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Date: 2016-10-28 03:27 am (UTC)
returnvoid: (β„β˜ŸβœŒβ„πŸ’§ ✌ πŸ’§β˜ŸβœŒπŸ’£β˜œ)
From: [personal profile] returnvoid
There is slightly more give in the lines of binding magic than there was before. They can be made to bend and stretch, to an extent, though whether that is a result of his focus being split, or his magic being divided and used up, or him allowing the magic to slacken in order to manipulate the strings better, or... elsewise, is up for question.

"IT IS MERELY A JACKET. IT... CAN BE REPLACED."

(... It was a gift, was it not? No, not always. Unimportant.) Not that Sans would need it, if he. Well. ...

"WHY DO YOU STRUGGLE," he murmurs, jarring and discordant. The blasters give way to arcs of shattered bone, slower but rhythmic. A breather in comparison, regardless-- for the both of them. He has always had a large well of magic to draw upon, and still does. It is accessing it now that is difficult, the connection between self and SOUL and magic strained. "YOU SAY YOU WILL NOT GIVE YOURSELF UP, I UNDERSTAND THAT. BUT THERE IS LITTLE YOU CAN DO.

"IF YOU SIMPLY. HOLD STILL, THEN THIS WILL BE EASIER FOR THE BOTH OF US. YOU HAVE MY PROMISE THAT IT WILL BE AS PAINLESS AS POSSIBLE, IF I CAN HELP IT. OR, IF YOU WILL NOT. THEN SIMPLY FIGHT, AND BE DONE WITH IT."
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Castle Perrault

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