The pages were like a nauseatingly fatidic confetti, powdered into the city like the dust off a dying monster. Letters, symbols, numbers, still without the binder where the entirety of that shit (he'd hate that, callin' his intellectual property "that shit," but he can get stuffed) was typically collated. Maybe he didn't deserve it. Maybe it'd be too much to ask, to get somethin' to bind it all together. It should always exist in pieces, 'cause it always existed in pieces. Assumin' it existed at all.
Still, though. All things considered, it was awful nice of his Wonderlandian double to give him a warnin'. Impossible things happen, and impossibilities, he's long since figured, just tend to up and do their own thing. That's the nature of anomalies. Outliers, they'll just up and scribble all over your carefully-recorded observations like the abstruse, atemporal little fucks they are. He despises them on principle, he's pretty sure. Or he would, if he wasn't such a mess about those goddamn kids.
Not that he's ever not a mess. That's nothin' new.
Still, he's been keepin' an eyesocket out. Doin' his best to, in any case. He's pretty sure some important stuff slips through the cracks (always does), but there's no way in hell (hah) that he'd miss this.
Heh.
Heh heh heh.
All right.
This is happenin' now.
Fine.
Cool.
He wants to drag his nonexistent coccyx into Hadriel, that's fine. It's all good. Sans will handle it. He don't handle a lotta things, but this pretty squarely lands on his shoulders, and he, uh. He's overdue to take a little responsibility, maybe. It was awful nice of this problem to up and vanish for him, all neat and tidy and convenient, but now they're gonna play this game.
And that's. Fine.
Sans shows up behind him with a leisurely grin, hands in his pockets. Maybe a bit older, a bit wearier than this version of the doc might remember. And there's somethin' to his eyesockets. Somethin' icy and flinted.
'Cause he thinks, he thinks about Chara, about the way they just straight-up broke when they saw those pages, and if that's how they reacted to one tiny, inconsequential piece of him, god only knows what either of the kids would do - what would happen to either of 'em - if they laid their eyes on this.
And he's screwed 'em both up enough as it is, don'tcha think?
"Heya, Doc," Sans rumbles, cheerfully. "Long time, no see."
i say (a)gain. just Fuck Me Up
Still, though. All things considered, it was awful nice of his Wonderlandian double to give him a warnin'. Impossible things happen, and impossibilities, he's long since figured, just tend to up and do their own thing. That's the nature of anomalies. Outliers, they'll just up and scribble all over your carefully-recorded observations like the abstruse, atemporal little fucks they are. He despises them on principle, he's pretty sure. Or he would, if he wasn't such a mess about those goddamn kids.
Not that he's ever not a mess. That's nothin' new.
Still, he's been keepin' an eyesocket out. Doin' his best to, in any case. He's pretty sure some important stuff slips through the cracks (always does), but there's no way in hell (hah) that he'd miss this.
Heh.
Heh heh heh.
All right.
This is happenin' now.
Fine.
Cool.
He wants to drag his nonexistent coccyx into Hadriel, that's fine. It's all good. Sans will handle it. He don't handle a lotta things, but this pretty squarely lands on his shoulders, and he, uh. He's overdue to take a little responsibility, maybe. It was awful nice of this problem to up and vanish for him, all neat and tidy and convenient, but now they're gonna play this game.
And that's. Fine.
Sans shows up behind him with a leisurely grin, hands in his pockets. Maybe a bit older, a bit wearier than this version of the doc might remember. And there's somethin' to his eyesockets. Somethin' icy and flinted.
'Cause he thinks, he thinks about Chara, about the way they just straight-up broke when they saw those pages, and if that's how they reacted to one tiny, inconsequential piece of him, god only knows what either of the kids would do - what would happen to either of 'em - if they laid their eyes on this.
And he's screwed 'em both up enough as it is, don'tcha think?
"Heya, Doc," Sans rumbles, cheerfully. "Long time, no see."