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thisavrou_ooc2016-12-02 06:24 pm
hohnkai) wrote in thisavrou_ooc2016-12-02 06:24 pm
Entry tags:
tdm 14
T E S T D R I V E |
"living is an act of courage."
|
[Adam wonders exactly what that meant that they'd been separated that long and Adam hadn't even known it. Had Ronan been pulled from his dream but just earlier? He runs his fingers through his hair again and then drops his arm back down, instead rubbing fingertips over where the watch is fused into his skin.
So weird. He's trying not to actually think about it too much or he'll really start to panic and that wouldn't be good.]
Okay. [If Ronan is fine then somehow everything's going to be okay for him too. He's barely paying attention to where they're going though. This Andyr guy could be leading him into a trap for all he knew.]
So weird. He's trying not to actually think about it too much or he'll really start to panic and that wouldn't be good.]
Okay. [If Ronan is fine then somehow everything's going to be okay for him too. He's barely paying attention to where they're going though. This Andyr guy could be leading him into a trap for all he knew.]
He -
Intends to touch them. He intends to hold them down like the vicious little abomination they are, doesn't he? He surges at them with a ferocity they haven't come to associate with him, and that bubble of laughter swells up in their throat and bursts like bit of rotting fruit.
He's proven everything correct after all. They're too distasteful and terrible and wrong to be reasoned with. Look at what they've done! They've made him angry, far angrier than is typical for him!
They are not fast enough to avoid the way his arms curl around them, and their smile snaps into something of a rictus, their nonchalant air abruptly dissipating.
They have no weapons. No plan. They are a variable uncontrolled and uncontained, unpredictable. They do the only thing that is available to them in this moment, and they duck down to rip one of their floral growths from their arm, holding it between their teeth.
It is an old, remembered impulse.
Chew, grimace, and swallow.
Intends to touch them. He intends to hold them down like the vicious little abomination they are, doesn't he? He surges at them with a ferocity they haven't come to associate with him, and that bubble of laughter swells up in their throat and bursts like bit of rotting fruit.
He's proven everything correct after all. They're too distasteful and terrible and wrong to be reasoned with. Look at what they've done! They've made him angry, far angrier than is typical for him!
They are not fast enough to avoid the way his arms curl around them, and their smile snaps into something of a rictus, their nonchalant air abruptly dissipating.
They have no weapons. No plan. They are a variable uncontrolled and uncontained, unpredictable. They do the only thing that is available to them in this moment, and they duck down to rip one of their floral growths from their arm, holding it between their teeth.
It is an old, remembered impulse.
Chew, grimace, and swallow.
[ in response to his name, the angular gentleman leans past the nearest rock outcropping and looks up at her. sonic still buzzing.
depending on when she's from, this really may not be the face she's expecting. and the expression he's wearing on it is a very far cry from the sort you'd expect on someone who's just been reunited with their best friend in a dire situation, also.
no, he's got on something very guarded. a little uneasy. and if there is a touch of recognition behind the eyes, well.
it's not the right kind anyway. doesn't fit. ]
...What are you doing? Are you trying to fall down a cliff?
[ absurdly, he's got the word "tangerine" written across one cheek and down his neck. ]
depending on when she's from, this really may not be the face she's expecting. and the expression he's wearing on it is a very far cry from the sort you'd expect on someone who's just been reunited with their best friend in a dire situation, also.
no, he's got on something very guarded. a little uneasy. and if there is a touch of recognition behind the eyes, well.
it's not the right kind anyway. doesn't fit. ]
...What are you doing? Are you trying to fall down a cliff?
[ absurdly, he's got the word "tangerine" written across one cheek and down his neck. ]
[Ha, yes. More or less it's the same, and Nate laughs, even though it's not all that funny.]
I'm Nate. [He offers a hand to shake, then raises an eyebrow as something occurs to him. Blonde, named after spice.] You're not Pepper Potts, by any chance?
I'm Nate. [He offers a hand to shake, then raises an eyebrow as something occurs to him. Blonde, named after spice.] You're not Pepper Potts, by any chance?
[He looks at familiar guy, looks at the dog, looks back and frowns.]
Bar is definitely smashed, I don't think we had casks, and this is definitely Kitty. He's drooled on me often enough.
Why is Hawke's dog with you?
Bar is definitely smashed, I don't think we had casks, and this is definitely Kitty. He's drooled on me often enough.
Why is Hawke's dog with you?
She nods along with him. Good. Calm is good.
"I just arrived myself." Maybe if she keeps talking, it will distract him. "Something strange seems to have happened to all of us, but we have no answers yet. The best thing to do is to stay calm and not let it overwhelm us. People seem friendly. They've been brought here too, the same as us, but they were on a spaceship. I would have liked to have seen that. I've never been to space before. Have you? Oh, my name's Mei."
"I just arrived myself." Maybe if she keeps talking, it will distract him. "Something strange seems to have happened to all of us, but we have no answers yet. The best thing to do is to stay calm and not let it overwhelm us. People seem friendly. They've been brought here too, the same as us, but they were on a spaceship. I would have liked to have seen that. I've never been to space before. Have you? Oh, my name's Mei."
At first, it doesn't sink in what they're doing. They're crazier than he is, and he can't say he wouldn't expect them to consume a part of themselves. But it's not a part of themselves is it? The golden flowers...
Golden flowers?
Or buttercups?
Mettaton freezes, still holding them in place...for a brief moment, he remembers something. Months ago, Toriel had mentioned both Asriel and Frisk becoming very sick. From a pie filled with buttercups. He had messaged Frisk, of course, to make sure that they were alright. Buttercups were poison, to humans and monsters. That he knew. And of what else he knew, what he'd seen and heard through the Moira's windows playing scenes through the timeslip, well.
I'll go get the flowers.
Angrily, he shifts his grip, one hand reaching up with cruel intent. The intention to cut off Chara's breathing. To exert his will enough that they might have second thoughts.
"Don't. Don't do this."
What about...everyone who cared?! The people who wanted them there, the children who had gone through such pain and upset when Chara had disappeared. Why couldn't they care?!
Golden flowers?
Or buttercups?
Mettaton freezes, still holding them in place...for a brief moment, he remembers something. Months ago, Toriel had mentioned both Asriel and Frisk becoming very sick. From a pie filled with buttercups. He had messaged Frisk, of course, to make sure that they were alright. Buttercups were poison, to humans and monsters. That he knew. And of what else he knew, what he'd seen and heard through the Moira's windows playing scenes through the timeslip, well.
I'll go get the flowers.
Angrily, he shifts his grip, one hand reaching up with cruel intent. The intention to cut off Chara's breathing. To exert his will enough that they might have second thoughts.
"Don't. Don't do this."
What about...everyone who cared?! The people who wanted them there, the children who had gone through such pain and upset when Chara had disappeared. Why couldn't they care?!
[His question makes her give out a sound that's close between relieved laughter and a sob. She definitely knows who he is, and the sound of his voice is reassuring to her in the way it shouldn't be, because as far as she knows he doesn't remember her. So their being here at the same time can wind up causing all kinds of issues, but she chooses not to think of that right now.
It's easy not to when her grip is slipping and she's close to falling, anyway.]
Don't be stupid! I'm trying to climb down.
[Only it's proving to be difficult and she's too stubborn to admit it. that doesn't stop her, though. Making it a little lower, she glances down at him. She can't see what exactly is written on his face, but - ]
Are you writing on yourself? Why are you writing on yourself? You look -
[Her footing slips at that moment and she drops downward, body scraping against the rocks until she catches herself. Yeah, she's going to be feeling that later.]
It's easy not to when her grip is slipping and she's close to falling, anyway.]
Don't be stupid! I'm trying to climb down.
[Only it's proving to be difficult and she's too stubborn to admit it. that doesn't stop her, though. Making it a little lower, she glances down at him. She can't see what exactly is written on his face, but - ]
Are you writing on yourself? Why are you writing on yourself? You look -
[Her footing slips at that moment and she drops downward, body scraping against the rocks until she catches herself. Yeah, she's going to be feeling that later.]
[Well, this may not be the weirdest conversation he's ever held with a stranger, but it's definitely a contender for Top Ten.
Instead of immediately answering the guy's question, he looks down at his dog, who meets his gaze with pricked ears and a little happy butt wiggle.]
Maker, did you hear that, Champ? Your fame has finally outpaced mine, and I have to say, it couldn't have been bestowed on a more worthy and deserving beast.
[Champion barks in reply, and drops his jaw to begin panting. If ever there was a picture of an amused canine, the mabari is it.]
Hawke's dog goes where Hawke goes, as always. [He's back to addressing his human conversation partner now.] And before you ask, yes, you may certainly have an autograph, although I seem to have left my pen in my other robe. Do you have one I can borrow?
Instead of immediately answering the guy's question, he looks down at his dog, who meets his gaze with pricked ears and a little happy butt wiggle.]
Maker, did you hear that, Champ? Your fame has finally outpaced mine, and I have to say, it couldn't have been bestowed on a more worthy and deserving beast.
[Champion barks in reply, and drops his jaw to begin panting. If ever there was a picture of an amused canine, the mabari is it.]
Hawke's dog goes where Hawke goes, as always. [He's back to addressing his human conversation partner now.] And before you ask, yes, you may certainly have an autograph, although I seem to have left my pen in my other robe. Do you have one I can borrow?
Even still, as they feel the bitterness slide down their throat, they will not stop smiling, nor will they look away or blink or otherwise break eye contact. They want him to see it, every inch of what he's done, the same way they have. He will see his consequences. He will see every second of them. Their gag reflex pulses sickening in their throat, their stomach, but it won't be long, they know. The sores must surely already be forming down their esophagus and all along their digestive tract.
How convenient, that this Ingress must have known how intently they desired this. It had known it enough to supply them with their very own poison.
They can do nothing but tear out another mouthful of flowers and chew them, baring their teeth at him in a smile stained with flecks of red and green and yellow, until he reaches up to - what? Choke them? Strangle them?
Everyone learns, soon enough, what it is they want. And they either resist it or allow it. In this case, mercifully (ha ha), it seems to be the latter.
"You'll blink before I do," they whisper, the words shivering out of them in an uneven hiss.
The breath rasps agonizingly in their throat, and they continue to smile. Wait for the digestion to process properly. Wait for the side effects to settle in.
If not, then perhaps they'll be heading off a bit sooner!
How convenient, that this Ingress must have known how intently they desired this. It had known it enough to supply them with their very own poison.
They can do nothing but tear out another mouthful of flowers and chew them, baring their teeth at him in a smile stained with flecks of red and green and yellow, until he reaches up to - what? Choke them? Strangle them?
Everyone learns, soon enough, what it is they want. And they either resist it or allow it. In this case, mercifully (ha ha), it seems to be the latter.
"You'll blink before I do," they whisper, the words shivering out of them in an uneven hiss.
The breath rasps agonizingly in their throat, and they continue to smile. Wait for the digestion to process properly. Wait for the side effects to settle in.
If not, then perhaps they'll be heading off a bit sooner!
A prickle of tension sails across Frisk's nerves, a sense that the world will render itself in stark black and white. But it doesn't because it's them, they wouldn't do that, they wouldn't turn the blade back upon Frisk (except they have, they have and they deserve it they deserve every bit of it).
This close the scent of the flowers is unmistakable. It makes them feel sick.
"No."
Frisk refuses to back away. Their face remains blank, their hand trembling, but they will not back away. They're not leaving you, partner. Never again.
"I'm trying to help."
This close the scent of the flowers is unmistakable. It makes them feel sick.
"No."
Frisk refuses to back away. Their face remains blank, their hand trembling, but they will not back away. They're not leaving you, partner. Never again.
"I'm trying to help."
They are right. In a manner, of course. Mettaton knows what he's doing, knows what it'll mean if he keeps that stranglehold. Honestly, he doesn't want to let go. Because if he killed Chara here, then Frisk wouldn't know. Frisk, Asriel, Toriel...they could all be SPARED.
No one had to know.
Except it would come out. Just like with Sans, it would come out. And Mettaton couldn't bring himself to gain another EXP, especially from someone he knew. Someone he didn't like, but someone from home.
So his grip loosens enough that the human can breathe--it had only been an empty threat anyway, but he doesn't intend to let them stay this way.
"If this is what you want, then so be it. I'm still bringing your corpse to your family, so that they can at least know you were here. I will not let your death fall on my conscience."
A lie. Of course he would. The look on his face betrays him--he's helpless to the circumstances, as he had been before. Mettaton stands, bringing Chara up with him. He expects them to struggle as he shifts his grip to carry their body over his shoulder like no more than a sack of potatoes. Not that they should struggle.
They're going to die...because he doesn't know how to make them stop without inflicting violence upon them and every time he thought he had it in him to do it, all he could remember was that frightened look on Asriel's face as he lost himself, repeatedly electrocuting the spider creature attacking them both.
Funny, Mettaton had always thought himself the center of attention. But watching events play out only reminded him that he was never important. He couldn't influence much after all, could he?
No one had to know.
Except it would come out. Just like with Sans, it would come out. And Mettaton couldn't bring himself to gain another EXP, especially from someone he knew. Someone he didn't like, but someone from home.
So his grip loosens enough that the human can breathe--it had only been an empty threat anyway, but he doesn't intend to let them stay this way.
"If this is what you want, then so be it. I'm still bringing your corpse to your family, so that they can at least know you were here. I will not let your death fall on my conscience."
A lie. Of course he would. The look on his face betrays him--he's helpless to the circumstances, as he had been before. Mettaton stands, bringing Chara up with him. He expects them to struggle as he shifts his grip to carry their body over his shoulder like no more than a sack of potatoes. Not that they should struggle.
They're going to die...because he doesn't know how to make them stop without inflicting violence upon them and every time he thought he had it in him to do it, all he could remember was that frightened look on Asriel's face as he lost himself, repeatedly electrocuting the spider creature attacking them both.
Funny, Mettaton had always thought himself the center of attention. But watching events play out only reminded him that he was never important. He couldn't influence much after all, could he?
"You always are." The words are pitying, contemptuous, and Chara turns away, pivoting so they no longer have to look the human in the eye. They do not turn their back. They never, never turn their back.
Perhaps they are being cruel. But they know they are; they are not so terrible a person that they cannot be aware of their own cruelty. Frisk may be a lot of things, but it is not truly their fault they were born human, a member of that hateful race.
Their tone is unfailingly pleasant. "How is that working out for you, by the way?"
Perhaps they are being cruel. But they know they are; they are not so terrible a person that they cannot be aware of their own cruelty. Frisk may be a lot of things, but it is not truly their fault they were born human, a member of that hateful race.
Their tone is unfailingly pleasant. "How is that working out for you, by the way?"
[It's the sound of weeping Messengers that catches her ears far before she turns to find the Doll.
Vheras has not enjoyed anything about her arrival here, and even less about how her cape has seemed to fuse to her back like tattered spikes that trail down her body to her knees. Her eyes are wary, hard at trusting anyone or anything, still even fathoming how this could be real. For a very long time, she's convinced she's stuck back in the Fishing Hamlet, within the Hunter's Nightmare and the Orphan of Kos still shrieking as it barreled straight at her, wanting to tear her limb from limb.]
I- [Her eyes widen when she sees a familiar face.] You're here. [Vheras' mismatched eyes grow concerned at this.] Are you all right?
[She may have hardened herself because of the hunt, but the Doll is a special person, and Vheras will never think otherwise.]
Vheras has not enjoyed anything about her arrival here, and even less about how her cape has seemed to fuse to her back like tattered spikes that trail down her body to her knees. Her eyes are wary, hard at trusting anyone or anything, still even fathoming how this could be real. For a very long time, she's convinced she's stuck back in the Fishing Hamlet, within the Hunter's Nightmare and the Orphan of Kos still shrieking as it barreled straight at her, wanting to tear her limb from limb.]
I- [Her eyes widen when she sees a familiar face.] You're here. [Vheras' mismatched eyes grow concerned at this.] Are you all right?
[She may have hardened herself because of the hunt, but the Doll is a special person, and Vheras will never think otherwise.]
His uncertainty and agony is written all over his face, a truly open book. He releases them, if incrementally, and they can breathe again. An optimal development, surely - death by flower is ever so significantly more drawn-out and painful compared to that by strangulation, and the former is the sort of thing they know they have always had waiting for them.
He expects them to struggle and struggle they do. There is still a degree of intent and control over their every movement, even as the burning starts to settle into their veins, curdling in their organs, blistering and scarring every inch of them that has not been already converted into a warzone of blood sores and floral poison.
He lifts them up, and that allows them a window. They jerk abruptly in his grip, arms linking around his neck in a ruthless parody of the grasp he held over them just before. Their grip tightens like the jaws of a steel trap, a cold vice as they use it to bring their smile inches from one side of his head, an apposition of lips and whatever passes for a robotic ear.
There's an air of triumph to the words as they hiss them, soaked in madder:
"You're lying."
He expects them to struggle and struggle they do. There is still a degree of intent and control over their every movement, even as the burning starts to settle into their veins, curdling in their organs, blistering and scarring every inch of them that has not been already converted into a warzone of blood sores and floral poison.
He lifts them up, and that allows them a window. They jerk abruptly in his grip, arms linking around his neck in a ruthless parody of the grasp he held over them just before. Their grip tightens like the jaws of a steel trap, a cold vice as they use it to bring their smile inches from one side of his head, an apposition of lips and whatever passes for a robotic ear.
There's an air of triumph to the words as they hiss them, soaked in madder:
"You're lying."
[She wants to scream.
She feels like she's trapped in some dark torturous reality that just exists to laugh at her. What has she done to deserve this? Does constantly fucking up really deserve this much punishment.
Hawke swallows and puts a smile on her face. It's strained, like perhaps she might cry at any moment or attack him like a wild animal. It's hard to say which unless he knew her. Then it would be the latter.]
Funny. You look like my father. You have his staff and wear mage robes. Sorry for being just slightly confused. Perhaps I was seeing things in the dark.
She feels like she's trapped in some dark torturous reality that just exists to laugh at her. What has she done to deserve this? Does constantly fucking up really deserve this much punishment.
Hawke swallows and puts a smile on her face. It's strained, like perhaps she might cry at any moment or attack him like a wild animal. It's hard to say which unless he knew her. Then it would be the latter.]
Funny. You look like my father. You have his staff and wear mage robes. Sorry for being just slightly confused. Perhaps I was seeing things in the dark.
[She looks up at the sound of another’s approach, her eyes instantly zeroing in on the mutations that mark the woman’s body. Splicer. She visibly bristles and gives the woman a raw-edged hiss that’s only seconds away from building into a Big Sister’s trademark screech if she doesn’t keep her distance. Strange, that she doesn’t smell any ADAM on the woman -- but there’s no other explanation for the deformities and even if the woman weren’t a splicer, the Big Sister’s not about to let her guard down. She swings her left arm out at her side, displaying the long, rusted needle still strapped to her arm -- a not so subtle warning that she won't hesitate to take what the woman has stolen from her sisters if she steps into striking distance.]
Human. Hah. That's the core of it, isn't it? The type of being that would lock an entire race under a mountain, that would fall down and be offered kindness and give only pain in return. It was nice, to pretend for a while that they could be anything else, but in the end...
They've seen what happens. They've seen what they will do.
Pain draws the line of Frisk's mouth tight, and their gaze drops to the ground. Of course they would know, wouldn't they? They know exactly how well Frisk can keep up the charade, how easily it falls apart. Can't even meet the bare minimum of keeping people around you alive, can you?
"...I'm trying."
They've seen what happens. They've seen what they will do.
Pain draws the line of Frisk's mouth tight, and their gaze drops to the ground. Of course they would know, wouldn't they? They know exactly how well Frisk can keep up the charade, how easily it falls apart. Can't even meet the bare minimum of keeping people around you alive, can you?
"...I'm trying."
What else is a chalkboard for -
[ and then she's slipping, and he's moving forward with his arms spread like he's planning to catch her. except for the part where he stops just short, standing stiffly close by instead, as a few pebbles tumble to the ground and she regains her hold.
(his eyes scan the surrounding rocks briefly, as though trying to determine if there's anyone else here he could pass the task onto. or a convenient mattress wandering about, or something.
because yes, he could catch her, but surely there's someone better... suited, around here.) ]
Whether you call that climbing or falling, you're doing terribly.
[ in lieu of anything else, he elects to start slowly wave his arms in a 'careful, slow down' motion at her. helping! ] Good job summoning a doctor, but it's advisable to avoid catastrophic probably-fatal cervical fractures in the first place. Are you stuck?
[ and then she's slipping, and he's moving forward with his arms spread like he's planning to catch her. except for the part where he stops just short, standing stiffly close by instead, as a few pebbles tumble to the ground and she regains her hold.
(his eyes scan the surrounding rocks briefly, as though trying to determine if there's anyone else here he could pass the task onto. or a convenient mattress wandering about, or something.
because yes, he could catch her, but surely there's someone better... suited, around here.) ]
Whether you call that climbing or falling, you're doing terribly.
[ in lieu of anything else, he elects to start slowly wave his arms in a 'careful, slow down' motion at her. helping! ] Good job summoning a doctor, but it's advisable to avoid catastrophic probably-fatal cervical fractures in the first place. Are you stuck?
Ah.
At first, he didn't mind their struggling. Why wouldn't they struggle, they had struggled against his sympathy, his attempts to make them see reason, they had struggled against his anger...everything. All that Mettaton had tried to do, they seemed to find a problem with.
Trying to choke a robot was stupid of course, so he knew there was no real attempt there, and even if there had been, they would have to work harder than that. This form was but a puppet to the ghost inside. He wasn't even properly corporeal. Because he had died, and there was no way for him to fuse with the body permanently unless he felt a very strong positive emotion.
But the whisper in his ear, like Chara's telling him a filthy secret, it makes him stiffen, and his grip tightens around them, and he jerks on their legs, trying to shake them out of their position.
"Why are you doing this? You don't even have the right to judge me. What do you know of my conscience, you awful little human?!"
At first, he didn't mind their struggling. Why wouldn't they struggle, they had struggled against his sympathy, his attempts to make them see reason, they had struggled against his anger...everything. All that Mettaton had tried to do, they seemed to find a problem with.
Trying to choke a robot was stupid of course, so he knew there was no real attempt there, and even if there had been, they would have to work harder than that. This form was but a puppet to the ghost inside. He wasn't even properly corporeal. Because he had died, and there was no way for him to fuse with the body permanently unless he felt a very strong positive emotion.
But the whisper in his ear, like Chara's telling him a filthy secret, it makes him stiffen, and his grip tightens around them, and he jerks on their legs, trying to shake them out of their position.
"Why are you doing this? You don't even have the right to judge me. What do you know of my conscience, you awful little human?!"
[The distorted growl resumes when she sees the woman’s raised hands and then reluctantly quiets when neither sparks to life with the glow of a readied plasmid. She doesn’t trust the woman’s words -- if she didn’t want to hurt her, she would’ve left already -- but they at least get a response in the form of a low rumble. This time, it sounds more irritated than enraged. If she wasn’t stuck, the woman wouldn't be alive to ask.]
[ The Doll's eyes widen as she hears Vheras' voice. She had been so focused on her Messengers that she hadn't even looked up at the figure standing before her. If her porcelain lips were capable of smiling, they most certainly would be right now. ]
Ah, Good Hunter. I had thought us separated. I missed you. [ Her voice is one of relief, she's genuinely happy to be reunited with this woman.] I'm afraid that I have become lost - tell me, do you know where we are?
[ Of course, she doesn't really answer the question of whether she's all right or not. The answer is moot either way, and her beloved Hunter should not trouble herself with such trifles. ]
Ah, Good Hunter. I had thought us separated. I missed you. [ Her voice is one of relief, she's genuinely happy to be reunited with this woman.] I'm afraid that I have become lost - tell me, do you know where we are?
[ Of course, she doesn't really answer the question of whether she's all right or not. The answer is moot either way, and her beloved Hunter should not trouble herself with such trifles. ]
[He resists the urge to step backward and put some distance between them.That smile she's giving him is like a physical reflection of how he's feeling, and he's not sure if he's feeling like laughing until he cries or if he's feeling like hitting something. So, best to play it safe for both of their sakes, at least until they figure out what's going on.]
Well, you're doing better than I am! Typically I find it difficult to see much of anything in the dark.
[His tone is light and warm and almost sounds perfectly natural, like he's not forcing cheer he doesn't feel. He's certainly had enough time to practice. Most people wouldn't even be able to tell.]
It sure is an odd coincidence about the staff, though...I always thought it was one-of-a-kind. This one belonged to my father. Where did yours get his?
Well, you're doing better than I am! Typically I find it difficult to see much of anything in the dark.
[His tone is light and warm and almost sounds perfectly natural, like he's not forcing cheer he doesn't feel. He's certainly had enough time to practice. Most people wouldn't even be able to tell.]
It sure is an odd coincidence about the staff, though...I always thought it was one-of-a-kind. This one belonged to my father. Where did yours get his?
"Trying very hard to find everyone's happy ending. I see."
Trying is so seldom enough, though, is it? Trying gets you a fistful of golden petals, a SOUL full of pulsing redness that gets you as far as the barrier but no further.
"An old human saying comes to mind," says Chara, languidly, conversationally, "about the road to hell being paved with good intentions. Are you terribly familiar with it?"
Trying is so seldom enough, though, is it? Trying gets you a fistful of golden petals, a SOUL full of pulsing redness that gets you as far as the barrier but no further.
"An old human saying comes to mind," says Chara, languidly, conversationally, "about the road to hell being paved with good intentions. Are you terribly familiar with it?"
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