Don't Forget.

     Was thinking about it last night while I was lying down for bed, and I think Chara is so intriguing to me because... man even I don't know exactly what they are. It's more like... they are a junior eldritch abomination harboring forbidden knowledge that only a very selective few can even begin to comprehend.

     Due to their overwhelming meta-narrative nature, they know things that they really shouldn't know. Just how Gerson knew that you couldn't kill him in the shop because that's not how the game works, Chara is aware that they can't go around killing every Tom, Dick, and Harry they encounter because that's not how Tumblr RP works.

     They're aware that these blogs and the characters they write are rarely truly killable. Because the writers I'm interacting with probably wouldn't want their muses killed off. They know this, and they play around this! They are playing the game, just as they always have. For that's all this really is to them. They are a child playing a game where it's fun when people get hurt. You kill minions and mooks in games all the time! Why is it any different here?

     Just because something beyond their purview of existence wrote something down saying that the thing they're killing was feeling pain, or fear, or sadness as they died... that doesn't mean it's any more real. That's just how you're supposed to feel. And you can elect to converge with the whims of the author... but that's not what Chara wants.

     They are playing this game. They want to see new things. They want to poke and prod at the boundaries of whatever reality they find themselves in. That's why any of this ever happens, right? Someone got bored and wanted to do what the game recommended against. It's instinct to walk left in a two-dimensional platformer first because you know the game wants you to walk right. There might be a little goody back the way you came!

     Mayhaps not, but there is plenty of fear to be produced in the reservoir of uncertainty, my dearest friend! With such an elongated and peeled-back expression, there is nothing left to the imagination, you see. I prefer to allow others to do the most of the work when it comes to comprehending me. My glowering red eyes and thinly-slit smile are nothing but a kick-off point.

     Let them stew, let them wonder what's going to happen next. And when they have decided on what reality sits before them?

     They exist where you exist, silly! It was only a matter of time!

     Such was the truth, blatant and obvious. They were no ghost, they were no disembodied voice ringing distantly in your ear, urging you to push on as your legs turn to lead. They were here! As real as could be.

     Their figure casts a shadow over the other's dirt-made doodles, knees bending that little bit to equalize the two's heights. And, as a body grows closer towards the floor, a hand would reach out and stab its knife into the ground, a blade's tip doing much of the same as the other child's stick. Chara would join Frisk, some jagged sketches etching into the dirt.

     "Oh, a little busy, perhaps, but not at all bad." They spoke honestly. They always tried to do so. "Frankly, maybe even a mite bit boring, dare I say." Yet they still wore that pristine smile of theirs. "I think I have been playing the same game for a touch too long. Need something to change up the status quo, you know?" Unceremoniously, their body falls toward the ground. A rear hits the dirt as legs cross and a seat is taken. Back and forth do they rock, like an unheard melody is being see-sawed to.

     "Then, out of the blue, I feel this ping. Another SOUL, much like my own! It had been a little bit there... and while you may not be mine, I find that you lot are often quite similar."

         ❝  But Why wait until they’re dead? Wouldn’t it be much more fun to watch them writhe under your grip as the beg for death? Not only is it more challenging, the show is different every single time. I like the ones that try to reason with you. It’s really funny. ❞

     Slowly turns their body toward the other child.

     “Ah, someone else who knows how to have fun! And what a fine point you raise, fun-lover! For at that point, it is but a matter of preference. It is recommended to reduce waste and make use of leftover bodies in delightful and inventive ways, but skipping to the chase and deriving immediate joy in the other’s visceral agony is also a valid option! Nothing brings a smile quicker than the futile digs of desperation one feels as forced contortion is being brought over their person~!”

     “If you’ve found yourself ‘down in the dumps,’ so to speak, I recommend trying out my own spirit-lifting activity I often partake in whenever I require a smile! After killing another, take some time to focus on the fallen prey instead of simply proceeding onto the next. No, no! Instead, grip your palms into their cooling skin and proceed to break and pop every bone in their body, much like one would a layer of bubble wrap! 

     The sounds are of a similar caliber, yet the stimulation of the deeper cracks and physical tension snapping a humerus requires is both soothing and stimulating at the same time! But for the weaker individuals, do not let this activity become a stress-inducing one if you find trouble breaking the bulkier bones littered about the body: there are two-hundred plus bones for you to try! If some slight alleviation is needed and minimal effort is desired, I suggest starting at the foot and its metatarsal bones!

The siren is completely wrapped up in the story this child was telling, perhaps even a little awe-struck. Even as they paused to laugh, she appropriately not-so-appropriately reacts with a grin. Who was she to pass up listening to a good murder story? Any normal person — that’s what. Which is WHAT she most certainly was not. Sometimes you could find entertainment in the most strangest places, and from even stranger people. 

Serenity leans her chin on her hand, an amused giggle bubbling through her.

“ Indeed. It almost makes me feel bad for them when they are met face to face with their own despair… But ah, that’s usually the best part anyway, ” A shake of her head and a chuckle. “ You are quite the novelty, aren’t you ? I’ve never met someone that possessed such enthusiasm for the kill. At least, not someone your age. Not that I am judging, no. But I am curious what brought you to this point to begin with ? ”

     How could someone be so upbeat and jovial while talking about the raw deception and following evisceration of human life...? 

     Why, like this, of course!

     That signature grin lined the little one’s face like a glove    or more specifically, a glove that was too small to fit one’s hand, forcing fabric to stretch and tear at large to wrap itself along one’s digits. Tugging on what their human form was made to do, skin ripped a bit at the cheeks as true delight in the hunt forced too much joy. The fact that it spawned any joy at all should have made flags of blazing crimson sprout up and wave frantically in the face of any standard onlooker, unsettling and dangerous to any normal being that was subjected to such an uncanny conversation...

     But after their already-shared words and the mutual enjoyment it brought... yes, it was quite obvious that they didn’t share normal company, wasn’t it?

     Such a testament was only continued further as their company spoke, spawning forth another burst of bubbly and lighthearted laughter from the creature. “‘Feel bad’ she says~! Yes, quite the emphasis on ‘almost’ indeed!” The realization of an unavoidable GAME OVER was when a day went from good to great! 

     The siren’s questions, though, bring the child back to a bit of normalcy... at least, their own personalized, mutilated version of it, anyways. A smile shrinks and softens, head tilting in thought as their trusty knife was brandished. Sullied with ruby-red blood it was, not a spec anywhere near dried. And as it was dipped into the nearby water, it was made even clearer of its freshness, swirling the foul metal around in a growing pool of its own red diffusing outward during light contemplation. 

     It was more often than not that they were asked ‘WHY!’ in a victim’s final moments, but it’s not so often that the question was posed in a light quite like this.

     “Well... I’ve always been a bit of a completionist when it came to things. Games are meant to be enjoyed, and for me, the most satisfaction is derived from a job well-done. You are to be thorough with your work, games should be squeezed for all they have to offer! Anything less would be wasteful, don’t you know.” 

     It was ten percent business and ninety percent pleasure. It was a numbers game, after all! It was always a numbers game! “I play, I grow, and further does the playing field expand. More challenges, fresh interactions! New paths to pick, extra never-before-seen routes to take! And then I do it all again! What else in existence could be more delightful than a game that never ends~!”

     Arms outstretch with a fan outwards, legs extend as far as they would go, and a smile without rival fills the face to the point of bursting... Until a body returns to its slackened state, knocking shoes up against their seat once more. Would the water-dweller understand their words? Probably not. Not truly. Most typically didn’t. But an answer of some sort was given to the other’s curiosity. Now...

     It was no secret that ‘Human’ and ‘Mess’ were nigh synonymous at this point. Even the people knew it, they were no strangers to getting tangled up in things bigger than themselves. And, yet again, it would seem that today was no different. Shouts and hollers spawned by the masses down below would cry up into clouds that separated the heavens from the earth, people’s prayers holding onto the hope that someone would come to answer their calls like the number of times before.

     Yet... the threat was far from apparent at first. Gaze into the clouds and the skies today would only flitter with a cool breeze and refreshing sunlight, not Underworld monsters or nature’s organic forces. No alien invasions, no space invaders... no nothing. And still would the cries for help of the humans continue, getting louder and louder by the second. 

     Louder still would they climb in volume as the closer one got to them, a bird’s-eye view capable of catching the beginning traces of widespread fear and pandemonium in the purest of forms.

     It was a lion let loose in a zoo, a stampede of pounding foot traffic sprinting for somewhere, anywhere that wasn’t here. Chaos. For the source of this fear was easy to see and plain as day. Juxtaposed to the scramble of an entire town’s population, it was stark stillness of a midnight graveyard behind a bloodstained child walking on their lonesome. One could hear a pin drop, the air was stained with rust and iron, the acrid scent of death. Human death. More than enough to make lungs shrivel. 

     Each motionless body, every mound of flesh forming a red-specked trail of breadcrumbs that led its way to the child. The smiling child, their knife dipped deep and dripping with maroon. Their bright red eyes flicked... not to the angel that had fallen from the sky, oh no. But to the quivering breaths of a man ducked in hiding behind a stone fence, a hand clasped overtop the hyperventilating mouth in a futile effort to stay silent as the hellish horror made their way to other people far less fortunate. 

     Almost missed one!

     Pierced red eyes with a gaze framed by darkness black as pitch, they zero in, they fill with delight. But... a body finds pause in its calm march toward the remaining human’s horrid hiding spot. Mid-step, an audience is finally addressed.

     “Mister Angel?” A head snapped in his direction.

     Chara has some likes if their taste for chocolate is to be believed. They like simple toys like yo-yos and tops, they dislike competitive games like checkers and chess (they can be a little childish and overexaggerated if they lose). They cannot stand pies, but cakes and ice creams will be taken happily. Flowers are fine, but they much more revel in the small snapping sound that occurs when the petals are plucked from their place. And they are shockingly enraptured by finger paints, any color will do. They will draw to their faux heart’s content, though they can’t promise the art piece created will reflect the childish activity’s general joyful tone.