinkling with that dark, cold amusement. They get the idea, don't they? Smart. Intuitive. Even when they've all shut down, even when they think they can't possibly sink any lower - they always, always find a way.

The words grind out coldly, pitched low with his own laughter.]

That's the spirit.

[Good kid.

And he turns on his heel, and is gone.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Event Log: Dead Ringers

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1/3

cw for abuse/suicidal ideation

done!

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1/4

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:)

1/?

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Done

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cw manipulation and suicidal implications

cw for suicidal ideation

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