The floodgates open, and everything pent up comes spilling out, sluicing through the air in torquing, unfocused streams. They smile because it comes naturally to them, to keep that blast shield up even as Frisk begins to cry.

They keep their gaze fixed and their smile unflinching up until the moment that Frisk topples, knees impacting the ground. Asriel and slavers and stolen cut into their ears, and their eyes flare with a recognition, an understanding that - that this is Frisk at their finest, surely. This is Frisk attempting to force them to bend to their tears, to win them over with sentiment when they are beyond that in every sense of the word. But without the reassuring cushion of LOVE around their heart, there is...

For a long, quiet moment, Chara stands there.

They - refuse to fall for this ruse a second time. They refuse to be led along like this, blindly. They are implacable, they are ironclad, and they will not be taken advantage of, laying down their weapon so that Frisk's job will be exponentially easier.

They will not bear their unarmed back so someone can sink a knife into it up to the hilt.

If Frisk has not done so yet, then it is only a matter of time.