i need not be flattered that you've never been here before

[returnvoid]

After he'd taken leave of the room-- he can do that, how different-- he takes to wandering. Never too far from the shadows, where the pitch of his coat blends in more than with the golden of the hallways. But he is somewhere new, and coherent, and feels more substantial than he has in a long time, so after the shock had settled of course the curiosity took hold. Doors take a little bit of work, now that he's found he can interact with physical matter, but after one or two hopefully unwitnessed, embarrassing attempts he manages well enough to peek into the rooms he comes across.

That's about as much as he does, really. He's mostly just cataloging what there is to see here, but there isn't anything in specific he's looking for as he wanders. So he's content to simply do that much, at least until he comes across the music room.

Funny how such a shadowy figure can practically light up at the sight of something. Before he realizes it he's rushing in and flitting quickly over to one of the pianos. There's so much in the room they can't possibly all be that well-maintained or tuned, but none of it could be worse than whatever water damage and blunt force trauma happened upon the instruments that used to fall into the Underground, surely? The door's left open behind him, out of oversight, but he doesn't pay it any mind as he settles down on the bench.

He warms up slowly. Scales and runs to test himself first, see if his motor memory still serves. Then, when that's judged satisfactory, soft, lilting, maybe even somewhat eerie simple melodies, all atmosphere and percussive rhythm.

Eventually, he sits back. Hums a little. Eyes the other pianos in the room. Gestures, curtly, tightly, with his hands.

And more hands form out of nothing to array themselves out around him. They hover there, briefly, before floating over to the other pianos in the room, a pair each.

Then he lets his focus spread, just a bit, glancing over at the other pianos, before seguing into something a... bit more involved.

Comments

juryrigs something together to blast Black Sun right back out the window aka the abyss

[returnvoid]

Even having prepared for it, seeing that Sans has seemingly inured himself to inevitable disappointment causes a twinge of... something, within his core. He...

would have hung the moon/snatched the stars from their sky/taken everything apart and left it broken and shattered

for Sans and Papyrus, once.

(Don't think for a moment that he hasn't noticed the stiffness, the ginger care taken with some movements.)

The breath he lets out, low and whistling, warped with static, pulls from some reservoir within him he didn't know he possessed. 'Barely' is more than he would have expected of anyone. Even the smallest fraction was already infinitely larger than zero. His expression is wry.

"✡⚐✞ 💧✌✡ 👌✌☼☜☹✡ ✌💧 ✋☞ ✋❄ ✋💧 💧⚐💣☜❄☟✋☠☝ ❄⚐ ✌🚩⚐☹⚐☝✋💧☜ ☞⚐☼📪 💧✌☠💧📬"

The impetus being that it is not. Gaster is, in equal parts, thankful and rueful. Though he has to stop himself from startling when Sans reveals his soul, eyelights pinprick dim as his hands come up to his own chest.

His mouth works uselessly, a moment, as his sight flickers between the fragment and where his own soul would be if he'd let it shine through the darkness of his form. That's-- him? It is at the very least something close enough for there to be a faint sympathetic resonance, an echoed feeling of duality and memory just beyond his reach as his sockets shutter closed and he gives up on the task of restraining his soul. It glows freely but dimly, the light fainter in fine lines spidering across the inverted heart.

"✋📬📬📬 ✋ 💧☜☜📬" I'm sorry. "❄☟✌❄📬📬📬 ⌖⚐✞☹👎 💣✌😐☜ ❄☟✋☠☝💧 👎✋☞☞✋👍✞☹❄📪 ✡☜💧📬"

[[gonna give the unicode one more shot before switching over to css font styling if it's still hecking up on your end]]

n i c e

[trombones]

[ooc: nope! this is fine. the text looks different to me but i can use hovertext all the same, so it's no big deal to me one way or another.]

(Yikes.)

Sans was about to explain the apology in his voice when he felt the resonation too. It's hard not to, when you have a piece of someone else's soul jammed in yours. It glows on as well, though somewhat dim as well from inside of the other soul around it. The skeleton watches Gaster's - the one in front of him - light up too.

And for a while, he does just that. Watches it. Silent. Then he closes his sockets.

"... It's okay. It means I got something, even if it's just... pieces of memory in between all the holes.

It means that whatever happens or didn't happen, at least Gaster was there with him in some way.

isn't it, also crap i can't get off the tl;dr train

[returnvoid]

"✋☠ ☜✠👍☟✌☠☝☜📪 ✡⚐✞ ✌☼☜ 💣⚐☼☜ ✌⌖✌☼☜ ❄☟✌❄ ❄☟☜☼☜ ✋💧 💧⚐💣☜❄☟✋☠☝ 💣✋💧💧✋☠☝📬"

Gaster breathes deeply in and out. One. Two. He opens his sockets only after he has tamped down on his magic and the disquieting sensation of reflection had begun to fade. Bits and pieces of himself have fallen between the cracks in his memory, patched together as haphazardly as it is, but he is whole. His soul is fragmented, but intact.

(But suppose he wasn't, and only just was missing the smallest unnoticeable slivers of himself, the parts that had possessed all his certainty of who and what and when?)

Sans' sockets are still closed when he opens his. That, at least, leaves Gaster certain of at least one fact: this has altogether strayed all too far into the realm of the serious.

"📬📬📬 ⌖☜☹☹📬 ✋☞ ✡⚐✞ ✌💧😐 💣☜📪" he says, loftily, solemnly. "✋☠ 💣✡ ✟☜☼✡📪 ✟☜☼✡ ☜💧❄☜☜💣☜👎 ⚐🚩✋☠✋⚐☠📪 ✋ 👌☜☹✋☜✟☜ ✡⚐✞ ⌖⚐✞☹👎 👌☜ ⌖☜☹☹ ✋☠ ✡⚐✞☼ ☼✋☝☟❄💧 ❄⚐ 👎☜💣✌☠👎 ✌ ☼☜☞✞☠👎📬 ✋ 👎⚐ 👌☜☹✋☜✟☜ ✡⚐✞✟☜ 👌☜☜☠ 💣✌👎☜ ✌ 💧☟✌💣 👎☜✌☹📬"

He is well within his rights to attempt to inject some levity into this conversation, damn it. Is it morbid when they're discussing his own... death, which was and wasn't a death at the same time? His smile is tight but warm as he continues, "⚐☞ 👍⚐✞☼💧☜📪 💧✋☠👍☜ ✋❄ ✋💧 ✡⚐✞ ❄☟✌❄ ✋💧 👎✋☼☜👍❄☹✡ ✌☞☞☜👍❄☜👎📪 ✡⚐✞☼ ⚐🚩✋☠✋⚐☠ ⌖⚐✞☹👎 💧✞🚩☜☼💧☜👎☜ 💣✋☠☜📬 ✋☞ ✡⚐✞ ✌☼☜📬📬📬 ☞✋☠☜📪 ⌖✋❄☟ ❄☟☜ 💣✌❄❄☜☼📪 ❄☟☜☠ ⌖☟⚐ ✌💣 ✋ ❄⚐ 💧✌✡ ✌☠✡❄☟✋☠☝ ✌👌⚐✞❄ ✋❄✍"

Gaster maintains his expression for a while longer before it falters, he looks away, and it collapses back down to a skeleton's standard set.

"📬📬📬 ✋ 💣✋💧💧☜👎 ❄☟✋💧📬"

its ok me neither half the time

[trombones]

"... Heh!"

Okay, that helps.

Sans eyes stay closed for the moment, and his permagrin spreads a little wider. Eventually, he cracks out eye open to step closer to Gaster (having finally realized he's been stupidly standing at the entrance this whole time) and sit at a chair nearby. Stiffly, being careful to keep his torso straight. Despite how serious the conversation had turned, he's aware enough of the presence that he realizes a familiar guitar case was nearby. Oh, right. That's where he left it. He kicks it closer, in front of his feet.

"Well... 'fine' ain't exactly the right word. I can't say it's what I wanted. But it's the closest thing to anything I'm going to get. So. Sham deal or not, I don't want a refund."

Meaning Sans wasn't looking to get the sliver out of him any time soon. Aside from it being incredibly dangerous and probably killing him - he didn't want to lose those few memories he still had. He had tried working on that machine in the workshop for too long now. It couldn't be fixed. He failed. His father wasn't coming back. Would the Gaster he knew be disappointed in him? Hate him?

As if sensing his thoughts, the soul inside him glowed just a little bit warmer to reassure him. Sans blinked, then looked down at his chest. A pause passes, then his smile turns just a little more genuine, if bittersweet.

"... Heh. Thanks, old man."

Finally, he looks back up Gaster. The one in front of him. Despite everything, well. Gaster was standing in front of him, wasn't he? He had that much now too.

"Me too. I missed... having you around, if that's not too awkward to say."

As much as Sans missed his father, he was the last person who wanted to force that on somebody who probably wasn't - much less trying to figure out who he was. He had to deal with something similar with the little Papyrus around here.

shitpost central makes for long tags read all about it

[returnvoid]

"✋❄ ✋💧 ☠⚐❄📪 ✌💧 ☹⚐☠☝ ✌💧 ✡⚐✞ ✌☼☜ ✌☹☹ ☼✋☝☟❄ ⌖✋❄☟📬📬📬"

He just gestures as he looks back to Sans, waves himself up and down, before waving back at where the sliver of a soul that wasn't quite him had been. Then he picks right up from there, forgoing his voice. The motions are sketched out with a strange sort of crispness to them despite otherwise being fairly loose.

I would hate to intrude. It is not very polite, especially when a place isn't mine to take.

They probably mirror Sans' posture, really. Both in the restraint involved, and the off-seeming nature of both of them. It is a strange timeline indeed where Sans even approximates perfect posture, and seeing something even close to that on the one sitting near him is disquieting.

Given that his gaze is aimed downward while facing Sans (facing, examining, mulling over), it's hard to miss the case that Sans had kicked. Gaster lets out something that could have been an amused cough as he rouses himself from thought, expression and signing smoothing.

Anyway. What did that guitar case ever do to you?

A++++++

[trombones]

"Good."

Sans nods and lets out a small, relieved sigh as he runs a hand over his 'stomach'. The suddenly proper posture wasn't because he wanted to. Slight movements still ache, and he has to force himself to keep still sometimes and let his injuries heal right.

"Yeah, well..."

Finally, Sans switches back to signing himself.

You're not intruding. If it helps, I'm not going to force the "dad" thing on you. Whatever you got going on, whatever kind of relationship we have on your side of things, that's you. I learned how this place works a long time ago. I'm not the only Sans here, for starters, and... Well. What I learned a long time ago, is that you're you, They're them. Even if you and the Gaster in me were nearly the same guy, it's an infinite possibilities sort of thing.

That's meant to be more comforting than it probably is, but Sans hopes he gets the message across regardless. He's not going to judge him, and he wasn't out to make the Gaster in front of him uncomfortable either.

Still. Even if it wanted to, it was hard to deny that he missed him - whatever form he took. Seeing Gaster whole like this was more than he ever thought would happen again. So it helps. A lot.

Back to less serious stuff, though. He glances down at the case.

"Huh?"

Oh. Pfft.

I'm just moving it. I thought I lost this thing.

plays fast and loose with thread timelines tbh

[returnvoid]

It must be quite the surreal experience.

Is all he signs in response to that, his head dipping briefly in acquiescence.

That's quite a wise way of looking at it. Given a number of timelines approaching infinity... Did you know, a human child came by.

If he were speaking aloud, his tone would be nonchalant, offhand. As it is, his signing seems oddly disconnected from the rest of him.

They seemed to half-expect to have to fight.

'An infinite possibilities sort of thing.' Not quite word for word the phrasing he'd have used, but it did well enough to put into relief some of the memories he'd been able to box away from the others in his mind. And that's that before he also drops the subject, moving on gladly to the apparently-not-so-lost item.

You play the guitar. When did this happen? Pause, to glance over the contents of the room before looking back to Sans again. What do you know how to play on it?

[trombones]

You have no idea.

Sans grin goes lopsided.

You must have met Frisk. They're a good kid.

Anyway, back to the guitar. Like his grin, he gives a one-shouldered shrug.

A friend of mine taught me through a door. I'm alright at it. I can play some human songs... "Uh..." that one tune the statue in Waterfall plays... stuff like that.

[returnvoid]

They seemed so. He hums contemplatively, turning back to the piano and hesitating briefly before playing a quick bar from said tune with right hand only. That one?

He knows it well enough. He's long since become familiar with any points of interest in Waterfall.

I am glad for you. Learning phalange placements and frets through a door couldn't have been easy, would have taken time. Given Sans' general relationships with the person behind the door, though... They must be a good friend.

His own smile edges a little wider.

You will have to show me what other songs you know, sometime.

[trombones]

Sans nods. That's the one. As for his friend (kind of sort of girlfriend back home) behind the door, his smile goes a little softer. He nods again. Yeah. She definitely was.

The human ones kind of depend on your mood.

[returnvoid]

Not inappropriate, I hope?

Yeah, his good socket just arches in a way that would probably suggest a raised brow on a face with skin. He wouldn't put it past Sans.

Or... Gaster brings a finger up to his mouth briefly, as if to indicate a secret. Would they be embarrassing? Meant for a specific kind of audience, perhaps?

[trombones]

"What? Doc, seriously. I'm hurt here. You know I'm better than that."

Obviously not. Sans would have signed it, but now he's chuckling too much to really think about it. Okay, okay. Back to hands.

"I mean..." Some of them remind me of somebody, sure. But I don't mind playing them for other people.

[returnvoid]

He raises his hands to reply, then stops. ... You... aren't really, are you?

There's actual legitimate concern there, given that he hadn't properly interacted with people for... a while. He hadn't ever been the best at reading emotions to begin with; some/too much/no time spent all over time and space doesn't exactly help with that. Sans is chuckling, sure, but he still has to be sure.

Whichever you'd prefer. You don't have to if you don't want to or aren't feeling up to it, but if you'd rather some privacy then... His gaze flickers over to the entrance to the room. Perhaps I'll remember to close the door this time.

[trombones]

Sans' hands go down and he blinks. Well. Technically, there's some truth to that. He's not sure if Gaster was confused at the figure of speech, or happened to notice the way Sans was carrying himself. ... Probably the former.

That's a joke, doc.

Whether or not Gaster wanted to bring up the latter was up to him.

Anyway. Sans shrugs, still grinning as he signs.

So... what, you're asking if you can hear it now? I don't mind playing.

[returnvoid]

I thought so. He just didn't know so, which of course means thinking without believing doesn't mean much, but. Gaster's not sure whether he wants to tackle the unaddressed part yet, the part that was half on his mind in the case that Sans wasn't just joking about his emotional state specifically. On the one hand, it might be favorable to get as much out of the way as soon as they can. On the other, perhaps it'd be a bit of a slide backwards after they'd both changed the subject away from any heavy talk. If he knew Sans, anyway, then Sans would probably rather not a fuss be made about it.

Another elephant for the time being, then. Gaster leans over the piano for a moment, staring down the keys, before facing Sans again.

Essentially. You do not have to, of course, he signs, quick and smooth but unhurried, but I'm not sure I'd be able to find the room again later. Haven't yet found a pattern in how this place rearranges itself, unlike the CORE.

And, because, if someone else does the playing it might help to make it sink in that this is real.

[trombones]

It's less joking about his emotional state and more like I-almost-got-mauled-to-death-by-a-mutant-crocodile-man-and-it's-still-kind-of-painful-because-I'm-literally-made-of-bones-and-magic-and-basketball-shorts-and-that's-about-it.

You could have just asked that in the first place, doc. Sans signs with a small smirk. Regardless, he reaches over and picks up the case to set on his lap - slowly, gingerly, and efforted. He then takes the guitar out of its place and leans against the back of his seat, slowly strumming in place.

"You get used to it, I guess. The place changes around enough, sure, but I've re-found this place a few times already now."

[returnvoid]

Oh hush, don't laugh at me. Signed in response to the smirk, though the manner of it is resigned.

Gaster watches as Sans picks up the guitar and doesn't make a move to stop him from doing so, though his expression shifts a bit; the smile a little more bland, and eyesockets not quite so wide.

You know... I said that you didn't have to if you weren't up to it right now. There's a break in the movement of his hands, but only for as long as it takes for him to manifest another pair to close the door with. For privacy, in case it'd be needed or was preferred. I'm not going to stop you now, but... are you really feeling all right? --Well, no, you're clearly not at one-hundred-percent, so let me rephrase.

Did something happen, and am I pushing you too much?

[trombones]

"Huh?"

Hands full now, Sans switches back to speaking. He glances up. He's quiet for a moment... then gives a one armed shrug.

"You're not. I'm just, uh. Kinda sore from some stuff that happened a couple weeks ago. It's gettin' better."

[returnvoid]

Some... stuff.

Echoed haltingly. That's an evasion if he's ever seen one. The question is whether or not he wants to pursue the matter, whether it's something that could potentially happen again.

(Sans only has 1 HP. That he's feeling sore about whatever happened implies...)

... Well then. Gaster relents in face of that shrug, not so much dropping the subject as he is filing it away for later if, when, it becomes relevant again. Shuffled back in the queue of pressing things to attend to. If you say so.

So, what is it that you will be playing, anyway?

[trombones]

Sans hesitates again. Oh, yeah. He realizes better... say something. A warning. Not for his sake, but Gaster's.

"There's this guy, decided rampaging around the castle and trying to kill people was a good idea. His name is Croc. I dunno if he's still pissed."

Which means it COULD happen again, but Sans wasn't sure.

He looks back down at the guitar. After a little more strumming at picking at nothing in particular, a tune finally comes out. He half hums, half mumble-sings the words. A few notes are stumbled through, and there's some awkward places, but it's not bad. It's pretty good for a guy who could only be taught so much through a door.

"It's an old human song."

[returnvoid]

That is the longest dubious pause polite conversation's ever managed to allow for. His hands don't raise until he's entirely schooled his thoughts. Trying involves failure, so that's reassuring, but.

I suppose it is a good thing I never ran into him while wandering, then.

Gaster stills after that, making himself into a good audience of one up until Sans mentions the song being old, at which point he chuckles. The noise is two sharp points of static, but there's tone in them clear to those who know to look for it.

It is very sweet. Door or no door, I am quite impressed.

His eyesockets half close, almost lazily, and his own smile goes lopsided.

So... this is the secret to how you charmed your beau, is it?

[trombones]

What.

"What??"

Sans says that with a practically forced incredulity, like he's acting surprised. Pfft. PFFT, he says.

"What, a song about staring at somebody in a bar and hoping you don't fall in love with her? Yeah, she'd be real charmed. What makes you think I got one, anyway?"

I mean, the 'she' kind of gives it away. Because he does. And she's here too. whOOPS.

[returnvoid]

Are you implying that there is a better way to do so with? signed with mock surprise, before his hands spread and he continues, Oh, I don't know. There are all sorts out there.

'Which means at least some of them would have to find that sort of thing endearing.' Not the 'staring at someone in a bar' part, but the whole singing a song about it one.

His grin is only growing wider. It's not stopping.

Perhaps the lady you're speaking of is one of them?

[trombones]

"Usually? Yeah. But I'm not exactly Romeo, here."

Which is true. It's kind of a miracle that he landed a girlfriend. Who knew that all he needed to impress a queen was bad jokes and worse hygiene?

(To be fair, he showered for their first date.)

He glances back up at Gaster. He kept of has to so they can talk, but oh. You jackass. He sees that shit-eating grin. The sudden red tinge in Sans cheekbones don't help.

"Which lady? I know a lot of ladies."

The one whole woman you've mentioned in this whole conversation, Sans.

[returnvoid]

The only lady you've actually mentioned thus far in this entire conversation, Sans, Gaster signs, echoing and paraphrasing the previous narrative because this is Undertale and his entire existence is meta anyway.

(... The world is ending.)

What shit-eating grin. This is just his face. He's (ostensibly... osteo-nsibly?) a skeleton. It's what they do.

You are no... Romeo, but I daresay Romeo would not have pursued the same sort of lady in the first place. Also, he is- was? A terrible example to aspire to, anyway.

It has the beginnings of a tangent, but he stops himself just short of it: I therefore fail to see how he is relevant.