#sponstar : 001.

[charadrxxmxrr]

@sponstar

They’ve successfully commandeered the blankets and pillows from the home they were assigned. Honestly, it was easier than they expected— no one was there, and Chara was quick, taking only what they needed, and ignoring everything that wasn’t necessary for their treehouse.

Well.

it’s still a floor house. The base of it is built, mostly, and it’s comfortable enough to sleep in now, but it’s still stuck on the woods floor. Chara hasn’t quite figured out how to get it up in the trees yet.

Anyway.

it’s late. The sun is setting, and Chara is tired and cold. They’ve got one blanket wrapped around them, while the other two lay as padding shoved in the corner for when they sleep.

But

there is someone (a monster?) on the pathway. Chara watches, standing outside their tree(floor)house, fingers gripping the blankets closer.

A pause. There’s — a spark of hope, maybe — that —

“are you from… my world?”

They say it with such — hesitation. But there’s hope, there’s more hope there than Chara didn’t realize they were clinging onto. This person doesn’t look human in the slightest — they almost look like a save point, if they focus enough.

It’s been so … lonely. It’s been so lonely, with only humans around, and sure they’ve made a few friends but they’re so —

“are you from Mount Ebbot?”

[viladlind]

the view is so stunning that fiyero almost doesn't know how he missed it in the first place.

   a star come alive claps for his performance once the last note fades out. they're not the only one, but they call to attention, sat to the side as they are. something they seem to realize once a few eyes follow the sound of their voice ... fiyero pauses, muses.

   his smile is mischievous when he straps his violin to his back and pulls the rather newly acquired harp from the belt around his hips. it's not the golden harp from back home, but a wooden one he'd bought from the same maker as his violin, on this very island. it seems more soothing for the occasion, doesn't it?

   walking up to the low brick wall they're sitting on, fiyero takes a seat next to them. he's aware of the attention, but he revels in it. was made for this, really. chuckling quietly at their joke, he sets his harp on his lap and reaches out for them with his other hand. a claw drives just underneath their bright face, as though scratching their chin, only he isn't touching at all.

   ' perhaps, ' he hums, loud enough for the rest of the audience to hear. ' will you answer a question for me in return? ' his fingers dance across the strings of the harp playfully, only pleasant notes, not a proper song yet. a tease, you could say. his gaze rests on them, a genuine interest in his look.

   ' how would one go about kissing a star? '

ah. that was stupid, wasn't it? clapping along near the tail ends of a performance, wishing the sound to drown out amongst the others gathered around to see. not a problem, really! if they had been part of the crowd, that is.

but off to the side? just out of view? now there was sound in a differing direction; an indicator of someone else partaking in the show provided. orienting themselves with these streets was a headache enough, let alone adjusting to the reality of being seen -- exposed to the open like any other. no branches or leaves to obscure them.

they exist, like this. with others. stand out a fair deal, too, don't they?

oh! that's a look towards them, isn't it? look alive, loop, you've a show of your own to play out, here! just breathe, this is fine! absolutely! even if impulse got the better of them for a short-lived moment. it's fine.

' my, that was quite a performance you gave us! ' their hands sit idly tented, paused from their previous clapping. eyes crinkle upward, a smile they're failing to hide despite bubbling discomfort.

' . . . could i treble you for an encore? ' [ @viladlind ]

[impinged]

You can feel the static in your ears, the way the world bends around you. It wants so desperately to reset. To swell and bloat and surge. Haha. To break and fail and rot. Erase this whole conversation. Roll it back! Not that it matters. Not that Loop would forget. Not that you even can. But it still hisses in your ears, something rips at your stomach, it’s there it’s all there and so familiar and you want it. More than anything.

You want it. You don't get it. All you get is Loop's anger in return. Their reminder. It's always you. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You.

It was you then, it's you now, and it will always be you.

Haha. Hahahahahahahahahaha!!!! They’re right!!!! They’re right!!!!!!!!!! They really did it! Told it to you straight!! Can you take that? Do you accept it?? DO YOU WANT THANKS, LOOP????

You can’t cry out your dead eye. You can still feel it though, when you do cry. Nothing wells but there's a frothy spike of pain and the scars no one sees or touches ache beyond belief.

You can still see them, blurred and unfocused and bright, despite it all. They're still talking. You, you, you, you, you...

"SHUT UP!!!!!"

You blink away tears that are barely even there.

There’s a knife in your hands. Your knife. Poised, pointed. Steady, aimed for the star. You could lunge. Attack. Hurt them, like they’ve hurt you. Payback. Revenge. It would be so easy to lunge forward and just attack them…

You don’t. You can’t.

Guilt roots you to the ground. You can’t move. Figures. You’re all bark and no bite. But you do not falter. Your knife is still fixated on them. Still threatening.

You breathe in, and out.

You can’t hurt them. You don’t want to hurt them. Not really. Not even if it feels like otherwise.

Your eye, clouded and sinking, no longer stares at your target. Instead, it shifts its focus on your knife. You stare at it. You consider your options. Weigh each and every single one.

You could hurt them. (Which isn’t want you want.)

You could put it away, pretend it never happened. (It feels too late for that.)

You could drop it. They’re unarmed, so it would at least make this an even fight. (You don’t want this either.)

You could alter your hold, twist the blade and you could . . .

he doesn't need to tell them a thing. the message as clear as day, as it almost always is. by expression alone, that look in the eye, a mere twitch of a brow -- loop recognized it. knew about it.

siffrin says it isn't their fault, that he didn't do this. loop believes them, is the funny thing. they know, and yet . . . and yet!! there wasn't a means of logic they could make from it other than an obvious choice; a decision they could both agree on! putting the fault somewhere simple. somewhere it sat easily, given the history.

they'd blame themselves, too. isn't that hysterical?

' would it be so hard to believe if it was?! ' even knowing, they continued to press. they'd been angry from the start, that feeling refusing to diminish. it grew, in fact, the longer they spoke.

the longer they had to look into this blinding m--!!

' who knows what you accomplished during your last meeting with the king, despite my efforts to tell you otherwise! you ignore advice, you fumble, you fail!! '

let it go. let it go, let it go . . .! let it . . . no.

no, they're tired of holding their tongue. tired of sitting, watching and being dragged back every! single! time! they were brought here, too, with siffrin left waiting for them. all they've wanted was a way out of it all, but they would never get that, would they?

now was no different. oh, no, now was no different at all! they were still trapped! still left wanting! still left to watch any spark of joy that remained fall into the traveler's hands. . . !

' you were at fault for forcing every perfect conversation! you were at fault for failing at your job! you were at fault for allowing the king to get his hands on the kid! it was you, always YOU! why can't it be now, stardust!? '

they know it's not. they don't care. this is easier. . .

[impinged]

You open your mouth to get a word in, but they keep going. Begrudgingly, you're used to their interjections, their insistence that their word should precede yours. Whatever. They say you're somewhere you shouldn't be, well, you have eyes!!

Just one, actually.

But you know. You see. Whatever.

They've seen Isa already. Fitting, you think. When they were so determined to hide away from everyone, he was the one that still weaseled his way into their line of sight. You wonder if Loop ever saw........... Well, it doesn't matter. You don't really care about that. Push it from your mind, you have more pressing things to think about.

Like anger. You're angry. Your friends along for the ride? A mess you've tripped into?? SIMILARITIES????

It IS a coincidence!! NONE of this was intentional!!!! So what are they getting at?!? What do they mean???? Are they..?? Do they seriously think.....????

"IT'S NOT MY FAULT!!!!" Why is THAT the conclusion they make?! They think they can show up and pin the blame on you right away?!? No!! You've already done that!!!!!

You would take the blame though, wouldn't you? You can refute it to them all you want, but you would if it was anyone else accusing you. Something about it being Loop that does just eats at you. You can't stand it. Lots of things are your fault, sure. Some intended, some otherwise. This is not. You don't know a lot about this place or how people even get here, but you know it's not your fault. It can't be. It shouldn't be.

It . . . it isn't . . . . . . r i g h t ?

...No. That would be ridiculous. It wasn't that broken. Wishcraft wouldn't just... No. It wouldn't. This is a different power. It has it be. You're not even going to entertain another possibility.

(But if your friends want someone to blame, you'd still let it be you.)

"I didn't do this. I just..." Stay here. Take it. Dare you say like it. You're not telling them that. But it's true, to an extent. You'd be happy here, you think, if this was the rest of your life.

You abandoned Mira in her most desperate hour, and you're happy.

You're so disgustingly selfish.

"...Shut up." You know they won't.

' different, ' loop repeats, voice no more than a dry echo. how different, they wished to ask, aside from the obvious; aside from where they were, what surrounded them. because when it was boiled down, it was similar, wasn't it?

not knowing where to go, how to leave, what to do -- stuck in a game not of your choosing. they've gathered that much so far, they were used to that much.

' sure. ' the star concludes, only to continue right after. ' you're still somewhere you shouldn't be, stardust. your friends along for the ride, too! '

' . . . i've seen your fighter around, you know, and i have a good feeling there's more than just him. you, your friends, and a mess you've gone and tripped into. ' they were not yet certain, but it was a good assumption, they felt. plenty still left unseen, even more left unsaid. they could tell.

in the tension permeating from the traveler's presence; the way he stood, spoke -- as if they wouldn't recognize it. as if they wouldn't get the hint of what thoughts crossed that troubled mind. a threat the star has stared down once before, a threat they would gloss over even now. while they could.

' and now i'm here. funny coincidence, don't you think, stardust? '

for why else would they be dragged in, if not stapled to whatever fate siffrin has gone and dug up. it was why they first appeared, after all. to help him. they shouldn't be here without that reason, right? as it stood, it's all they had to go on, like it or not.

and they most certainly did not.

' if you don't need me here; ' ignore the twist sitting in their gut as they repeat that, ' if i'm not to be of help to you... why don't you help me, stardust -- siffrin? enlighten me, because i'm seeing some glaring similarities. '

leave you alone? no one's stopping you from leaving.

[impinged]

Just how many times will this happen? Hearing your name spoken aloud by someone familiar in an unfamiliar place. Except this isn't your name at all. It's not even a name you particularly like. It feels more like a title. Unwillingly bequeathed upon you, at that. Much like the presence of the one that utters it, without fail, every time you speak.

You freeze. Flinch. Refuse to truly acknowledge.

The supposed "fresh air" they make mention of stalls in your lungs. First in annoyance. Then? Then... it pangs in your chest. It takes you a minute to realize it's not the air you nearly choke on that rends you clutching your chest. No, it's the clenching of your heart.

You missed them, didn't you? You'll never admit it. They would have a field day with that knowledge. You don't think you'd ever live it down if you said it. Plus, it's... embarrassing. You can get on fine without them. You have, actually.

Never once have you needed them here. There are no loops here, no looping. But now there is a Loop.

They must feel pretty useless then, huh? Welcome to the club.

You muster the resolve to turn. Face-to-face with that blindingly bright head of theirs. At least you don't have to pretend with them. Well, about the truth, at least. You will still have to ask the same question you asked the others.

But first...

"You're late." Too late. The arrival of some of your friends has already granted you front row seats to the consequences of your own actions, so any levity or guidance Loop could spare you is well past its time due. Especially if they're trying to seem casual about it. You won't let them.

Part of you hates that they're like this. Another part of you hates yourself for feeling that way. Hypocrite.

Lately, it feels like those sentiments are two sides of the same coin. Hm... No. Bad analogy.

were they capable of bristling? it certainly felt like it, seeing that all too familiar hat atop an all too familiar head. like a picture set out of place, hung on a wall it didn't accent very well. one they had to acknowledge time and time again, passing through the same hallway. over and over, and over, and over.

only this hallway was new -- this world was new! but there it remained. that same, crooked picture hung for them to see. would scribbling it out do any good? the thought has certainly crossed their mind ( more than once, truthfully ).

after everything said, everything done... this is where they end up. this is what becomes of those efforts. was the universe watching? was this what it had in mind?

here's the end! here's your way out! nothing gained, everything lost! with one final slap in the face ! !

. . .

you hate it.

' . . . enjoying the fresh air? ' there was a reason they were here, right? just like before, to help their little traveler, no doubt? that must be it. that had to be it. what else could it be? even if this deviated from the initial wish -- from what it was suppose to be. again.

ha! . . . just breathe, loop. play your role.

' you're a long way from home, stardust. but it must be nice, right? ' a smile arches the stars eyes, a chilled gaze peering through ever-present crescents. ' a well deserved change of scenery! '

[ @impinged ]

[charadrxxmxrr]

Perhaps it would have been kinder, yes; perhaps it would be easier for Chara if they had believed in a kind lie, rather than a hopeless truth. But Chara holds no ill will over the other for being honest; it’s only natural to not realize where you’re stepping with strangers.

the smile stays pinned to the corners of their mouth. It’s easier to smile when you’re upset, after all.

( If you don’t smile, people will get mad at you.)

“correct. I do not know why people seem to have the idea that a child would be comfortable living in strange accommodations with adults they do not know. It is kind of stupid, if you ask me.”

They say it in a bright and chipper tone; one that can only come with practice. Toriel had always taught them how to behave diplomatically, even when their little human heart just wanted to lash out. After all, they were the HOPE between humanity and monsters, back then — it was only right for a little monarch to act properly —

“You are correct. The treehouse can fit two or three comfortably, but not as sleeping accommodations,” they say it like it’s obvious, “It is not too terrible.”

oh.

So that’s … a definite no, then. An answer that’s vague like that is just as good as being a negative one.

Chara knew they shouldn’t get their hopes up, but they did anyway, like an child, and now it feels as if they’ve been punched in the gut, all the air whisking out of their lungs.

(Serves you right for getting hopeful. You don’t deserve anyone from Home, anyway.)

The smile stuck on their face feels wrong, but Chara keeps it pasted there anyway, as they take a quick glance at their little dilapidated fort.

“Yes. This is mine. It is still a work in progress, but only because I was just thrusted into this world.” And they’re not very good with their hands. Chihiro and Vash had helped a lot. Chara is small and malnourished, and they know that. “I am not bothering you by being out here, I hope.”

[charadrxxmxrr]

oh.

So that’s … a definite no, then. An answer that’s vague like that is just as good as being a negative one.

Chara knew they shouldn’t get their hopes up, but they did anyway, like an child, and now it feels as if they’ve been punched in the gut, all the air whisking out of their lungs.

(Serves you right for getting hopeful. You don’t deserve anyone from Home, anyway.)

The smile stuck on their face feels wrong, but Chara keeps it pasted there anyway, as they take a quick glance at their little dilapidated fort.

“Yes. This is mine. It is still a work in progress, but only because I was just thrusted into this world.” And they’re not very good with their hands. Chihiro and Vash had helped a lot. Chara is small and malnourished, and they know that. “I am not bothering you by being out here, I hope.”

@sponstar

They’ve successfully commandeered the blankets and pillows from the home they were assigned. Honestly, it was easier than they expected— no one was there, and Chara was quick, taking only what they needed, and ignoring everything that wasn’t necessary for their treehouse.

Well.

it’s still a floor house. The base of it is built, mostly, and it’s comfortable enough to sleep in now, but it’s still stuck on the woods floor. Chara hasn’t quite figured out how to get it up in the trees yet.

Anyway.

it’s late. The sun is setting, and Chara is tired and cold. They’ve got one blanket wrapped around them, while the other two lay as padding shoved in the corner for when they sleep.

But

there is someone (a monster?) on the pathway. Chara watches, standing outside their tree(floor)house, fingers gripping the blankets closer.

A pause. There’s — a spark of hope, maybe — that —

“are you from… my world?”

They say it with such — hesitation. But there’s hope, there’s more hope there than Chara didn’t realize they were clinging onto. This person doesn’t look human in the slightest — they almost look like a save point, if they focus enough.

It’s been so … lonely. It’s been so lonely, with only humans around, and sure they’ve made a few friends but they’re so —

“are you from Mount Ebbot?”