hadriel_logs | Event Log: Keepsakes

Entry tags:

Event Log: Keepsakes

Who: Everyone participating in the event!
What: The event log for the Keepsakes event!
Where: All around the city
When: October 15th-October 19th
Warnings: A bunch of random crap.

Well, Hope and Delight are messing with the door again, but at least this time dragons aren't involved, right? This attempt goes a bit better - sure, no one gets sent home, but if everyone will just look under their seats, they'll find a FREE [INSERT SOMETHING YOU MAYBE DIDN'T WANT AT ALL HERE]! Awesome! So nice! Yup, throughout these few days people will be finding things from home - something they loved, something they used all the time, something they hated, something they totally forgot they even had. All sorts of cool stuff!

Well, they might not actually find it. Their neighbor might, or a complete stranger. And who knows where it could turn up? At the park, half-buried? In the Silent Hill zone, kept safe by a horrifying monster? Or hey, maybe in somebody's underwear drawer. Awkward. Better try to find your stuff, or find the owner of whatever weird crap you found. It could be something important.

► This log covers October 15th-October 19th.
► Feel free to make your own logs, as well
► Please tag headers of threads with content warnings where they apply
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!
► If you somehow manage to die in this event, please let us know here, and also what the hell?

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She tilts her head at him like a confused dog. Seems she caught him off guard, which is interesting because that might be the first time that's happened. And she does love catching people off guard. Sans struck her as a rather unflappable sort, but everyone has a sort of weirdness threshold.

Also, he seems more preoccupied with the pages on the window.

"Need 'em back? Oh, are they yours? Did you write them?" She makes a humming sound and sets her hands on her hips, frowning into the middle distance. "Hmmmmmmm, so does that mean they're not an instruction manual for the silly damn appliances in this city? Rat turds! Got my hopes up and all that."

"Sure," says Sans, because that is a hell of a lot easier than sayin' something like, oh yeah, I definitely knew the guy who wrote these only funny story, he doesn't exist anymore and technically never did, ha, what a wild wacky happenstance, right? Yeah, nah. He's not goin' there.

He retrieves the second page. The little pinpricks of light in his eyesockets rove over the symbols briefly, a short, perfunctory glance. Looks like she got stuck with some early DT Extractor conceptualization notes. Can't remember much whose idea that was, or whether it really mattered that they all be written in hands. Whoever wrote 'em must've been one hell of a paranoid bastard, huh?

A real paranoid bastard.

"But yeah, nah. Mostly you just gotta hit buttons and hope for the best," he says. Not the most efficient methodology, he'll grant, but it's really the only kind he knows.

Her smile turns a bit wry as he talks--or rather, as he pointedly doesn't talk. He's studying those pages awful closely for someone who just summed them up with a "sure."

"I suppose I'll just have to write down my own manual. So much extra worrrrrk! Bluebird, has anyone ever told you that you are an utter master at giving complete nonanswers?"

She's chuckling as she says it, no accusation in her voice. Sans is absolutely not the first cagey type she's met. Any Folk worth their salt is at least a little bit cagey. Comes with the magic, maybe.

"It's been mentioned."

His grin is languorous, if a bit more tired than he'd like. He's been dartin' about all over the damn city for the past few days, and it's takin' its toll. Taxing. Not real fun stuff for anyone. He's an expert at obfuscation, it's true - kinda had to get to be one early on.

"Lemme tell ya, figurin' out the dishwashers was a trip," he says, shoving both pages into a pocket in the lining of his jacket without much concern for whether they crinkle or tear in the process. "My bro, he just gave up and started washin' all the dishes by hand. Was downright musical on top of it."

He wiggles the bony phalanges of one hand with a bright wink. Bone tinkling against porcelain and ceramic can be a real nice symphony, who knew?

"Is it a cultivated talent, I wonder? Or does it come naturally?"

She's honestly not expecting an answer at all, and that's fine. She doesn't care all that much about secrets, and he honestly seems too tired to bother with her more hardcore teasing. Plus, if the weird symbol pages aren't an instruction manual, they're useless to her.

It takes her a second to get the joke, but then she's laughing. "Oho! Really tickling the ivories it sounds like! Gives a new meaning to the term bone china, it does! At least tell me that the symbols are common from one dishwasher to another? Or is every single dishwasher in the city on some sort of different pattern?"

Both. He don't say it, and he don't feel like pursuin' the topic much, but, yeah. Both. When you don't got a whole lotta strengths to your name, you gotta refine a few to make up for that laundry list of weaknesses.

Heh. "Laundry" list. He's got a lot to do, don't he?

"I honestly haven't checked," he says, but her laugh eases things up a mite, and at least he's amused as he says it. Always nice to find someone you can knock a few good lines of banter about with. It's real nice. Relaxin'. "I'm not really the most dependable guy where chores are concerned."

He yanks at the corner of his jacket with the underside of one thumb. It probably reeks like laundry that hasn't been washed in a few weeks. Which, of course, it hasn't.

"Pfft, yes, I'm getting that impression!"

The state of his jacket aside, his entire demeanor comes off as that of someone who probably leaves trash and dirty dishes everywhere. Probably underwear, too. Does he even wear underwear?

Questions for a later time.

"Ah, well, one more thing to add to the list of things to get used to around here. I'm relegated to having to find substitutes for just about every essential ingredient. But! I shall persevere. And hope that in some distant future, butter becomes actually available."

Her face takes on a dreamy quality at the mere aspect.

"In any case. You've got your...weird little symbol pages? You're free to stick around, though I daresay you'll find watching me scour stovetop-things and clearing ducts to be dull as ash. But I'll not keep you."

Well, good. He works very hard to make it starkly apparent that he's a slovenly good-for-nothin' slacker with absolutely no goals or aspirations in life other than gettin' something like a good sixteen hours of sleep per day. As far as personal images go, he thinks he's cultivated this one pretty damn well.

"Well, I hear there's a couple kids that can actually make coffee," he supplies helpfully, rolling his shoulders in a vague shrug. "But they gotta be the ones to make it. Maybe think of hirin' the both of 'em."

Chris and Emily are good kids, anyway. In two pretty radically different ways, but good kids. Granted, his personal philosophy regarding what entails a "good" kid is pretty skewed at this point, but details, details.

"Yeah, I gotta keep at the little game here," says Sans, as appealing as the idea of parkin' his coccyx here and takin' a load off sounds right now. "Collect-the-pages. All the cool kids are playin' it."

She practically lights up. Or literally lights up, bioluminescence tracing strange patterns across her skin. She's also grinning, of course.

"Kids who can make coffee! Yes, yes good! What are their names? I shall have to put together a new network, it seems."

You have to have a network if you're any kind of Folk running any kind of restaurant on the Mortal Plane. The big industrial suppliers sometimes won't ship to Folk business owners, or shipments will get "lost." It's best to make friends with people in the sugar industry, dairy farmers, and coffee growers. Go straight to the source and all that.

Makes sense that she'll need something similar here, considering how this place works and how sparse supplies are.

"Collect the...? Oh! Ohhh. Came through the door, did they? Yes, I've been hearing all about it--people finding all sorts of things from home. I'm waiting for something interesting of mine to show up, but nothing so far."

"Chris and, uh, Emily I believe." So he's looked up a few things on the network. Brushed up on his reading. What else is he gonna do in his spare time? Not like he's liable to be able to drink any coffee they can brew up anyway, unless they got some neat magic-dispensing abilities they've been heretofore real quiet about havin'. Which he doubts. But it's good to know what you can about the people you live with, so it's all to the good.

And then they swing right on around back to the subject he's been tryin' not to draw too much attention to. Great. Good goin' there. But at least he knows to do what he does best, and that's deflect. Obfuscate, dance. He's good at that sorta thing.

"What kinda stuff should we all be lookin' for?" he drawls easily, with the arch of a supraorbital ridge.

"Chris and Emily. I will find them." She grins widely, showing all her teeth. One would almost think she was planning on literally, physically hunting the two of them down.

He doesn't mention the pages, or even glance at them, or even react at all. Damn, he's good. As good as Kiba back home--which isn't a comparison she really wants to make, actually. Never mind all that.

"Oh...I really have no idea, actually. Baking supplies maybe? I mean, I have plenty of worldly possessions, buuuut...it seems that what's showed up for other people has been genuinely significant to them."

She shoots Sans the briefest of wry looks before continuing.

"Photographs, maybe...recipe books? Already have my lucky paring knife and my emergency tea stash. It's hard to think of really important possessions, I suppose..."

Yeesh. He knows well enough to not get on her bad side, but he goes ahead and reaffirms the idea to himself, just to be safe. Keep outta her way if she ever gets on the warpath. She might be just as likely to damage a fragile thing like him in the crossfire as she is to actually land a decent hit on her target.

"Yeah, I know what'cha mean," says Sans, shrugging indolently. "Had no clue what kinda stuff I should be keepin' an eyesocket out for until it landed on my lap. Figuratively, anyway."

As if he could be so lucky. His luck, if he was even born with any, ran dry a long, long time ago. He don't even know where the damn thing meant to collate all this old paperwork is meant to have ended up. Did the gods just see fit to shower the city with pages like the most ill-timed confetti? Where's the old man's binder?

Camille's not about collateral damage, but she's also not about caution either, in any sense. That was always Kori and Zayid's job.

"Well in that case, I'm sure glad I could help! Even if all I did was tape some paper to a window, I suppose. I'll keep an eye or two or four out for anything else written in weird mailbox language! I trust you'll keep an eye out for any weird baking supplies?" She pauses. "Eye socket, that is!"

He makes it sound like there might be more pages out there or something. At least it's fairly easy to spot. All of her baking supplies might just end up mixed in at one of the other abandoned restaurants and be lost forever. Ah, well. There isn't all that much sentimental value attached to a pile of tools, and they can always be replaced.

"Yeah, y'know me. I'll keep one out for anything of yours. Might wanna talk to my buddy Alphys, too. She seems to have a real hoard goin' on."

Yeah, he'd seen that veritable heap of stuff, and he silently approves, even if he ain't the type to participate anymore. His persistent garbage habit kinda wore off after a time. That one did, anyway. He's got plenty more to spare.

"I'm guessin' you've met her?"

She beams. "Dr. Alphys! She's real neat!"

Camille's skin abruptly turns into yellow scales. It's a brighter shade than Alphys's, because she does tend to prefer brighter colors, but it's still pretty obvious who she borrowed this from.

"Bit neurotic, but a sweetheart, she seems!" Reminds her a little of her sister. A little. Kori has a bit more gumption, at least on her better days. "She's from your world, then? I thought she might be. Well, a collector always has the best stuff, so even if she hasn't picked up anything of mine, still might be worth paying her a visit!"

Hey, she likes Alph. But then, everybody likes Alph. The only person who don't like Alphys is Alphys. But to say he don't know how that is would be a dirty, dirty lie. His grin widens slightly.

"Yeah, she and me are pals. Don't let the stammer fool ya - she's the smartest brain in the Underground and got great taste in bad movies." Spent many a day watchin' some of those, when one or both of 'em wasn't really feelin' the whole "life" thing in any great capacity. And what better to do but pass the time with some obnoxiously greasy food and a horrible movie on a phone screen?

"I've always found that people who stammer have so much to think about and say that their mouths just can't keep up! Smartypants types, and she struck me as one! But taste in bad movies is just as important as smarts."

She gives a sage nod. It's important to appreciate the weird, dumb or ridiculous, and bad movies are all of those.

"But how nice! You have your brother here and a friend!"

She's not sure if he's the sort to be prone to loneliness, but who wouldn't be lonely if they were literally worlds away from everyone they'd ever known? She herself is only staving it off with all this cafe stuff. Keeps her occupied.

"Two friends, even. It's a real party." That's not even goin' into the role the kids are playin' in all this but...well, the kids are complicated. He's not really sure what to say about 'em on a good day, much less now that things have mushroomed outta proportion with the arrival of several dozen impossibilities.

"But, hey. Perks of bein' jettisoned across spacetime? You get to meet all sorts of new people." He winks an eyesocket. "Really takes the edge off."

'Course, some of those new people end up hatin' your proverbial guts, but what can you do?

"Well, how nice! I'm happy for you, truly."

She's maybe a tiny bit jealous, but honestly, it's pretty hard for her to default to jealousy. It's nice enough when other people have things that make them happy that she can just sort of ride on that emotion, rather than turning it back on herself.

But she does miss her sister. It's been half a month since she's even seen Kori, and she doesn't think they've ever been apart for that long.

She grins at him when he winks. "Oh, well I hope I'm one of the ones who takes the edge off! You certainly have been, though I'm not even sure there's a sharp edge to you anywhere!"

Maybe she's sadder than she lets on. Most people are, when you get down to it. We all got somethin' to hide unless you've got a monkey, so on and so forth. Point is, Sans ain't got a lot in him for pep talkin', but he does have one thing in his arsenal that he can pop out without fail.

"Sharp edge? Me?" He spreads his arms and glances down at himself indicatively. He's kinda got a wide girth goin' on for him. "Have you seen me? Takin' a walk with me is the textbook definition of a round trip."

Bad jokes can lighten even the dourest of moods. Ask anyone.

She has policies about maintaining a sense of positivity. Still, everyone's gotta feel down sometimes, even the most upbeat of people. The trick is to do it when the people counting on you aren't looking.

She laughs brightly at the joke because oh man. He really does look like he'd roll like a ball if you pushed him the right way.

"That's funny! See, this is why you're a bluebird! Regular Bluebird of Happiness, you are!"

The point of course being that bluebirds make other people happy.

He's got no real conceptualization of what birds are like on principle - birds are singing because that's what birds do, but the specifics of said birds never really weighs down on him with any intensity since it ain't particularly relevant - but if she says he's a bluebird? Heh, fine, he can be a bluebird.

"I'm a real funny guy," he says with a shrug and a wink. Unfortunately, he's got more pages to find and potentially people to reluctantly accost to recover 'em.

He starts headin' for the door. "Can't say I'd be much for flyin', though."

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Event Log: Keepsakes

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