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

[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.

[trombones]

Oh.

"Oh."

That's totally a shit-eating grin. And this is totally a look that says he's caught, despite the (bad) attempt to act casual. Seriously. It's hard to play it cool when you're already red in the face.

Sans looks away.

"Heh... good point, I guess."

To Romeo being a terrible example. To not being relevant at all. Whatever. He sighs.

"It means I'm not exactly a romantic. But, uh." ... You know what, fuck it. He shrugs and brings a hand away from the guitar to scratch the back of his skull, the sheepish expression on his face yet again belying his casual act. "I guess I did somethin' right with her."

[returnvoid]

He hums and it's a warbling sound, too even and understated to be overtly cheerful, per se. The definitely-not-a shit-eating grin, on the other hand, probably gives him away.

Hold onto that. It's unclear what exactly he's responding to, but his hands clasp and lace for a moment before he untangles them to continue. If you were a romantic you wouldn't be you.

Though the sight would be something to behold...

[trombones]

That sure is a warble. Sans would have understood it even without the grin.

"Heh. I will."

As for the rest of it...

"I mean, I got flowers. And flours. She was pretty impressed."

[returnvoid]

Am I correct in presuming you presented them to her in that order? He sniffs as though he's smelt something foul, holding his head high... even though he doesn't have a nasal cavity. "Ah. 'Loaf' is in the air," laments Gaster, switching briefly to the-- intelligible-- spoken word entirely for the delivery of the pun alone.

Signing wouldn't have had the same effect, after all, not with an aural pun.

[trombones]

"Nah. It was the other way around."

Not that it really mattered. Sans strums out a slow, quiet tune as he watches Gaster. Then pauses. Then busts into a snicker.

"Oh man. That was bad."

Meaning: he loves it.

[returnvoid]

My mistake. How could I ever have thought otherwise.

Even if the tune Sans had started now wasn't a true song like earlier, there's something relaxing about just listening. A twitch of his fingers summons a pair of hand constructs to settle down at the piano in attempt to softly play along. Not quite harmonizing, just weaving another melody in.

With his own hands: Of course it was bad. It was awful. But spend enough time around someone, and apparently their sense of humour rubs off.

His expression is long-suffering but fond.

[trombones]

Oh, that's nice. That's really nice. Sans wasn't aiming for any tune in particular, but when Gaster joins in he feels just a little more encouraged to keep freestyling. It's not quite harmonizing, no, but it still sounds pretty good.

He laughs.

"Don't you mean ribs off?"

WINK!!!

[returnvoid]

Turning to stare directly into the fourth wall ensues, though nothing so fancy as a zoom in or rimshot sound effect happens. Damn.

I. May have to disown you. Or disavow any knowledge of your person. Whichever works.

Of course, when his free hands are still playing along, and in fact getting a little more adventurous with the countermelody they've ended up providing, the threat, rather than coming out sharply naturally falls a little flat.

[trombones]

Sans' own shit-eating grin spreads, wide and lopsided. Whoever this Gaster was supposed to be, at least he seemed easygoing.

It felt... a lot like the few warm memories still rattling around in his head, actually. Good. Familiar. Like home. He missed it. He missed him, even if he had kinda-sorta accepted the circumstances. Sans said he wouldn't force the idea of his father on this Gaster, but it was impossible not to let it happen to himself. He knew he wasn't going to be able to detach himself from it.

So screw it. He was just happy to have his dad back in some form - one way or another.

"Aw. I thought we were having a moment, here."

[returnvoid]

Easygoing by nature, mellowed by necessity, perhaps.

Gaster affects his best impression of mock affront, straightening up and putting on airs as the proper (former) Royal Scientist he is. It's all very official-looking posturing, but ruined by the slightly too-pleased lopsidedness in his smirk.

Moment or not. A line has to be drawn somewhere. This p-u-n-t-a-g-i-o-n should be kept in quarantine.

But the ease of the rapport, misplaced yet familiar, allows him to relax a little more than he would have otherwise. There is so much room for tension, for missteps, given his... everything, and it's clear they're both trying to get a handle for how they want to handle the situation, but this? Is pleasant, unforced. Banter comes freely and naturally. He's glad for it.

Gaster wonders if he should thank another Gaster, elsewhere, elsewhen, for Sans' easy acceptance of matters. Or perhaps in the end it was just Sans, after all.