Colors | Chara x Papyrus

Chapter Six: Tainted White

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Chara regrets making Frisk think she enjoyed hanging around her and her irritating friends.
     Her deciding to join them for the first time was simply the outcome of being alone. It had become too much for her at that moment, she obviously doesn't feel that way all the time.
Now, every time she stays huddled up in her room either staring at the ceiling or running her fingers across the knowledge in her notebook, Frisk outright insists she come out and mingle.

- - -

The sun is disgustingly hot on her pale skin, the glare of said massive star practically blinding her. At this rate she'll have a burn so intense Frisk will have to physically fight to get Chara to exit her room.
Prickly grass only increases her frustration. She already dislikes being touched, and now every time she shifts the tiny blades tickle her ankles. Not only that, but there are people everywhere. Everywhere.
What was the sun doing out during the fall anyways? Where's the rain that forces all sentience to lock themselves indoors? She wants solitude, she wants air conditioning, and she wants to not be playing golf.
At that thought, Sans whacks the ball across the court. Sand from the bunker shoots up from the impact as the ball is launched into the the forest. Chara might've been impressed if he hadn't used one of his bones rather than a club.
They all look ridiculous too, all dressed the exact same but with a signature color. Chara's happens to be red, and she isn't exactly happy about it despite it representing her quite well at the moment.
The red polo shirt sticks to her sweaty frame, and a white cap is snug on her head, shielding her from the sun. The first letter of her name is threaded into the crown, and long white pants are tight on her waist. She's not particularly fond of the white sneakers either, they're covered in grass stains and dirt even though she barely moved.
Chara couldn't understand when Frisk and Papyrus found the time to do this, or why they even decided to in the first place.

Toriel and Asgore had come along as well, but they stationed by the picnic benches and under the shade of the trees. Chara knew they'd talk her ear off, but that didn't stop her from trying to stay with them and avoid Frisk's forceful bonding. However, a certain determined girl knew she hadn't ever played golf (or anything for that matter), so yet again she was dragged off to her own demise.
They aren't even playing properly. Undyne's only goal is to hit the ball as far as she can manage, and now Papyrus is convinced that's how the game is meant to be played.
Chara made three birdies and two eagles and everyone is acting like she just has awful luck. Frisk would often clap or Papyrus would try and console her.
She found herself upset at how capable she is at golf. Hitting something weaker than herself into a dark abyss reminded her of her life, and the life she made for Frisk.

- - -

Undyne violently smacks the golf ball with a magic infused spear. It soars through the air and over a small plot of trees. Frisk watches it in awe, blue light reflected in her eyes, but the wonder is wiped from her face the second a crash is heard in the distance alongside blaring car sirens.
Papyrus cheers, Sans scoffs, claiming that not only has she made a home run, but the owners of that vehicle will have to make one now too.
While they bicker, Chara shakes her head and stands since she's after Undyne, ignoring Frisk's scolding and Alphys' stressing. She makes another eagle, unbeknownst to the others, and walks over to remove it from the hole, holding the club against her shoulder.

Chara tries not to imagine Frisk landing in the Underground, scrambling to her feet minutes after hitting the bed of golden flowers. She's confused, but it isn't long before she's snatched up by a crimson-eyed beast. She examines Frisk, categorizing her as a new doll to torment.
     The golf ball is light in her hands. She runs her thumb along the ridges. Under all the dirt and grime, it's a solid white.
White. No pigment, no color, but not void of meaning.
     Chara wanders away from the group to lie alone in the grass, immediately bothered by the scratchiness of the lawn. After many attempts to readjust herself, she gave up and allowed it to prickle her skin. At least now, it was quiet.
White, she reminded herself. The clouds are white, swimming leisurely through the great blue, accompanied by the sun. Her brows furrowed. The sky was much more vivid than before, it wasn't light, it was deep. Not like loneliness or sadness, so what did it mean? Chara turns to her side. The picture up above is much too confusing with its changing in hue and multicolored sun.
     The sky, surprisingly, isn't a good place for answers.
     She recalls the white of ones eyes. They border insanity, kindness, or no emotion at all. Chara wonders what her eyes look like, do people see them the way she does?
     "Chara!" Someone calls, but Chara doesn't sit up. There's crunching, and it gets louder until Frisk is in her field of vision. She bends over, short, chestnut hair tumbling forth to hang just above Chara's nose.
     "It's your turn, come on," Frisk says, holding out her hand. Chara is nearly rendered speechless.
     Frisk is smiling, smiling at her. The corners of her are mouth turned up, and there's a crinkle in the skin around her eyes. It's unmistakeable, but it's off. It's not real.
     Chara knows she's responsible for Frisk being void of true smiles for years, so it's no wonder those precious facial expressions aren't offered to her.
     Frisk's hand is left idle as Chara rises on her own, getting dirt on her hands.
How fitting, she thinks bitterly, reaching for her club.