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

[dustless]

Hesitation. Then they mirror his steps, getting closer. They're fidgeting. They're thinking, or trying to. It's tough.

"Sorry," they say, even if they sound like they're not completely sure if they are. They should be, Sans seems upset. But they are too. They aren't sure how to fix those things.

"Don't...know. Just--why were you...that mad?" Maybe he wasn't really, but S-4 talking to Sans-Serif about him being mad is the best word their mind can grasp right now. "Why did you say that? To him? Like that?"

[sansational]

It's the question that, deep down, he thinks he expected to hear. Unfortunately, Sans realizes that this doesn't make it any easier to answer.

"i wasn't..." And then he clicks his teeth together, because he was mad. Much like Sans-Serif, he was mad at himself and everything together. Unlike Sans-Serif, he was mad for a great many petty, selfish, babybones reasons, and he doesn't have the excuse of conditioning to fall back on. But maybe he needs to make himself say them aloud anyway, so Frisk can at least know why to be upset with him.

"i said that to him like that so he'd calm down and listen. because i knew what to say to make him listen. there were voices in his head telling him to kill you. so i made sure to talk louder. he wasn't gonna let himself believe that there was any other way to go, because...when you have a purpose, it's safe. you guys were talking about taking that away from him. and you needed to, but...he wasn't gonna make it easy. this way, he knows the other way's worse."

He knows that this is a harsh assessment of the situation even as he says it. But then, Sans has always been hard on himself.

Yet it's more than that. Or maybe it might be more accurate to say that it's "less" than that. Worse than that. Sans sighs, bows his head, and closes his eyes so he doesn't have to look at Frisk's face for what he says next. Not that the images playing out on the inside of his skull are any better.

"...did anybody ever explain to you what it means, when a monster 'falls down'?"

[dustless]

Frisk doesn't look thrilled to hear that. He might be right, yeah, but they feel like it was too much too fast. "Could've let me try more first. Might be scared of us still." Even if there was no murderous intent behind it, they don't want anyone to be scared of themselves or Sans.

And they're still hurting about not knowing he died and probably will be for a while, but they're trying to ignore that one, 'cause it feels like they should've known and it shouldn't matter now. He died. Their feelings about it aren't as important, probably.

"Fallen down? No. Wasn't told. They're dying." Frisk is pretty sure about that, at least. They also know other things, that they're not sure if Sans does, so: "Unless they get determination in them. Then they melt." They stare at him fixedly, teeth clacking together on the 't'. They're a kid, they can be petty sometimes too.

Maybe they're not trying to ignore their feelings as much as they could be.

[sansational]

Frisk's attempt to get under Sans' calcium will actually be quite successful, visibly so. His eyesockets widen with disbelief, and he visibly flinches at the click of that t. He has to stare fixedly at the kid for a moment before he's convinced that no, Frisk isn't talking in some kind of metaphor and yes, they are speaking from some sort of gruesome experience. "wait, what now?"

Sometimes Sans knows about the amalgamates. This is not one of those times. There are still only a limited number of monsters he knows that could be responsible for that, and he remembers them inside of a few seconds. He looks away for a moment and lets out an upset little huff of breath.

"alphys..."

Some of Gaster's research was lost with him. Some of it should have stayed lost.

...but there's nothing he can do or say about that now that will make a difference. It's with an effort, especially when he sees that look on Frisk's face, that Sans drags his attention back to the conversation at hand. He has the unpleasant feeling that he's treading over thin ice. Or maybe he's already sunk.

"yeah. they die. they don't die right away, but they always die. it happens...when a monster gives up hope. really, truly gives up hope. so the soul just...stops. and without the soul, the body stops, too." Turning into dust is really just a formality, at that point. "as you might expect...i've kind of had to work to avoid that, before." Sometimes going to sleep and not having to wake up again starts to seem really appealing. Sans has to clench his fists tight enough to hurt against the memory of it, but he carries on with an effort. "but even when it hurt to get up, i did. because i knew i'd be leaving papyrus alone if i didn't. i knew he'd be upset. and i have messed up so many things, but one thing i could always work at getting right was making papyrus happy. and his brother is alive and he hasn't even lived through the resets yet and he still fell down. he still left his brother alone. and i could see he didn't get it and i'd give anything to have the chance he has now and i know how terrible i sound saying this out loud and i'll apologize later but i still got mad." It's petty and childish and bad, but there's no denying that much.

Sans looks away again, subconsciously bracing himself for whatever Frisk's reply is going to be to all of this. "...so yeah," he finishes, with a weak little shrug.

[dustless]

They feel immediate regret. They also answer his 'what', a lot more quietly: "Melt. Stay alive, but it's...gross, and if there's more than one, they mix."

Frisk's skin is crawling. Really, the Amalgamates surprised them long after they thought nothing in the underground could do that anymore.

But thoughts of that vanish when Sans goes on.

They have a sinking feeling in their chest. No, they hadn't known that. At all. It makes a terrible amount of sense.

"Oh," softly.

Just like that, their slow-burning anger rushes out of them with their next breath, shoulders drooping slightly. They know it's not good, but they can see why pretty clearly.

(They climbed up that mountain for a reason. It wasn't happy, either. But then they met the monsters, and that was enough--they think they understand some of it more than Sans realizes.)

"...okay." Still soft. They're staring down at the ground. "You should soon. Apologize. I think he's just a baby. Or close enough."

[sansational]

Could that have happened to him? If the machine hadn't stopped in time, would that have happened to him? Sans had thought death would be the worst thing he could face. But if Frisk is telling the truth, and he can see on their face that they are...he shudders hard enough to rattle his bones with the horror at the very idea.

And seeing Frisk looking sad is at least more familiar than seeing them looking mad in turn. That doesn't make it any easier, because this is still his fault, too. Sans knows that he just told them something hard and weighty and unfair, because it's not something they can do anything about. But...they've always wanted to know, before. He's getting used to that.

(And even he knows that anyone who climbs the mountain never does for a happy reason. That humans, with their different souls, find different ways to disappear. If he stays silent at that implication, it's because Sans doesn't want to risk making anything worse about a matter that he's often struggled to deal with himself.)

"he is. they both are. probably more than they realize. or, uh, more than they've been allowed to realize." For anyone smart enough to artificially create a soul, creating a soul that thought it had existed for longer than it had wasn't that much off a step beyond. Bones are easy to grow, with access to the right chemicals.

"and i will. i will." He still sounds a little like he's trying to convince himself, because apologies are hard and exhausting, sometimes especially when you're trying to apologize to yourself. But now Frisk has heard him say it. Now he's accountable to them, if nothing else. "i'll just...give s-4 some time to get him settled first, y'know? ask how he's doing if we talk later." No. Wrong. "when we talk later."

His bones feel as heavy as lead, but Sans still risks taking a step forward, even risks reaching out just a little.

"...hey. i'm sorry to you, too. that you saw me...like that. i should have let you talk first. you're...good at bringing out the best in me, kid. guess i just forgot that meant you'd be good at that with any me."

[dustless]

Now isn't the time to talk about that. They'll bring it up later, maybe, when things aren't so heavy and busy with new arrivals and the pain they unintentionally bring.

'Risks'. Reaching out to Frisk should never count as a risk. As soon as they feel him get a little closer and look up at his expression, they're wrapping their arms around him carefully.

"Okay. Believe you." They shakily sigh, and he'll feel them give a tiny shrug. "And. We've learned. Hope we don't need to...use that knowledge too much."

None of them deserve this stuff. Hurts are a part of life, but for the skeletons they've met here, they've just had too many, piled on and on. Sans-Serif doesn't deserve to be scared; S-4 doesn't deserve to be stuck in the middle; Sans doesn't deserve to feel hurt and alone. Like he'll fall down, ever again.

There's a very long pause.

Then, pressing their face into his shoulder a bit, they whisper: "...You know I love you a lot, right?"

[sansational]

It almost seems as though Frisk teleports over to him, in their own way. Sans is that startled, to find the kid wrapping their arms around him. But once that shock passes, what can be do but return the hug as carefully as he can? He's...touched and maybe even a little awed at the gesture of affection being offered even after he just reminded himself how frightening and dark he was capable of being. His soul aches with the sharpness of that emotion. But it's not a bad sort of pain.

"i can be a real bonehead about certain things. and...hehehe. okay, you got me. now that i know other me's can show up...i started wondering what would happen if your sans did."

Because he's not "their" Sans. He isn't anybody's Sans, and maybe that's better, because he comes from a timeline of dead and damned and doomed, and if nobody else is here to share in that, that means that nobody else is here who hurts like he does. He still can't help but think that he deserves that hurt, for letting things get as far as he did. S-4 had started to offer some fresh perspective, at least. That had just made the raw and jealous fear of "losing" him to his other brother even worse.

Sometimes he thinks of himself as "their" Sans anyway, though. And he thinks of them as "his" human. Those are good days, when he does. When he has that thought again, it bolsters Sans enough for him to add:

"but that was stupid of me. and dumb. i know you do, frisk. i really do. means a lot." He might still struggle with ideas of "deserving", but not with the actual knowing. He might occasionally show his gratitude by terrifying anyone who might mean Frisk ill, but...he'll try to unlearn that. This Sans is still pretty smart, too, after all.

Sans nudges his skull very carefully against their head, moving a hand to rest over the top of their spine. Skeletons aren't really built for showing affection. But with a brother like Papyrus, you learn to adapt.

"...you know i love you a lot, too, right?"

tears up a little

[dustless]

This subject isn't all that surprising, even though it feels strange, thinking of Sans being...jealous. But that's not quite right word--or if it is, it still isn't him acting terrible. They get it now more than ever that doesn't really have anything else.

So Frisk nudges him back as they genuinely give it thought. He deserves a true answer, just as much as they think he deserves a good life here, and good friends. A chance to be happy. To smile for real.

To live.

"...If...he does...then I'll have another friend here. But." They stubbornly dig their fingers into the back of his hoodie. "You know. That Sans never was my friend in a big, scary, lonely castle. Or told me 'bout his SOUL. Or that he knew SAVE stuff. Or let me hug him."

The Sans from their world was their friend, sure, but all those points were true. And he would've had a happy ending.

And...he hadn't kept his promise to Toriel, either. Not really. Not enough to keep them from dying a lot. He didn't trust them, and they don't hate him for it, but they can still feel the difference of real protectiveness from the one they've met at the castle. Even if it's a little too much and he sometimes does it wrong, he still tries, and tries to fix it.

"Uh-huh. 'M happy about it, too."

tears up a lot and hey, because i love me some tragic foreshadowing...

[sansational]

"your sans doesn't let you hug him?" He laughs, pulling away just enough to give Frisk's hair a good ruffle. "wow, is he missing out. you give pretty great hugs, kid."

They don't give the best hugs. That honor is reserved for Papyrus, especially since skeletons are really only soft and cuddly to other skeletons. But Frisk isn't any slouch, either.

And he knows they're not saying that the Sans from their time is bad, not least because Frisk would never say that. It's just a reminder that, since coming here, he himself has had the chance to live and be more than the pile of dust and blood that he was left as back home. A reminder that should be obvious, perhaps. But sometimes it's easy for the soul and the rational mind to get out of step, especially when the mind is as sharp as Sans' and the soul is as weak. So an obvious reminder can be even more appreciated.

He smiles for real here more than he has in a long, long while. He's had its moments of remembering that it's pretty great to be alive - the lake and the hot dogs and this party right now. That much wasn't a lie.

"i'll follow your lead from here on out, okay? you can hold me to that."

pain is the best

[dustless]

They give a faint giggle. "Yeah." Doubtlessly. They love hugging people, too, so they're a little disappointed they didn't get the chance with too many back home.

"'Kay. ...Think you're gonna be fine, though." Eventually.

Right, this is a party. There are still lots of people around. Frisk gives the table a sidelong glance, wondering if anyone noticed. Not that they'd care, personally, but they think Sans might.

[sansational]

Sans unconsciously echoes their sentiments. "eventually." Because he's not, in a lot of ways. He's aware of this. He's been aware of this for a long time, longer even than he can really remember. At some point along the way, awareness of this fact turned into acceptance that it would always be a fact.

So "eventually" is a big step of improvement over "never". He's getting there. Sans is starting to appreciate that there are people around him who care. Starting to remember how to live from one day to the next. Starting to accept that taking it easy on himself is sometimes more important than sparing his friends the trouble.

He's just starting to remember or understand a lot of things, but like this, maybe there's a chance that he'll make it to the end of that understanding one day.

But for now, this is a party. And maybe Sans will care later at the idea that someone might have noticed or overheard. He follows Frisk's gaze around the room, but Sans' eyesockets settle back on the table.

Thoughtfully, he moves over, picks up a cupcake, and tosses it thoughtfully up and down in one hand.

"y'know," he says, with some solemnity. "it's really kind of a shame, about the jewels. this could have turned into a pretty great food fight, without them to worry about."

[dustless]

A determined nod. They can only hope it won't take too long. Even if it does...Frisk will be there as much as they possibly can, if he needs help.

But--right. Time for something a little less emotional, maybe.

"...Well," they say speculatively, "the bigger bits of jewelry are in the bigger food. Like the cakes..."

[sansational]

"are you saying that you hypothetically want to toss a cake at somebody's head, kid?"

He can think of a few good targets. A few good robotic targets...

Sans reaches out to grab a piece of cake. Unfortunately, he has rather less surface area to grab with than Frisk might, and it's a rather moist cake. So a few large chunks, followed by a peridot brooch, falls to the floor through his fingerbones.

"the levitating trick is nice. i just can't do it on anybody that doesn't have a soul."

Telekinetic cake hurling seems like it could be an entirely fair trade.

[dustless]

They stare at him, straightfaced. "Who wouldn't?"

Aww. That's a bit disappointing. They snatch up another little cupcake with blue frosting and swipe a finger across it, staring at it in apparently deep thought.

And then Sans will see a blur and feel their finger run down his forehead, right between his eyes. Enjoy your new !, it looks very nice.

[sansational]

Sans does see that blur, and he mostly stays still just to see where Frisk is going with this. Though he does look a little bemused at the feeling of frosting. That is...that is weird.

Then when Frisk pulls away, the truth of the matter clicks. Sans asks, in the most level tone of voice ever: "did you just. smear frosting. on my skull?"

He scrapes a fingerbone down between his eyes. It comes away blue, and he thoughtfully scrapes a little of it off on his teeth. Yep. That is indeed frosting. It was indeed smeared on his skull.

Frisk will see a blur, and then feel what's left of the red velvet cake and cream cheese frosting smeared quite emphatically into their hair. Just because he can't toss an entire cake slice doesn't mean he can't make do with more portable ammunition.

[dustless]

They try not to laugh, because it would be funnier if they didn't, but they can't help it.

"Heeey! Hair," they protest less-than-angrily. It's not like they can't wash it later, even if there's tangles.

They squeak and bat his hand away and lunge, trying to pull his hoodie up over his head.

And then if they succeed, they'll try pushing him by the back of his skill into the nearest actual big cake facefirst--maybe a bit too gently, though, since they're always going to be a bit cautious about that sort of thing.

[sansational]

"it's your own fault for having hair, kid." Honestly, why do humans even waste time with that stuff?

That is the most adorable squeak ever and it distracts Sans nicely from the lunge, and...later on, he'll think about the fact that he still shouldn't have needed to think before blinking himself out of their path. Frisk is still a human, after all. Then again, maybe he won't think about it at all.

For now, Sans lets out a most undignified sputtering sound as he feels his hood tugged up and over. His arms pinwheel just a little, because it's an oversized hoodie and so the hood comes down mostly over his eyesockets. But the push is indeed a bit too gentle - for a skeleton, Sans will turn out to actually have a bit of weight to him. It buys him just a second, but it's a second where he could escape.

And a second in which he decides to forego escaping in favor of attempting to take Frisk with him instead. His hand lashes out to grab at their shirt and tug them forward, too, and even if he probably does so a bit too gently as well, maybe surprise will make up the difference.

[dustless]

They kind of consider telling him about the fact they could probably cut it all off. Then they decide no, then he might prank them with that, and it'd take way too long to regrow.

Frisk laughs fiendishly before they're cut off and the both of them smash facefirst into the cake. It also has a ridiculous amount of frosting, enough that it literally splatters all over the place when they hit, and Frisk ends up flailing their non-Sans-occupied arm and hurls a few plates of pastries to the floor.

It's safe to say they were, indeed, pretty surprised.

And they're still laughing even while they sort of coughsneeze because ew, some of the frosting went up their nose.

[sansational]

In this, Frisk will find no sympathy from Sans, because some of the frosting went into his eyesocket, ew. He straightens up the best he can, still laughing a little dizzily, and makes an effort to reach in and try to scrape it out.

Then he looks over at Frisk, and even that discomfort is forgotten at the sight they make. Sans goes into a fit of laughter so hard that he has to wrap both arms around his aching ribcage.

"you, uh, you got something on your shirt." He jabs a finger at Frisk's chest, where there is indeed a respectable amount of frosting smeared. Not that Sans' clothes are in much better shape.

[dustless]

Oh, that's great to hear! Doesn't help them stop laughing much, though.

"Y-y-you do t-too! A lot!" But the way they landed means they do, technically, have more. So, to fix that!

Frisk leaps over and drags him into another hug. FROSTING REVENGE. At least they don't smear the nose frosting on his hoodie, which they'll never admit was definitely an urge.

Jumping away, their expression is a mix of delighted and smug.

[sansational]

Sans actually has the urge to jump after them...but then his soul overrules his body, so he just sort of stumbles before drawing himself up short. No. Just because he can't actually turn to dust from stubbing his toe doesn't mean he has any business roughhousing. Emotions can get overdone, in that sort of situation. Frisk is still a human, after all, and thus stronger than him in all the ways that matter. In a way, they might even be even stronger compared to him than the..."other" human was.

And besides...when that thought occurs, another one follows, which is that there's no need to go around making a place for bad memories that have had the decency to stay back today.

"all right, kid. you win. i officially and unashamedly surrender." Now that he settles down enough to think, Sans can actually feel sweat on his skull, and the ache in his ribs isn't going away just because he's stopped laughing and starting panting for air in his skull. He still holds up his hands as a gesture of sincerity, smiling his most charming smile. "it was a battle well fought. care to spare me now?"

The best comedians know how to laugh at themselves and let a joke have its natural punchline.

[dustless]

A very wise decision. Frisk is kind and tries to be careful, but emotions getting overdone is still definitely possible for them--especially since that little burst of excitement kicked all that sugar they've been packed with into gear all at once. They feel tired and hyperactive simultaneously and may or may not be shaking very slightly.

Disappointment gets them to stick out their lip, but just for a second. "Kay. I've got better to do." They don't, actually, it just sort of slips out without their noticing, and they scamper to the nearest punch bowl and slosh some of it into a couple glasses.

Then they're back, pushing the cup towards Sans expectantly. (They've spilled a bit of their own drink on their arm, but they're enough of a mess they don't care.) They don't know if monsters need drinks like this, but if he sweats...

[sansational]

Their disappointment gets Sans to look guilty, but he's not entirely incapable of being a rational adult when the situation calls for it. So he holds firm, and lets out his breath in a huff of relief when Frisk relents and goes off to retrieve drinks.

By the time they're back, Sans is sitting on the floor, leaning back against a table leg. Monsters need drinks in the same way that monsters need to eat - it's for the sake of the soul, more than anything. The act of taking a break to drink matters just as much if not more than what's actually in the glass. Sans just has a much weaker soul than most monsters.

So he takes the cup with somewhat shaking fingerbones, nods his thanks at Frisk, and then drains the contents in a couple of gulps. He only realizes once it's empty just what he drank, and has to fight not to pull a face at the sticky-sweet taste of the punch. "thanks, kid. i'm all right."

[dustless]

Half of their own glass is downed in an instant. Even more sugar. Frisk's body is going to absolutely hate them later.

They drop down to sit beside him, balancing the cup on their knee. "You sure?" Green-and-white frosting coats half their face, and they're fidgeting, but hopefully their concern shines through anyway. His reassurance did a little bit of the opposite. They knew he was fragile--they were careful before--but this is the first time it's actually shown. "Can get you more stuff if you need!" 'Stuff' as in drinks, food, anything he can name.