aftr_stories | [MU] - DECEMBER STORYTELLING / MEMORY SHARE

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[MU] - DECEMBER STORYTELLING / MEMORY SHARE

Something is wrong.

This may not very well be obvious, at first. The Storyteller is not present to put forth yet another diatribe, informative or apologetic, and the backdrop of guttering flame and sandy campfire is as present as ever...albeit briefly.

Those who tell their stories will start to notice something...odd taking place. Indeed, no matter how they intend to begin their tale, the land of Mu will immediately start to warp to accommodate it, or something utterly unlike it, until storytellers and listeners alike may find themselves in an exact recreation of a seemingly random memory, in the most stark and painstaking of detail. There is no altering the memory, nor is there any preventing it once it's begun to play - you will simply have to witness memories that are not your own this go around.

Furthermore, stories that take place in worlds other than LifeAftr will be, frankly, inevitable. Those memories, too, will be recreated, to be relived by the teller and lived by the listener.

It is time, once more, for you to tell a story...with a slight twist! This is, in fact, our first player plot, as provided by Dragon! The initial setting will be familiar for oldcomers, and newcomers will recognize it from the introduction they received in their dreams.

Yet for this Storytelling only, people can imagine whatever stories they wish, from both their homes and their time on LifeAftr, as long as they don't mind the fact that others will be reliving those stories in the form of an impromptu memory share.

Even those who prefer not to voice their stories aloud are not safe this time around. If the memory is recalled in essence, Mu will shift to accommodate it in full.

There is, however, a benefit to this: those who venture memories to be relived will receive both a befuddled apology from the Storyteller, who will assert that this was most definitely not meant to happen (they're the Storyteller, not the Rememberer!), as well as a tired promise that the relived memories will be worth two offerings each, as if in compensation.

Not that it counts for much, probably.

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[Well, they guess it's sort of pointless to even keep up pretenses now.]

[It's no big loss. They both know Muffet has just been humoring them for months, anyway. Frisk turns to her soft expression of gratitude, their face carefully blank, set into the perfect expression of neutrality that they've worn ever since first stepping foot into her parlor.]

There's a lot you don't know. [They say it plainly; not as a criticism.] But I don't want you to feel bad. It took a lot of mistakes before anybody started doing the right thing.

Including me.

[She nods calmly, accepting their statement as fact, and replies in kind- even and honest, stating her feelings and intentions plainly.]

More and more I've learned there was a great deal of our world I knew nothing about. I won't demand to be told, because you have the right not to talk about private things- for all that this place seems to be taking that from us- but if you're ever willing to tell me... I'd like to know. And beyond that... I'd like to listen, to anything you want to say.

As for feeling bad... I suspect some amount of guilt for my actions is unavoidable, but I do at least try to turn it to productive efforts, instead of allowing it to fester. I hope that will help, in time.

[She doesn't know their mistakes, the extent of them, but she can see there's far more scope for disaster in their choices than she'd known before, much greater weight on their slim shoulders than even the future of two species could bring to bear. More than someone so young should have to carry, but she can't change that now. Only try to help them carry it.]

Whatever came before it, I am still grateful for your efforts. It's easy for me to look at one choice or another now, and say that it was right or wrong, but I have no doubt it was harder then, in the moment, to make the choice.

[Frisk shrugs. It's a measured motion more than it is a dismissive one; they look her full in the eyes -- the bottom set, anyway -- and hold her gaze for a few moments as they mull her words over.]

[But as it turns out, maybe they aren't as laissez-faire about the situation as they'd like to seem. They end up looking away from her before they speak.]

It's not just stuff that happened in the Underground. I've been somewhere else since then. I made another choice. I thought it would help, but it didn't. [They pause.] But I don't think it hurt, either. I don't know if that makes it bad or not.

[Frisk plays with an overgrown lock of their bangs.]

...

If I asked you... not to think about... me, anymore, could you do it?

Some things aren't entirely one or the other, I think.

[At their next question, she falls silent briefly, thinking over her answer before she responds. They deserve a true answer, and she wants to give them one.]

I think... probably not, no.

I could stop speaking to you, if you wanted, and not speak of you to others. It would hurt, and I would miss you dearly, but you do have the right to ask that of me if you wish. And I could and would do that to the best of my ability, situations like all this aside- I have no doubt this place could take the matter out of either of our control, unfortunately. But I would do what I could.

But to not think of you again, at all?

[She shakes her head, slowly.]

I genuinely don't think I can do that. People are too... complicated, in the ways they intertwine- it's not like a piece of cloth, where you can take out one strand if you unweave the whole thing carefully enough.

[Frisk nods, as if in agreement. As if they had suspected her answer would be something like that -- and as if it slots in with their quiet, cryptic puzzle, the one that forms the foundation for the entire charade. It was never a very good charade, anyway. They don't think it fooled very many people.]

[Especially not Muffet.]

I won't ask you to do that. I already know that it doesn't work.

[A beat. Frisk lowers their hand resignedly.]

... I like what you said. About the cloth. It makes sense. But... maybe sometimes the thread just needs to be torn out.

[Confused her, yes, with not knowing why they were doing this. But fooled her? No.]

[The question of exactly how they know that, the implication that they've tried this before, is worrying. But she said she wouldn't demand answers they didn't choose to give, and she meant it.]

If it helps at all? Most of the time, when you're pulling a thread out of your weaving, you don't just cut it off and throw it away- it would be wasteful. Instead, you pull it out carefully and then weave it back in somewhere else, somewhere you think is a better place for it to be.

[She pauses, unsure if she has the right to ask them for this, even though she's wanted to for a while...]

If you don't think that this is working... would it be all right if I started calling you Frisk, again? I didn't want to use a name you didn't want anymore, so I haven't been saying it. But if it wasn't because you liked 'Kittu' better, then I...

[Kittu. Kid two. Changing your name is fair and fine, deciding to wear something that fits them better. But she hates the thought of them just saying they're a second choice and nothing more.]

I don't want to make you feel like knowing you didn't matter to me, because I didn't call you by name.

[They glance away from her again. Mostly, it's to put distance between them and what she's saying -- to avoid thinking too hard about it. There's nothing careful about they did, and there's nowhere better to weave them back them now that they've been taken out. That's what they already decided. They can't let anyone convince them otherwise.]

[Especially someone they might believe, if they let themself.]

[She pauses, and Frisk takes that as a sign of safety; a passing of the subject. What comes next is something they expected since seeing the glow of their SAVE before her eyes. And they still don't have an immediate answer. Silent, Frisk's eyes trail to the dark sand; they lift a hand and rub at their wrist through their sleeve.]

[Liking 'Kittu' has nothing to do with it. But they don't think they can tell her that. Not if -- not if -- she's asking because she wants them to matter to her.]

[Them. Not Frisk, not Kittu, but them: the kid who traveled the Underground; who laid a child god in a bed of flowers; who scattered dust across ruins and snow peaks and rivers of lava; who saved all the monsters, they guess. Their chest tightens until it feels like there's no room for air. Them mattering... that's the whole point of all of this.]

[But it's just a name. It's just a name. It's not the problem here, so really...]

OK. You can call me Frisk if you want. I don't mind. But there's something you should know.

This name will make your life hell.

[They turn away from her.]

So be careful.

[Ah. So they can both do that.]

[It's another point of commonality between them and Chara, that strange red voice that makes mind reach for something it can't quite catch hold of. The words themselves are even more worrying, though she answers calmly and politely regardless.]

I will recall that I was duly warned, then, should trouble come to pass. Though I've heard it said, some human author from long before our time, that hell is other people- so one could say there's not much chance of avoiding it.

... humans would know, right?

We're not like monsters. One of your books says it, too.

[Compassion. Something human SOULS lack. Frisk's tone would be bitter, but it's wrapped instead in resignation. Another someone who refuses to let them make her choices, layered over the rest. The red should scare her, the way it scares them. The way it chipped angles into Sans' smile whenever he heard it.]

[They know they can't scare her. They know they can't kill her.]

[Her happiness is her own responsibility, now.]

Fine. As long as you know there's consequences... I won't try to SAVE you anymore, Muffet.

[If she knew which book in particular Frisk was referring to, she'd point out that human souls are merely capable of surviving without compassion, not inherently lacking in it.]

[Just because they can doesn't mean they have to.]

[But there are a lot of books in the Underground and she can't guess which one they mean, so she simply answers:]

That's the trouble with books, from human authors or monstrous ones- anyone can write them. You can never be sure what's written and what's right.

[...]

That said... it seems to me you've saved a lot of people in your time. Perhaps it's time we started picking up the slack a bit.

Do what you want.

[They smile, tolerantly.]

That's what I did.

[To many results. And many consequences. They suppose, if there was ever a time to tell Muffet exactly which pieces she were missing, this would be it. But they don't see a reason to. They're confident enough that, if she's as determined to continue being their friend as she seems to be here --]

[She'll see what they're capable of soon enough.]

[They tug the hem of their sweater down, over their knife.]

Don't call me 'Frisk' around anyone else. Please.

[What she wants... is to help. Then again, she suspects they understand the impulse. At their request, she nods.]

Of course, dearie.

[A moment where she briefly checks, just to make sure no one else is listening in, and then:]

I did miss you, Frisk.

[The smile turns a little thin. Missing them is the problem they couldn't fix. Not for anyone, they guess, but the two people whom it would have mattered to the most.]

[... it'll have to do.]

[And, when put like that -- maybe letting others remember them isn't so bad.]

...

Is... your pet here with you?

Ah, yes, my dear Ramequin- I was quite worried about trying to summon them, since I didn't know if it would hurt them to be called out to some place where magic can work differently than at home, but it seems to be perfectly all right.

[She briefly considers calling them forth, then remembers that Frisk likely still has less pleasant associations with her dear pet from Ramequin's assistance in her attempt to kill them. Instead she offers, tentatively:]

Would you... like to meet them? Under more pleasant circumstances than before, that is.

[Frisk is quiet for a few moments. Then they nod, just slightly, just enough for someone watching them to notice.]

I'd like to someday.

[Some day. Not right now, but when they see Muffet again. It's their way of making a promise without making a promise. They have it on good authority that those never turn out well... but Frisk has never hated the same things as a cynical skeleton.]

Bye, Muffet.

[She smiles, softer and more gentle this time, and inclines her head in turn.]

Until next time, Frisk.

[Not right now, but they can take all the time they need- some things are worth waiting for.]

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[MU] - DECEMBER STORYTELLING / MEMORY SHARE

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1/2

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wrapping? <3

Wrapped. <3 <3