What Sans does in that moment of silence is watch Chara. It's not an easy thing, to meet their gaze. But he makes himself do it, searching that face intently of any sign of what's about to happen. He doens't succeed, before the words catch him like a circle of spears, enough to make Sans visibly flinch. His expression is briefly stricken, before it hardens again.
Oh, he liked things so, so much better when Chara didn't talk. Now that they are, they're proving to be distressingly eloquent. And even then, the sheer shock at having that voice addressed to him makes this even more distracting and difficult.
Sans grinds his teeth for a moment, considering his next words very carefully, before he answers.
"people showed up at your funeral. people i care about, even if they're way too nice." Even Sans had turned up for a little while, to think. But somehow, he doubts that will be seen as a kindness. It hadn't been meant as one. "i'll make them sad again, if i have to. but i'd like to not have to. and if you really thought it wouldn't make a difference if frisk was alive or dead, if you really thought there was no way i'd let you walk out of here, you'd have killed them already. but just because you 'can', that doesn't mean you 'have to'. if i have to keep going off of spite, that's only because it's all you left me with!" His voice rises, and then breaks on a sob. A few tears escape his eyesockets. There's no echo of power or menace behind the words, this time. Just the hopeless, helpless anger of a fragile and breaking spirit, a soul on its last few percentages of HP.
Sans' shoulders slump. The lights in his eyes are dim almost to the point of nonexistence, even if the tears are bright. It looks as though it's a genuine effort for him to even keep holding his hands up. "...i was just starting to forget that when you showed up here." Now he looks in those eyes, and he can't think of anything but dust and red. He looks in those eyes and sees all the people that should be here instead of him.
"and i have killed you over and over again. i lost count. and i hated every damn second of it, because i knew the minute you finally gave up would be the minute i lost all of them for good. so mostly? what killing you makes me is tired. but i'm just that little bit more tired of having to watch all my friends die just because i'm a coward, or i don't care hard enough."
With a sudden surge of energy, Sans spreads his arms wide, unguarded as he ever is. Maybe it's an offer of peace. Maybe it's an invitation. Maybe three days of death will be like three days of sleep. "but if you've got a better idea now that we're talking to each other, i'm all ears. metaphorically speaking."
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Date: 2016-03-09 12:59 am (UTC)Oh, he liked things so, so much better when Chara didn't talk. Now that they are, they're proving to be distressingly eloquent. And even then, the sheer shock at having that voice addressed to him makes this even more distracting and difficult.
Sans grinds his teeth for a moment, considering his next words very carefully, before he answers.
"people showed up at your funeral. people i care about, even if they're way too nice." Even Sans had turned up for a little while, to think. But somehow, he doubts that will be seen as a kindness. It hadn't been meant as one. "i'll make them sad again, if i have to. but i'd like to not have to. and if you really thought it wouldn't make a difference if frisk was alive or dead, if you really thought there was no way i'd let you walk out of here, you'd have killed them already. but just because you 'can', that doesn't mean you 'have to'. if i have to keep going off of spite, that's only because it's all you left me with!" His voice rises, and then breaks on a sob. A few tears escape his eyesockets. There's no echo of power or menace behind the words, this time. Just the hopeless, helpless anger of a fragile and breaking spirit, a soul on its last few percentages of HP.
Sans' shoulders slump. The lights in his eyes are dim almost to the point of nonexistence, even if the tears are bright. It looks as though it's a genuine effort for him to even keep holding his hands up. "...i was just starting to forget that when you showed up here." Now he looks in those eyes, and he can't think of anything but dust and red. He looks in those eyes and sees all the people that should be here instead of him.
"and i have killed you over and over again. i lost count. and i hated every damn second of it, because i knew the minute you finally gave up would be the minute i lost all of them for good. so mostly? what killing you makes me is tired. but i'm just that little bit more tired of having to watch all my friends die just because i'm a coward, or i don't care hard enough."
With a sudden surge of energy, Sans spreads his arms wide, unguarded as he ever is. Maybe it's an offer of peace. Maybe it's an invitation. Maybe three days of death will be like three days of sleep. "but if you've got a better idea now that we're talking to each other, i'm all ears. metaphorically speaking."