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

[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.