[halloween event open;] i see you hurting, i do what i can

[returnvoid]

[ a: early on; ]
'He is losing pieces of himself' is an overly alarmist phrasing. The edges of the darkness that clings to him are consistently and constantly flickering, and, yes, detaching themselves to vanish into the air, as if bleeding off nothingness from a source that is continually refilling itself. The phrasing implies that the process drains from him intrinsically in some way, and as best as he can figure it does not. It has not done him any harm thus far and even were it a slow, minute, but steady decline, he would have noticed it.

So then, the faint feeling of... drain, for lack of a better term, he feels somewhere at the core of his being must source from elsewhere. Perhaps a side effect of being as he is, mostly coalesced upon one point in time and able to interact? Perhaps a side effect of possibly having a quantifiable amount of magic again, and not allowing himself to regenerate it? Endless possibilities.

The edges of his self are less clearly defined than they were before the wave of changes had washed across some of the other castle residents. He'd watched and listened and kept his distance, let them settle. He doesn't realize that something has tangibly changed in himself until he attempts to push against a door to open it and instead falls through it and part of the floor on the other side, ending up halfway in the ground with a sharp electronic noise of surprise before he manages to pull himself out.

... He is back to intangible, it seems. He isn't sure where the closest mirror would be (perhaps the fountains would serve as a reflective surface, failing all else), but, looking down at the blurred outlines of his hands, he would not be surprised if it turned out he'd lost whatever solid form he'd had previous as well.

He'd braced himself for whatever his situation had been to be temporary. Ha ha. This is something he'd personally would have rather been wrong about...

... He needs to find. Someone. Wander throughout the castle in pursuit of that, see if he could still be perceived, or. Or if he'd been reduced to something like he was before, present, but nonetheless only ever capable of watching and letting things play out.

(There is a pinprick point of hollowness in him at the thought, and it is only set to grow.)

[ b; varying ]
"That's awful," he mutters to no one in particular, using the exercise of translating his own mismatched vocalizations into Aster as a grounding measure. Normally it isn't a particularly taxing endeavour. Now, though, the effort leaves him slumped as a formless black shadow in some out of the way corner, away from commotion, away from the sun because some exposure is simply an uncomfortably-too-hot and more than that it burns.

His thoughts will not stop intruding on themselves. They tangle in and around themselves to the point he can't tell where one ends and another begins. If he does not focus on his immediate surroundings then other environs overlap and blend together in his mind, some ones he hasn't ever seen himself but others have. Others bearing the name Gaster, whose memories of experimentation and hurt and love and LOVE and cruelty and apathy he possesses in fragments and shards without context but nonetheless are not him.

(Right?)

The ache in his SOUL has grown. Grown from a needle's point of emptiness to something larger, but it would not take much to fill it while it is still small. Better to stave it off while the hunger is a lesser pain. All he has to do is reach out and take.

"Absolutely... absolutely not. I would not." The shadow's form whips around in increasing agitation, tendrils of it lashing out aimlessly.

"I did not, do not, can not, ⌖✋☹☹ ☠⚐❄📬"

[ c; catch-all/wild card, hit me up with whatever and lemme know if you want for a specific kind of interaction; ]
Rather than avoid people, he's taken to trying to shadow the places that get the highest amounts of traffic. Is it out of concern for whatever else has happened and is continuing to happen?

Or does the prowling, looming shadow present a more foreboding figure than that?

[[ ooc planning/permissions post riight over this way. ]]

Comments

[returnvoid]

"'THAT?' WHAT JUST HAPPENED, YOU MEAN? AN UNFORTUNATE SIDE-EFFECT, I'M AFRAID."

A thin, wan smile. One of his hands—disembodied—comes up such that he can rest his head on it. The other waves it off vaguely, indicating nothing. Everything. Something.

"NOT THE WORST SOMEONE HAS SUFFERED IN THE PAST FEW WEEKS, I AM SURE. DO NOT THINK TOO HARD ON IT."

Not the most elegant dismissal, but if Sans will worry then let him worry. There is little to be done to assuage that. His eyelights are bright as he watches Sans back.

"YOU YOURSELF HAVE CHANGED... HAVE YOU NOT?"

[trombones]

"Of... being you, I'm guessing?"

Sans isn't convinced. He has a feeling that's not quite it, but it's the only thing he has to go on.

"It's kind of hard not to, doc, but - if you don't want to talk about it, I guess I can't stop you," He says with a sigh, then looks down at himself. Gut, skin, hair and all. "And yeah, I did. Guess the castle thought I needed a makeover."

[returnvoid]

"WHATEVER THE CASTLE HAS DONE COMPOUNDING AN EXISTING CONDITION, MORE LIKE," he corrects mildly. Perhaps if he dispenses the information freely then the matter would seem more trivial, or be less prone to catastrophizing.

His smile twists somewhat, growing to resemble more of a grimace— but only briefly."...IT IS LESS THAT I DO NOT CARE TO TALK ABOUT IT AND MORE THAT IT IS OF LITTLE IMPORT, IN THE GRAND SCHEME OF THINGS. ANY CONCERN YOU MAY HAVE... IS MISPLACED."

Now that he's more put together, he glides slowly toward the former monster.

"QUITE FASCINATING REALLY, WHAT THE CASTLE CAN DO. TO CHANGE THE VERY MAKEUP OF ONE'S BEING, DOWN TO THEIR VERY ESSENCE... IS NO SMALL MATTER." A pause, weighty. "BUT... THAT WAS NEVER IN QUESTION, I SUPPOSE.

"AFTER ALL. I AM HERE."

[trombones]

"All honesty, doc? It's kind of hard not to be when you word it like that."

Regardless, Sans drops it. Because now Gaster is sliding towards him, and something about it makes him even more uneasyl.

"... Heh. No kidding. I mean, I ain't exactly thrilled about the human thing, but... yeah. Pretty interesting."

[returnvoid]

"WOULD YOU RATHER THAT I SAID IT WAS NOT A PROBLEM? I AM ONLY BEING HONEST."

That is... tension, uneasiness, there in the set of Sans' features. Recognizable despite or because of the changes in his body. And yet Sans doesn't back away. Quaint.

He draws up a short distance in front of Sans, tapping a finger against the bottom of his jaw in thought. "FLESH AND BONE AND BLOOD. HMM. I HAVE... A QUESTION FOR YOU."

His smile is mild.

"DO YOU TRUST ME, SANS?"

[trombones]

"I'd rather you just come out and say it."

Also WOWWWW this is gonna be awkward. Sans is quiet for a long time.

"... Mostly."

[returnvoid]

"...PITY."

His smile warps. It seems almost sad, rueful for a heartbeat or two. But his magic flares despite the burn at his core, and the shadows surrounding them distort and stretch tall to flood the area then weave into something like a cage, tinted with the same deep violet that gleams in his good socket.

"✡︎⚐︎✞ 💧︎☟︎⚐︎✞☹︎👎︎ ☠︎⚐︎❄︎ ☟︎✌︎✞︎☜︎. NOT NOW."

You're...

Purple, now. Blue magic is heavy; weighted, measured, principled. Purple is sticky; it lingers, persists.

Perhaps he may owe the former monster at least some explanation. Perhaps he is supposed to monologue.

"PERHAPS YOU ARE ALREADY AWARE," he says. "WHATEVER ELSE THE CASTLE IS CAPABLE OF... IT IS CERTAINLY CAPABLE OF AFFECTING THE SOUL. YOURS... AND MINE BOTH."

[trombones]

Purple's not unfamiliar. Sans saw that spider girl in Hotland do something similar. He had stood still, frozen at the magic flaring, the shadows growing. He wasn't sure why -- surprise and confusion probably -- but now he was cursing himself as he tried to jerk away and realized he couldn't move.

Some random thought in the back of his mind wonders if this is how the kid felt.

Doubly cursing his additional weight, he tries to twist his body to the side, as if makes himself any less uncomfortably close to Gaster.

What the hell.

"Da.... doc, what... come on. I don't know what you're talking about, but knock it off."

[returnvoid]

There it is again, that almost-address. It brings him up short, gives him pause, stops everything; forces his features still and blank.

"...YOU KEEP DOING THAT."

He wishes Sans wouldn't. It's unnecessarily sentimental, and likely inaccurate to boot. He manages to meet Sans' gaze for a long, quiet moment, before Gaster looks away. Doing this would feel like less of a betrayal, incur less guilt, if there weren't any trust to break.

"YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT, SANS. TAKEN YOUR HUMAN SOUL," he sighs, drawing himself up, though he doesn't make any other move yet, "AND LEFT UNTIL THIS TOOK CARE OF ITSELF."

'This' turns out to be the state of his SOUL; revealed for a fraction of a moment, far dimmer than it ever was in the music room, and strained that the once-fine lines stretching across stand out starkly in jagged gouges against the inverted heart.

[trombones]

"Call it a bad habit. Seriously. Let me go."

Sans kept his eyes locked on Gaster. He tried to force his bewilderment and growing fear into something neutral, but those kind of things were harder to hide on a human expression.

In all honesty, he wouldn't really call it a bad habit, but consideration to other timelines was the last thing on his mind now.

Then he saw Gaster's SOUL. He stares, eyes widening under his furrowed, sweating brow.

"What... what happened to you?"

Sans wasn't thrilled to be human, but now he was grateful for the extra 19 HP now. Too bad he didn't have magic, and he couldn't punch his way out of a paper bag.

[returnvoid]

"AN EXCELLENT QUESTION." Any mirth in it is hollow. He spreads his hands in a shrug, still facing elsewhere. "WHO KNOWS."

There's give in the violet magic, enough to move from one line of magic to the next. Enough to break through it? Maybe. Probably not.

"I HAVE MY HYPOTHESES, BUT I THINK, I... UGH." The feeling of emptiness at the pit of his being spikes as he brings a hand up to what would be his chest and shakes his head once to clear it of the sudden stab of lightheadedness.

What he's doing is wasting time and magic, keeping the purple magic active and a stable form without doing anything with them. He glances back over to Sans once the sensation passes, or more accurately fades back into a constant reminder at the back of his mind. His smile's too sharp, too wide. "WELL. I WOULD REALLY RATHER NOT... LOSE MYSELF ENTIRELY."

That's all the warning he gives before the shifting bottom edge of what was supposed to be his coat grows and spreads and forms itself into a flurry of the whiplike tendrils from earlier before lashing out at Sans. Move.

[trombones]

Dammit.

Sans eyes never left Gaster. There's a mixture of confusion, concern, and a little bit of fear on his expression all at once. He's about to open his mouth and say something when the tendrils happen. Reflexes kick in first, and he's moving before he even realizes he can. One line to another. He may not have dealt with Muffet's similar magic before, but at least his dodging skills were still intact.

Whoah.

"Whoah."

As he moves to the next "line" of magic, he takes a quick, reflexive sidestep. So that's how it was going to be, huh. Welp. This is what he was afraid of. He can feel a uneasy chill of sweat already beading on his brow. He wasn't tired yet, but he knew this was going to be bad. He grins, strained.

"Watch it, old man. You could really hurt somebdy with that." A pause passes. Then his grin gives, and his expression suddenly goes flat. "Look... I don't know what you're trying to do. But snap the hell out of it already."

Or he'll...

Somethig.

He doesn't really know yet. He was adept with magic, but he couldn't shortcut his way out this time. And even with his new human strength, he sure as hell didn't want to fight.

[returnvoid]

"BY MY ESTIMATION IT WOULD NOT HURT THAT MUCH, ACTUALLY. IN FACT, YOU WOULD FEEL NOTHING AT ALL," he remarks, raising a hand to array out a volley of fractured and splintered bone attacks in fractal arrangement. His tone switches briefly to chiding, even as his own grin splits wider: "A HUMAN SOUL, SANS. SURELY YOU ARE NOT SO DENSE."

The bullets are loosed. Regardless of whether any of them hit true or not, a sweep backwards of the same hand readies another set behind him as the darkness at his feet twists and curls.

He has to comment, as if in afterthought, "AND SNAP THE HELL OUT OF... WHAT, EXACTLY?

"WHY DO YOU BELIEVE. THERE IS ANYTHING TO SNAP OUT OF. HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT THIS IS NOT HOW I AM, THAT IT IS NOT WHO I AM? I HAVE ALREADY ADMITTED SELFISHNESS. I DO NOT DENY A SENSE OF SELF-PRESERVATION. SURELY IT IS NOT SO MUCH OF A STRETCH TO BELIEVE I WOULD DO THIS OF MY OWN VOLITION?"

[trombones]

"A soul...?"

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."

[returnvoid]

The smile falls and he stops. Everything goes still, lines of magic pulled taut, again.

"YOU ARE... SO TERRIBLY INSISTENT OF THAT."

There's an odd, unreadable mix of emotions on his face. He doesn't quite manage to school them away.

"OF ALL THE THINGS FOR YOU TO BELIEVE IN."

Guilt, again. The feeling is filtered, but it's another ache to add to the one permeating through his being. ...How absolutely tiresome.

"REGARDLESS OF WHO I AM. OR AM NOT," he says with a shake of his head, raising his other arm and spreading both wide as the bones arrange themselves appropriately. His speech is a bit more subdued than it was a moment earlier, and he can't make himself look at Sans.

"I AM DOING THIS NOW." Entirely flat. Whether helplessly so or resolved to it? "YOU SAY THIS IS NOT ME. IF THAT GASTER YOU MET WAS NOT ME. THEN WHAT DO YOU EXPECT TO ACCOMPLISH IN SAYING THAT? HE IS NOT HERE TO HEAR YOU. YOU CALL TO SOMEONE WHO CANNOT RESPOND."

Now he smiles again, but it's humourless. The bones rearrange, reshuffle, twisting into spiralling patterns around the two of them in preparation of another attack.

"AND IF I AM THAT GASTER, THEN. I DO NOT SEE WHY THIS WOULD NOT COLOUR YOUR PERCEPTION OF ME."

Once more. This time, the threads of purple magic twist along with the pattern of the bullets.

[trombones]

"I dunno. I think he can hear me just fine."

Gaster's reaction said plenty. Sans lets go of his shoulder and gives a one-handed shrug. There's blood on his palm.

"And this castle's doing things to us. All of us. You included," He says as he pushes out another long, slow breath. He exhales just in time to dodge again, this time a little better than before. The sting in both his cheek and shoulder are distracting sensations, but he manages to do it well enough with a quick sidestep.

When a moment's pause passes, he brings that bloody hand to his chest.

"But the thing is, doc... speaking of the other guy, I still got that piece of him in me. So I can't really let you have my soul. Whatever you are or aren't. Sorry."

[returnvoid]

"...'LET ME', YOU SAY."

Whatever his laughter had sounded like before, now the static that bursts from him is high and dense and harsh. It's funny. It's so funny, he laughs, and laughs, and doesn't stop laughing.

What? He didn't do that?

"I WAS NOT UNDER THE IMPRESSION THAT I HAD BEEN ASKING NICELY, SANS."

His eyesockets shutter closed.

"BUT THAT IS ALL RIGHT. I WAS NOT EXPECTING THIS TO BE EASY. EVEN IF THIS IS THE RESULT OF WHAT THE CASTLE HAS DONE..."

He brings a hand to his own chest with a grimace, briefly, as if mirroring Sans, before lacing his hands together, folding them behind his back. Flanking him, two floating dragon skulls coalesce into being, carving their way into reality with the low hum of energy being charged.

They and more will fire directly down and along the violet lines of magic that Sans is bound to, sequentially and continually, and sometimes with erratic timing. Keep moving.

[trombones]

"You weren't. I just wanted you to know."

Usually, protecting himself wasn't a high priority. But whatever changed this Gaster... the combination of that and his father's soul couldn't be good. For once, Sans couldn't afford not to protect himself.

Whether or not he could was another story. He swore mentally as the blasters appeared. The casual act breaks just slightly as his eyes widen. Damn. Why does he have to be the one that can't summon them back now? Just barely avoiding the first few blasts, he takes a couple steps back. He keeps moving. Up and down and up and down. Of course, just because he's avoiding the line of fire doesn't mean he doesn't come dangerously close. Doesn't mean he's not getting tired. He was already hurt over one stupid mistake.

The edge of his hood catches, and he smells the singe.

"Dang, old man... hff. I liked this jacket."

He had to run. Too bad that was easier said than done. As he dodges, Sans tried his hand at *Struggling.

He pushes against the lines just a little more. Testing the boundaries, testing for weaknesses. He had an idea of how purple magic worked, but he never experienced it for himself until now. Maybe he could find a way out. Otherwise, his only other options were to break Gaster's concentrating... or fight.

[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."

[trombones]

"Probably. Like I told you, I'm probably pretty screwed."

He knew that much. But--

His leg gives at one spot in the magic more than the others. Whatever depressing monologue he was going to give himself snaps out of his attention. As obvious as it was that he was struggling, he tries not to make a scene out of the discovery. Just - keep looking at him, Sans. Keep dodging. Distract him.

"But I'm not fighting you."

Too bad his stamina was catching up with him. As he tries to sidestep out of the way again, another bone shard hits him in the leg. It digs in. His breath catches. He stumbles to one knee. Shit. He exhales out, slow and shaky.

How's that for a breather? How's that for a human, with more strength than he'd ever have, but still can't fight someone who looks like his father? The broken voice and distorted body just make it worse.

'Pathetic' doesn't feel like the right word. Sans settles for calling himself really, really, REALLY bad at being human.

Heh.

"H... Hey. Do you... like leg jokes? Personally... I can't stand 'em."

[returnvoid]

"...I DO NOT UNDERSTAND WHY YOU WOULD DO THIS TO YOURSELF."

A shoulder, a leg.

* ______ draws nearer.

A reprieve. No attacks forthcoming, for the time being. ...It isn't as if Sans is going anywhere.

It would have been better if it were quick. Taking the time to talk had been a mistake. Drawing things out only drains him. Doing it slowly, like this, bit by bit, where he is keenly aware of the process involved in chipping away at someone's HP frays at something he would really rather not examine at the moment.

Gaster stares blankly down at Sans. Why. Of all things, and of all times, why.

"EVEN IF YOU CANNOT STAND THEM. I HAVE NO DOUBT. THAT YOU WOULD TRY TO TOSS A FEMUR IN IF YOU HAD THE OPPORTUNITY."

you could say he's inSANSitive

[trombones]

"H... heheh."

Sans is panting. There might be a way out. Maybe. He can barely move. He can barely breathe. His breath still catches in gaps, resumed by abrupt, shaky gasps in between. It hurts.

He falls back on his behind. If he were a foot (hah) closer, maybe he could kick out the weak spot... and then what? Drag himself away? Bleed out somewhere else and hope Gaster doesn't feel like following him.

Another shaky breath. Sans brings his hand to his shoulder and closes his eyes. He thinks about home, on the surface, that one time he snapped out of himself to save Papyrus from a couple of human punks with a baseball bat. It was abrupt, confusing, terrifying, in a time where he wasn't sure whether or not time really would keep on ticking. But he did it anyway. For once in his life, he could protect his brother.

He knows he can't do it again.

It ached. Maybe it showed in his soul, for all he knew. The feeling he couldn't protect his father, despite all the cards he had in his hands now. He knew he couldn't get away.

His eyes stayed closed.

"Don't. Don't do this."

i was asking for that wasn't i

[returnvoid]

For a long moment, Gaster remains motionless, looking down at the former monster with a strange mix of emotions curling in his soul. Something like a foreign sense of familiarity nags at the back of his mind.

"...I'M SORRY," he says, settling down into something like a kneel. Meaningless, far-fetched platitudes arise briefly; I'LL FIX IT. I'LL GIVE IT BACK, AFTER, like a soul was something freely mutable and transferable, or even something they truly understood. He says neither.

"I DON'T WANT TO DISAPPEAR AGAIN."

Reach in, or draw it out. A steady pulse of warmth that, even for its dwindling resistance and hope, promises to chase away the hollowness in his being. Most of the active magic around them fades away as he lets go of it, his focus narrowing down to what's in front of him.

He reaches in, incorporeality allowing it. His touch is numbing, not in pins and needles, but in the momentary flicker of static before sensation dies to nothing at all.

It hurts, and quietly a part of him thinks, good, but he can spare Sans this much, at least. Like a bandage on a compound fracture; steal his pain before stealing something else, like a parasite pretending mutualism. Sans keeps expecting him to be someone he's probably not, and he's not sure whether it's that or the desperate faith in him that hurts more. But whoever he is, he won't go out of his way to be cruel. Whoever Sans sees when he looks at Gaster was similar enough that they could be confused, so he wasn't going-- to--

Painful resonance seizes him, Gaster jerking backwards and collapsing in on himself with a piercing, pained shriek.

No. No. No no no no. Sans was right. He can't do this. He would never do this. Never at such a cost to others. Always pleaded for them to forget him, even against his own wishes and desires (don't forget).

yeah

[trombones]

You're not sorry, he wants to say. But that's not fair. Sans didn't want Gaster to disappear either. But not like this. Instead, he opens his eyes.

"Don't," He shakes out as he tries to back away, as if it does any good even with the purple magic gone. "I don't... I don't want... to forget... he keeps telling me I should, but..."

The hand that goes through him doesn't feel like anything beyond numb, but he gasps at the new sensation all the same. He feels himself go into a long, breathless string of words without stopping, like he's not quite aware of himself.

"Stop stop stop stop stop stop I already know I'm never going to see my brother again why do you want to take my dad away from me too don't take him please just STOP--"

Then the painful resonance. The Gaster in Sans soul suddenly glows harsh and bright through his chest, through all the skin and muscle and blood still leaking out of him. He gasps again at the sudden sensation of Gaster's hand leaving him, and the rest of him collapses on the floor, breathing hard. He grabs at his chest.

"Stop... stop."

Gaster already did, but Sans was still reeling.

[returnvoid]

Gaster is keening, having lost any semblance of recognisable form. The sounds aren't recognisable as any sort of speech at first, and even after they become words they remain little more than an anguished, frenetic babbling.

"✋︎💣︎ 💧︎⚐︎☼︎☼︎✡︎ ✋︎💣︎ 💧︎⚐︎☼︎☼︎✡︎ ✋︎ 👎︎✋︎👎︎☠︎❄︎ ✋︎ 👍︎✌︎☠︎❄︎ ✋︎ ⌖⚐︎☠︎❄︎📫︎"

The writhing shadows flinch and shrink away when Sans collapses back and clutches at his chest. He did that it's his fault someone's hurt because of him—

"✋︎ ⌖⚐︎☠︎❄︎📬︎ ✋︎ ⌖⚐︎☠︎❄︎📬︎ ✋︎ ⌖⚐︎☠︎❄︎📬︎"

A shudder; a weak, feeble pulse of flickering green, malformed and incohesive. No, again. Green isn't his magic. He'd never had a talent for it. But it was some Gaster's, once, he has to be able to use it. Observation and replication is all it has to take when they are all no one. His next attempt only forms bullets and he lets them fall apart instantly despite the waste of magic.

Gaster coils in on himself despite the drain, making a frustrated, desperate noise. Once more.

Green pulses out in the shape of stars and music notes and score symbols.