knock knock

[ashkente]

Out in the garden, there's a barefoot seven-foot-tall skeleton in a black robe getting cozy on a bench, scythe in one hand and jokebook in the other. Really. He's flipping through it slowly with one skinless thumb, taking his time.

He feels like he has a better grasp of humanity than he ever has (but then he's always telling himself now he's finally gotten it and he's always wrong), except for humor. It just doesn't make any sense. Hard as he tries to tell jokes to those he meets, usually while on the job, nobody laughs. If he could get it right, surely it'd go a long way towards comforting those poor souls! It's for a good cause.

Which is why he'll memorize every joke written in the book or else. That's one benefit to having a perfect endless memory.



((I blame work for the way I've neglected this poor guy. Have some boney warm fuzzies.))

Comments

[ashkente]

"Hᴇʟʟᴏ." They're skeletons. It's all about grins. Death himself always has one of his own, below his glowing blue eyelights.

"I ʙᴏʀʀᴏᴡᴇᴅ ɪᴛ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪʙʀᴀʀʏ. I ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɪғ ɪᴛ's ᴡᴏʀᴛʜᴡʜɪʟᴇ ʏᴇᴛ. I ʜᴀᴠᴇɴ'ᴛ ʟᴀᴜɢʜᴇᴅ. Pᴇʀʜᴀᴘs sᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴇʟsᴇ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ?" Granted, he never laughs. He'll have to find someone to read to and see if they laugh before he decides it's a good joke book.

[trombones]

That's as good an invitation as any. Sans crosses over and plops himself on the bench next to him.

"Lay 'em on me. I got a pretty good funny bone."

WINK!!

[ashkente]

He doesn't realize that in itself is a joke, thus proving he's hopeless. Poor fellow.

Turning back a page and clearing his throat (or making a sound like he is--for goodness' sake, he has no throat), Death reads. "Hᴏᴡ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅʀᴏᴡɴ ɪɴ ᴍɪʟᴋ? Wʜᴇɴ ɪᴛ's ᴘᴀsᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴇʏᴇs."

A hopeful glance sideways. Ha ha?

[trombones]

Oh, goodness.

Sans near-immediately despite not having a nose, which tumbles out into laughter. It's a long, deep chuckle that matches his voice, but it's obvious that the joke hit.

"Man. That's good. Okay, okay. Here, I got one. Why did the cow cross the road?"

Pause for effect. He shrugs both arms up.

"To get to the udder side."

[ashkente]

Sans is much better at this than Death is. He can't even laugh properly: "Uᴅᴅᴇʀ... ᴀʜ, ᴄᴏᴡs. Hᴀ Hᴀ." He means well and doesn't want to be creepy at all, but... It's hard not to with a voice like the grave.

He thinks for a moment, hmm, animals... "Wʜʏ ᴅᴏᴇsɴ'ᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʀᴀʙ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄʜᴀʀɪᴛʏ? Bᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ʜᴇ's sʜᴇʟʟғɪsʜ." See! Isn't this nice! They'll be the best of friends any moment now.

[trombones]

Sans snorts again. Oh man. This guy is good.

"Oh man. You're good at this."

Whoah, deja vu.

[ashkente]

Low standards. He's never heard that before in all his millennia. "Aᴍ I? Pᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴜsᴜᴀʟʟʏ ʟᴀᴜɢʜ. Sʜᴀʟʟ I ɢᴏ ᴏɴ?"

[trombones]

"Then they got bad taste. I mean, the actually bad kind. Because I'm an expert with bad jokes, trust me. I do stand-up."

Sans is the bottom of the barrel when it comes to low standards, but he also loves bad jokes in general. So don't worry. You're good, pal. The smaller skeleton leans against the bench and peers over the book.

"Yeah. Keep 'em coming, dude. These are great."

jfc so late I'm sorry

[ashkente]

"I'ʟʟ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ғᴏʀ ɪᴛ."

"Wʜᴀᴛ ɢᴇᴛs ᴡᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ɪᴛ ᴅʀɪᴇs? A ᴛᴏᴡᴇʟ." He's not flexible in the face the way the monster sort of skeletons are, so he's not really squinting at the book, but... "Tʜᴀᴛ's ɴᴏᴛ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴀ ᴊᴏᴋᴇ. Tʜᴀᴛ's ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴏғ ᴀ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ. I ᴛʜɪɴᴋ."

no problem!

[trombones]

"Huh."

Sans scratches his chin.

"I mean, that;s pretty good. But you're right. It sounds more like a riddle. Kind of like that thing about creatures that walk on four legs, then two legs, then five. ...Or was it three? I dunno. You ever heard that one?"