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!))

Comments

I keep forgetting the most common names for things in LotR are in Quenya. Iladar = Ilúvatar.

[lightofthestars]

His fingertips do tickle. Tickling bone upon her ear: what a strange feeling.

She jumps a little when his fingers first slide into her hair, but she remains where she is and allows him his curiosity.

"'Pen vuin' is 'dear one' in my language, and Elves are the Firstborn of Iladar. We are the oldest beings to dwell in Middle-earth--from whence I hail," she adds, for she is sure he will not know of her home.

[antitemporal]

"'dear one'?"

...what a nice thing to call him. Sans-Serif is faintly surprised to feel his soul growing a little warmer at the...affection? Yes, that's it. Why is she being so nice? He knows that he is very "dear" - the hopes of the Underground hinge on his proper development and his powers. But somehow, it sounds different when she says it.

"you can call me 'sans-serif', instead," he supplies, helpfully. "everybody does. except dr. gaster, sometimes. or s-4. but it's shorter than my real name. i live in the underground. i don't know where anywhere else is called."

[lightofthestars]

Her breath catches. She turns her head quickly and makes a quiet sound as his fingers are trapped in her hair.

"Sans-Serif?" Her eyes must be round as the Moon. She had thought him Sans' brother, but-- "Is...Is S-4 your brother?"

[antitemporal]

Meanwhile, Sans-Serif stumbles a little as his hand is suddenly tugged, and hastily tries to tug his hand away in reply. A few strands of her hair might snag on his fingers. He stammers out a hasty apology, before folding them both behind his back.

He looks somewhat cautious at her question, obviously weighing it up for possible angles. "y-yeah," he says, because S-4 is his brother and of course a dream would know that. Though, this Sans has a somewhat different understanding of what a brother is than his other self does. "why are you asking?"

[lightofthestars]

"He is here, and he has missed you greatly."

She rises to search for S-4 among the gathering, and for Sans--the Sans she knows.

[antitemporal]

Unfortunately, S-4 hasn't arrived at that stage of the party - perhaps dragging his feet at the prospect of so many people - and Sans is not immediately visible at his height in the midst of everyone else.

Sans-Serif, meanwhile, looks skeptical at her haste.

"i know he's here." S-4 is always around. Sans-Serif can't remember life before him. "he's probably right outside my pod. he can see me whenever he wants. i'm just..." Here he falters for a moment. "...asleep."

That's a close enough description. He doesn't know the proper one.

[lightofthestars]

When she cannot find S-4 or Sans, when Sans-Serif speaks of sleep, her haste is cut as with a blade. She had not finished telling him of the truth of where he now is. It seems she must do it now.

She sinks back to her knees and reaches slowly, so that he may choose to move away, for his hands.

"Pen vuin, I must tell you something difficult to believe." She holds his faint gaze as best she can. "This is no dream. You are awake."

[antitemporal]

He's used to people taking him by the hand or the wrist to lead him this way or that. So when Tauriel reaches out to him, he even holds up his hands obediently for her to take.

At least until she says that much. Then his expression goes stubborn, and he tries to tug his hands away. Dreams shouldn't lie.

"no, i'm not. you think that because you're a dream. but i'm not. i..." And here he falters, his thin shoulders slumping as he stares up at her. "...i really don't want to be."

[lightofthestars]

As soon as she feels him pull against her hands, she releases him.

Softly, she asks, "Why do you wish for this to be a dream?"

[antitemporal]

"because it's nice here. but if i'm really back in the lab, then s-4 won't get in trouble. they can't punish him for losing me if i didn't really get lost...right?"

He sounds and looks rather less certain of this, as he continues speaking. For lack of anything else to do with his hands, Sans-Serif curls them tightly around the hem of his plain green shirt. He almost seems to shrink even smaller with dread at the idea of S-4 getting in trouble.

"and if i was really here, then i'd have to go back, and..."

He can't make himself say the end of that sentence, even now, but the rest is probably plain enough.

[lightofthestars]

"Pen vuin, ae, pen vuin, shh." She does not quite dare an embrace, but she rests her hands upon his small shoulders.

"S-4 is here. He is not in the lab," she says, swiftly but still gently. "He will not be punished, and nor will you. Nor will you be taken back to the lab. I vowed to S-4 to protect him from all who wish him harm, and I make this same vow to you. You will not be tested here, and nor will you be punished. You are safe."

[antitemporal]

He doesn't protest the contact. Sans-Serif is in fact thinking that Tauriel looks like she'd give okay hugs, and wondering if she'd be okay with that. But for now, the anxiety and the stress of the memories he's trying very hard not to think too much about means that Sans-Serif keeps his hands curled up tight enough to hurt.

"but...they don't wish us harm. they just have to make us strong. for when the anomaly comes." His voice is hollow and heavy and tired, much the same way that Sans' sometimes is. His head bows, but not quite enough to hide that his eyelights have gone even dimmer. Just because he believes the truth of what he's saying doesn't mean it doesn't weigh and press on his already fragile soul. "you can't fight it. it can save, and reset, and kill other monsters without even trying." An Elf is a type of monster, right? She obviously isn't human.

What she's describing sounds nice. It's just...not for monsters like him.

"...i'm just not really strong on my own. that's why they made s-4."

[lightofthestars]

Oh...oh, how does she tell him that those who have kept him captive his whole life have been lying to him since he was born--created? He has only just met her. Why would he believe her?

Leaving him with such horrible thoughts wounds her to her soul, but she is not the one who can explain this to him. It must be S-4.

She has been trying to be careful, but his misery is too great for her to bear. She embraces him, trying to be gentle in her heartache.

"You are stronger than you have been told, pen vuin, you and S-4 both. I can sense a great steadfastness within you."

[antitemporal]

This time, he doesn't pull away. Sans-Serif even reaches out to her, as well, once he realizes what she's doing. And, as it turns out, Tauriel does indeed give okay hugs. It's a little strange, given that the only ones who have ever offered him any physical affection before are other skeletons. She has too much stuff between his ribcage and hers', and her arms are heavier. But the emotion communicates easily enough, even to him.

"'steadfastness'...?" He has to roll the word around in his mouth for a moment, and even then, Sans-Serif finds himself asking: "what's that mean?" Of all the words that are used to describe their progress, or lack thereof, he doesn't think he's ever heard that one.

[lightofthestars]

When it is clear he is not quite sure how to fit himself in her embrace, she shifts to sit fully on the floor, legs crossed. Then, carefully, allowing him to pull away should he choose, she will ease him into her lap. Otherwise, should he resist, she will remain as she is.

"It means...." She breathes in, thinking of how to explain. "One who continues a journey in spite of hardship. One who keeps to his path, though the pain be great." She looks down at him. "To be steadfast is to show much valour."

[antitemporal]

Oh. This is a little better. If he leans back against her, it's like she's a very steady wall, instead of just not-a-skeleton. So Sans-Serif does this,

He listens attentively to her explanation, staring straight ahead at nothing very much. Then: "oh. then yeah, my brother is very steadfast." He nods sagely, before ducking his head. "i'm not. that's what the scientists want me to be, but i'm not. s'nice of you to say. but, uh...i'm okay, just staying on my pod. sometimes i hear dr. gaster and s-4 talking. he didn't used to be able to talk. but now he's learning." Even in the depths of his own self-doubt, Sans-Serif can't help but sound proud of his brother. "and he sounds happy."

Sans-Serif is okay not being steadfast, especially since the journey he's been expected to continue on since being created is one he's starting to realize he doesn't really want. He never did, of course, was never given the choice. But it's not until recently that he started to be able to learn the words to say as much.

[lightofthestars]

She shifts a little, settling him more comfortably in her lap.

"We Elves are known for our clear sight, pen vuin. We can see far across the land, and we can see within. You may not believe in your own steadfastness" --she lifts a hand, falters, then sets it upon the curve of his skull-- "but I do."

[antitemporal]

He doesn't even think before leaning a little against her hand. Her hands might be too soft. But they're warm, and for a monster, the intentions can matter the most anyway.

"'within'? you mean...you can see my soul?" Even if she's not a monster? Sans-Serif leans forward curiously, almost putting himself eye-to-eyesocket with Tauriel, and squints intently. She might sense a little of that same energy Sans had once used on her, but in contrast, this is weak and fluttering, a moth around a flame. But after an intent moment, Sans-Serif settles back with a frustrated grumble. "i can't see yours'. but, um..."

He doesn't know the word for "embarrassed". It's not the first time he's felt it, but it's better than the other times. Tauriel seems to have a talent for leaving skeletons flustered.

"...i know it's nice. you're nice." One seems as though it would follow the other.

[lightofthestars]

When he leans into her touch, her hand becomes surer upon his skull, and she even begins to stroke gently. It remains a strange feeling, bone warmed by life and not the sun, but--she is coming to find it not displeasing.

It is hard not to draw back when he is suddenly so close, but she remains steadily in place, allowing him to see what he wishes.

...Then, she blushes. "You are kind to say so. I thank you."

[antitemporal]

Experiment failed, Sans-Serif settles back more comfortably against her instead. He seems content to feel her stroking his skull. Her touch leaves warmth and the memory of warmth behind.

"you don't have to thank me. but that's, uh...that's very kind of you, too."

He knows he's not very kind at all. He's not really anything. But he's also coming to find that he likes it when she says he is. It's the same sort of feeling as when Gaster reads them a story.

Sans-Serif stifles a dozy yawn with the back of one bony hand. "guess it makes sense that you'd say you knew s-4. i think you'd like him a lot, too." If there was ever a way for them to really meet. "you're nice, like he is. and you're strong like he is."

[lightofthestars]

To feel him relax against her with such trust makes her heart catch, and she is struck anew by how little kindness he and his brother must have been granted in their brief lives. It grows easier by the moment to keep her hand moving upon his skull.

She had joined King Thranduil's guard to avenge her parents' deaths. As the seasons had changed, her hatred for orcs had grown no less, but her understanding of what it is to be a guard had deepened. Now, as she looks down upon the sleepy child in her lap, the urge to preserve life from harm stirs within her anew.

"I do like him, very much," she says softly, her blush growing. "He is kind, with a pure heart."

...How frail he must be, to think of S-4 as strong. Sans-Serif truly is steadfast to have lived so long.

[antitemporal]

"yeah, he is." Despite his weariness, Sans-Serif seems to brighten noticeably at the mention of his brother, at the chance to talk about him to someone who clearly understands how wonderful he is. He sits up a little straighter, gesturing as he talks as though to tease difficult or unfamiliar words out of the air. "it's like...i always feel better, just having his soul near me. and i know that's how the scientists made him." He thinks back to that last experiment, his last proper memory. The light. The noise. The chains. And then how suddenly, all had been dark and quiet and safe, hidden beneath S-4's shield.

"but sometimes he helps me even when he's not supposed to. that's pretty cool, right?" It's clear from his tone of voice that Sans considers this the strongest that anyone could possibly be.

"dr. gaster's the only one who calls him my brother, though. the other scientists don't like that. he's just supposed to be my 'shield'. i don't know how a brother is different, though."

[lightofthestars]

He has said much, and she does not understand everything, though she tries. It is difficult not to show her great discomfort with the idea of S-4 being "made" to comfort Sans-Serif, though she tries. It is not natural and goes against every law of Middle-earth....

Yet, as she has told herself before, it is not the fault of S-4 or Sans-Serif for being created.

She sighs and fixes her attention upon Sans-Serif. It is also difficult not to smile at his love for his brother.

"I have no siblings," she begins, "but what I do know is that a 'shield' may be a stranger. They preserve one's health out of duty. They may care for the one they preserve, but they may not.

"A brother.... A brother by blood may care not for their sibling and may, too, preserve them through duty alone, but--they may also act out of deep love, beyond the demands of duty. They are bound by the life they have shared.

"One may also have a brother of choice. It is a great bond of love that binds together brothers of choice, one not easily severed. To choose one's brother, whether blood is shared or not, is a great privilege.

"...I am sorry, pen vuin," she says suddenly. "That is not a very clear answer, I think."

[antitemporal]

Sans-Serif doesn't move or look back as she makes her way through this explanation. He just sits quietly, head slightly tilted, staring at nothing as he listens attentively.

Well, they don't share blood. He doesn't think that S-4 has any blood, actually. Sans-Serif does, as it was apparently a side effect of the increased dose of the injections given to him. S-4 definitely cares about him. That's how they made him, too. It was a part of his conditioning in the same way that combat was a part of Sans-Serif's. And that's where a great deal of Sans-Serif's doubts have always lay. He doesn't have a lot of experience with anything approaching a normal life or normal emotions. He's still aware that people who are capable of being cared about don't need other people to be trained to care about them.

...but they do share a life. And S-4 has chosen to act to protect him, in the sense that any choice the scientists did not approve had to be a choice he himself made. Even if it was probably just a malfunction they'd soon correct, once they figured out how.

But it sounded like Dr. Gaster had known what the difference was. Which made sense. Dr. Gaster knew a lot of things.

"it's okay." He looks back at Tauriel and smiles gratefully. "i don't ask very clear questions." Or, up until very recently and only ever in his dreams, any questions at all. "but thanks for letting me."

He sits contentedly in her lap for a moment longer, looking around at the party and the colors and the shapes and the food, before another, perhaps even more impossible thought occurs.

"if this is a dream...is there an outside?" He sounds excited and cautious at the idea of his own excitement at the same time.

[lightofthestars]

She takes in a breath to try to tell him once more that this is no dream--then stops. He will learn soon enough from his brother. He has no reason to trust her, and so she will let him believe as he will and speak with S-4 later.

Instead, she smiles at him. "Indeed there is. If you will come with me, I will show you something wondrous."

Grune's garden grows by the day, and its beauty grows with the flowers she has planted. To one who has known nothing but the grim inside of a building, she knows it will bring him great joy.