You mentioned that you were created as a vessel, right?
[They point to their torso, where their heart should be, where their soul is supposed to be.]
I was... similarly created in a sense. I was a vessel for a stolen soul split between two different dead children from a dead world. A world they destroyed. Or, I guess I destroyed.
[Not even... going to try to explain the Doctor, or the whole Angel situation. Because that's a different matter entirely.]
Now, something gets to take direct control over my body and use me as it's silent and lifeless protagonist. Funny how that works.
That is a very specific thing to have in common. Frontal is silent for a long moment. Relating to somebody has never been so concrete and he's not sure how to proceed with it. ]
... there might be a soul inside me. When I was made, there was nothing. By design, I am a vessel for the will of the people living in space; somebody who turns their desires into pragmatic plans to realize. In appearance, I am their former leader - the one they want to see.
But now, this vessel is no longer empty. There is a will, a whisper, and a memory... of the end of all times. Just who has bestowed these onto me, I wonder...?
[It's exceptionally unique for you too. Within both sets of memories there was only one other who understood, and that other was the other dead child. Now we're one, and they're Kris, and you're you. It's extremely rare to encounter one who understands this emptiness.]
I see. I believe I was supposed to be similarly empty. The entity rewrote my name to match their preconception of me, as a vessel to them. I'm the only one who knows that my name is no longer mine. The fact that I had an identity at all was an act of rebellion from... someone. I don't remember who.
[Is it determination that rests inside him? Maybe. Or Patience. Or any number of emotions that have all since been erased along with the majority of the human race.]
I know the identity of the one who revealed all of this to me, and in some ways turned me into what I am. But only vaguely. He didn't exist in the other world. He fell through the cracks of time and space, and lived in the void between worlds. And I believe he made the world I was designed to live in.
[ It's as though he is looking at himself through a twisted mirror. More twisted than looking at any recording of Char Aznable and recognizing the same face. Another one like him... The closest to that so far had been Ple 12, a mass manifactured clone, a tool of war... but she had long rejected that identity and taken on one of her own. Unrelatable to Frontal, far from his view of the world and far from the despair of another man that he carries within.
Kris is... Kris understands being a puppet, a container, a means to an end.
Frontal has never wanted to be understood. But now that he has it, it's difficult not to poke at it as if running one's fingernail over scab on a wound. ]
[It's a similar sentiment on their end. They know that one of the children craved companionship, understanding, someone who would understand them but not love them. And the other wanted to live a loving gentle lie, where they continued to be a child in a world they'd used as a toy.
Kris cares about people, about Susie and Noelle and Toriel and Lancer. But more importantly they have spite and despair that they will spread to those who think they're immune.]
Most children have delusions that they need to get over eventually. [They shrug, bitter.]
But I still have power over them too, more than I think they're ready to handle. [They smile, for just a brief moment.] I can escape them briefly, by ripping my soul from my body.
[ Aaahh... There is something relaxing about it, about being around people who feel the same innate hatred of humanity that runs through the emptiness of his mind like a soft hum. That's why he enjoys having Angelo around, made of nothing but a potent rage that is far from Frontal and yet entirely too understandable.
Kris is... like him and not. That little 'not' is likely for the best. He never asked for kinship. But here, sitting cramped in this mini capsule, in a world where nobody sees him the way he is meant to be seen... he still feels a kind of solidarity that marks Kris closer to his people than maybe anybody else here. ]
I understand.
[ And there is something darker than usual in his smile that suggests he does. ]
Though personally, I simply give them what they made me for. The fact that they made me at all speaks of the very mindset that dooms them.
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frontality) wrote2022-01-16 12:49 am
no subject
[You sigh. And it's true. This is your golden ticket to living this miserable life.]
We have a bit more in common than you'd think, you know that?
no subject
[ Now that's intriguing. There are not many people who can claim to have something in common with Frontal unless you count 'general misanthropy'. ]
I doubt you were lying about being 'older' than me, so then...?
no subject
[They point to their torso, where their heart should be, where their soul is supposed to be.]
I was... similarly created in a sense. I was a vessel for a stolen soul split between two different dead children from a dead world. A world they destroyed. Or, I guess I destroyed.
[Not even... going to try to explain the Doctor, or the whole Angel situation. Because that's a different matter entirely.]
Now, something gets to take direct control over my body and use me as it's silent and lifeless protagonist. Funny how that works.
no subject
That is a very specific thing to have in common. Frontal is silent for a long moment. Relating to somebody has never been so concrete and he's not sure how to proceed with it. ]
... there might be a soul inside me. When I was made, there was nothing. By design, I am a vessel for the will of the people living in space; somebody who turns their desires into pragmatic plans to realize. In appearance, I am their former leader - the one they want to see.
But now, this vessel is no longer empty. There is a will, a whisper, and a memory... of the end of all times. Just who has bestowed these onto me, I wonder...?
no subject
I see. I believe I was supposed to be similarly empty. The entity rewrote my name to match their preconception of me, as a vessel to them. I'm the only one who knows that my name is no longer mine. The fact that I had an identity at all was an act of rebellion from... someone. I don't remember who.
[Is it determination that rests inside him? Maybe. Or Patience. Or any number of emotions that have all since been erased along with the majority of the human race.]
I know the identity of the one who revealed all of this to me, and in some ways turned me into what I am. But only vaguely. He didn't exist in the other world. He fell through the cracks of time and space, and lived in the void between worlds. And I believe he made the world I was designed to live in.
no subject
Kris is... Kris understands being a puppet, a container, a means to an end.
Frontal has never wanted to be understood. But now that he has it, it's difficult not to poke at it as if running one's fingernail over scab on a wound. ]
Do you miss it; that 'identity' of yours?
1/2
Kris cares about people, about Susie and Noelle and Toriel and Lancer. But more importantly they have spite and despair that they will spread to those who think they're immune.]
Most children have delusions that they need to get over eventually. [They shrug, bitter.]
But I still have power over them too, more than I think they're ready to handle. [They smile, for just a brief moment.] I can escape them briefly, by ripping my soul from my body.
They designed me to play the part of a hero.
2/2
no subject
Kris is... like him and not. That little 'not' is likely for the best. He never asked for kinship. But here, sitting cramped in this mini capsule, in a world where nobody sees him the way he is meant to be seen... he still feels a kind of solidarity that marks Kris closer to his people than maybe anybody else here. ]
I understand.
[ And there is something darker than usual in his smile that suggests he does. ]
Though personally, I simply give them what they made me for. The fact that they made me at all speaks of the very mindset that dooms them.