autoplay;; passive aggression

Something small and warm barreled right into her – but naturally, she was much bigger, and the poor thing bounced right off of her belly.

“My goodness! I am so sorry! Are you alright, my chi…?”

She trailed off, eyes widening.

“My child…”

Her heart seized in her chest, body tensing. First Asriel, and now another poor, innocent youth she had failed, staring back at her. It could be no one else; they were even wearing that same striped sweater, from so very many years ago.

“Chara?” 

Kneeling down immediately, her eyes welled with tears. She placed both hands on the child’s shoulders, looking them up and down for any signs of harm. Their cheeks were rosy, their eyes bright, body warm, so warm that Toriel could not hold back from crying. It felt like only moments ago that she had held her child’s hand, cold, frail, and limp. But in this place, pale sickness was nowhere to be found – death had not taken the honey gleam from their eyes.

Placing a hand on Chara’s cheek, Toriel smiled through her tears. Whether or not her heart believed in second chances, her hands could feel a warm, kind truth.

         Certainly, Chara’s eyes aimed to deceive. Toriel Dreemurr stood before the child, her voice just as somber and as gentle as Chara had remembered clear as day.  They remembered clearly the sound of her voice when the child had initially fallen into the underground, when they had initially been invited into the Dreemurr family’s home as one of their own.

        Chara remembered this clearly—the woman’s voice spurred this on.

        Toriel’s fur felt just as soft as Chara recalled. It tickled just a bit. Toriel’s hands, huge just as she herself is, remain firm upon the child’s shoulders. Her voice saturated with worry and fear, Chara could only stare blankly at her. Even now, they struggle with conveying how they feel. Still, they struggle with reciprocating in KIND. Toriel was brought to TEARS and Chara couldn’t even respond properly.

        Instead, the child simply SMILES.

        “I’ve been fine, Mrs. Dreemurr.” Still they could not bring themself to call this woman ‘mother’.

        “I did not expect to see you… I see sunlight, and… the barrier—what happened to the barrier?”

        Chara’s eyebrows perk, the smile long faded.

That, and the way the struggled for the toothpick that had clattered to the ground. What had they intended to do with it, maybe chip his paint? Hah.

“Not lookin’ for a fight? Not what it looks like to me, saddling one of my mates like he’s your private transport.” Said ‘mate’ is promptly the recepient of a sharp look, which is understood immediately. Legs clank as Righty crawls to his side and scales his body, metal shifting with a hiss as it promptly molds out of shape and attaches to the empty spot where his right arm was, and now is. One flex of the newly returned digits, a satisfied nod, and Chop Shop attention returns to his so-called ‘captive’. Of all the things, the ‘monster’ comment draws a snort-like noise out of him.

“Sounds like somebody’s never learned manners. Ain’t no monster, fleshie, I’m a Cybertronian. Cybertron isn’t nearly as muddy as your scrap planet. ” Now with a free arm at his disposal, he hoists the child up a bit higher and jabs a metal finger at their stomach, both a warning and a need out of curiosity.

         Chara’s brows knit together, confusion clear on their face. No such thing existed, the child thought momentarily. For the briefest of moments, all shows of struggle ceased in favor of bewilderment. Red eyes narrowed and examined the mechanical being from top to bottom, taking in the creature’s very make-up to the best of the child’s own analytical ability.

        Truth be told, Chop Shop is an incredibly ALIEN creature to Chara.

        In fact, if Chara wasn’t in the right state of mind, they would consider themself to be dreaming of something they’ve once watched on a Saturday morning. Besides, that little robot bug just attached itself to the robot’s shoulder as though it had always belonged there!

        “Scrap planet—no, this place isn’t made of scrap, as much as it is made of dirt and water… Are you—are you an alien?”

        The child’s eyes seemed to light up.

        “An alien… robot? If I am not mistaken…-- ah—“

        The metallic digit dug hard into Chara’s torso, resulting in the child’s brief recoil to clutch an sore stomach. That bewilderment washed away instantaneously afterward. Now, Chara felt ANNOYED.

        “I expected your arm to be someone’s pawn. … Someone more human.” Chara’s response was given at a slowed pace. “I didn’t expect it to be a pawn for a robot. Now, put me down. If you—if you have no use for me, then put me down.”

“There’s no need to call me child. If I know you, you should know me too, but it seems we haven’t met yet for you. But we’ve met in my time, and I was hoping you’d know me too.”

Frisk gave the a respectful nod of their head. They tried to seem less formal and more friendly, but it was hard. They didn’t really get on well with Chara.

     The-- the eighth human to fall into the Underground?

     Now, Chara committed Frisk’s name to memory. A child from the future? Or was Chara from the past? The child could not be too certain and if they sat down to think about it then their head would just spin. Time travel just isn’t feasible. Not realistically, anyways.

     “You’re lying.” A pause settles in. The whole time travel thing is actually being taken into consideration. Sharing a headspace, though? Slightly more conceivable, provided Frisk’s intentions mirrored Chara’s. After all, one thing that Chara could not doubt was their own DEATH. (Being alive and breathing was something to consider as well, but in this particular circumstance it was an unimportant detail)

Their eyes were draw to the blade. They felt their hand twitching for their pocket, where they used to keep a weapon of their own. Of course, there was nothing there. Not even a stick. Instead, they met Chara’s eyes, like a dog challenging another for dominance. 

     That child was absolutely RIGHT, too. How disgusting, thought Chara. A forced chuckle slipped past an equally forced smile as Chara withdrew the blade.

     “My apologies,” was the child’s haphazard response.

     It was nothing short of DISTURBING how this stranger not only bore Chara’s appearance, but knew Chara’s NAME as well. Why was that? Who IS this child, anyways? Curiosity nags at the child’s nerves, further grounding their feet into the ground and further browsing mental cabinets for QUESTIONS to ask.

     “How do you know me?” The village had no such person in its populace. As far as Chara remembered, they were the only human in the Underground back then. So how did this child know Chara at all?

@felledchild

This was the first time that Daisy had actually considered back alleys to be a good thing. He could avoid people here and thus avoid the urge to mindlessly slaughter them all. He would also have more space and more quiet…. Less light… Less everything. It was to be appreciated here.

     Well, back alleys were good within reason.

What the young man didn’t like was the fact that there were certain kinds of people that liked to dwell in these places. People that he didn’t want to deal with at all. He’d much rather deal with your standard passerby compared to whatever else he could encounter in these sorts of places.

Though the kid he had in front of him right now wasn’t one of those kinds of people. Perhaps in spirit, but definitely not in body.

It gave Daisy somewhat of a melancholic feeling, watching them clutch the wooden knife they had probably gotten from the scientists as if he was longing for something else. Longing for whatever those cruel people had taken away from them. Sentiments such as these were something that he didn’t often share. He had found that they were bad. Bad thoughts and feelings that he should repress, no, he should erase them from his mind.

That had been drilled into him for years and years, but he was out of there now. Free from that spiel… Only to be trapped in another one.

He dangled Bubu in his hand loosely as he approached the kid, clearing his throat before speaking.

          “I was disappointed too when I saw what they had done to my weapon… These scientists are awful.”

    And so, Chara FLED.

    The only place available to detach one’s self from the living in a big city is damp alleys where no self-respecting human being would dare get close to without reason, or if they were scummy enough. With breathing room now bestowed upon the child, those eyes now settle downward in order to stare at this pathetic excuse for a weapon still in their hands.

    A KNIFE crafted with wood.

    A stranger cleared their throat in the child’s vicinity, resulting in a stiffening of the shoulders and a swift swivel to face this new DISTURBANCE.

    “Are you… patronizing me?”

    This stranger bore the likeness of some sort of ABOMINATION. That probably tells many tales of why this particular individual chose to wander into a damp alleyway and converse with a child.

    “Tsk. There is no point for knives to be made of wood.” A pause settles in as the child’s gaze flickers back to the wooden weapon. “Haha… am I supposed to defend myself with something so brittle? I suppose it doesn’t matter now. I understand that you hold a wooden weapon of your own?”

Nevertheless, he doesn’t give up, flailing limbs and attempting to spin faster, only to end up confusing his processor in the process. Righty stumbles, nearly ends up tripping up one leg before the soft voice rings out. It draws confusion at first, then a displeased noise at the suggestion. Hostage for what? 

“Boss wouldn’t–”

This is interrupted by an abrupt screeching sound, the door on the clearly decrepit garage a dozen feet away, sliding up on unoiled gears. The interior is dark, and for a moment nothing moves, but a large red shape emerges slowly with loud footsteps accompanying it.

“Oh, fer–” The voice that comes out is clearly unimpressed, full body finally visible as a servo rests on a hip. Bright yellow optics take in the scene with disbelief, merely a second passing before the larger robot crosses the short distance in a mere few strides. 

“Th’ scrap is this, Righty? Ya can’t even handle one of these itsy organics?” 

That being said, before the child can react, a pair of digits lean down and pinch the back of their shirt, hoisting them up to his level to more evenly get a glimpse at all four eyes boring into them. 

    That was, however, simply WISHFUL thinking.

    The nearby garage door creeks open, its harsh screeches startling Chara into attentiveness for surroundings. Silence plagued the two’s surroundings. This very silence triggered an urge for DEFENSE. Swiftly, the child slid off the ant-like robot’s abdomen and raised a wooden blade forth.

    The footsteps that follow were not reminiscent of a human’s. They bore heavy weight in each step. VERY heavy weight. Still, Chara is steadfast and ready. Though fear begins to settle upon the child’s nerves, the child stays strong. That steadfast stance, however, fades in time.

   The voice that pierces through its shadowy veil sounded loud, almost close by without being close at all. Whatever was speaking had to be HUGE. That was what Chara thought initially and now since proven wrong.

   What approaches was not human. It was not a monster, either. Chara’s eyes widen at the sight that peers beyond the darkness, mouth slightly agape. That grasp upon the knife trembles slightly. As the—the, the THING approaches, Chara realizes just how SMALL they are in comparison. In one swift motion, the child was lifted off the ground with a startled yelp, the wooden blade clattering on the pavement below. As Chara was being lifted, both hands struggle to reach a knife too far away to even dream of regaining again. Once the forced elevation stopped, crimson eyes would meet a double set of yellow ones. How UNSETTLING.

    That THING looked robotic up close. Any child would find the sight of a real-life robot to be a dream come true, but in this particular situation, Chara wanted it SCRAPPED.

After a bit of rather angry destruction in private, he’d taken it upon himself to decide it time to do a more thorough search of his new home. Despite the limiting of his seperations (something he could hardly grasp as possible, but decided to keep in mind), he’d sent both Righty and Lefty out on a little excursion, their smaller size making it easier to scuttle around undetected.

At least, that was what had been thought. After a few hours of scouting, the smaller robot was making it’s way back to where he knew his boss would be hiding out from the prying eyes of the civilization around them. It hadn’t even noticed the tiny fleshie hiding in the shadows, intent solely on return. It’s when he pauses outside, taking a quick look around before moving to head in, that he’s promptly jumped.

A sharp yelp exits the Cybertronian’s mouth, scrambling around on legs in a panic from the abrupt large weight on it’s back. Righty didn’t even see it coming, nevertheless prepare itself for an attack. There’s no way to zap the invasive creature, which leads to an attempt to take it off, but unfortunately, his arms weren’t meant for reaching back that far. 

Thus, this leads to a rather silly display of an ant-like robot trying to twirl in circles to shake off the thing attached to his abdomen, all the while it’s low raspy voice tries to call for assistance.

    Chara clung for dear life as the insect-like creature called out, running in circles trying its honest best to shake the child off. These hands were unwavering, however. Lest this robot has a glossy, waxed finish, the grip Chara held on this robot was STEADFAST.

    “Boss,” Chara mimicked in a whisper.  So, this creature had some sort of AUTHORITATIVE FIGURE to report back to, did it? Still, its calling for that particular individual spells trouble for the child. Teeth clenched beyond sealed lips at the realization that self-defense may prove useless in the end. Let go, or keep holding on. The child is faced with a split-second decision that challenged what Chara wanted out of this encounter. What did Chara want out of this? A pet? Bragging rights? Self-satisfaction?

    Oh, right. Chara was just having FUN.

    Nevertheless, curiosity now nags an already inquisitive child’s nerves. Still holding on tight despite grip slowly giving way, Chara’s lips parted and words burst through the ant-bot’s cries for help.

    “You should take me to your boss.” Another split-second decision surges. True, the child is ill equipped, but a little bit of DETERMINATION coupled with this onset curiosity will take this trip far enough to satisfy.

     “Oi, kid. Are you lost or something.”

     Chara practically SPAT out those words. Anxiety fuels those unintentionally vicious words, tiny fingers enveloped a wooden blade’s handle with a trembling grip. For the briefest of moments there existed an awareness that breath filters through living lungs. That a heartbeat exists and rattles this child’s ribcage in a rhythmic motion. This... NOISE from beyond disturbed this newfound self-awareness and in turn invoked a brief THREAT.

     Just as quickly as metaphorical fur stands on end, it settles down and the child eases up. Being surrounded by blotches of FILTH did not do the child any justice. All it did was invoke a since-dormant plan to wake up again.