hadriel_logs | give up if you wanna survive [closed]

Entry tags:

sans,
wade wilson

give up if you wanna survive [closed]

Who: two emotionally dysfunctional assholes (sans t. skellyman and wade motherflippin wilson)
What: tfw you actually make an effort to connect with your alcoholic friend
Where: all around the city probably
When: backdated to just after this conversation on 10/13
Warnings: given the things these two do and say, I'd say cautious warnings for alcoholism and all-around dysfunctional behavior. will update as needed.

[So he feels pretty, uh. Pretty bad about that whole "moving out" thing. And Wade is probably the one of his former roommates that he knows least about. Might be the guy is real used to playin' things close to the chest, but so is Sans. And he's especially good at recognizing the same behavior in others.

So he ends up outside House Number One with his hands in his pockets, leanin' up against the wall like the insouciant bastard he is. Only he ain't really all that insouciant, all things considered. He's...

Huh.

He's worried.

That's new.

Or maybe not - not new, per se, 'cause he's frequently worried, frequently concerned, he just don't ever really put any genuine action behind the thought. It's more of a mute and move on kind of deal, more often than not. There's a thing he should be concerned about, he acknowledges it, and then he shunts it to the side and never looks back. But things are startin' to look a lot more permanent than he's ever figured they would be. And what kinda world does he have to look back to?

Nothin' at all.

So he waits outside his former place of residence. It, uh, doesn't exactly not occur to him that he could just not follow up on his offer, period. But he also feels a little like he owes him. He's a solid guy, Wade. Someone who laughs at his jokes.

And someone with a knack of sincerely bad jokes? Well, they got this whole integrity to 'em that you just can't say "no" to.]

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[Sans isn't the only one fighting off a case of the "fuck-its" right now.

Wade knows he should get up and head out to meet his buddy-- he's been around the guy enough to know that he doesn't just take just anyone up on an offer to go for a walk-- but the truth is, a very big part of him is wondering why he even bothered. He's drunk some water and washed his face, but the remnants of the alcohol still lingers pleasantly in his brain like the scent of an old lover; like a whispered promise. He's lying on his bed now, holding his phone above his head and re-reading the tail end of his and Sans's text conversations, and wonders whether he should just beg off.

Sans doesn't really wanna hang out with him, he's almost convinced of that. This whole thing is just some weird obligation he's fixated on just because the two of them had been roomies at some point. After all, nobody actually wants to be a babysitter, right? Especially to someone as fucked in the head as he is.

He's almost convinced himself of that. Almost.

But he's been too long in the company of those he's called friends to play the loner card with any certainty nowadays. The majority of his comrades from Haven might be gone, but their absence gnaws at his heart like a cancer. Simply put, Wade's lonely. He's lacking. And he's not so deep into his cups to be totally convinced that alcohol could ever fill that hole.

Sans is leaning against the wall of the house just as he said he would be. Wade grins when he sees him, pausing only once to wipe the sudden dampness from his eyes. He always tended to have a spike in body temperature whenever he drank-- an annoying side effect.]

Hey there, champ! Ready for our hike? I promise to go easy on ya, honest.

That's a relief.

[A steady, rumbling drawl, revealing nothin' of the confused, contracted wad of concern boiling off just beneath his ribcage. Having a lotta trouble justifying this course of action to himself. Mostly 'cause, uh, he's really not one to purport to care a whole lot. Most people know this. Hell, he's pretty sure Wade knows it.

It ain't just gonna burn off into nothing. That's the thing. This thing right now, this worry gnawing at him, hangin' over his head, it ain't just gonna go away. He knows that for a fact, for goddamn certain. That's the thing about caring. Once you start, it's hard as hell to get yourself to stop.

Maybe it's the easy laughter, the joking back-and-forth that's so easy to engage in, the repertoire of rapier wit. Maybe it's the fact that the first thing Wade says, when surrounded by zombies aimin' to chew his brains out, is that he just wants a drink.

Fact of the matter is, he can't rightly pin down when friendly banter graduated to genuine care, however warped and stunted and confined to the posterior of his skull where it won't get him promisin' absurd things, stupid shit like, hey. Let's go for a walk for the heck of it. He don't like walks. He don't even like getting up to shuffle his coccyx over to the fridge if he can help it.

But objects in motion stay in motion, and all that. A real damn shame, sometimes. Laws of physics workin' against him.]

Bit outta shape, not gonna lie.

[Understatement of the century, there. Sans may not have an ounce of fat on him (or muscle, or even skin) but he moves like someone unused to exerting that much effort to get from point A to point B-- if point A and point B were a centimeter apart. Wade doesn't hold it against him, though. Lord knows he's stayed up watching something inane and brain-melting because he was too lazy to change the channel. Besides, he's still trying to pretend this whole excursion isn't just a way to hide his not-so-little vice.]

Don't worry, we're not goin' too far. You up for a stroll in the orchard? Not much here in terms of weather, but at least the trees're nice.

Trees're nice to look at.

[They can both pretend, see. It's nicer that way, ain't it? Steppin' around the problem like it ain't hanging grimly over their heads, like they don't both know exactly what game the other is playing.

But, hey. It ain't like Sans has ever been the type of guy to talk to people straightforward-like now, has he?]

Even if Sorrow won't make any of 'em magic, can you believe it? A monster like me gets all sad and mopey for a week, and I can't even eat the damn fruit.

[You're a guy after his own heart, Sans. Obstacles are much less present; much less oppressive if you can just pretend they aren't there to begin with. Surprisingly enough for someone who can survive just about anything that can be thrown at him (and honestly, he's been alive long enough for the very real possibility that everything has been thrown at him), running away from responsibilities is a tried-and-true tactic he's implemented for years. And it's a relief to see that Sans is apparently on the same wavelength as he is.

Wade pounces on this extra bit of information-- mainly because it's a change of subject, but also in part because what he's hearing is ridiculous.]

Wait-- you can't eat 'em at all? That seems like a huge oversight, 'f you ask me. Not that these guys have the best track record for that kinda thing.

Didja talk to him about it?

[They can both run screaming from the, uh, uncomfortable subject of why they're both here, then. That seems legitimate, yeah? Neither of 'em really wanna talk about it, so they might as well pretend that this is all good and fine, that nothin' is wrong.

It's what he's best at.

He shakes his skull in mock dismay and disbelief.]

First thing I did was ask him about it. He says nah, can't do it. Can't or won't, he didn't say.

Though I'd put my money on won't. Last time I tried negotiating his price was an ix-nay on the okes-jay. [All said with the disgruntled tone of can you believe this guy? 'Cause seriously, can you believe this guy.]

That's like... borderline racist, dude. What the fuck.

[He doesn't specify whether it's racist against monsters or jokesters-- or whether he's talking about the restriction on the fruit or the restriction on jokes. Perhaps it's all of the above. Sans has proven-- for the most part-- to be a pretty stand-up guy. Anyone who'd willingly go against his lackadaisical nature to accompany a bro on what basically amounts to a snipe hunt couldn't be considered anything less.]

Had a magician friend back where I came from that could've fixed the problem for ya. One time she made me this magic drink that was just--

[He stops himself before he can say any more, secretly relieved that he had chosen the innocuous word "drink" over the controversial term "wine". Zatanna's wine had had the power to get him drunk within a few sips-- a marvel to anyone with such a hyperactive metabolism-- but it's not the most appropriate topic of conversation at the moment.]

Anyway. S'not like it can't be done. No doubt the emo kid's just holdin' back out of spite. Want me to try an' talk some sense into him? I'm good at talkin' to gods.

[Wade your reputation isn't exactly exemplary when it comes to communicating with the various deities. And that's not even getting into the ones you've actively hit on.]

Edited 2016-11-22 18:00 (UTC)

[And just like that, through no fault of anyone, they end up on the subject of drinks again. And Wade cuts himself off prematurely. Pretty damn indicative of what they're trying to avoid discussing here, especially with how he just up and jumps shit on the topic like that's foolin' anyone.

He ain't really buyin' it, but he's pretty sure Wade ain't either.

He, uh...he's not really the sorta guy to push personal vices, not when he's got so many of his own. Just sorta roll with it, yeah?

Yeah. Sounds good.]

Maybe we could get Hermann to do it. He's good at writing strongly-worded letters.

Heh. You right about that. The doc seems to have a way with words. Plus he'd probably be better at that whole... what's it called-- diplomacy thing.

[An awkward silence passes, with all of what they're not saying hovering between them like an annoying third wheel. Luckily, the agony only lasts for a few seconds (during which Wade might have "accidentally" touched Sans's shoulder and whispered a "bodyslide by two") before they're inside the orchards proper.

Despite having no sunlight to nourish them the trees are as vibrant as ever, and the memory of another set of trees in another world serves to loosen Wade's tongue.]

Least these aren't cherry trees. I've got, uh... an interesting history with cherry trees. Probably would've been suspicious of 'em the whole time, y'know?

Edited 2016-11-28 00:49 (UTC)

[They can have a good chuckle about the doc, sure, but after a while there comes a point where there ain't really much to say. And then Wade goes ahead and takes them along his own personal kind of shortcut, saving 'em the trouble of having to actually walk there.

He's quietly, uh, a little bit grateful for that. 'Course, that just goes and makes it all the more obvious that they're both dancin' around the subject here. Neither of 'em really came out for a walk.]

You don't like cherry trees? And here I thought you would'a cherrished 'em.

[But jokes, see. Jokes are easy.]

Ha! Nice one.

[His approval of Sans's pun at least seems genuine, but he sinks into an almost uncharacteristically pensive silence again. Sans should count himself lucky-- the Merc with a Mouth is usually never this quiet. Eventually, he speaks up again, as if the sudden lapse in conversation had never happened.]

S'not cherry trees in general that I got a problem with, it's just... well. The ones that grew in the place I was at before this were kinda... different.

[There's obviously a story here; Wade's usually shameless when it comes to talking about himself.]

[Good different or bad different, he don't need to ask. It might not be focusin' on the problem neither of 'em are talkin' about, but it's something to talk about, a story there that Wade himself opened the door to exploring at reasonable length.]

Different how?

[Sure, he's curious. Maybe in a pretty idle sense since what they're both avoiding talking about takes a bit of precedence but - yeah, all right, consider his interest mildly piqued.]

Like the "had the power to make you harder than Chinese algebra" kinda different.

[There's a genuine, embarrassed sort of laugh following that statement, as if Wade's wordlessly acknowledging the ridiculousness of such a phenomenon.]

They had pheromones designed to make you wanna get your freak on when they bloomed, or something. It was... that kinda world.

Just imagine Vegas with less STDs and no Elvis impersonators and you'll kinda get a sense of what it was like to live there.

Edited 2016-12-07 18:19 (UTC)

[Unfortunately, Sans has never been to Vegas, so the reference is pretty lost on him. Thanks to Wade's, uh, rather "flowery" descriptors, he gets the idea anyway.

Which really wasn't the answer he was expectin', but it gets a somewhat surprised chuckle outta him, 'cause that story is - not really in the "bad" or the "good" category, maybe. Maybe it just kinda lands in the "weird."]

You been in some real wild places, huh?

[Too much information? Wade doesn't think so. You can only share a few flirting tennis matches with a guy before he unlocks the secret code to your TMI stash. Wade gives Sans a skeptical look.]

Dude I've gotten space poon. The million-mile high club, if you catch my drift. "Wild" doesn't even begin to describe my life.

[What the hell, Wade. No one needs to know this. Okay, not true - maybe some people would like to know it. But Sans most definitely is not among them.

Mostly he just makes an incredibly undignified snorting sound, nearly doubling over with abrupt laughter.]

Holy shit, man. I didn't even need to know that.

[Oh, Sans. You of all people should know better than to give a comedian encouragement. Wade's eyes virtually light up with mischief, leaning over to clap the skeleton on the back.]

What the hell's that mean? I thought you'd be interested in my sexcapades, bro. I mean, we're all adults here, aren't we?

'Sides, you've never lived until you've gotten it on in zero-G, mark my words.

That is not a mental picture I needed.

[All he knows about human, uh, stuff is that humans kinda have a tendency to...go all over the place. Don't they?

Goddamn Sans does not need this right now. This is not the kind of fluid he wanted to be thinking about.]

Do I wanna know how that even works?

["Go all over the place" isn't exactly a specific description of sex there, Sans. Wade's response continues to be nonchalant, as if he's not currently in the process of breaking his bro's brain.]

I dunno, you tell me. I mean you're the one who's apparently fantasizing about me gettin' my freak on right now, you weirdo.

Edited 2016-12-19 01:38 (UTC)

[He means they have stuff. Monsters aren't quite so leaky, all right? Not in terms of blood or - any other kind of fluids that may or may not be present during those moments.[

Oh no. You don't get to pin this on me, pal. You're the one who brought up cherry trees, all ready to spill an amusing little anecdote about 'em.

[Hey, he's seen the way you down a bottle of ketchup, okay? Kinda hypocritical to judge humans swapping fluids when you're a total condiment slut.]

Hey, you're the one who made the mistake of askin', pal. And it got you to laugh, so don't act like you're not gettin' any enjoyment outta this one. One way or another, anyway.

[Fair, fair. That's perfectly legitimate.]

I'm ashamed. I'm shocked and ashamed, good sir. [He makes a show of pausing to reconsider, then chuckles as he shakes his skull.] Actually, y'know what? I just remembered I have zero standards. Carry on!

[And here is where Wade completely goes against the expected reaction and starts acting demure. Pretending to, anyway-- dude's so shameless that there's not a demure bone in his body, but he makes a pretty convincing act of it nonetheless.]

C'mon, now. Can't tell you all my secrets. A gentleman doesn't kiss an' tell, after all. You're gonna have to work for it.

[Ah yes. That dirty four-letter word.]

Whaddaya want from me? I don't even have lips.

[Work, though. Ugh, c'mon man. Now ain't the time to grow a set of standards, really now.]

Yeah, I always kinda wondered about that, actually. How can you... y'know. Eat without lips? Doesn't that make it kinda hard to keep the food in your mouth?

[Granted, on all the dates he'd gone on with his Lady Death, he'd never seen her eat. Doubtless she had some sort of self-sustaining thing going on as long as there were things that could die. Or maybe she just got a contact buzz off of other people's life force. Neither theory would surprise him if it were true.]

Though I guess I kinda opened up a can of worms with that question, huh? Just makin' me think of more questions now.

...Wait, am I being racist right now or something? Or fleshist, or whatever?

Magic, mostly.

[That's the simple answer, and it's kind of a cop-out, but honestly - what'd you expect? It's what he does. Practically his whole shtick.]

That's probably the answer to most of your questions, frankly. Magic makes just about everything possible if it's funny enough.

[Or...dramatic enough. But humor is easier, requiring significantly less reaching on his part. Right down on his level, no stooping required.]

Heh. So... a wizard did it. Gotcha. Read you loud and clear.

[He honestly wasn't expecting anything different. Sans's answer-- to him, at least-- seems like a step away from "I'd tell you but I'd have to kill you.

Instead Wade places his hands behind his head and changes to a different subject.]

So, uh... I wanted to ask you something. Whaddya think of... all this? Livin' in caves; havin' to deal with gods and all that shit? I'm still tryin' to wrap my brain around it, to be honest.

[A beat, before he utters a scoff.]

Startin' to forget what sky looked like.

[Sans lids his eyesockets at half-mast as he digests the words quietly. Figuratively speaking, anyway. Don't have to keep tract of this kinda thing when you don't have the requisite organs to speak of.

He considers the words as they come. Another shift of the subject. Clumsy, but...ain't like either of 'em are eager to discuss the real reason they're here at any length, huh?

Nah. Not much.]

Monsters live Underground where I come from. The gods are new. So are the, uh...less friendly monsters.

[He's seen the sky. He knows he has. Got the photographic evidence to prove it in a drawer somewhere. But hell if he remembers what it looks like.]

Not so much of a shift for yours truly. More like...a rotation of perspective.

...Huh.

[He'd never really given a thought to where Sans had lived before coming here, in all honesty. Wade had encountered so many strange and interesting people in his life that the notion of where they had all come from rarely even crossed his mind. Mostly because a great portion of the strange and interesting people had come from his own world.

He remembers Sans mentioning something about living in a cave in the midst of one of their many, many flirt sessions, but hadn't really given it much thought. A part of him wishes he'd paid more attention, back then. Ah, well. No time like the present.]

Y'know, I never gave much thought to you bein' part of... y'know. A society. No idea why. Are they all skeletons like you?

["Flirt sessions." And which one of 'em is blame for that, exactly?

What, 'cause he don't seem socially well-adjusted? Sans is the pinnacle of social consciousness. He's got manners, he's got jokes - what more does a guy need? Still, he can't blame Wade for bein' taken aback. Ain't like Sans ever brings up home, much.

There wasn't much of it by the time he ended up here, anyway.]

Nah, just me and my bro. We got monsters of all sorts down there, though.

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give up if you wanna survive [closed]

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