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castle_perraultSans 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!))
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!))
Rather louder yelling
Date: 2016-01-29 11:13 pm (UTC)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)
Date: 2016-01-29 11:39 pm (UTC)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.
Date: 2016-01-29 11:52 pm (UTC)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.
8]
Date: 2016-01-30 12:05 am (UTC)They consider mentioning S4, but--no, that's when they were attacked last time. Maybe they can try bringing them together later.
They need to creep a little closer to the bones to hear what he's saying.
"...don't want to fight, so that's okay. And...I am real. Sorry." Their tone is genuinely apologetic, even as worry clips their words a bit.
Go away? They don't want to. But they'll back off a bit. Not too far, just a few paces further than they were before. They still want to see him.
I figure Sans is quietly keeping an eye on this. I'll tag him in with Frisk "after" this thread
Date: 2016-01-30 12:17 am (UTC)Then the human says something too curious even for Sans-Serif to ignore. He also can't hear Frisk too well from back here, either, which is surprisingly annoying. He doesn't talk much or at all as it is. Now that he has to, he at least doesn't want to waste the words. And so, a little unsteadily, Sans-Serif gets to his feet and faces Frisk, eyesockets narrowed, thin shoulders squared. He keeps the wall up between them, though.
"yes, you do," he says, as though explaining something very simple to someone very uninformed. "you're a human. humans always want to kill monsters. and you can control time. we received reports." Not all of those reports were always told to him, but it was sometimes amazing, how often the scientists forgot he was there or at least forgot that he was capable of listening.
"i know you're real. you're going to come to the underground one day." He tries to draw himself up, but Sans-Serif just doesn't have much height to work with in the first place. "and, and i'm going to ki..." He falters. "...s-stop you when you do. you have determination, but so do i. but this is a dream, so you're not really here right now." Because neither is he.
There. That all sounds perfectly logical, now that he's sounded it all out, even if his jaw is starting to hurt from talking so much. Sans-Serif starts to relax a little. He doesn't want to wake up, necessarily. But now the dream will definitely be over soon.
o: sounds good~
Date: 2016-01-30 12:29 am (UTC)"...Not always. Some might if they're mad or scared. I'm not those, though." They pause, considering whether to go on, but--why not. He already knows somehow. "And even if I can...do time stuff, I only do that when I need to."
They consider him a little more, then just...kind of fold down until they're the one sitting instead. Just standing there feels weird. "And it's...not. Sorry. Again."
(no subject)
Date: 2016-01-30 12:40 am (UTC)Though he finds himself starting to feel less convinced, taking another look at Frisk's face. Despite himself, and mostly because it's exhausting to stand quite so aggressively at the ready for too long, Sans-Serif finds himself settling as well until he's at least leaning on the wall to regard the human.
He frowns at Frisk's apology, but doesn't immediately refute them this time. Instead, perhaps seeking some way to distract himself from the apparently inevitable conclusion, Sans-Serif takes another look around at the room specifically, and the castle in general.
"...is this king asgore's castle?"
He doesn't sound that hopeful.
"i'm s-supposed to be in my pod. i'm supposed to be asleep. dr. gaster would know if anyone took me away." So would S-4. If he's been gone long enough for him to notice, his brother must be terrified right now, and the scientists are going to punish him so badly for losing track of Sans-Serif. His soul feels cold at the thought.
(no subject)
Date: 2016-01-30 01:01 am (UTC)Resisting the urge to get closer is hard. They end up rocking a little, until they make themselves shift to sitting properly cross-legged.
"Met people that know me from my future, though. They never noticed I was here til they were." Frisk isn't sure if that really matters--the number of timelines in existence approaches infinity--but he seems even more afraid, suddenly, and they don't like it. "...It's nice here."
Nicer than wherever he came from, they're getting more and more sure.
(no subject)
Date: 2016-01-30 01:36 am (UTC)At Frisk's attempted reassurance, Sans-Serif's expression grows stubborn, almost belligerent. "s-4 isn't here."
Implicit in his tone is the opinion that nowhere can be very nice if s-4 isn't there. "or dr. gaster." Nothing is okay if Dr. Gaster isn't here to explain it.
But he also sounds very afraid, more and moreso as he carries on, as he comes to fully comprehend just how wrong everything is. Sans-Serif looks every which way, the ballroom suddenly seeming impossibly, dizzyingly vast, his bones starting to rattle faintly once more with anxiety. Without his conscious focus, the wall of bones sinks back into the floor, leaving no trace behind. "i'm not supposed to be out on my own. i'm not strong enough. that's why s-4 is supposed to protect me. i'm too weak to be outside." Though from the way he says it, it might become clear that this is something he's been told over and over again, until it becomes immutable truth, rather than something he knows for himself. You have to stay here, Sans-Serif. You're too important to risk, you're too weak to exist outside of this lab. Stay here and let us handle everything.
"i can't be outside. i can't. they're going to be mad at him if i got lost."
(no subject)
Date: 2016-01-30 01:50 am (UTC)They come to a decision. Frisk might get hurt, but that doesn't matter.
They scoot a tiny bit closer.
"Well...a-actually." His anxiousness is oddly catching, they realize when their fingers start shaking a tiny bit. They take a deep breath to calm down. "S-4 is. We met. He's okay. Nobody's mad." Maybe they should mention Dr. Gaster, but they haven't seen him for a long time and feel like they couldn't find him if they wanted, so they don't.
Closer. Again. Ready to slide back if he acts worse.
(no subject)
Date: 2016-01-30 06:13 am (UTC)Sans-Serif certainly looks like he's getting worse. Both fists are clenched at his sides tightly enough to shake, and his left eyelight is flickering with dizzying rapidity between blue and gold. There's a flame burning in the depths of the socket, but unlike S-4's, it's a stuttering, sparking glow rather than a steady one. But he makes no hostile move towards Frisk. In this moment, Sans-Serif's internal turmoil is precisely that.
...on a cold, detached, rational level, the sort of rationality that comes with practice, he can feel himself building towards another "episode". Overloaded with stimulation and new information, it's the inevitable next step. Sans-Serif's magic is, in some ways, even more powerful than Sans'. But that comes from a lack of control, especially since emotions can only be repressed for so long before they all come bubbling and screaming out.
"i need him." His voice is a growl through gritted teeth, but it's a growl of effort at holding himself back. "where is he?"
(no subject)
Date: 2016-01-30 06:34 am (UTC)Even if it's not quite like S-4's, it feels like it, to Frisk. They can't sense magic quite as well as a monster would, anyway.
They're on their feet again in a second, glancing around wildly. Is he in the room? They don't see him yet.
They really aren't in the mood for a fight right now.
"I'll find him. Okay?" Frisk starts backing away, ready to break into a sprint if they have to.
(no subject)
Date: 2016-01-30 06:46 am (UTC)Sans-Serif doesn't remember sitting down, but he does. He sits down, bows his head, and clamps his hands firmly over his ears. When that only helps a little, he starts loudly humming to himself.
(no subject)
Date: 2016-01-30 06:55 am (UTC)There are too many people in the way for them to get to him, so they hastily double back. "Sans...Sans-Serif, he's over there," they call. They're afraid for him, they want to get close, but they just settle for raising their voice to be heard over his hums.
If-when he looks up, they'll be pointing towards the table and preparing to leap out of the way.
(no subject)
Date: 2016-01-30 07:01 am (UTC)For a moment, Sans-Serif is entirely still as only a skeleton can be. Then, all in a blur of motion, he scrambles to his feet, races three steps forward, and blinks himself the rest of the way over without any conscious thought at all. Frisk might as well have ceased to exist.
But he'll have something to think about, later.