Look at me still talking when there's science to do (Open Post)

[sansational]

Sans is starting to get a handle on this place. Perhaps more to the point, and more potentially useful, is that he's started to get a handle on its inhabitants. There are a few that he keeps a personal eye on on a semi-regular basis, even if they don't always know it. The rest, he's just made note of their passage and their movements. It's all for professional purposes, of course.

And that means that, when he's finally ready to do so, Sans can make contact with every person currently in the castle, either in-person if he knows them by name or by leaving a note somewhere they'll see it if he doesn't yet. Whether by spoken or written word, the message is nevertheless always the same. It's a request to meet him in the ballroom with the cakes table at a certain time and place. From his observations, it seems to be one of the more stable rooms in the castle, so everyone should be able to find it. 

On the stated day, at the stated time, everyone will...still have to wait five minutes for Sans to pull himself together after a nap, remember what he's supposed to be doing, and suddenly appear inside the room, still in the process of hastily smoothing out his notecards. 

"so, uh, yeah," he says, looking from the assembled residents to the cards and back again. "should probably explain what you're all doing here. so. i'm sure you've all noticed that this castle has got some weird things going on, above and beyond the whole, uh...stealing us from across time and space thing. i'm also assuming that most of you want to go home and won't mind helping me figure out a way to get us there." He gestures at the table. "to do that, i'm gonna need to start testing some of these theories. guesswork is fun, but it doesn't get us anywhere. timing how long it takes this place to reset something seems like a good start. and so this particular experiment runs as cleanly as possible, uh...i'm gonna need your help eating everything on that table. like, all of it. just don't choke on any shiny bits." 

Message delivered, Sans crams the notecards back in his pocket, and spreads his arms in silent indication for everyone to dig in. 

((ooc: Post comments for your characters that can be replied to, and mingle as you see fit! Eat, drink, be merry, have food fights, and try to be sick outside!))

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[antitemporal]

What a strange dream this is.

It must be a dream. Sans-Serif assumes that he can dream, because Dr. Gaster always wishes them both "sweet dreams" whenever they get put back in their pods for rest. He's in a...castle? Maybe he's dreaming about the King's castle. The scientists are always talking about him.

He feels the collection of souls before he hears the voices. Monster souls and other souls and...human souls. That makes a little shudder of dread run up his spine, because he's dreaming that he's alone and his brother is supposed to be there when he faces humans. But it's just a dream. Just some mental exercise, like one of S-4's puzzles. He's really safe in his pod. As long as he doesn't dream that the scientists are here...

So, deciding to explore even the facsimile of freedom while he has it - and because even Sans-Serif isn't sure he could fall asleep on the floor, or what would happen if he tried to fall asleep in a dream anyway - he creeps quietly towards the cluster of souls. Down one flight of stairs, along a hallway...it feels strange, to be going anywhere without being led by the hand. Like he'll trip and fall at any moment without someone to anchor him down.

He'll probably slip inside in the shadow of someone else, a small, frail, child-sized being whose eyesockets have only the barest discernible glint in their otherwise dark depths. Nevertheless, those who know the skeleton in the hoodie might find several familiar details there. Sans-Serif does see himself there, taking notes, chatting, eating, and that only services to further convince him that this is a dream.

So he might as well try some dream-food. It all looks much too fanciful to be real anyway, and he's curious despite himself.

[lightofthestars]

It is difficult to escape the notice of an Elf, especially one so sharp-eyed as Tauriel. When she sees the skeleton--a child? --slip into the room, she is at once alert. Yet soon she can see that this skeleton offers no threat. He seems lost to wonder...as S-4 had been upon his arrival to the castle.

She frowns. Their garb is similar. Is there yet another skeleton brother of which neither Sans nor S-4 had told her?

Rather than scaring the child, she lets herself be seen as she draws near to him. Her voice is calm and steady when she says, "I greet you and mean you no harm. Will you speak with me?"

[antitemporal]

Sans-Serif still almost doesn't notice her approach. He's found a cupcake that is turning out to be impossibly delicious. But he was still created for combat, and even in a dream he can't entirely escape those senses. So he lifts his head and sees her there but she's...not a hostile image. She's just very tall, like the scientists are.

So he stares fixedly at her as she approaches, though he doesn't stop eating until the cupcake is gone. He probably couldn't have stopped eating even if he'd thought to. For a being that has lived its entire short life on pasty nutritional supplements, he's amazed that he can even dream up flavors like this.

When she speaks, he looks left, then right, clearly seeking who she's actually talking to because she can't be talking to him. People talk to him, of course. They just don't expect him to talk back.

Then he looks back up at Tauriel and...no, she's still looking at him. And now he can't help but notice that she has very large ears and so he can't help but stare at those now, too.

"okay." Helpfully, Sans-Serif adds: "you don't have to ask."

[lightofthestars]

"I asked so as not to be rude," she explains.

She looks him over, seeing the same frailty that S-4 has yet to lose, and an ache rises in her soul. No one should look so wounded, in body and in spirit.

"I am Tauriel. Are you newly come to this place?"

[antitemporal]

"it doesn't matter," Sans-Serif explains, as helpfully as he can. "you can't be rude to me." He does what he's told no matter how it's told to him. He's not supposed to care beyond that, even if he sometimes does anyway. All that matters is that the orders are clear.

He nods at her introduction, but doesn't offer one of his own. He doesn't particularly see the point. She either knows who he is or she doesn't. Whatever she calls him, it doesn't matter. "yes. i've never had a dream like this before."

[lostlegacy]

Sophie is rather caught up in getting on the outside of as many sweets as possible before someone stops her, and so it takes her a bit to notice that hey, here's someone else new. And he looks kind of familiar, too. Is he another one of Sans' baby brothers?

She wanders over to him and says, "It's okay. You're supposed to eat a lot."

[antitemporal]

Sans-Serif notices her approach much more quickly, because here is one of the humans he was sensing...

...except not? He looks at her, and it's as though he's seeing double, depending on which way he tilts his head. Human, not human. Enemy, not enemy. He actually does tilt his head this way and that to regard Sophie, before looking instead back down at the table because that doesn't make his skull ache.

"oh." So this is another test? He's dreaming about another test? That's familiar enough, at least. Sans-Serif proceeds to pick up a slice of cake and jam the entire thing in his mouth at once, only thinking to ask once he's swallowed it with some difficulty.

"why?"

[lostlegacy]

Whoa. That's pretty impressive, actually.

She shrugs. "I dunno. Sans said it would help him with something."

And why question an invitation to stuff yourself full of sweets?

"I'm Sophie," she adds.

[antitemporal]

He nods at her in acknowledgement of the introduction, but makes no move to introduce himself. She hasn't asked, and so he assumes that she doesn't care. Or that she knows already. Most of the people who are around him on a daily basis know what he is, after all.

"what did he say it would help with?" He probably shouldn't ask. It probably doesn't matter. Such information isn't often offered to him, beyond the fact that this test is "necessary" or this procedure will "help". But if she's willing to offer the information, and she doesn't look strong enough to punish him if he steps out of line...

...in a way, he's half-human, too. Maybe she's a new experiment.

[lostinmyway]

Oh, my.

At first, Grune doesn't notice the second new child to come to Sans' party, but then she glimpses a small skeleton hand reaching for some sweets on a nearby table. It doesn't belong to either S-4 or Sans, because it's too small (especially for S-4). So it must belong to someone new.

She sets down her piece of cake half-eaten and walks around the table. It looks like the hand is a child's--oh, dear. He looks very hungry, the same way S-4 did when he came here. She hopes this child knows what hugs are.

"Hello," she calls softly, so she won't surprise him.

[antitemporal]

He feels very hungry, has felt that way long enough to just accept it as a part of life. It's not just the sort of hunger that comes just from a lack of food. He's fed very carefully, after all, everything calibrated very precisely to provide his weak body exactly what it needs, even to try and make him stronger even though all the scientists have given up on that being possible for him.

It's the sort of hunger that comes from a lack of stimulation, of care, of regard. S-4 is devoted to him, of course. But he sees enough to know that S-4 doesn't exactly have a choice, and the scientists keep them apart a lot anyway. Sometimes, the closest he ever comes to his brother on any given day is when they're put in their pods for the night.

So he still freezes at her approach, cake halfway to his mouth, as though he's just been caught misbehaving. Which is silly, of course. It's his dream, he can't misbehave.

When she greets him, he nods up at her in cautious acknowledgement, but doesn't say anything. She hasn't given him any indication that she wants him to say anything.

[lostinmyway]

He's stopped eating, even though he looks hungry. That isn't good at all. And so she says right away, "It's all right. You can eat as much as you want."

She kneels down on the floor in front of him, so he won't be scared. "My name is Grune. What's your name?"

[antitemporal]

Sans-Serif finds himself settling just a little as she leans down. Still wary, but once again more wary of his environment in general rather than her specifically. Something about the way she's smiling seems to quiet his soul. She looks human, but she isn't. She smiles like Dr. Gaster does.

Oh. That, at least, has an easy answer. One he rattles off at some speed, with an air of well-practiced rote. "anti-temporal interference unit." A beat, as he stares at his feet and then up at Grune once more before adding: "but everyone calls me sans-serif." Another beat, as he repeats the nervous gesture. His fingerbones are starting to worry at the cake. A few crumbs tumble unheeded to the floor. "because it's shorter."

Remembering that permission has been given, he shoves the rest of the cake in his mouth.

very soft yelling

[dustless]

Frisk' definitely gives a double-take when he comes in.

Sans. Not Sans. Sans with something very, very wrong. Concern flares in their chest, but he's...not doing anything too weird. Yet, maybe.

They just watch him for a minute, but before he can actually put anything in his mouth, they remember--he probably doesn't know about the stuff in them. He wasn't there when the first Sans talked about the 'shiny bits', after all.

They lean towards him so he can catch their voice over everyone else. "Careful you don't hurt your teeth."

Rather louder yelling

[antitemporal]

Thought processes before soul does. He frowns down at the sweet in his hand without looking up at Frisk at first, squishing the pastry thoughtfully in his fingerbones. It doesn't seem like it should hurt his teeth, and in the next instant, his nail scratches against something very hard indeed. He's about to go digging for it when his soul realizes exactly just what is standing next to him.

He whirls around to face Frisk, suddenly trembling hard enough that his bones are rattling faintly. It doesn't matter that he's looking at a human child, except it matters very much because that makes it worse. He knows that this is them - the anomaly that he was created to stop, the one with the power to SAVE.

Sans-Serif looks wildly around, but of course, S-4 isn't here. S-4 is supposed to be here when the anomaly is, otherwise he can't make it on his own. This is just a dream, of course it is, but it's a dream that he knows is about to turn into a nightmare.

So he takes the only course of action that immediately presents itself, which is to teleport away.

Unfortunately, he has no proper idea of where he is or where to go, and not a lot of strength to work with. So when Sans-Serif reappears, it's in a distant corner of the room. Immediately upon realizing as much, he raises up a small wall of bones between himself and the rest of the room, and settles down behind it to try his best to think Frisk away.

(ngl i was hoping this dude was gonna show up eventually)

[dustless]

Frisk jerks back when he vanishes and ends up nearly toppling onto the table. They didn't know what they were expecting, but that was probably not it.

They stare at the place where he just was contemplatively. They're not...entirely sure what happened, but they think they're putting pieces together. He definitely reminds them of S4, but...they should probably make sure.

His presence in the corner of the room is actually missed for a minute. When it registers, they hesitate. That looks bad. But he can't just keep hiding there forever, right?

Quietly, they make their way to the corner, keeping a few paces away. Getting hit with those bones is something they'd prefer not to deal with.

Voice low, they try a simple "...hello?"

It was pretty much just a matter of making icons. I hate making icons.

[antitemporal]

The wall only comes up a little higher than Sans-Serif's head-height, and Sans-Serif is just a little shorter than Sans. It's more than tall enough for him to curl up behind it and hide, however. He's closed off the corner enough to make the space remaining small and dark, and that helps settle his rattled nerves.

At least until the voice speaks from the other side of the wall, its owner still very much present, and Sans-Serif gasps aloud in fear before pressing his hands over his mouth. His conditioning is telling him to fight, to kill, to save monsterkind. Even in his pod, in his dreams, he can't escape the voice they put in the back of his skull. But the conditioning was always under very specific circumstances, always with S-4 there, and so fear is serving to drown out the scientist's orders nicely.

It's not necessarily a pleasant feeling. Mostly, Sans-Serif is dizzy with not knowing what to do. He always knows what to do because someone always tells him.

"you're n-not real." His voice is stammering and scared and even more faint than it usually is. That's just embarrassing enough when confronted with his enemy to make Sans-Serif grit his teeth and try again. "you're not. dreams can't hurt me." That's what Dr. Gaster said. "so go away. i'm n-not going to fight you. that would be inefficient and waste energy." So there goes unspoken but implied in his tone.

[mediadarling]

Being less preoccupied with eating than most present, Mettaton has time to survey those who took up Sans on his invitation. There are a surprising number of new faces here--either new to the castle itself or merely new to him. It's proving to be an interesting time.

And then he notices a small skeleton creeping about, and abruptly things get even more interesting.

Of course he heads in the newcomer's direction, and while he doesn't take any special care to hide his arrival, neither does he announce himself quite so loudly as usual.

"Hello there, darling. See anything you like?"

[antitemporal]

Sans-Serif looks up abruptly as he senses Mettaton's approach. Then he settles, feeling a rush of relief. Because it doesn't matter what this creature looks like, he can sense that here is the soul of another monster, like him. Or...almost like him.

He looks from Mettaton to the table and back again, frowning thoughtfully. "i don't know." The food is actually quite flavorful, and the surroundings are impossibly beautiful. But none of this is real, so does it really matter if he likes it?

...it's better than being back in the lab, at least, so he adds a tentative: "yes?" Is that the right answer? "what am i supposed to see?"

[mediadarling]

"You aren't 'supposed' to see anything." Goodness, what a question. "It's entirely a matter of opinion. Your opinion, to be precise."

But then again, if he's anything like S-4, he probably wasn't allowed to have one. He eases off.

"You must be new--or if you aren't, you've done a very good job of hiding. I'm Mettaton. What's your name, beautiful?"

[antitemporal]

"oh." Sans-Serif frowns in faint discomfort at this idea. "i don't know what that is. the scientists don't...didn't like it when i talk back." Which is what him having an opinion was always classified as. "or...when i talk." Though he's spoken with Frisk and S-4 enough to be reassured that this is not a dream, that he's really here and away from the lab, the soul is proving a little slow to catch up with the mind.

But that, at least, is an easy question to answer. Sans-Serif even unconsciously draws himself up a little straighter, coming to attention as best as he can at his size. "i am the anti-temporal interference unit." He rattles the name off with the air of well-memorized rote, before settling a little. "but 'sans-serif' is shorter. so everyone calls me that." So Mettaton can call him that, too.

"you're from the underground, too."

/SLAMS INTO THIS AND SCREAMS

[systematicsupport]

Since he began partaking in this little 'experiment', S-4 has picked up on a few interesting things about the food here. First, it isn't made by a monster, so it's not really as filling as the rations left for him back in the facility. Second, despite that little strike against it, S-4 would much rather eat these cakes. Because they're more delicious than anything he's ever tasted before. He's had fruit, hot dogs, and other basic foods here, but cupcakes might actually be equivalent to human magic, and he doesn't know how that's possible, but he doesn't really care. It's too good to not enjoy it.

There is one thing he doesn't know about this food though, is how much it's distracting him. The taste, texture, colours, it all keeps him so preoccupied he doesn't notice the appearance of another familiar soul until it's almost right beside him, on the other end of the long table. S-4 looks up, expecting to see Sans, but...

Instead, it's him. It's not the brother he's always had here, but the brother he'd always hoped would find his way back to him. He's here, and he's alive, and he's safe... for a second, S-4 wonders again if everything up to this moment has been a dream, because having two of his brothers in one place is something he can't expect to be real...

But with a shaky hand, he reaches out, and he didn't realize he had already moved this close, too shocked, too disbelieving, but in the next moment, he grabs his sibling's arm, and he can feel the smooth bone under his hand and if he can feel him he must truly be here.

"Sans-Serif..."

He tugs the smaller skeleton towards him, wraps his arms tightly around him, tears already flooding out of his eyesockets.

"I found you..."

/SCREAMS BACK AND HUGS

[antitemporal]

After having it confirmed by Frisk that S-4 was here, Sans-Serif had redoubled his efforts with what energy he had remaining to find his brother. Now that he knew that seeing his brother didn't mean being back in the lab, he wanted so much to see him. More than that, Sans-Serif was at least familiar with how his soul felt when he was getting too wound up, and sheer instinct drove him on to seek out the one person who could always calm him down in such a state.

And yet, when the crowd finally thinned enough for him to see his brother at the table, shock stopped Sans-Serif in his tracks. Almost mesmerized, he hovered for a moment at the other end of the table to watch. There was S-4, his brother. He remembered his fellow experiment as a sad and fragile presence, though also gentle and kind in a way that no one else was ever permitted to be towards him. S-4 often bore the brunt of the scientist's displeasure, since he was strong enough to do so.

But now, his brother looked...bigger. Maybe he was taller, or he was just standing differently. He was eating sweets and cakes with every sign of enjoyment and no sign of dread that they were going to be taken away from him, he was talking to people like he knew them. He was smiling and it didn't look like it hurt. How long had he been here? Even if Frisk was right, and no one had a choice about when they arrived...was S-4 happier here? Would he be happier without Sans-Serif?

He's still grappling with these doubts when S-4 looks up. Sans-Serif hastily looks away, trying to decide whether to run to his brother or run away. Perhaps fortunately for them both, S-4 makes the decision for them. Sans-Serif barely has time to recognize the touch before he's pulled into a familiar hug.

Sans-Serif is confused and overstimulated and happy and upset and his soul is a roiling of too many emotions. He's right on the verge of another fit or perhaps even another breakdown all over again. But this, being like this, it's familiar, and not even a bad sort of familiar. S-4 is always supposed to be there, and now he is, and Sans-Serif can feel his counterpart's soul warming and calming his own soul, bit by bit. Slowly, his hug becomes something that at least doesn't make his fingerbones hurt. Slowly, other details filter in.

Like the fact that S-4 spoke. He'd thought he'd heard him trying, in his brief moments of lucidity within the pod, but to hear something in a half-remembered dream and to hear it right in front of him is another matter entirely.

"s-4...?" Sans-Serif's voice is weak, hesitant, shaky. He's spoken more just since waking up here than he ever has in his life. Tentatively, hesitantly, he lifts his head to look up at the other skeleton. The same familiar face as ever looks down at him, and relief burns so brightly in his soul to have it confirmed as much that Sans-Serif can't help but smile, broad and bright. "you really are here..."

I'M JUST SO GLAD THEY'RE BOTH HERE I HOPE THEY DON'T DESTROY ANYTHING

[systematicsupport]

Almost as soon as Sans-Serif is curled up against him, S-4 can sense the state his brother is in. From a distance, he could only really pick out the feeling of his brother's unique essence. Now that he's closer, he can feel how much it's stuttering and flickering, draining itself to create a bigger reserve of magic, preparing for the impossible number of dangers around him.

But those threats aren't real. There are humans here, but they aren't dangerous. They're kind and gentle, and they are S-4's friends. He has actual friends here, and at the facility, he didn't even know that people like that existed. So he had learned to refuse to fight the humans here, and with that, he'd learned to be... nothing close to happy, not without his sibling, and not with such a reserve of nerves and other issues to work past, but he was certainly content here.

He could only hope his brother would learn to feel the same.

But that's getting ahead of himself. He's just amazed to see his sibling, safe and sound, after over a month of hoping that his fellow experiment hadn't given up hope. It's almost enough for him to not notice that hesitation in Sans-Serif, but he does still see his brother turn away, look like he wants to escape. That confuses him, adding to the whirlwind of emotions within him already, but it's quickly replaced by worry.

His brother is panicking, on the verge of another 'episode', as the doctors had taken to calling it. If he had one now, he might fall again, and S-4 can't let that happen. He forces himself to push all his feelings away besides one, the concern he feels for his sibling, and focuses all his energy on that. His magic filters through that worry and coats his hands in a light orange glow, slowly making its way into Sans-Serif's essence to soothe and relax him. Gradually, S-4 lets more of his emotions filter through his magic: the desire to keep his brother safe, the happiness that Sans-Serif can finally experience freedom, the confidence that Sans-Serif will learn to make friends and become content as S-4 did. That seems to get his brother to relax the rest of the way, and S-4 breathes out a sigh.

He feels exhausted after using all that power and after feeling so many emotions at once, but he's still smiling brightly back at Sans-Serif. His smile only grows when he hears the smaller skeleton's hesitant words. His brother can talk. He shouldn't be surprised that he caught on so quickly, but hearing his voice is still so incredible.

"I'm here. I... I can't believe you're really here. I was so worried..."

THE ONLY THING THEY WILL DESTROY IS OUR FEELS.

[antitemporal]

Sans-Serif's jaw aches a little from the unfamiliarity of smiling back, but it's...not a bad pain? Because S-4 looks happy. S-4 is smiling and holding him and it doesn't even feel as desperate as it usually does when his fellow experiment has to calm him down. Even that realization makes Sans-Serif's soul stir with a fresh wave of energy, making him remember that even if he's enjoyed being asleep in his pod, safe from the experiments and the pain they bring...it means that he's also missed out on this.

"i thought you were at the lab. i thought they'd be mad at you that i was gone. are you okay? there...there are humans here, s-4, the anomaly is here..."

...and now that he's found his counterpart again, they can fight it. Destroy it. They have to, he has to, it's what he was made to do. This is his purpose and he can't fight it, he's not strong enough to fight it...

(But he doesn't want to fight at all.)

Sans-Serif lets out a hiss of pain at the fresh stab of pressure on his skull, the weight on his bones like hooks in his joints, dragging him on to act, to obey. His eyesockets go entirely dark. His grip tightens reflexively on his brother, but even he isn't sure anymore if it's for the sake of tethering himself here or for dragging S-4 along.

"...we can stop it. We can fight it."