[There aren't many places for a child to sequester themself, if they want to stay out of the way. The sounds of jubilation, of celebration, the smell of sweat and euphoria and too many human bodies packed together into one singular space, is both unfamiliar and unwelcome.]
[The colocalization of humans and mind-altering substances - that is familiar, which makes it no less unwelcome. Unfortunately, there is no place for a strange, perhaps unsettling child to be that puts them out of the line of proverbial fire, except for, perhaps, where they inevitably end up.]
[Namely: under the table.]
[They're not hiding, of course. They're waiting to play a prank, maybe, like pouring a drink down someone's shoe or sliding an ice cube out onto the dance floor to try and watch someone trip and fall. If they look a bit nervous, a bit at odds with the elated atmosphere, and if they seem like they're hiding...you wouldn't be wrong, exactly, but good luck in getting them to admit it.]
[Good luck in getting them to speak at all, really, unless your idea of fun conversation involves the alternating of vague insults and the kind of pseudo-eloquent, edgy quotes that sound like that one guy you knew from English 101 who only ever quoted 1984. Hostility is in their nature, in human nature, and this many of them all gathered together in one place isn't putting their nerves at ease.]
[At all.]
[But as the night wears on, you'd better watch your step. I hear some kid is pouring drinks down people's shoes.]
ii. Where Are The Knives
[They've been good.]
[They've been trying.]
[They've been trying to be...good. Better. Better than they have been. They've been trying, because monsters are so kind and they didn't have any reason to trust or even particularly like this human, this small creature that has the power to destroy them all. They know. They know they're not good, they know they'll never be good, but they're still - trying. Because Asriel has a funny little smile when he's trying not to laugh at something they've said, and because the King showed them how to pull weeds up by the roots, and because Miss Tor - because Mother hid the knives, and blunted the tools, and did everything she could to ensure that they wouldn't make any more...mistakes.]
[But despite that, despite everything, they end up with a knife.]
[Their breath is halting and strange, and the hilt of a knife feels good in that it is the first familiar thing they've felt since ending up here, and if they wanted to - god, if they wanted to they could make sure that no one ever touches them again.]
[They slide two more knives away, discrete. One up their sleeve - unhooking the threads of their sweater inside its long and useful sleeves, to serve as a sheathe for the blade - and one pressed up against their hip, held in place by their waistband.]
[The child's eyes are dark and nervous, darting restively from one person to the next. They draw back in careful retreat to a corner, or to a shadow. They're small. They can't be older than ten, or eleven. A child's only advantage against an adult is the element of surprise, and so - they wait. There seem to be no shortage of humans, here.]
[They wait for just the right moment before trying to slide a blade just across your wrist, or maybe your ankle - something small and vital and within easy reach of a child.]
[The good news is that they're very literally a child, and thus easy enough to disarm. The bad news is that this is not their only knife.]
[And they don't take kindly to being held down.]
iii. wildcard, etc.
[Chara is slightly less of a walking content warning than usual thanks to me taking them from a very early canonpoint - namely just after being adopted by the Dreemurrs. That being said, if there's anything you need me to run by you first, just let me know! You can also contact me at arrpee if need be.]
chara dreemurr | undertale
[The colocalization of humans and mind-altering substances - that is familiar, which makes it no less unwelcome. Unfortunately, there is no place for a strange, perhaps unsettling child to be that puts them out of the line of proverbial fire, except for, perhaps, where they inevitably end up.]
[Namely: under the table.]
[They're not hiding, of course. They're waiting to play a prank, maybe, like pouring a drink down someone's shoe or sliding an ice cube out onto the dance floor to try and watch someone trip and fall. If they look a bit nervous, a bit at odds with the elated atmosphere, and if they seem like they're hiding...you wouldn't be wrong, exactly, but good luck in getting them to admit it.]
[Good luck in getting them to speak at all, really, unless your idea of fun conversation involves the alternating of vague insults and the kind of pseudo-eloquent, edgy quotes that sound like that one guy you knew from English 101 who only ever quoted 1984. Hostility is in their nature, in human nature, and this many of them all gathered together in one place isn't putting their nerves at ease.]
[At all.]
[But as the night wears on, you'd better watch your step. I hear some kid is pouring drinks down people's shoes.]
[They've been good.]
[They've been trying.]
[They've been trying to be...good. Better. Better than they have been. They've been trying, because monsters are so kind and they didn't have any reason to trust or even particularly like this human, this small creature that has the power to destroy them all. They know. They know they're not good, they know they'll never be good, but they're still - trying. Because Asriel has a funny little smile when he's trying not to laugh at something they've said, and because the King showed them how to pull weeds up by the roots, and because Miss Tor - because Mother hid the knives, and blunted the tools, and did everything she could to ensure that they wouldn't make any more...mistakes.]
[But despite that, despite everything, they end up with a knife.]
[Their breath is halting and strange, and the hilt of a knife feels good in that it is the first familiar thing they've felt since ending up here, and if they wanted to - god, if they wanted to they could make sure that no one ever touches them again.]
[They slide two more knives away, discrete. One up their sleeve - unhooking the threads of their sweater inside its long and useful sleeves, to serve as a sheathe for the blade - and one pressed up against their hip, held in place by their waistband.]
[The child's eyes are dark and nervous, darting restively from one person to the next. They draw back in careful retreat to a corner, or to a shadow. They're small. They can't be older than ten, or eleven. A child's only advantage against an adult is the element of surprise, and so - they wait. There seem to be no shortage of humans, here.]
[They wait for just the right moment before trying to slide a blade just across your wrist, or maybe your ankle - something small and vital and within easy reach of a child.]
[The good news is that they're very literally a child, and thus easy enough to disarm. The bad news is that this is not their only knife.]
[And they don't take kindly to being held down.]
[Chara is slightly less of a walking content warning than usual thanks to me taking them from a very early canonpoint - namely just after being adopted by the Dreemurrs. That being said, if there's anything you need me to run by you first, just let me know! You can also contact me at