très fantastique excess, fluxthrough caching [closed]

[skelebro]

Who: Dr. Lee Rosen and Sans
What: Post-event chatter of a certain nature
Where: At the clinic.
When: 3/22
Warnings: Likely some discussions of dark subject matter



He drops by the clinic sometime after the fuss and muss has died down. People're mourning the loss of Delight's, and he can't say he blames 'em for that - largely 'cause it seems to have accomplished very little in the way of appeasing anybody. But that ain't why he's here.

He's here 'cause the doc wants to discuss someone important. Someone he's been on better terms with, whose entire everything he can't and won't disclose without their consent. He made a promise, rough and poorly-conceptualized as it was.

This is why he hates promises.

You can never predict how they're gonna shake out until after you've made 'em.

Ain't so eager to break this one at the outset. Doc wants to talk, and he can talk. May as well hear him out first. He's got questions. Sans, ostensibly, has answers. Time'll tell whether he's able or willin' to disclose 'em.

For now, he'll start with a knock on the door.

Comments

[skelebro]

He won't contest that much. It's a pain to keep up with on the regular, and that's if you don't stop to consider the outliers like Mettaton, who have a completely separate set of experiences to contradict everyone else's stories. Or, rather, to supplement 'em.

Inconsistent, consistently. Hilarious, right? Maybe it would be, if it weren't so damn true.

"Other humans fell before them." Six, to be exact. All kids. "But none of 'em skewed things the way Frisk did. The anomaly...like it or not, it was always centered around 'em."

Why Frisk? Chara was the first human to fall, the very first, and yet - their SOUL must'a lingered after their death. If they had prime pick of every human that fell below, what made Frisk special enough?

Being the seventh, maybe.

Having a SOUL as red as determination.

But, hey. It's just a theory.

[drabsolutelynot]

Six.

Seven including Frisk.

All kids and all falling from some godforsaken mountain. Bit by bit as he gathers information about this place, Rosen begins to feel that the world Sans and Frisk hail from seems more like an allegory than a reality. Some message about the innocence of youth perhaps or a warning about the failures of society. Whatever it is, it is appearing distinctively more and more grim.

He pauses and notes those numbers down, circling 7 to emphasize Sans' point about Frisk being different.

"And can you tell me what became of the other 6?"

[skelebro]

Heh.

He leans back in his seat, eyesockets smoothing shut as his shoulders hitch in a minute shrug. He probably looks just about as weary as he feels.

"Breakin' the Barrier that kept monsters trapped Underground...well, it was a pretty powerful spell that sealed us all down there, y'know? Took the power of seven human SOULs. Or so they say."

Funny thing, regret. His grin, for whatever little it's worth, assumes a somber edge.

"Takes seven to break it."

[drabsolutelynot]

"Sans."

Rosen's gut tightens in an uncomfortable knot of unease.

He doesn't like where this is going. He likes it even less than where they have just been.

"Please.... please tell me the way to get a SOUL is not exactly what I think it is."

[skelebro]

He regards the guy evenly. Not exactly what one would call real forthcoming, ol' Sans, but it's high time he got to owning his sins. They ain't going away anytime soon, and he's stopped stamping down on the implications.

On where that places him.

"I don't wanna lie to you, Doc," says Sans, tiredly. That rictus never slips; it may as well be locked into place. "Told you I did a real shit job of keepin' that promise, huh?"

He's a smart guy. He'll put it together.

Regardless of whether or not Sans can claim he cares any, he sure as hell didn't act on it. 'Cause once you care, you're fucked.

[drabsolutelynot]

Its a quiver in the jaw first, the muscles in his cheeks growing taut as they try to restrain it, but its only a matter of moments before the trembling has spread to his shoulders. Then Rosen simply seems to crumple. His head drops into his hands, his mouth falls open in a struggle for breath, and what wins out is just a guttering sob.

'Six children' plays on a constant loop in the back of his head as he feels hot drops of tears beginning to leave stinging, salty tracks on his cheeks behind his fingers.

Six children.

or.

...Seven...? or...? Could it it be that...

Lee's mind flares against any new thoughts, trying to in fight or flight desperation to shut everything down to haze and numbness.

six children. six children. children. child....

Air. Rosen becomes intensely aware of his need for air. His breathes feel like they've caught in his throat, digging claws in and refusing to go in or out around the heave of sobs. Without signal and with great clumsiness he gets himself to his feet and makes a bolt for the door. He grabs at it, fingers splaying against the wood before he finds the handle then when he finds it he yanks the thing open so roughly the hinges whine.

He then drops himself to the ground, knees in the dirt, and head bowed. All of him has wilted.

[skelebro]

Misstep.

Should'a figured, honestly. Not everybody's gotten so sickeningly desensitized to child murder that they can talk about it, easy as you please, simple as discussing the weather. Maybe the guy's lost kids. Or maybe - maybe he's just got enough basic decency to be appropriately horrified.

Probably for the best he didn't bring up Asgore in the slightest. Things're tough enough for him as it is.

Whatever it is that galvanizes him into finally getting up, fumbling with the door until he exits, Sans, uh.



Sans stays right where he is. Slouched over in his chair, skull bowed, regarding the floor without really seeing it.

How's it feel, then, to know that even when someone's askin' to know the details of your own problems and everyone else's, it's still too much for 'em? This is what you get. Step outta your comfort zone, and get burned. End up burning damn near everyone else in the process.

Why even try?

The temptation to get away is almost unbearable, in the tightening of his fists in his pockets, in the minute shifting of his weight, rocking to the balls of his feet in a preparation to stand - or, possibly, to simply slip through space and end up on his couch for the remainder of the day.

There's not a thing he can say that'll make any of it better. So he don't say anything at all. In the next moment the chair is empty, and the room is vacant.

He's done enough damage.

[drabsolutelynot]

Rosen stays in the doorframe for a long while. Until his shoulders go still. Until his breathing becomes even. Until its just himself and the dull thudding in his head.

He can't remember the last time he's be so undone by something. Most likely over a decade ago when his marriage fell apart. No. Fell is the wrong word for that. He had stood at the side and watched it in its death throes and done nothing, then had had the audacity to shed tears for himself.

He knew he wasn't strong enough for this. He's not Strong.

At long last he gets himself onto his feet and pads gingerly back inside. Lee isn't surprised to find Sans gone. Only distantly confused as to how, in the literal sense, did he leave? But he doesn't have the energy for it.

He doesn't blame Sans for leaving. He had asked him to come. Had said right to his face that he was in this for the long run. And then he had been broken. Rosen rubs a hand over his face. "Go to hell, Rosen," he murmurs to the shadows in the corner.

Exhausted he drops back into his chair. Takes out his phone. And with no ceremony he sends Sans a simple text:

"I'm sorry."

Then a moment later he sends one more:

"But I'm not going to give up"

Rosen doesn't expect a response.