Before Sans can really think about it, Gaster's bone volley hits. Sidestep, sidestep, jump back, jump forward--
"Hhh--"
--get hit. Shit. He tilts his head a fraction of a second too slow and splintered bone scrapes his cheek. Another deeply grazes his shoulder not even a second later. Sans quietly hisses through his teeth and grabs his arm. Funny how the extra layers made all the difference. Dodging is suddenly a lot more difficult when you're not used to the extra inches of skin, muscle, and other organs.
Hah.
That's not funny.
-4 damage. Blood trickled down his cheek and bloomed on his jacket. He still had 16 HP, something else he wasn't used to either. Finally, blue eyes glance up at Gaster. He straightens up again. His other hand goes back in his pocket. He stands, casually as ever, like none of the last five seconds happened.
The blood and sweat says otherwise, but hey.
"... good point."
Part of him tells him to fight back. He doesn't want to.
"If this is who you are... welp. I'm probably pretty screwed. But I met you before. In the music room. Remember? You're right. I don't know who you are. As much as every impulse I got in me wants you to be somebody you're... probably not. But... guy in the music room is the Gaster I met. This isn't. This isn't you."
no subject
Before Sans can really think about it, Gaster's bone volley hits. Sidestep, sidestep, jump back, jump forward--
"Hhh--"
--get hit. Shit. He tilts his head a fraction of a second too slow and splintered bone scrapes his cheek. Another deeply grazes his shoulder not even a second later. Sans quietly hisses through his teeth and grabs his arm. Funny how the extra layers made all the difference. Dodging is suddenly a lot more difficult when you're not used to the extra inches of skin, muscle, and other organs.
Hah.
That's not funny.
-4 damage. Blood trickled down his cheek and bloomed on his jacket. He still had 16 HP, something else he wasn't used to either. Finally, blue eyes glance up at Gaster. He straightens up again. His other hand goes back in his pocket. He stands, casually as ever, like none of the last five seconds happened.
The blood and sweat says otherwise, but hey.
"... good point."
Part of him tells him to fight back. He doesn't want to.
"If this is who you are... welp. I'm probably pretty screwed. But I met you before. In the music room. Remember? You're right. I don't know who you are. As much as every impulse I got in me wants you to be somebody you're... probably not. But... guy in the music room is the Gaster I met. This isn't. This isn't you."