Chara
(#24299839)
Level 1 Pearlcatcher
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Ice.
Male Pearlcatcher
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
3.77 m
Wingspan
3.6 m
Weight
380.62 kg
Genetics
Sanddollar
Vipera
Vipera
Auburn
Peregrine
Peregrine
Mint
Underbelly
Underbelly
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Pearlcatcher
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
7
AGI
6
DEF
8
QCK
5
INT
5
VIT
8
MND
6
Lineage
Parents
- none
Offspring
- none
Biography
CHARA
The Defender ~ charming • focused • assured
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__________________________________________________________
You aren't supposed to be here. The Gladevein's hills, unlike Wind's, are huge and rough and overgrown, and your instructor shouldn't have brought you all here in the first place if he hadn't expected one of you to "disappear".
So far, at least, your excursion has been well-worth the scolding you'll probably receive. You take plenty of samples of the local flora, wade through a warm murky river, and manage not to bump into anything that could kill you. Still, you keep your magic up, probing and cautious.
This proves to be necessary when you nearly run into a ravine.
"Wow," you whisper, and your voice echoes down and down. You kneel and look into the darkness, fascinated. It looks like the entrance of Hell, and you can't even gauge how deep it might be.
Your hind leg catches on a vine and you jerk forward, scrambling back, and the rock around you splits into two and cracks off, and then you're falling.
━
Ugh. Your emblem flares above your forehead as you squint. It's all purple rock. Have you fallen into some old Shadow ruin? Dead leaves fall from your fur as you rise, stretching your wings. It'd be just your luck, you suppose, if you found a priceless ruin just to die in it. Wraiths flutter around you, all Light-white, and you ignore them until one bumps straight into your chest.
You snap at it in a second of hot panic, and it bursts into a hundred pieces. There’s nothing but dust in your eyes to show for it, not even a fragment of a wing. What is this place?
━
“OUTSIDER!”
It’s a bright-eyed Spiral, half-bouncing and half-flying in your direction. A gangly Wildclaw trails him, taking long strides towards you, and you snarl on instinct. It stops leisurely at a tree stump, and says. “Hi, I’m Papyrus.”
“And I’m the Magnificent Sans!” the Spiral says, the dark blue cape around his shoulders fluttering as he strikes a pose. “It’s nice to meet you, Dragon!"
“…What.” you say. “I’m not a dragon, what could have possibly made you think that.”
“The only place you could have come from is… the Ruins, which is blocked off from the inside! That must mean you’re a dragon!”
Your claws dig into the ground. Asgore had warned you, but you didn’t think you'd have to fight so soon - at the very least you’d have liked to have been anywhere other than this too-cold snowfield.
“Alright.” you say, putting down your pearl and rolling your jaw in preparation to bite. “Do your worst.”
“Yes!” the Spiral says, “I’m glad to see how enthusiastic you are about this!”
He then half-flies, half-gyrates away into the distance, cackling like a harpy all the while.
What.
“That’s my brother.” the Wildclaw says. I guessed, you don't say. His eyes are bright orange, and indeed he’s breathing out little puffs of charcoal smoke. You wonder how he’s not freezing, and almost miss it when he asks you, “Isn’t he cool?”
You shrug noncommittally. You’re not quite sure what he wants, or why he isn’t attacking you.
“You look pretty cold.” the Wildclaw says, and to your astonishment he makes as if to shrug off his sweater. It’s bright-toned, with darker skull-shaped stitches. Before you can reply, he shuffles his wings together and suddenly there’s a smoke-smelling bundle of fabric dropped onto your eyes.
Blissful warmth. You groan and draw yourself inward, resisting the urge to just sit down and sink into the sweater like all your problems have been solved and no one is trying to kill you. It’s far too big and it’s probably a hideous colour. You can't bring yourself to care.
“Sans knits in his spare time.”
You glare at him balefully. “Thanks, outsider.” you mutter.
“Call me Papyrus.” the Wildclaw says, and winks. Is he hitting on you???? Before you can voice a what, or maybe what the ****, there’s a flourish and he’s gone, leaving you standing blankly in the snow.
He can teleport?
━
Asgore intimidates you, though hell if you’ll show it. Even without the ceremonial (if clearly well-worn) set of armour exposing all his furry spines, he’s just so big, and you’ve never been so close to a Ridgeback before. He looks at you with sad not-Plague eyes and explains that it lends him legitimacy, that scared dragon children usually rush at him claws-first.
(He calls you hatchling, and for some reason that irritates you less than it normally would.)
I’m Frisk, says the Tundra as they pad alongside you. They’re covered in a layer of shaggy dark-brown fur, flopping down over their eyes. I was Asgore’s child.
“His first?” They nod. “Before this all went to hell and he moved out of the palace.” you guess. I fell down a long time ago, they explain. Curl up with me?
This is the voice that explained things to you. You sit down on the bed. I had an adopted sibling, they say. I don’t know where they are. I don’t know why I woke up alone, so plaintively that you wince. "Well, I’m not planning on staying,” you say, “whatever Asgore says. Do you want to come with me? Show me around, whatever.”
━
You're not expecting an Imperial, her cape so large and so long it ripples and sweeps across the floor every time she moves. She places something on her throne before she turns to look at you, her madder eyes bright with surprise as they meet yours -
(They're red, you imagine, with the blood of kids just like you.)
━
“It’s not high.” Sans mutters to himself.
You know you’re not nervous, straddling the edge of death all the way here does that, but his anxiousness is getting to you.
“Are you here to talk to me?” you say, and Sans startles.
“Yeah! I mean - I’m here to judge you.” he says, all at once. “For everything you’ve done.”
“Really?” He’s not the first outsider you’d pick as a judge. He doesn’t seem the type.
“You have a LV of 5,” he says. “I didn’t believe it, because you didn’t hurt anyone in Snowdin, but - your LOVE, your Level of Violence, is 5.”
What do you even say to something like that? You just stand there. You notice that Sans's claws are clasped around each other, frozen mid-wring. You can't place his expression.
Fight me and get it over with, you find yourself thinking. Fight me and free yourself.
“Can’t you please just be nice to people?” the Spiral says instead, and you say, “No.”
Because that’s the truth. You can barely stand other dragons, especially when you want to be left alone, and Outsider chatter gets on your nerves. For Arcanist's sake, you nearly clawed Napstabot on live TV, Undyne’s dragon-defence features notwithstanding - you are not and never will be nice. You let your glare speak for you on that matter, and Sans slumps.
“Alright, fine. Can you please not kill anyone next time, then?”
You think about it, for awhile. You hadn’t even been considering a next time. There is nothing left for you here. From the droop in the Spiral’s spine, he knows this. Even if you did promise, you’re not sure if you could. (How hard could it be, though? some cocky part of your brain whispers, Couldn't you just try?)
“Alright,” you say, and Sans brightens. Not suddenly, not all at once, but the excited gleam is back when he meets your eyes.
“Thank you!” Sans breathes, and you have about half a second to feel uncomfortable before he launches himself at you, all white coils and flailing limbs, and you shove him off in one fluid motion and fall right onto a whoopee cushion, which goes off with a pffffffffbbbt. He sniggers in delight, and you roll your eyes.
“I might just change my mind.” you warn, only half in jest, and he smiles at you.
“I know you won’t,” he says, and the stupid thing is: you believe him. Just for a moment, but you do.
━
Ring!
“Hey, datefriend.” says the voice on the other end of the line. “You’re not here, huh? Well, we’ll just leave a message.”
Excited clattering. “Papyrus! Is that Chara?”
“Sure is, bro."
“Hey, Chara! Life Underground has been pretty… hectic, since you left. King Asgore came back, if you can believe it! He reinstituted the Royal Guard and ━"
━
It’s easier, this time around. The dust from the white familiars still tickle your eyes, but none of it gets into your mouth this time around and you avoid snapping down on any of them. It’s weird, knowing Asgore doesn’t know you, and you still find yourself with nothing to say when he talks about his plants and his children (Frisk) and his wife.
Sans grins at you, and you’re not stupid enough to believe that he won’t look out for you this time, knowing what you've done. It’s easier knowing why Papyrus drops his sweater on you, though you still don’t like knowing how or why he blinks so easily out of existence.
Other than that, it's much the same. It's simpler thinking of it as a game, you realise: turn, flash your brightest and most genuine smile at the neon-pink ghost in front of you, turn, offer to listen to his problems, turn, listen to his problems (it's a pity he floats away before you can actually offer any advice, you've got some ideas), and the confrontation is over.
You stop considering it easy when a magic bullet soars over your head and your SOUL cracks in two.
That's the first time you die. The second is when Alphys is charging straight at you with her hooves crackling with electricity and you panic. That is when you realise that you are pathetically weak without the LV and the extra HP it gave you, and your mind flickers to Sans.
Did he set you up so that Toriel could take your SOUL? It was hard enough beating her the first time, with your shears and your own self. This is when you reach an ugly realisation: you've been conned.
━
You're not sure what you expected, but the blank void wasn't it.
It's quiet, like the battle with Temmie and the Dragonkiller never happened. You don't feel dead - at this point, if you were you're pretty sure you'd know it. So you pick a direction and you walk away, and sure enough after a while you can see a dim glow of light in the distance.
Instead of the plush toy and the distorted dragon figure, there's a Wildclaw facing away from you, hunched over a grave in the soil. They're completely still, only the twitch of their spiked tail telling you there's someone alive in that body.
You feel like you've seen this before.
"Kid!" Frisk says from behind you, rushing forward to nuzzle the figure. "There you are, I didn't know where you'd gone, I was so worried! Where were- "
The Wildclaw stops in front of you, passing right through Frisk. Their eyes are very green. "Hi." they say. "I'm Kid. Sorry, I never asked for your name."
"I'm Chara." you say. A couple of dots are connecting, but you still don't -
"Is your name actually Kid?"
Kid nods ruefully. "My parents died in an accident a long time ago. I don't remember the name I had before, but Asgore and Toriel told me I could choose my own when I grew old enough."
Frisk whines. You bite the inside of your cheek and ask them, "You... didn't have a sibling named Frisk. Did you."
Kid scratches the back of their neck with a claw. "Eheheh... yeah. I'm sorry. Frisk's my sibling. Actually, they died a long time ago, so."
What you mean to say is Did Frisk happen to be a Tundra with no eyes or I think I know the dragon you just described or even What the hell happened to them, why did they die?
"Yeah?" You are an idiot.
Kid grins. Their front teeth are jagged and uneven, and the glimpse of their mouth you get looks like a meat grinder: you see where Temmie got their creepy smile from now. "Yeah. I can tell you about them, if you want?"
You are very aware of Frisk's eyes on you. You smile back at Kid and say, "Sure."
━
"I didn't even really know them at all," Kid sniffles into your shoulder. You pat their spiny back, not quite sure what to do or say. You reject They showed me around for a couple of hours and I don't know them either as the true but probably terrible thing to say, and you... you don't know how to comfort anyone. This is a ******* travesty. You wish Asgore was here.
"Kid." Frisk whispers, low and whimpering. "I thought I knew how to fix it. I'm sorry."
Kid's shout drowns them out: "I thought I did but I didn't, it's all been me from the very beginning. I'm the mean one, I've been so bad I've done so many terrible things I - "
They take a deep breath. "I miss them so much." Kid whispers, and then they bury their face into your mane and properly burst into tears. You cringe. They've lived through a hundred-years' repressed misery and who knows what else, and you are completely out of your depth here.
"Shh, it's fine, you're OK." you babble, patting Kid's warm back, and look up at Frisk, whose blank mouth is twitching.
Help, you mouth, at a loss to do much else, and Frisk just... slumps into themselves, like some dying thing. Oh, hell.
You brace yourself for tears - can ghosts even cry? - but Frisk says nothing. They rock themselves from side to side, black tears drenching their fur, and altogether it is the worst thing you've ever seen in your life. For once, your voice fails you, and you can't think of anything to say.
“It’s my fault.” they say quietly, and you flinch. “I — I caused this, I shouldn’t even have been born, I’m sorry— ”
"It is not your fault." you say, your voice miraculously steady, less because you know what to say than because you don't want to hear this. You don't want to think about the low loathing tinting Frisk's voice, and after you cut them off you keep talking, more for Frisk's benefit than Kid's. "Neither of you knew what was going to happen. You didn't set out to kill each other. Fri- Kid, you tried your best. Frisk would've wanted you to be here."
Kid's rattling sobs don't stop, but they eventually slow down. You hold them through it, and when you shuffle closer to Frisk they don't flinch away. The rasp of their shared breathing echoes through the final cavern, and even through your exhaustion you feel a brief pang of sympathy for everything they've gone through. They've lost, really lost, and you think you finally know what that means.
__________________________________________________________
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First
The Mad Prince “Here’s something I don’t forget: the distance between the potential you have, and how you turn out. Did you know, when they bet on you, they have to write your odds in star notation.”
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coding by orru
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