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?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[The guy's either well on his way to plastered or not very observant. Or too overly focused on the pages he's got to care one way or the other. Either way, it don't make much of a difference to Sans. All he knows is that this guy's got some pages he really shouldn't be lookin' at, and that means Sans is gonna have to, lamentably, step up to the plate.

His tone remains deceptively placid as he continues.]

I thought you should know you're lookin' at the guy those do belong to, as a point of fact.

[He's a few drinks in, yeah, but Gren's not nearly at plastered level yet. It's more that he tends to mind his own fuckin' business unless somebody else tries to get all up in his, so he hadn't really looked at the shit on Sans' pages. Now that he is? Yeah, all that looks like the weird pictograms that he's got.]

Yeah? [Fucks given: sitting resolutely at zero.] You ain't been doin' too good a job at keepin' track of your shit, then.

[Is he going to give them back? Nope. Technically, there's no proof that they even actually are Sans'. Just having more of them doesn't automatically make him the rightful owner (even if he actually is).]

Door must'a pulled 'em all through. Scattered 'em all over the city. Makes it a real fun job of pick-up-the-pages for me.

[And you know how he eschews jobs. Well, no, actually. He doesn't eschew jobs. He just eschews the work that comes with the jobs. Even more so when he's the only guy there who can apparently do it without losin' his damn mind.

'Course, this guy here don't seem to be losin' all sense of self the way Chara did. Maybe that's 'cause he ain't from the same world. Either way, tacit proposals are clearly fallin' flat here.

Time to switch tack.]

But I'll kinda be needing 'em back.

[He ain't all that confrontational a guy, really. And he sure might be patient, but not when his friends and completely random innocents and - whatever the hell Chara is to him, 'cause honestly he don't know - are gettin' caught up in shit that might just as easily destroy them as enlighten them about the minutiae of Sans's personal history.]

Sounds like a fuckin' blast.

[Gren is unsympathetic. He remembers your punning ways, skeleton man, and this is just your karmic retribution or something for being one giant walking bad pun. Go ahead, run around the whole fucking cave to pick up your notebook. He's not helping.]

So, what'd you write in this shit, anyway? Gotta be important if you made this fuckin' code or whatever for it.

[What do you know, Gren is confrontational as shit, so Sans can have fun dealing with his uncooperative ass.]

[Buddy, don't even talk to him about karmic retribution. Sans is a walking talking advertisement for karmic retribution. Or KR, if you wanna get nitpicky.]

Nah.

[That much, at least, ain't a lie. But this guy sure as hell don't seem to be cooperating from the get-go, so he doubts dribbling tantalizing fragments of information are at all likely to make him any more amenable to actually up and handing the damn things over.]

I didn't write 'em, pal. But they're somethin' I gotta take care of.

[Gren's only interested in the contents of the papers if it's something that's supposed to be kept secret. Because shit that people want to keep secret usually means that it's bad. Gren has zero incentive to let people keep their bad things secret, and he's more than happy to air out their dirty laundry all over the place.]

[And, hell, Gren's done plenty of fucked up shit himself, but he doesn't try to keep it under wraps. He's a shitty person, and he'd be the first to tell somebody that if they asked, but he tries not to be. He's trying not to be a monster.]

Sounds like a shitty job. [It's never fun to get saddled with someone else's baggage.] Still gotta be important, even if you weren't writin' it. Can you read this shit, or are you just mulin' it?

[Cooperation's always a plus. It's great, when people do as you ask. 'Course, Sans has long since learned that most people don't like bein' asked or told what to do. Or, heh, they might just go off and kill someone, just to see what he'll say about it.

Point is, he knows better than to order someone real direct. So he doesn't go there.]

Don't see how it matters much to ya. [He arches a supraorbital ridge in Gren's direction, slow and critical.] Can you?

Why's it matter so much to you?

[Gren meets the stare from Sans' sockets. It'll take more than a pointed look from a bone man to unnerve him; he's stared down some pretty big, bad shit in his day. Bigger than one skeleton, definitely. Bring your A game next time, bonedaddy.]

[He taps the back end of his pen on the page and starts looking through the symbols again. He's got some of them figured, and if he kept working at it, well. Eventually, he'll get it. Sooner rather than later, if this shit-for-bones doesn't want him to work it through. Spite is a hell of a motivator.]

Maybe I just ain't got nothin' better to do. Maybe I fuckin' like puzzles.

[Maybe he's just a contrary fucker who likes being difficult. Anybody's guess.]

You should really talk to my brother, then. He loves puzzles.

[He props one elbow up on the counter, palm up to meet the rounded part of his skull that approximates his chin, real casual-like. He smiles, and keeps smilin', since that he what he knows best, and he also knows for a fact that some people can find the way he never does otherwise to be real unsettlin'.

Granted, this guy looks to be made of sterner stuff, but that don't mean Sans can't put him off his game the tiniest bit.]

But, uh. To answer your question? It matters to me 'cause I'm the guy these belong to. And it'd be real nice of ya to give 'em back.

Yeah, but if they ain't nothin' important, who cares if I take a look at 'em?

[What are you hiding, bone man? What is it that you don't want your friendly neighborhood murderpotato to read?]

[There's probably nothing in there that would even interest him, even if he did manage to translate it. It's just that the more Sans wants it back, the less Gren wants to give it to him. He doesn't like it when motherfuckers try to be smooth and keep stuff under wraps.]

[Also? He doesn't like Sans. It's mostly the puns, but he also doesn't like his fixed rictus grin and his empty eye sockets.]

[Notes about harnessing geothermal energy to power the entirety of the Underground, mostly. That and some nonsense stuff about temporal loops. Only, uh, that ain't really "nonsense" so much as it's simply real delicate information. Real delicate.

He's pretty sure there's a metaphor about children playin' with matches and burning houses down in there, but he's equally sure he's made that analogy already.]

It's more like a "respectin' someone's memory" kinda deal, if you wanna get technical about it.

[Only it ain't. 'Cause the person's gotta exist in the first place for you to remember them, huh?]

[So, mostly stuff that would sound like sci-fi nonsense to somebody like Gren. It's not like people can save-scum in his universe, or reset things or any shit like that. His universe is weird as fuck in its own right, but it's not that kind of weird.]

[His is just the violent monsters kind of weird.]

So who's memory am I supposed to be respectin' right now? They got a name?

[He should probably be more respectful or something, but, well, fuck it. Nobody was respectful of Lily's shit when she died, so why the fuck should he be respectful of this asshole's? He's dead, he don't give a shit.]

[Sans slowly closes one eyesocket in a wink, deceptively cheerful, a shift of bone that shouldn't be possible and yet - it occurs.]

Not one you'd remember.

[That much, he's pretty sure, is absolute. It's pretty much in one ear and out the other. In one ossicle and out the other. Whichever, dependin' on the level of, uh, "flesh" someone has to their name. Can't remember the name of someone who don't exist, right? It's a complete removal, every trace of him wiped cleanly from the world like a finger through chalkdust. No data available.

Granted, he's not sure what would happen if he tried to name the guy here. Tryin' to save a file without a name just gets you an error message, 'cause the computer won't let you.

But he don't wanna find out.]

Try me, I've got a real good fuckin' memory.

[Sans might not want to find out, but Gren likes to push his luck. Plus, he getting interested now. He wants to know what's written on these pages, even if he won't understand it or won't have any use for the information. It's sheer spite, if you try to tell him not to do something, that's an almost one-hundred-percent guarantee that he'll turn around and do it.]

[He stacks the pages up with his notes, sliding them a little further away from Sans.]

C'mon, I'm all ears.

[The lights buried in the dark hollows of his sockets flick down and up again, a smooth, evaluative movement. Sans's skull tilts slightly, very slightly, on an axis askew.

His grin widens.]

Nah.

[Not gonna risk it, especially not for a guy that's done nothin' but badmouth him and insult his puns on top of it. Heck, he wouldn't even tell the people he trusts. If he had any.

(Him, trustin' anybody? Heh, that's his best joke yet.)

Sans chuckles softly as he turns, folding his arms across the surface of the countertop. He downs a draft from his bottle of Worcestershire sauce like it's any other kinda swiggable beverage, unperturbed, and sets it back down with a quiet clink.]

Ain't gonna happen, pal. Sorry.

[Funny thing, he don't sound the least bit sorry. Not a smidge.]

Edited 2016-10-23 07:17 (UTC)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Event Log: Keepsakes

donger

dick

expand dong

Contract dong?? That sounds painful

then sign a dong contract

a dong contract for the contraction of your dong?

sure sounds legit

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