❤ ic contact

[souldeterminant]

---

ic contact for frisk @ lifeaftr. as there is no network at present, limited to interactions via notes or stones of farspeech only.


!please put date in subject header!

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August 1st: Intro Log || Begin Again

[achievementhunter]

[The moment their raft meets the shoreline, Chara takes off. They couldn't care less about their companions- they undoubtedly have their own things to do, agendas that mean nothing to the child who races across the beach. Anyone in their way gets pushed aside. Every raft is examined- desperately, for some kind of sign. Just- just a sign. They just need one sign.

As much as existence itself burns with the intensity of their failure, Chara doesn't know what they'll do if-
If they're all alone again.
If Frisk is actually here.]

[souldeterminant]

[One of their companions cannot speak. The other one can't see. A kind person, in possession of both abilities, would surely stay and help them navigate this new and dangerous place. Would take one hand in each of theirs, the kind leading the mute leading the blind, and let them know that someone really cared about them.]

[Frisk must not be all that kind.]

[Perhaps they stay for a bit, just long enough to draw their eyes over their shoulders the moment they inevitably take off down the bleached-white coast. A hand flies to their sweat-drenched neck as they move, clawing at their collar to grip at the golden locket underneath. It's still theirs. It's still them. Boiling under their own heat and a pounding bassline between their ears, they can't hear it beating.]
[Why won't it stop beating?]
[Is someone there? The man had asked, and Frisk had wondered: are they there?]

[They don't care whether they are or not. Whether they were pinned into existence by eyes set in a cobalt-skinned face, or a question spoken into one man's private dark.]

[They aren't anything, if there's no Chara.]

[achievementhunter]

[Usually, they'd find some, small sense of solace in the fact that Frisk knows they're coming. They always do; it's in their name, in the way it's called. They aren't a person who needs to be looked for, but there's too much uncertainty, now, a fear meshed in with a painful hope that punches all the air out of their lungs when finally, finally, Chara stops.

Because they see them.

The distance is more than enough to ensure that Chara is the only one to hear the noise that escapes their throat in that moment. It is beyond description.
They're so sorry. They failed you again.
There are no words. Chara makes their way across the sand with their backpack slung over one shoulder, the sleeve of a blue hoodie peeking out of the half closed opening. There's just a hand, reaching out to hopefully meet equally searching fingers in that middle ground.

There's no words, because the words are too hard. It's too difficult to contemplate, not something they can vocalize now, or ever.

I thought I lost you again.

The best they can do is tiredly look their Partner over as they figure out what to do from here.]

[souldeterminant]

[Come to think of it, Frisk supposes they haven't called out for Chara in a while. Maybe that's just what happens, when two cease to be two and become one. A scatter of particles in a void that don't think or talk; remembered only in fragments of gray whisperings. The part of themself that smells like flowers and pennies stops, their eyes red and their cheeks rosy, a backpack slung over their shoulder, in perfect mirror to the one strapped over Frisk's opposite.]

[They're tired of thinking about mirrors. All they really see, right now, is Chara.]

[A hand closes the space between them. It's ingrained in Frisk to reciprocate, extend their arm and tangle their fingers together, warm skin and calluses that are so painfully alive. Someone starts squeezing until someone else's hand turns pale. It might be both.]

[Frisk sees the fear in their Partner's eyes. Chara thought they'd lost them again. Part of Frisk thinks that they could have only been so lucky -- maybe, then, Chara could have been angry at Frisk in earnest. For this failed plan. For the fact that they're both still here.]

[Their eyes are lidded and red, and their mouth only moves as much as needed to speak.]

Good morning, Partner.

[achievementhunter]

[They can't help but laugh. It's not the appropriate response to that greeting- it never is. They laugh, and it's the ugliest sound Chara's ever made. Not angry.

Not at Frisk, at least.]

Indeed.

[Licking their lips, all Chara can taste is salt. Frisk is right there, but the rest of the world seems skewed- miles spanning between Chara's mind and their feet on the ground. One thought remains prevalent. They have to move, now. They have things to do. Make a move. Do something.
So you don't have to think.
Anything. Just do anything.]

Show me your bag.

[souldeterminant]

[Their Partner makes a horrible, guttural sound, like a telephone wire bleating into their ears. Come join the fun. So cold. It's funny, how they're drenched in sweat, the taste of salt in their throat, and so cold, Chara can't stop laughing.]

[Frisk never started.]
[If they did -- it's so funny, tears might start streaming down their face.]
[To take their backpack off, they have to let go of Chara's hand. It's something they do grudgingly, carefully disentangling each finger one at a time as if to make it last. Then they shrug the strap down their shoulder and hold it out towards their Partner, silently.]

[Notably, the sack is limp, hanging from their arm like a burlap cloth. If Chara proceeds to open it, they'll find that it's entirely empty save for a jar of baking soda.]

[achievementhunter]

[They aren't really interested in the contents, though the obvious lack of contents gains a discerning narrowing of the eyes. Were they simply lucky, by comparison?

Whatever. They grasp their partner's free hand, guiding them to grasp the edges of the bag- holding it outstretched, smooth. Another name, another stunning visual of condemnation. FRISK.

Look at what you've done.

They waste no time in pulling out their knife, cutting through the stitching and pulling the name apart.]

We're going to find another way, Frisk. [They hope their voice sounds even. They hope it sounds confident, though they have no confidence to spare. No real fire. No real hope.] This is nothing. Just a hiccup.

[souldeterminant]

[The name tape falls into the sand; Frisk watches it drop like a heavy, fluttering feather. Their shoe squelches as they shovel a heap of sand with their foot over the strip, burying their name in a haze of glittering, shifting, blinding
just give up. i did.
white.]

[They hear the desperation in Chara's voice, because they've heard it so many times. Not outlined in the same raspy sound of human vocal chords, but in a plea to end a silly old lady's loneliness; in a melting swath of dust guarding against a world that refused to die; in Asriel.]

[Chara is wrong. This isn't nothing. That's the problem.]


[Frisk pulls their knapsack back on, eyes never leaving the mound of wet sand where their name sleeps. What else do they ever do, when it's their fault?]

... I'm sorry. I...

[achievementhunter]

Don't.

[The word is as level as they can make it. For once, Chara's not sure precisely which emotion they're trying to restrain. An agony at the situation they've come up against; an overwhelming tide of hopelessness, because despite everything, they begin again?

Or a pit of rage in their stomach, against themself. Against their Partner.

Just don't think about it.]

Regardless... of how things are now; we are still together. [They close their eyes, for a moment. Still together. Frisk, with their red tinged eyes- and Chara, who will always see red. Still together. And if there is one thing Chara is good at, it's bearing responsibility for their actions.

Everything else is stifled and smothered, because despite everything, it's not just them. It's you, too.
They refuse to be a burden.
Frisk needs their Partner. It's as simple as that.]

I will figure this out. In the meantime, I'd like your assistance.

9/16

[hyperlit]

[At the expedition's end, both groups have reunited, and the supplies have been picked over.]

[They were very careful to choose two objects, as allotted. One was for personal use - for signalling, when text-based HUD communication would not be sufficient. The other, however, they divided carefully into two portions.]

[They leave one of said portions close enough for the child to notice when they wake up.]

[There is no indication as to who it is from, but they hope that, in some respects - it will be sufficient for that apology owed. For whatever they had done, or failed to do, on a child's behalf as they tried to steer their person and that of a blind man to shore.]

10th Jan -- deliveryyy

[achievementhunter]

[Hey Partner what's cookin?

Chara is often the latest to bed and earliest to rise in the morning, untangling themself from both Frisk and hammock with the skill of experience as they head out for the day. This day, however, the warm spot they usually leave Frisk to curl into behind them is occupied by something else.

The hat stuffed into one of the big pockets is just a bonus.]

April 14th

[solperierat]

Then the sun goes down and the majority of the island starts to settle in for the night, Ed usually takes that as his cue to head out. Flying around over Enso in the cooling air, all the humans settled away in areas he knows to avoid...it's a breath of fresh air. Over half a year on and he still isn't used to only having one other of his kind around.

It's stifling.

Eventually Edward lands in a small open area within the forest, heaving out a sigh as hooves settle into the loam and he folds his wings tight against his back once more. Maybe he should go hunting, find some meat for the next--

Wait. He hears someone.

An ear flicks in the direction of the sound--someone small, and not seeming interested in staying stealthy at all. Who in the world...?

"Who's there?"

[souldeterminant]

Who, indeed.

That noisy, small someone tears into the clearing not moments after Ed calls out: and they don't slow at all. Their face is viciously red and tear-streaked, mouth pulled into a tight, trembling line, and the black ribbon that made up their bun is nearly undone, sending their hair into a wild tangle of auburn. They're hunched and angry as they walk, one hand folded up against their chest and the other clamped around their wrist.

They glance at Ed wildly, their eyes slitted with dark slips of red. Their nose wrinkles and they exhale wordlessly, as if dispelling some different reaction, and then...

They continue stomping brazenly through the clearing without another sound.

[solperierat]

"Kittu--?!"

He barely has enough time to register who they are before Frisk is storming off again, and Ed immediately turns to follow. Something is obviously wrong, and like hell he's going to leave them along out here in that state.

"Hey, slow down, kiddo! I'm not the only predator out here, you know?"

[souldeterminant]

It's been an entire day, they think distantly, trampling over some tall grass and nearly tripping onto their face in the process. Everything about them feels out of control, even their body, like some awkward, gangly thing they hate. It's been a day. They should have been able to calm down by now.

But they haven't. Their SOUL still hurts. There's an ugly swell inside it like... their LV... increased? They aren't sure. If only they could ask --

They can hear him chasing after them, and they give a short, sharp huff, which cuts through their tangle of thoughts like a knife. They stop again, their fists balling, and turn to give Ed as scathing of a look as they can manage. Which might have a decent cut, most days, but right now they more likely look like an angry street urchin who needs to blow their nose.

"My name is Frisk."

Because what does it matter, anymore? They turn back around.

"I can kill whatever tries to eat me."

[solperierat]

He's not sure if they mean to, but Kittu--no, Frisk says a lot with just those two simple statements. If they aren't hiding, then something big has happened; that Chara isn't with them means it was related to their sibling. The bold statement of being able to kill anything...well. Given how Chara is, he shouldn't be surprised that the quieter of the two has some hidden surprises of their own.

No one ever expected Alphonse to snap either, after all.

It's implications on top of implications, but the final picture it paints is fairly obvious--a child upset and angry, ready to lash out and not thinking about anything but their own hurts and woes. Edward is no stranger to that, and he knows what it usually takes to snap him out of that angry spiral.

"Fine then. Prove it."

It's all the warning he gives Frisk before he charges them down with all of his monstrous speed, grabbing for their shirt to slam them into the ground. He doesn't intend to do more than give them a healthy shock of mortal peril, but part of him knows this attack, and the implication of it, is probably going to lose him some measure of their trust.

Whatever. It's better than them getting a rude awakening from a pack of centipuppies in this state.

[souldeterminant]

Prove it.

They weren't expecting the extreme reaction. It's been a while -- a year -- more, since they've had that little warning. From talking to FIGHTing. If they hadn't done it so many times that it's been burned into their muscle memory (46? 53?), they might not have known how to react.

Updownupdownmiddleupdownup.
(here we go.)

He's fast. Faster than they've dealt with in a while. Frisk sees their chance to dodge, sees it come up and blow past quicker than they're able to take advantage of, and so they instinctively fall on the next best option. The moment Ed seizes them, their hand is down to the hem of their shirt. He slams them down to the earth, their teeth rattling in their skull and all their nicks and bruises pulsing with red pain, and their fingers close around the hilt of their knife.

They don't think. They don't bring out their SOUL. They simply -- strike out in an upward slash, expressionless.

[solperierat]

Their strike hits true, but even a nasty gash like that doesn't do more than narrow that fighting instinct down even tighter. He growls deep in his throat and grabs their fist on the upswing--knife and hand both held tight in his claws and slammed down to the ground. In the same moment he shifts his grip from Frisk's shirt to their face, shoving their head back and lunging in to bite down on the exposed join of neck and shoulder




and stops, breathing heavily and teeth a hair's breadth away from their skin. Only a year, and he'd forgotten how easily instinct could take over. Gotten too lax, forgotten just what he was--what the hell is wrong with him?!

[souldeterminant]

They grunt as they're slammed back into the ground, but above anything, they refuse to let the knife slip from their grasp -- even when Ed's palm slams into their face, shoving their chin back until their brown throat exposes itself in a violent arc, they don't twitch.

They wait --





-- but nothing happened.

Slowly, Frisk's eyes drift down from the sky, at the shock of pale blond hair blurred at the lower periphery of their vision. It's all they can make out of him. Their cheeks ache as they pull into a small, closed smile.

"You're not."

[solperierat]

Edward's ears flick back against his skull, and a low growl rolls out of his chest. Doing his best to mask his shaky breathing, he straightens up and moves his grasp from Frisk's face down to their chest, still holding them down but at least making this...less horrible.

Fuck's sake, why is his life like this now.

"Not what? Gonna kill you? Did you really think I would?" In a few swift movements Ed has scooped Frisk up under one arm, their arms pinned to their side to keep any more egregious stabbing from occurring, and he stands to start walking towards a clearing he can sense-remember nearby. "Did you want me to?"

sept 15th

[postictal]

[There's something that's been left beside the place where they sleep. A page torn from a journal has labeled it FRISK in bold, all-caps lettering, but everything about this - from the anonymous presentation to the content itself - telegraphs exactly who is responsible.]

[Connor provided the shirt, which has been used to carefully wrap two objects.]

[One is self-explanatory. Great care was taken to bore a hole into the top of the wood without cracking the rest of it - many hours, hissed-out curses, and cracked nails can attest to just how long this took. A thick loop of twine has been threaded through and knotted loosely at the end. The pendant itself has been carefully sanded and smoothed down the tiniest bump and splinter.]

[The second took, if possible, even longer to craft. The arching lines and the sanded, smoothed curves held an even smaller margin for error, but in the end? Well, there's no confirmation one way or another, but whoever made these thinks that all the labor was worth it. Your hair is getting awful long, kiddo. If the ribbon isn't enough to tie it all back, maybe this will help.]

BIRTHDAY

[catpiper]

[Hey, it's a dingus, here to deliver stuff!

There'a picture of themself on top of a blanket, a 36oz bag of mixed candy and-

If they have the time, Ren's going to show them a out of the way spot in the jungle, where she has created a little fort using some clothes from the temple, sticks, and the natural foliage to create a hidey hole. She put a piece of chalk in there, a couple shiny rocks and shells. It's a place they can hide when they're feeling 'shy.']

10th :')

[achievementhunter]

[On the morning of the 10th, Chara is gone. Their backpack is also gone. And perhaps this wouldn't be anything alarming, for a child who consistently leaves at all hours of the night and morning to do what they please, except this time, they've left a note. Torn out of their notebook, the hasty scribble rips through the page more than once.]

DON'T FOLLOW ME.

[souldeterminant]

[Ha ha.]

[That's a good one.]

[Frisk holds the note, for a few moments, written with the bright and silly green gel pen Chara had gotten from the Storyteller. Frisk's purple one is somewhere in this shack, on the floor or beneath a sweater. They wonder if Chara would have used a different color if one was available. Black, or red. Or if their favorite color was merely what was closest.]

[Frisk folds the note into halves twice, then let it drop to the floor as they leave out the door.]

[A part of them is a little bit annoyed. Chara knows them better than anyone; has followed, but has rarely let them follow. They know well that Frisk is a bad kid that never does what they're told. If Chara really wanted Frisk not to follow, they wouldn't have said anything. They would have just disappeared, as violently and abruptly as the both of them did, one misty morning in a castle. If this is their idea of a joke, or if something is really upsetting them enough that they don't remember Frisk never does what they're told --

Go upstairs. Give us your SOUL. Please don't kill me. Please don't re --

[That's not funny.]

[The moment they're out in the daylight, Frisk heads towards the mana pool. They don't know where to even begin looking. But that's okay. They don't need an idea; they have things that resonate with their Partner more clearly.]

[A heart-shaped glow takes form over their chest and begins to hum.]

[achievementhunter]

[They can hope.

They can pretend their Partner is the sort of person who listens, once in a while. Who'll respect their wishes as Chara wanders off into the great unknown- as they have before. Their time in the archipelago had provided them both with something they hadn't had since Frisk's return to the castle- days where they didn't see each other at all.

So perhaps, they could have left without a word. For a few days, maybe, Frisk would have been none the wiser. Perhaps Frisk hadn't been afflicted with this nightmare. Perhaps they'd never know.

Chara couldn't take that chance. For once, just this once, perhaps Frisk would listen to them.
Perhaps they'd actually stay safe.
Really, they should know better. Frisk has always been stubbornly obstinate in the face of outright commands. Their heart- twists, halting Chara's quick pace through the knee-high undergrowth of Umui as their SOUL does what it always has- it comes when it's called.

Chara.

No. No, no, go away.

Go away.]