[He digests that silently. Alphys, huh? Well, she's got a lotta...it'd be wrong to say "skeletons in the closet," but she's gotta lotta demons to confront, makes sense. Pity he can't pass this down along the line, huh? Not that it'd matter anyway. He ain't got a world to save, or SAVE. And a real pity, too, that Alphys's memories of the kid ain't even all that kindly to begin with.
Yeah, they ended up with a real bunch of winners, didn't they?
Sans begins to laugh again. It curls out low and slow, and he don't really know where the bitterness ends and the self-deprecating, pained edge begins, or if they're all whorled together in a pretty little vomit-colored picture. He should frame it, maybe. It'll go real great with the picture he made Chara take from him. The one they thought they deserved to have, or the one they felt belonged to them, or to spare his feelings, or - god, whatever fucked-up reasoning there was.
Would'a been worse to leave him with the other. Probably.
We'll never know now, will we?
He laughs, and passes a hand over the crown of his skull, to the back of his cervical vertebrae, and then back down again.]
Y'know, I never even knew their names? Not either one of 'em. And I think, sure, y'know. All part of the play. They're an anomaly, you don't get to know 'em, you don't talk to 'em, you don't get chummy with 'em.
But that, uh, that whole time. We take 'em to lunch, we take 'em to dinner. We treat 'em nice.
And we never even asked their name.
[And he'd realized it so sickeningly quickly. Chara was just a hypothesis proven correct, and then they were a symbol of somethin' else - people he failed to save, a world he failed to stall from destruction. Failure, failure, failure. Red X's scored over his face, a face that was probably grinning as they cut him - no.
Kid #1 and Kid #2. And those were childish, absurd, kinder placeholders than variable naming he'd pinned on the both of 'em, when Chara was nothin' more than an atypical spike of DT and Frisk was simply kid, buddy, pal, human.
No wonder neither of 'em would wanna give him the time of day.]
no subject
Yeah, they ended up with a real bunch of winners, didn't they?
Sans begins to laugh again. It curls out low and slow, and he don't really know where the bitterness ends and the self-deprecating, pained edge begins, or if they're all whorled together in a pretty little vomit-colored picture. He should frame it, maybe. It'll go real great with the picture he made Chara take from him. The one they thought they deserved to have, or the one they felt belonged to them, or to spare his feelings, or - god, whatever fucked-up reasoning there was.
Would'a been worse to leave him with the other. Probably.
We'll never know now, will we?
He laughs, and passes a hand over the crown of his skull, to the back of his cervical vertebrae, and then back down again.]
Y'know, I never even knew their names? Not either one of 'em. And I think, sure, y'know. All part of the play. They're an anomaly, you don't get to know 'em, you don't talk to 'em, you don't get chummy with 'em.
But that, uh, that whole time. We take 'em to lunch, we take 'em to dinner. We treat 'em nice.
And we never even asked their name.
[And he'd realized it so sickeningly quickly. Chara was just a hypothesis proven correct, and then they were a symbol of somethin' else - people he failed to save, a world he failed to stall from destruction. Failure, failure, failure. Red X's scored over his face, a face that was probably grinning as they cut him - no.
Kid #1 and Kid #2. And those were childish, absurd, kinder placeholders than variable naming he'd pinned on the both of 'em, when Chara was nothin' more than an atypical spike of DT and Frisk was simply kid, buddy, pal, human.
No wonder neither of 'em would wanna give him the time of day.]