* Smells like salty slush.

[bleakdrake]

It stands near the edge. Not for any particular reason; the edge is merely where they first appeared.

She's barely aware of the change, expressions as blank as they could manage. The clouds are close enough to the room in the Lab where it stayed that they're almost comfortable, or at least as comfortable as a mass of creatures fused together and kept from their families (and so losing itself) could ever possibly be.

Anyone else stumbling over them, however, will likely be...far more uncomfortable. An icy-dusty-melting creature, looming in the foggy banks where it'll seem she simply appears despite not moving a step.

The only warning--the only clue that she's even there for those not particularly searching for something along the edge--that they're there is her voice, cracking and exhausted and chilling, drifting over the wind.

"Sn...ow...y..."

Comments

[bleakdrake]

They distantly realize his distress, but they have few thoughts about what that means. The others like it were often in distressed states, especially the one that smelled sweet.

Her expression shifts a little more. Snowy, the most important word. She takes another horrible-wrong step--the rest of them have no reason not to go along with her. They can barely think on their own.

"Sn...ow...y..."

The words are enough to cut through their haze, and she realizes something--this isn't...right. This monster in front of them isn't many, and this one SOUL isn't...

"Doc...tor...?"

[sansational]

She's not dangerous. He realizes it with a lurching feeling of shock, as they shamble nearer. She's...horrible, and sad, in the way that death and sickness and despair itself are horrible and sad. But that's...that's not it's fault.

He takes a step nearer to her, trying to get near enough to be visible through the fog, trying to look them in...what seem to be the most defined set of eyes.

"no. i'm...i'm not doctor alphys. i'm not the one who usually takes care of you. she isn't here...yet...either. but i...i can still try and help you." How, or even if that's possible, he has no possible idea. But Sans buries his fists in his pockets, and forces himself to carry on: "i want to try and help you. okay?"

[bleakdrake]

A few more spinning blades appear as they sink down to look at him better, flying off into the sky. Seems it doesn't notice.

She doesn't recognize him, though words are filtering in better, even some with their meanings.

"No...humming?"

No, they aren't where they were. She can't hear the other refrigerators running. They're only now noticing that things are even more different than before.

"Where...?" Leaves or feathers (or both or neither) rustle in confusion.

[sansational]

Those spinning blades probably aren't dangerous to most people. But a lot of things are dangerous to Sans that aren't dangerous to most people. He tries to keep an eye on all of them as they appear - after all, there's no telling how much she is paying attention or even how much they can. And there's no point in dying just because he accidentally walks into one that she doesn't think to move.

"we're...we're really far from home. far from the underground. up on the surface." Not that he's sure if that will matter to it now. "i don't know much else. i'm sorry."

[bleakdrake]

Her bullets move in ways that most don't, but they're mostly slow, easy to dodge.

The surface. That's a word she knows--

The reason they hadn't died was for the surface. The Doctor's experiments. Researching ways to break the barrier with their SOULs, they were told before it failed catastrophically. It's one of the few memories they all still have, all nearly share, Alphys greeting each of them as they awoke the first time and explaining what she was trying.

It gave them all hope.

"De...term..."

She doesn't know how to explain this, can barely grasp it, but reacts by straightening up as much as they're able. If it was on the surface...something must've gone right.

[sansational]

Sans stares up at it for a moment, until he realizes what they're trying to say. His shoulders slump in something like resignation, and he nods miserably. "...determination. yeah."

A force that Sans isn't sure has ever done any good anymore. you'll keep going, just because you think you can. and because you "can"...you "have to" She doesn't need to explain it.

But at least it seems as though they're starting to fully understand where they are. That's genuinely heartening to see, and Sans manages something more like a normal smile. He half turns away, motioning for her to follow. "c'mon. i'll show you around if you follow me. it's...nicer further in, than it is over here. you can see the sky."

[bleakdrake]

Their footsteps still sound terrible, of course, but they come a little more quickly. She has reason and desire to follow him now, even if those are somewhat more in relation to his tone than his words.

"Sur...face...?" she murmurs to themselves with echoes of shock-confusion-glee-curiosity.

A few times, she'll almost seem to stop, the noises going silent--but if Sans looks behind himself, it'll still be keeping up closely.

[sansational]

Whenever she does stop, Sans stops as well. He looks back at them, but they're always right where he expects it to be, visible through the fog. He still waits patiently until she starts shambling after him again, and only then does he turn away and carry on.

Eventually, the fog begins to thin and fade around them. The trees of the forest become visible in the distance, and slowly, the warmth of the sunlight starts to filter down again. When the mist is nothing more than tattered shreds around them, Sans stops again. He looks back at Frostdrake, and gesture up at the vast expanse of blue sky overhead.

"ta-da."

[bleakdrake]

It takes a few moments for all the separate minds to register what he means, which results in her head very slowly bobbing before properly angling upwards--and then they all gasp, nearly falling as vertigo hits them.

Their form is lost a little, and it's so beautiful, and they chatter to themselves. Sans will catch snatches of words in a few different voices, like blue and up and worked, worked, worked and then they're standing up, a leafy-feathered wing reaching (stretching) as if trying to touch a few whispy clouds above.

[sansational]

Despite himself, Sans smiles, and it doesn't even hurt to do so. It's a little hard to tell on that face, but that definitely seems to be a basically happy sort of reaction. "yeah," he murmurs, staring up at the sky with her. "blue, blue, blue." He hadn't previously thought that anything quite so blue could ever possibly exist, before coming here.

On a whim, he sits himself down on the grass. They might need a minute or two to properly get oriented, and it's not as though he's really in a rush to go anywhere or lead them anywhere. They can enjoy the weather for a little bit, if she wants to.

"we don't know where we are, or where the underground is in relation to any of this. but there are definitely worse places to get stuck all over again."