Event Log: Keepsakes

[hadrielmods]

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?

Comments

[murderpotato]

[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.]

[skelebro]

[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.]

[murderpotato]

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.

[skelebro]

[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.]