The loneliest time of year...

“Frustrating is the least I could be for you right now, with how you’ve had to be carted home by the chief of police every other night.”

“Maybe if you tried half as hard for me as Asgore does, I wouldn’t be spending more time with him at the station than I do at home.”

“TRY? Young lady, you don’t get to lecture me on not putting in enough effort. The only thing you’ve ever tried to be is a problem.”

“And I must be pretty good at it, too.

You treated me like a problem before I even started trying.”

It always started like this, always escalated like this. From being sat down after an incident to a full blown argument, nothing ever came slowly in this family, least of all when the two eldest women of the household were concerned. If she’d inherited anything from her mother, it was a complete lack of patience.

Unfortunately, that small commonality only served to make their interactions all the more heated. It was no wonder they always seemed to hit the boiling point so quickly.

“I’ve always done what’s best for you, do you realize that? If I was harsh, it was because that’s exactly what you needed.”

“Then what do you call the time when you’re NOT being harsh? When you’re barely here for me at all? Or is that just you realizing that what’s ‘best’ for me is you leaving me alone?”

“Is that all this is? A cry for attention? You need to grow up.”

“Clarice, please, that’s not-”

“No. No dad, she’s right. I’m the one being childish.

It’s always me. It’s ALWAYS my fucking fault.”

“Language, young lady!”

“Fuck you.”

So much for it being a sit-down, as the sounds of hooves stomping up and through the house began, followed by several other pairs. Yelling, doors slamming, through the entire estate.

Angry & frantic, undoubtedly wearing out the floorboards.

Only given one instant of pause.

“. . . Dess?”

“. . . . .”

One singular moment of silence, a break in the chaos, coming at the call of that small voice, leaving the estate still.

Until, inevitably, the front door opens up, and out into the night ran the the Holiday’s eldest child; the rest of the family watching from the open doorway, younger sister scrambling to give chase helplessly from her father’s arms... the only one worried enough to do so. After all, it was a weekly occurrence.

She’d be back by the morning, surely.

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She barely paid mind to to what direction she was running in after she’d pulled herself over their front gate with her duffle bag, between dark of the night and her own eyes watering... the most she could do was make sure she didn’t go slamming into a tree as her hoofsteps carried her off through the woods. Not that she cared where she ended up at this point. As long as it was anywhere else.

Somewhere lonely, secluded. Where she wouldn’t have to worry about her worst side, her weakest side, being seen by anyone.

And soon enough she’d find it, as the trees finally gave way around her and the starry sky above revealed a familiar clearing before her, hilly oddity at it’s center that she couldn’t care less about in that moment. Perfect.

A shaky exhale escapes her, hot breath visible in the cold air as she stomped further into the clearing, snow crunching beneath her feet before she dropped her duffle bag onto the ground. An outsider who might’ve seen her fleeing home might’ve thought she’d been planning to run away, because that’s certainly what it would’ve looked like... but, no. She’d never run away.

It’s purpose made obvious as she unzipped it, withdrawing her bat and getting it nice and tight in her grip. Sighing, shivering in the cold for a moment, before turning her gaze towards the nearest tree, marking the poor spruce as her victim before she screamed out and cracked the bat against it’s bark so hard the whole thing shook, making built up snow fall from above and any poor creature making the tree it’s home to scurry awake in fear.

And then she did it again. And again. And again.

Taking out every weak enough branch before moving to the next tree, and the next after that, and the next after that, taking all her boiling frustration out on the poor plant life as she yelled and growled... devolving more and more into cries and whimpers over time, as she tired herself out. As she always needed to when she was like this.

Wear herself down, thrash and bite until she either forgot why she was doing it or was aching too much to continue.

Not that either was particularly easy to do anymore, between the years sharpening her mind and her own efforts strengthening her body... though, in this case, her mind appeared to be inevitably winning out. Her arms thrummed so much she was sure they'd be bruised all over and her breaths were becoming an effort in of themselves, but her memories were nonetheless intact. 

She still remembered why she was out here.

Still remembered why she was so angry.

And that made her keep swinging.

It was all so thoroughly engraved into her mind at this point that she couldn’t just smash it away anymore. Not that she ever really could.

Of her mother. Of how cold she’s always been, how judgmental she’s always been, how harsh she was on her growing up... and the venomous sting that was the fact she missed that. She missed having a cold perfectionist always on her ass, because at least back then she was actually there for her.

There for the family as a whole.

Not like now, not since her important new job overshadowed them all. Nothing short of a crime would make her bat an eye in their direction anymore... and so, crimes she committed. Just so she’d look at her again. Just so she’d be home, for once.

That’s what pissed her off. That’s why she was out here.

And she couldn’t forget that.

Another half-hearted swing, the clash of wood against wood feeling like it did more to hurt her hand than it did to hurt the tree, and her arms finally fall limp at her sides, one dragging the bat through the snow as she stumbled away from the tree line, panting from the strenuous workout... backing up onto she felt familiar metal at her back, leaning onto those sealed bunker doors for support as she collapsed in front of them.

Bringing her jacket’s sleeves to her eyes, soaking up the tears before they’d have a chance to freeze in her fur, huffing and puffing the last of her energy out, resting there in the cold, counting the seconds until she felt she could walk long enough to get back home.

In her stupor, she hardly noticed the slight give to the doors... not until they swung open behind her, and she fell backwards into them.

No one heard her scream when her back didn’t meet a floor.