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

[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.

[antitemporal]

At this, Sans-Serif immediately scrambles back up to his feet, looking around as though for any sign of where this wondrous thing is. Then, remembering himself, he looks up to Tauriel and holds out his arm instead.

Though, much as he'll try his best to follow along with her, it's not an easy effort. She's so much taller than he is, and used to moving around a lot even when not being towed around. Sans-Serif will soon find himself panting with effort and stumbling a little, even shortly after leaving the ballroom.

[lightofthestars]

Tauriel takes his hand when he offers it, curling her fingers with care around his small, brittle bones. Though she takes care to match her steps to his, it is soon clear that he is struggling.

She stops walking, releases his hand to crouch in front of him, and cups her hands into steps behind her. "Here, pen vuin. Climb upon my back. I will carry you."

[antitemporal]

Oh! Well, this is a much more familiar and pleasant state of affairs. With no hesitation and even with a fair bit of practice, Sans-Serif clambers up onto her back and holds on tight. Or at least, as tight as he can, when he can't hook his feet in her ribcage for support. Either way, being properly off his feet earns a contented sigh from the smaller skeleton.

"you're strong."

[lightofthestars]

She sets her arms beneath his knees and rises. She returns to walking, faster than her normal stride, for she wishes him to see Grune's garden as soon as possible.

"Thank you for saying that, but you weigh as air, pen vuin. It is no great task for me to carry you."

Her stride checks a moment, for she is taking him from food that he so plainly needs, but then she continues. There is fruit in the courtyard, which is far better for a hungry young one than so much sugar.

[antitemporal]

He swings his legs back and forth a little, curious at the somewhat weightless sensation of being carried like this. But not so curious that he can't reply: "really? dr. gaster says i'm heavier than a normal monster." Or at least, a normal skeleton of his size. With the pleased and faintly self-important air of a child remembering a very adult and difficult fact, Sans-Serif adds: "it's because of the determination. but humans are really strong. so i guess elfs can be really strong, too."

If Tauriel wants an explanation for any of that, she'll have to wait. The ballroom isn't that far from the outdoors, and even just in coming out into the hallway, the windows offer a wide view of outside.

He falls silent immediately, eyesockets wide and round as he stares out at more colors than he'd ever thought could exist.

[lightofthestars]

She smiles when he is struck silent and lengthens her stride again.

"Soon you will be standing outside. You will be able to feel the air upon your--bones and the ground beneath your feet," she tells him. An idea strikes her. "Hold on tight."

Once she feels him obey, she will sprint as swiftly as only an Elf may.