the littlest edgelord (
inconsequence) wrote in
thisavrou2017-07-10 02:37 pm
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video sent from Asriel's TAB; cw for poisoning and child death
[They turned on the recording as soon as he started to fall to pieces, his fur soaked with tears and turning the dust to slurries of gray. There's a flash of green and yellow sweater before the camera spins, dizzyingly, to settle upon a Boss Monster curled up against the floor. He looks like he might be - melting, or falling apart, white fur slicked with sweat and dust and worse, his fangs and lips stained with flecked yellow.]
Ready, Asriel?
[A swirled nest of dust and bruised golden petals scattered across the floor, and Asriel is trying to speak, but the child overrides him easily:]
Do your creepy face!
[He starts to split apart by the seams, dusted cracks spiraling up his fur and down his claws and along his crumbling ears. He always did love to record things, and holds the memories close to his heart and SOUL.
This one, too, will remain with him forever.]
Ch...ara... [Every word sounds like an effort, and he's falling apart, more and more, by the moment.] ...hel... p... m...e...
[He doesn't last much longer, after that.
The visual cuts. A child sits cross-legged on the kitchen tile next to the heap of dust once designated Asriel Dreemurr, a disturbingly serene, domestic scene to contrast the horror of his slow, protracted demise. Smiling, as though nothing is wrong.
Their eyes are black, right down to the whites. Ha ha.
In their hands is a disk. Asriel's disk, in fact - his identity, compiled into one useful little compendium of easily-rearranged code. Everything he is, packed into one handy drive. They turn it slowly, slowly, between their fingertips in a continuous revolution.]
Would you like to hear a story?
[They address the network via Asriel's TAB with an even disposition, a smile peaking white beneath parted lips.]
It's ever so funny, really.
Once upon a time, a pair of children tried to make a surprise for their father. A butterscotch pie, like their mother would always make. But they made a small error, see: instead of cups of butter, they used buttercups.
[They pick one of the gold petals from the ground, crushed and coated in gray as it is, and pinch it between forefinger and thumb.]
He grew terribly, terribly ill. One of the children felt just awful about it. But the other...?
[The petal drops to the ground, spiraling lazily as it catches in the air's resistance.]
Why, they laughed.
[The word twists out in a sickening burst of crimson. It's unclear, how it is that a word can feel red, but regardless of how possible such a thing might be, the child has accomplished it. They are, after all, very determined.]
You see, they just wanted to see him suffer.
[They smile, sweetly, at the feed one final time.
And the recording ends.]
action; on the hiiiiiighway to hell
[And what they see is...]
[Their grip on Rinzler suddenly tightens. He's surely heard as well.]
Home. Now.
action; no stop signs
Rinzler nods. Rinzler nods, and Rinzler doesn't stall or loop or check the record. He doesn't reach for his own TAB. If there is anything to be communicated, Frisk can do it. That's not his function. And it's not the promise he made.
...
Even without transport batons, he can travel much faster than Frisk. He scoops them up and moves, making for the house in Region Five.]
remember: blue stop signs
It hardly matters. They've already done and said what they came to achieve.
They've dispatched of Asriel's TAB by the time the unsightly pair arrives, having relocated to the bedroom with the disk in hand. The window is opened wide - in fact, every door and window in the house has been kept open, the occasional chill breeze snapping at the curtains and catching at a creaking hinge.
They're perched on the edge of the bed, one fingertip whisking away the thin lines of dust that still cling to the edge of the disk.
Waiting.
For the absolute.]
jams [z] repeatedly
[One left.]
[They come to an abrupt halt in the doorway with their own disk in hand and lit a blazing red, their face completely blank of emotion but their voice trembling with ill-contained rage. They want to launch themself at Chara, strike and strike without mercy or remorse, but yet--]
Why.
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One was enough.
Their steps are shadowed. Another disk burns clear red-orange, inactive but ready in his hand. A low, harsh rattle echoes through the halls: something broken, something wrong. No traps. No tricks. Everything in plain, clear sight.
A threat. A disk.
(Black eyes. Like Frisk, before.)
Scans sweep periphery for hidden threats, but Rinzler doesn't stop when Frisk does. He advances two steps: into the room, off to the side, leaving their path from the door clear.]
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Their grip tightens on the disk abruptly, their smile cracking across the tranquil mask.]
Not a step closer.
[They hardly need to indicate the disk at all, really. They know full well what it does, and what someone is capable of, should they hold the weight of it in their hands.]
It would be quite a shame if something were to happen your dear brother, would it not? [Their gaze jerks, briefly, to survey Rinzler, the corners of their smile pinching with vague, unbridled amusement.]
You've already failed to protect him once. You've failed to protect Frisk from the very same. And as for me?
[A thin finger draws across their throat, their smile gone crooked.]
You hardly need that reminder at all, do you?
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[But not you.]
Why.
[The color is raw in their throat, a flicker of reality stolen and forced to where it doesn't fit. Rage, frustration, determination bubbles up inside with little other vent but to snap values into place that don't even exist.]
You had your revenge. Why are you doing this?
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Still, it does help a little. More than the black eyes. More than the dust, even.
This can't be Chara, because Chara wouldn't threaten that.
Which begs another, urgent question, but Frisk is speaking, and their inquiry holds nearly the same weight. Rinzler waits, wordless and unmoving, calculating trajectory and speed. If it's like before, he should be faster. Maybe enough to get the disk in time... but maybe isn't sufficient. Not now, and not with this many unknowns.]
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It must be so hard for them, having to adjust to having every want and need and predetermined by the cosmos itself, getting to pick and choose what story to which they wish to subscribe!]
You're asking all the wrong questions, Partner.
[Their grip on the disk tightens, thumbs pressing down on the pulsing lines of lights. A little harder, and they might just...]
Try again.
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[This is going nowhere. Every question has always gone in a circular path, spiraling around until there's nothing left but a miserable feeling of not quite measuring up. And if they don't know what to say, then...]
...because we can, we have to. Right?
[It's the only warning Frisk gives before they break forward, trying to cross those last few feet before the Demon or the Shadow or whatever they are can react. Just a few steps and then they can grab, strike, end this as quickly as possible--or have at least damned well have tried.]
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He doesn't expect Frisk's attempt.
He doesn't expect it, but he can read it, release of coiled limbs with nothing holding back. He doesn't expect it, but he reacts, empty hand abandoning the line half-typed into his TAB as Rinzler flows forward too, entering his own lunge. Frisk moves a fraction sooner, but Rinzler aims all his speed to intercept, targeting their target's central mass. Disk arm braced flat across its core, free hand knocking that disk out to the side. Frisk can grab it. They have to. They don't have to risk damage, not when he's here.
And if they can, he wants this threat alive. For at least a little longer.
Rinzler wasn't made to communicate. Rinzler isn't allowed, and the loophole he's laid claim to can't be used amidst a fight. But he didn't pause to cancel before moving, and for just a moment, a few distorted, too-close characters can be made out, before the jumble of inputs dismisses the display.]
e r e i s
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The pair of them barrel down toward them, and the child - dissolves, melting into something oily and black, slithering down between legs and reforming into something more solidly child-shaped behind them. This time they hold Asriel's disk in front, the tip of one thumb sinking into the ridged edge.
If they want to make any sudden movements, they will have to be wary of breaking it in the process.]
I think it's about time everyone learned what it is I'm capable of.
Wouldn't you think?
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[But their eyes are fixed on that disk, and they tremble in frustration. So long as the Shadow has it...]
You already made your point.
[Their eyes slide upward, bright with anger.]
Where is Chara.
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This isn't something that Michiko hasn't seen before. Crime, violence, death and torture have all been part of her life as far as she can remember. That's what you get from getting caught between of two crime organizations. She knows how bad things can get in the worst situations and she never regrets learning that. But what stops her here is that damn, these are two kids. Probably at the same age as Hatchin.]
Are kids into snuff films nowadays?
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Come now. Did it look as though I had any hand in what he did to himself?
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[It's disarmingly frank, and coupled with a smile, bright and as clear-cut as diamond.]
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[They sound decidedly unbothered about that; it's little more than a frank statement of fact than anything else. Death is temporary here, and why should it not be? When has death been anything but?]
He has before, and he will be again.
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Then I can hardly guess why you would expect me to be the one to explain it to you.
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So what's point of this, then?
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[Coupled with an innocent smile that colors the pink blush at their cheeks even further.]
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If you insist.
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