hadriel_logs | you know my name [open]

Entry tags:

you know my name [open]

Who: Sans, Sans's double, and Y O U
What: Doubles. It gets bad. Responses from Sans's double will come from

fibia.
Where: All over Hadriel
When: 1/16 - 1/25
Warnings: Things are gonna get messy. Since it's Sans, basic warnings for depressive mindset and self-hatred ratcheted up to 11. In the case of his double, threads may involve heavy manipulation, physchological abuse and cruelty, and of course your typical fare of potentials for violence and gore. Proceed with caution!

1/16 - 1/18; just the big time fucko; arm yourself because no one else here will SAVE you

[The crack and pop of flexing knuckles, and his skull rolls on his cervical vertebrae with a series of satisfying popping of air sacs. His phalanges pull in and out again, clenching into loose fists and then - back out. His smile is a fixed rictus, just the same as the monster from which his mold has been cast. The lights buried in his eyesockets glint coolly as he takes it all in - the rock of the walls and ceiling, the light of hte lamps, the staleness of the air.

He rolls his shoulders smoothly.

Tangibility. Weight. Resonance. What a beautiful fucking thing.

For a time, anyway.

He ambles about the city for a time. There's no visible difference between him and the Sans you might know. He smiles, he nods, he's pleasant. He stops to peruse the shops, and passes by the garage full of mopeds. There's no real obvious changes to any one thing as he passes, and he sure don't stop and loiter about long enough for him to have done anything but - you might notice a few changes. Maybe the bolts and bits of your moped are a mite loose, and kicking it to life will cause it to fall apart on the spot. Maybe that can of food you just picked up from one of the shops has had holes pocked through the bottom, causing its contents to leak out all over the shelves. Maybe a few cobblestones have been loosened to trip you up in the streets, or a shelf in a shop is rigged to topple the instant you pick an item off of it.

But it's probably nothing, right? Just a...coincidence.

Sans is a nice guy. He wouldn't put people in harm's way like that.

Right?]

1/19 - 1/21; FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT; you can't deny the prize, it may never fulfill you

His time here is limited. That much is pretty damn clear. In only a few days, he'll cease to have ever happened; a footnote in somebody else's story. And, heh, while the regular ol' Sans might be content with that, this Sans certainly ain't. He'll live forever, one way or another. He'll preserve his legacy.

It's just a way of making sure that people know what good old Sans is really capable of. The monster in question is doin' a real good job of avoiding himself. Afraid of what he'd find, most likely. Or maybe he knows that he wouldn't be able to stand to look at himself for longer than five seconds. Always hates what he sees in a mirror, that Sans. Too many flaws and not enough motivation to a damn thing about 'em.

So the next step, obviously, would be to lure the guy outta hiding.

He waits in a secluded corner of the city and waits for someone to pass by. Anybody, really, he ain't picky. Just take it one at a time, that's all he asks. And should someone be coming his way all alone, he'll tip his skull in greeting, smile patiently, talk 'em through their concerns that he might be the evil clone. It's doubtful that'll work, but that's just fine.

He's not looking for conversation.

[ooc: Sans's Double will be raring for a fight with this prompt. As his cast has dibs on actually killing him, I ask that you only pick this prompt if you're eager for your character to get Dunked. Though since this Sans has a good deal more than 1 HP, you're free to land a few hits.]

1/22; double trouble; the odds will betray you and i will replace you

By the time the real Sans drags himself outta his miserable little hole to check up on the stirrer of the chaos, the causer of the ruckus, the inciter of scurries, it's already approaching the End. That's all right, though. It's excusable. He's lazy. It's one of the defining points of a Sans.

He kicks a pebble across the ground with the toe of a slippershod foot and watches it clatter over the rock, his smile nothing short of utterly neutral.

"So this is me." For the first time, he appraises his double with an upraised supraorbital ridge. "A LOVE-hungry killer bent on destruction."

"You don't sound surprised." The words rumble in his doppelganger's lack of a throat, and his grin approximates a sneer.

"Why should I be?" A weary lift of Sans's shoulders, and he chuckles. "Always figured that's why a guy like me doesn't have it in him to give a damn. Why a guy like me takes it easy."

"You always take it easy." The admonishment should be laden with disgust, but it emerges lightly, like dispensing criticism upon an amateur writer for using too many semicolons.

"Yeah." The pair of skeletons eye each other warily. Sans smiles. And he smiles. "But it was always my choice to. Shit choice, sure, but at least it wasn't 'cause I couldn't."

His clone doesn't reply. There's the faintest stir of a spark in his gaze, a glint of something akin to a cold fury, but it dissipates in the same moment it forms. There's all matter of LOVE caked about his SOUL. He don't have to think about something like that. He's above that. But Sans reads it well enough, and they both know it.

He could judge him, but it'd just be redundant.

"LV 19," says Sans, the real Sans, heavily. "You've been busy."

"So you know what comes next," says the other. The words are conversational, almost companionable, as easily as if they might be discussing the weather. It is, after all - a beautiful day outside. There's no birds about, and certainly no flowers, but both of 'em know that, statistically, there's bound to be birdsong trilling out there somewhere, a few petals opening themselves to a sun's warming rays. There's bound to be a world where a Sans grins beside a Frisk who's surrounded by their friends, living happily on the surface, contented and unafraid.

"Yeah," says Sans.

"Only one monster in the Underground takes you to 20."

"Yeah," says Sans.

His eyesockets slip closed.

It's a beautiful day outside.

And with the charging roar of a Blaster and the bright span of bones springing into existence, the space between them erupts.

[ooc: This last prompt is a two-for-one deal. Characters can try and intervene, cheer from the sidelines, place bets, whatever you like!]

1/23 - 1/24; the real sans; if you take a life do you know what you'll give

[All right, all right. So he's maybe - maybe slightly concerned at this juncture. He was lucky enough to get outta that first confrontation with his life, and there's no guarantee that his double hasn't already gutted a few unlucky bastards.

He's gotta find him and cut him off before he does anything worse. It ain't like anybody he knows is handling this any better but god damn - he hopes voting Confusion in was worth it, that's all he can say.

Sans blips through the city with a remarkable speed and alacrity, popping into shops, houses, checking every inch of the place he can in search of his cruel, LOVE-happy self. Hope you haven't run into the asshole in the meantime and assumed that the real Sans is subsequently out to get ya, 'cause that would be real unfortunate for the skeleton with 1 HP. Just a real awful, terrible, no good thing.]

wildcard; try to hide your hand, forget how to feel

[ooc: Not a fan of the prompts? Hit me with whatever you like! I'll match prose or brackets, either one. Questions and concerns? Hit me at arcaneswearwords on AIM or over at arrpee or with a PM and let's discuss!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[That's, uh...not what he figured they'd be cooking. It don't look like anything food-related. And as they wipe their hand off, it strikes him that it's - yeah. It's mud.

His grip on the doorway tightens for a hair of a second before he pushes away from it and shoves it in his pocket.

Open eyes. A familiar color, sure, but the expression is all wrong. There's a world of difference between contained and empty, and that expression they're wearing...

Count the numbers. Pick up the steps. One, two, three, four...past four.

That's a "flag" if he's ever seen one.]

Guess I am. Yeah.

[He really don't have it in him right now. But, hey, when's the world ever cared about that? His sockets hood as he appraises them evenly.]

So where's Frisk?"

[Four plus one plus two plus three plus four equals-? They'll let you figure that out, mister anomalyst. Be nice if they bothered to keep their eyes on him, maybe. Or pay much attention to him at all.

They don't bother.]

Like I said. Kid #1 is meeting "Chara".

[It'd be nice, perhaps, to put some disgust into their voice. Something snide, or knowing. Like a taunt, like a really bad joke- the kind that says you'll be dead where you stand, but buck up. You haven't even died yet, right?

Right?

The pity is they can't. The joy is- they can't.

They can't. It's great. It's terrible. They can't.]

If you stick around, you'll see them.

[Too late. He's always too late. Too late for Papyrus, too late for a couple of kids who climbed a mountain.

Too late for just about everybody. A good thing then, a real good thing, that he's so accustomed to the sensation of failure that it might as well just wash senselessly over him at this point. Better for everybody, ain't it?

Something like that.

He keeps his tone level. Keeps the words steady.]

And where's that going down?

[The lid of the pot is slammed down with a rather unfortunate crash. Loud- loud enough to cut off his last word midway, though the kitchen is silent and still, afterward. Just a bubbling stove, a skeleton, and a kid. It's homely, they suppose.

Should probably be homely. Might be described as homely.]

...There's no point.

Kid #1 isn't your problem anymore.

[Clang.

If he had it in him to jump, he would have. They're...someone who cuts the chase. Someone who not only refuses to endure remorse, but severed their tie with it entirely.

His teeth set on a new edge.]

Frisk ain't a problem.

[He's always too late.

He's always. Too late. And they know it, and they know that it hurts his teeth to drag the words out there because it may as well be the filthiest lie in the world. Even if he tries - it's never enough. It's never goddamn well enough, because he's always too late.

And here he'd been thinkin' that they always got a happy ending.

He grinds the words out coldly, and it's no longer a question.]

Where are they.

[So scurr. Very fear. Wow.

Nah. They rock back on their heels, stool lifting with their motions. Till they're balancing on two legs, haha, right over the edge of the cauldron to hell. Like a kid, or maybe just acting like a kid. In ways that the real kid couldn't, until they no longer had any restrictions. Until they just didn't care anymore.

Kind of like him.]

You don't actually believe that.

I thought I told you not to lie to me.

[Maybe Frisk did. But this ain't Frisk. No more than that other Chara ain't Chara. He skips right past that little jab.]

You wouldn't know, actually, what it is I think at this juncture. Maybe "I" do, but...way I see it, he ain't here.

[So. We come back to the start again, and he could keep asking and keep asking and keep asking, but he ain't real sure if any of it'll come across; if any it'll mean something. And he could try shooting a text off to any of 'em - but who's to say their phones haven't been pinched? The kid's just sittin' in the house the kids share like they own it.

He'd be sending 'em a courtesy warning, and he wouldn't even know.]

Are ya just talking me in circles for kicks, or am I wasting my time?

Right. Because you're not him, and he's not you. You're entirely different.

[Wanted to sound scornful, there. Can't. The bag of dog food is half empty. It's funny, but they don't smile. Maybe next time.

If he doesn't want to waste his time, he could always help them find a backing tray. As is, they do it themself, tone as flat as can be. Not a hint of emotion to their next words.]

I figured you were keeping me company, until Kid #1 comes and asks me to kill them.

[The words don't need to sound scornful to possess a bite. And bite they do, but he don't wince. He can't afford to let 'em worm their way in. He bounced himself off the other Chara. He'll bounce himself off this one too.

Can't be that hard, yeah?

...Right. Even he can't buy that little strand of wishful thinking.]

Wouldn't know, actually. Ain't ran into him yet.

[He says "yet" 'cause...yeah. It's probably only a matter of time.]

Cut the crap, kid. What's your angle?

Yet.

[They can agree on something, at least. But the way they say it is far more factual; like he will do it, like it's already set in stone. Stupid, to think a kid might have all the answers. Like they know what's coming next.

Yeah. Real stupid.]

You really don't like listening to me.

[They take a hold of the pot.

They take a hold of the pot, right along one of the burning edges, and they pull it off the stove, contents sloshing over their fingers, spilling out across their front. There's no indication of pain, no mention- but it has to hurt, surely. It has to hurt.

15/20.]

I can't do what they did.

So I'm going to choose a better one to stay.

[That's...new. And more than a little unnerving to watch, and he can't help the reflexive wince, the twitch of his shoulders, as he watches fingers blister. And they...what? Don't feel a damn thing?

He's thinking so. Yeah.]

I'm not a fan of listening to kids talk about how much they hate themselves, no.

[But whose fault is that? He's got a real clear picture at this rate - "Chara" made that pretty patently transparent from the get-go.]

Why's it I get the feeling that they'd be the type to stand there and take it?

I get it. That's why we don't talk anymore. Jokes are always easier.

[Makes all sorts of things more palatable than they really are. Even kids no one wants. With the pot sorted, they can turn round to look at him properly, not that it gives him anything new to look at.

Well. Aside from all the blood down their front, but he probably expected that.]

Because they will. You didn't need to ask that to know the answer.

[Their lips purse. Thoughtful, or pretending to be as much. Some vague indication that somewhere in that tangle, there is still something. Not all just LOVE, not yet.]

That's your fault, isn't it?

[Red. Rusted red soaked all down their throat, and he remembers the way it gummed up between his phalanges, sweet and tomato-scented. He remembers the way their body bucked and how their head burst open like paint-filled water balloon, cracked apart with the skull opened the way a geode -

But that, uh...never happened. Right?

That slate was wiped away a long time ago.

Humans are fragile, and they're soft, and they bleed so, so easily. Frisk had bled. Bled over him, over his jacket, and coughed and apologized for the inconvenience of it.

The arches above his sockets curve downward, faintly.]

Yeah. Yeah, I get it. I heard that spiel from "Chara" already. Don't need to hear it from you.

[He did, didn't he?]

I think I get it, now. Why you're like this.

[He always seems to like it when they talk; until they say something he doesn't want them to say. Is it better if they don't talk about themself at all, Sans? They can talk about you for a while, if you want. See if they can make a few scientific observations of their own.]

You know what I think about you, all the time? That you're like me.

When you mess up, I can see it. You take it and then you use it as a reason to never try again. Why you're a terrible person.

[They'd be jealous, if they could. Really jealous. Imagine being able to go through something enough that you just, stop caring.

Ha.]

You don't have to gain LOVE to not care. If you tell yourself enough times, it doesn't matter anymore.

...It's smart.

[That's the thing about the kid. They're quietly observant, same as him. They wait for the opportune moment, same as him. They have the power to destroy someone and...choose not to.

Is that forgiveness? Hell if he knows. For him, it's just being the conniving son of a bitch he always is.

He looks to the side - to the pot of mud with the flakes of brown crusting along the edges.]

Nah. Not really.

[Bit off the mark there. Points for effort, points for making a pretty solid observation - but the conclusion's all off.]

You tell yourself it doesn't matter. You tell yourself you stopped caring a long time ago.

[You tell yourself you can't afford not to care anymore.]

You never really get lucky enough to start believin' it.

[The main issue in destroying someone is that you actually have to want to. You have to feel something for them; a strain of resentment, perhaps, anger, fear. You have to want to see the shift in the way they look at you, from neutral to shock, despair, and you have to think- how good.

Perhaps that's why Chara always hits harder. Because they mean it to hurt. They don't pull their punches. It was never fun for either of them, but one always managed a smile.]

Could've fooled me.

[Mm. A correction.]

Did. Did fool me.

[Did he ever even need to?]

Yeah.

I know.

[They don't have to say a damn thing he ain't already told himself. Ain't already heard, direct and indirect, and then had to acknowledge in some way or another. No sleeping through it anymore. No buckling down and hoping the slate gets wiped clean.

It's time to live with it. All of it.]

Don't become me, kid. You got better things to do. Yeah?

[Might be too late for this one. And, yeah, he's gotta accept that one as being pretty squarely on him.

But maybe - with what little power you have...

Maybe there's still a way out for the Frisk he knows.]

[It's good, to have dreams. Like wiping the slate clean, and maybe not being the friend someone always wanted, but... a new friend, all the same. Not needing to go back, not really. Deciding for yourself that you've found your Home.

Dreams are dreams. They aren't real.]

I do. I have a present to accept. Once I do, I'm going to start getting the bigger picture.

[There isn't a way out for the Frisk he knows. He just wasted it, talking to them.]

Don't you have a picture to show me, too?

[The bigger picture.

The significance ain't lost on him. His teeth grit a little harder, his skull bowing a little lower, and he shakes his head with a wide, w i d e grin.]

Nope. Not to you.

[Maybe one for the real Frisk, assuming...

Heh. Assuming it's still there. Assuming the other guy hasn't filched it from his belongings already. Assuming they don't already know it. Assuming they don't already hate him with everything they have, rightfully so, for keepin' that from them for so long.

Assuming, you know. Everything.]

Don't think I'm in the right frame of mind for that one.

[It's almost like he's starting to get it. Almost.

They don't think he has it in him, to think they'd plot something so diabolical. Maybe. At the least, he seems to believe the real Frisk has something better in them. Not dealing with the most confrontational demon, the most aggressive. Get's to respond passively in kind.

Gets to use a pun and pretend it's just another joke.]

You like to tell them how it's all your fault they think like they do, Sans. The part where they want to die isn't your fault...mostly.

[A soft sight. As if losing interest, they turn away; pull a ladle out of the drawer, and begin spooning boiling hot mud onto a baking tray.]

The part where they think they're a huge joke? That's you.

[Wherever they're going with their little muddy creation, he's having a hard time focusing on it. He's having a hard time focusing on a lotta things in general, not the least of which...heh, the words they're saying kinda have their own weight.

Still, he does the best he can do. He laughs.]

I'm gettin' real mixed messages here, kiddo. Chara's evil clone says it's all my fault, and here you are saying it ain't all on me. So which is it, huh?

[They think they're a huge joke. 'Cause he makes death into a punchline, feels like that might be defanging it a bit, taking the bite outta something that might be terrifying. Only that ain't terrifying at all, huh? Not to someone who's seen it, lived it. Or not. Not "lived" it. That's the wrong word for it.

The part where they want to die. And how many times have they - tried and failed and failed and failed and f a i l e d

Yeah. Okay. No. He's not...he ain't going there. Not with this kid. Not with this version of 'em. They ain't the one he's looking for.]

[Mud pies, Sans. Mud pies. And they're for two very special people- not that one of them is going to get their gift, for a while. He's not going to be getting much at all, after "Chara"s done.

Always quick to go back to Chara, isn't he? They should resent that. Should resent it; everyone is quick to go back to Chara. Look to the obvious problem, ignore the rest.]

I don't lie as much as Chara does.

[They don't talk as much as Chara does, either- funny how those things even themselves out a bit. Set the balance between which child is good, which child is evil.
Which kid has tried and failed and failed and should Keep T r y i n g
They're almost done, here.]

If you hurry, you might save one of them. One out of three isn't bad.

I think the two of ya only lie when you think someone's gonna worry. When someone's gonna think that maybe you aren't as together as you want 'em to believe.

[And he's gotten that far, he can say that for certain. He's gotten to the point where he can say, without question, that he knows that neither kid is doing all right. But neither kid is also eager to admit it. And when they do -

When they do, what's he say? He shuts 'em down, because what the hell do you say to that? No, don't do it, keep going, keep being...determined.

'Cause his track record is just so great with both of 'em.]

So. Guess you've said your piece. Then I guess I'll ask ya one more time, since now you seem plenty eager to spill.

Where's Frisk.

Why would anyone care?

[Does he really think they'd lie, just because they think people give a damn?

Maybe he's more simple-minded than they give him credit for. He's definitely single-minded, playing over the same track record now, like it fixes every other record from the past. Scratch them up a few times, and they just won't matter anymore.]

Not here.

[So they ain't gonna help him any. Fine. That's fine. Didn't really expect much at this point, and it would'a been cruelly optimistic to assume they would. If he lets 'em outta his sight...where're they gonna go? To Asriel? To Chara?

To Frisk?

Undoubtedly.

Just has to get there first. 'Cause he's just got such a fantastic history of doing exactly that, right?]

Right. Okay. Glad we had this little chat.

[He doesn't bother to inject the words with even a desultory note of polite neutrality.]

Laugh all you like, assumin' you still can. [Low blow? Maybe. He doesn't care.] But here's the funny thing.

I care. And I know I ain't the only one. A lotta people care if that kid lives or dies. You hear that?

[Threats, when he bothers to make them, tend to land in the area of something that needs to be picked apart, dissected, something low and understated.

This is no exception.]

you know my name [open]

if you never call no one ever comes

Funny. They don't come when you call, either.

r u d e

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fuckin rude stealing their face like that

u started it

sure they did skin stealer.

how skinsightful

haha enjoy the eventual dust, shitlord

i sure am :)

I hate you.

:)

SHUT

NO U

NO. U.

NEVER

SHUT!!!!!!!!!

;^]