lethargy got a hold of me [open]

[skelebro]

Who: Sans and you
What: Sans resurrects. He has a good think about what he's done.
Where: Hope's temple and then all around the city
When: 1/26 and onward
Warnings: Casual talk of death, self-loathing, existential depression, lots and lots of r e g r e t s.



1/26; hope's temple; i don't want to use my imagination here

[Death is a funny thing. It's even funnier when you've already felt yourself be cleaved in two, red droplets spilling out between clasped fingertips 'cause you figured, hey, if you were gonna go out you might as well go out with a laugh, yeah? The look on the kid's face when the hot crimson tumbles out from the line that had him bisected - priceless, right?

Didn't get that last ironic fuck you to the processes of the universe this go around. Nah, he got the drop on himself, and now it's kickin' him in the coccyx for it.

His eyesockets snick open, and he stares at the ceiling of Hope's temple from where he is on the altar, and for the first time in his life, he wakes up with memories.

Cold sneers, the ignition of a left eyesocket, the flare of an amber flame coiling out from just above a vindictive, triumphant grin, and the slam of bones through flesh. The roar of Blasters shearing through rock and mortar and cement, bringing the entirety of a building trembling and collapsing on top of the kid that refused, that refused, even as he mocked them with a cruel dismissal.

The tossing of a photograph. The slap of a binder hitting the ground, two surface clipping into alignment like a gauntlet thrown. Two kids, trembling as they hang against one another, barely holding on, blood-covered and torn up all to hell, repeating fragile phrases. Scared, undeniably. Told, viciously, that they ought'a take their life into their own hands. Plunge themselves into the only thing that might wipe 'em out completely.

...he feels like he's had that thought before. Can't imagine who might'a told him. No one he's ever met speaks in hands, yeah? No one would k̤͆͘n̸̜̬o̅̃ͦw̤ͧ᷀ -

Point is, sometime soon he's gotta get up. Sometime soon he's gotta pick himself up and start makin' his way to the kids' place. Sometime soon he's gotta do something.

Sometime soon. Yeah.

Maybe he'll go back to sleep for a while.]

1/27; the lake; broke down, nothing else left

Things keep going. Time rolls on, life keeps going, the world keeps turning - y'know, all those vague adages that people say after trauma hits you square in the chest and picks all the warm little lights from you. And, hey, he knows that pretty well. Knows that a bit too well. Accepted it a long, long time ago.

Sans stands at the edge of the lake with his hands buried in the pockets of his jacket. The holes in his shirt have been mended - perks of his clothes bein' made of the same stuff that all monsters are, dissolving into dust along with him - but the sensation of three femurs slamming through his rib cage remains. One bony hand occasionally drifts up to his sternum, dragging a phalanx up and down at the phantom gap in his bones where a Knife once entered, where some bones shot through.

They always go right for the chest. Ruthless.

He should do something useful with himself. Set about apologizing for what that real piece of work did and said to everybody. He remembers a shade too well, all the cruelties he exacted on everybody he knows, and even some people he didn't.

Instead, Sans does what Sans does best.

He stares out across the edge of the water, and he does absolutely nothing.

1/28; the orchard; oh, what i'd do not to worry like you

[He takes Brot out for a long-overdue stroll. Don't bother with a leash or anything like that - figures that'd not work out real well for anyone involved, in any case. He just lets the little fennec fox take a snooze in the hood of his jacket while he ambles on down to the orchard, and then he sets him down and lets him frisk about for a while.

Sans, for his part, plunks himself down beneath one of the trees, unstoppers a bottle of mustard, and starts swigging, watching the little fox trot about with his sockets lidded at half-mast.

Startin' early, maybe.

Maybe now he and Wade can have something else in common.]

wildcard; paint the scene for me, paint it bright and clear

[Feel free to toss up any starters you need if you wanna run into Sans - he'll be all over the place. I'll match prose or brackets!]

Comments

1/26 [Chara, Frisk and Sans]

[save_theworld]

[They haven't been out of bed much, these past few days. And it's something Frisk is determined to rectify, with or without help.

With, apparently. It's a difficult, tedious journey down the stairs, but Chara's there with them throughout. To offer an arm, a few words. Lag for a minute and complain about their shoelaces, just to Frisk will stop and catch their breath. Frisk- knows, what they're doing. They don't protest it.

There mightn't be a sun, but the false light that fills the caverns still feels somewhat the same. Warmish, at least. Better than being cooped up in a bed. Huffing, Frisk leads the way to the statue- round the side and out the way, still playing it's tune over and over, now that there's no rain to stop it. A familiar sound. A good sound.

And that's where the two children stay. A grand trip that has Frisk slumped down against the statues side, almost dozing, but- nice, all the same. Just a bit of difference from how things have been.

A lot better than being stuck in an apartment, with dusty jokes and cryptic papers.

They can work on doing something nice for everyone later.]

[somuchlove]

[It's a long journey but when hasn't that been the case? The only difference was that they both now knew the middle ground meant nothing. It came down to either LV 1 or LV 20.

Chara had been out and about during the days after things settled, or as "settled" as Hadriel ever got to be. The result of those days...varied. But there's no use talking about them. Frisk proposed to go out and see the statue. Something twisted in Chara's stomach but they agreed to go. The trip down took a long time, full of complains of various things and repeating that shoelace joke that Sans once told in place of Frisk, back when they were going through that loop of death.

Met with less than success. But that wasn't the point. Sometimes Frisk thought too much, much like Chara. If they could think a little less about the events that had transpired then so much the better.

Like Frisk, Chara dozes against the statue, side-by-side with their Partner. One hand they have near Frisk's, not touching but close enough just in case they wanted it. The other had the still-broken Locket. Chara would speak to the Gods about fixing it, but held off so they would not be brushed off if the request was sent in too early.

It was the closet thing to having Asriel here as well.

But it is nice, being here. Despite thinking too hard about certain subjects, it was better to air the dust and cobwebs once in awhile. Let sleeping men lie for a little bit before going back to reading It's words.

They'll work until they can provide that one last gift to the world. Until then...they both can rest for awhile.]

[skelebro]

[So Alphys, it turns out, ain't doing so hot. And there's a lotta concerning things that've been said, not the least of which involve the reason she woke up in Hope's, same as him. Must've just missed each other.

Either way, he's gotta have yet another difficult chat he don't wanna have. He intends to head to the spire the kids all share, but he gets waylaid before he makes it to the doorstep - mostly 'cause he catches 'em outside.

The quiet tinkle of a music box and the huddled silhouettes of a couple of kids. Something in him kinda just wants to keep walkin' by and let them rest.

They've been through enough.

But instead, 'cause he's a horrible hypocrite who don't know when or how to let things lie - should maybe think of takin' his advice on learnin' how to QUIT sometime, huh? - he stops a few yards away, hands in his pockets.]

Glad ya made it out.

[Don't think he needs to specify there, nah.]

[save_theworld]

[They don't really need all that much rest, Frisk thinks. That's what they've been doing, these past few days. Resting. Not enough hot dogs to go around, potential lessons in healing magic never come to fruition. They have to heal the old fashioned way- with time, and sleep, and not moving around so much.

Descending seven stories to hang out by a statue likely counts as moving around too much. Frisk doesn't have it in them to be annoyed at that- they don't have anything to do, or anywhere to be. No one's going to come, except maybe Wade, to check on them. Or Papyrus. Everyone else has to- come back the old fashioned way.

With time.

Time's up.

Frisk jolts, and in that instant they want Chara's hand; clasp it hard as they sit up, eyes opening just enough- they're looking at him, really looking, for some kind of indication that it's him.

...

That aside, Frisk doesn't seem much for conversation.]

Orchard

[mismanagement]

[It's sentiment - the same sentiment her double sneered at - that sends Maketh into the orchard, padding barefoot around the trees with her boots in her hand. She doesn't often come here, but can't sleep or sit still long enough to do anything useful. So she wanders through the trees and tries not to think about Lilith, a fruitless exercise if ever there were. Of course she thinks of Lilith here with her feet digging into the ground, disturbing leaves and too-soft fruit. A lot of things were said in the orchard. A lot of things were offered.

She rounds the corner and pauses.]

I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you.

[Her voice comes out soft and a little hollow. She's not drunk but she's not entirely sober either. It's an odd feeling, like her body isn't really her body and she's watching everything play out from a distance.]

[skelebro]

[He's only half-asleep when someone speaks up, interrupting the sluggish drag of his thoughts through his skull. Brot has his nose up against a hollow knot in one of the tree trunks, and he comes sniffing out as soon as Maketh speaks up. Keeps his distance, but simply peers at her curiously.

He's a pretty well-behaved little dude. Which is nice, 'cause Sans is absolutely shit at disciplining anyone.

Takes him a minute to focus on Maketh and...yeah, that's a fresh twist of guilt in whatever passes for his gut. From the way her double was speakin', it's pretty clear she ate it at some point during the chaos. And then, if she's anything like him, she woke up with all those words in her head.

He's still real, real sore over the fact that people thought Confusion was worth votin' in.]

Nah, I wasn't doin' much.

[There's nothin' wrong with sentiment. Hell, monsters are practically made of it. The problem is when you figure it ain't worth it anymore, to care.]

How you been? You, uh...I guess you're back.

[Like him. He'd laugh, but it ain't very funny.]

[mismanagement]

[There's an odd little animal with oversized ears watching her. Maketh blinks at it. For a moment she thinks of loth-cats and then, inevitably, the Empire. She shakes it away. There's no use in that here.]

Back. Yes.

[She smiles without humor, though even that fades quickly.]

I owe you an apology. For what that thing said.

1/26

[alltozero]

[Asriel had woken up in the temple too, though a little bit earlier than Sans.

It was strange, how familiar it felt. Or maybe it wasn't...? He'd certainly had time to get used to the feeling of waking up after death, of blinking awake back at his Save Point. Like this was just another Reset. Like Chara dusting him was just a bad dream.


Chara.

He's positive they must be waiting for him. They're his best friend in the whole world. They'd never leave him alone. They're the one person who would answer when he called out for help, the one person who understands how it had felt to cry into the darkness and go unanswered. He must have made them worry so much - and Frisk too! Just... vanishing? He knows how miserable he was when Chara had died. He knows how much it hurt when they avoided him after. He can't do that to them! He can't.

He'd hopped down off the alter, had called out.

"Frisk? Chara? Are you there?"



But nobody came.


...Oh.

Well... maybe they're... busy? Maybe they didn't notice Asriel had... that'd be better, wouldn't it? If they didn't have to notice at all? Or maybe - maybe they - the only reason Chara wouldn't be there waiting for him is if they'd died too, right?

So he figures he just has to wait. He knows how to wait for them. He'll always wait for them. He can be patient.

He paces the temple for a while. Checks outside, every so often. Paces the entrance instead, just in case. It's when he's coming back in from one of those out-front shifts, in fact, that he arrives at the altar, and there's someone familiar there.

It's not Chara.

It's Sans.

That... oh. That means he... died, didn't he? Only 1 HP, so all it would have taken is...

Asriel tries. Tries really hard. Tries to feel sorrow for a senseless loss. Tries to feel empathy, tries to remember how it feels to die and apply it to Sans and feel something for him. It's as useless as it always is - a soulless creature just isn't capable of compassion. But all the same, he... well, he tries to fake it.]

O-oh. Oh no, um... Sans? Are you... how are you feeling?

[skelebro]

[He don't really expect anyone to be there. Sooner or later he'll get up and get moving. Sooner or later he'll...heh, wake him up tomorrow, right? Instead he lies there and contemplates the ceiling without really seeing it. The words, when they come to him, are quiet and hesitant, as if their very existence is an imposition upon him.

Funny. Last time he heard that voice, it was false and bright and chipper, spilling all sorts of angry words and secrets that Sans didn't have any right to know.

Either way, he has to get up.

So he gets up.

He slides off the edge of the altar, jams his hands in his jacket pockets, and lifts his gaze to look the king's kid square in the eyes. Is it - what? All an act? Can he genuinely feel not a damn thing for anybody? So why's he bothering?

Why does anyone fucking bother?]

"Sans," huh? And here I thought I was "Smiley Trashbag".

[That's cold. Cruel, even for him. But those words never really faded from his ossicles, a sickening sequence of secrets he's still havin' trouble piecing together.

Does he remember?

Who can say, right? Maybe it's inconsistent. Wouldn't be the first time the gods failed to impose any sort of rule on something. Either way, he doubts the kid wants to hear those words right now. Doubts he wants to bother opening up this can of worms.

Asriel was second on the list of people he figured he sould talk to, and now he just got bumped up to the first.

Lucky day for him.]

[alltozero]

[Smiley Trashbag.

Asriel's expression wasn't exactly overjoyed to begin with, but he hears those two words, and his expression crumbles. Sans is good at knowing things that he has no actual reasonable way of knowing, just because he can, but... but knowing that is...

It's not hard to guess what Asriel's double must have been like. He doesn't have much of a life, but he makes it pretty easy to ruin when his own past actions have sabotaged it beyond repair, huh?

Suddenly, it makes sense why he woke up all alone.

He shrinks back a few paces, shoulders rising up to lift up the dropping ends of his ears, head bowing.]

N-no, no it's... it's Sans. I don't think you're a trashbag! I don't want to be mean to you!

[It's even worse, because he's lying, isn't he? That scalded, hissing bit of shrapnel rattling around in his hollow chest has snapped the phrase "smiley trashbag" plenty of times since Asriel came here. Always whispering in the back of his mind, in the ugly dark corners where Asriel tries his very hardest to to never ever look.]

1/27

[turingmachine]

They're not... their experience with their double was more obnoxious than actually scary, save for very end when they teamed up with Ahsoka's double, but they still find themselves restless and uncomfortable in their own home. Memories of the night Hayden was taken from them are still all too fresh, and the double kidnapping them for that public humiliation stunt was really just the catalyst for the further development of the resulting anxiety.

They sleep, sometimes, when they're charging their batteries or they really need the rest. But now the thought of leaving themselves so vulnerable makes every part of them crawl. Bob Ross often took walks and enjoyed nature, and with their freedom they've picked up the habit as well. Here, however, it's nothing like the building trees and abundance of planters that decorate their home. There is the park, the orchard, and the lake, and little else.

They're enjoying the lattermost option when they spot a familiar face.

"Sans?"

[skelebro]

The only indication that the approach of somebody else is a faint twitch of his skull before he turns to face the fella in question. The...robot. ROM in question. Takes him a second to place their name, though their face comes to him pretty quick. There ain't exactly an overabundance of ROMs here, after all.

"Heya, Turing," he drawls out after a spell. Grins easily, 'cause that's a simple reaction, the obvious way up and out.

Can't remember much of anything his double might'a said to them. So, uh, that's nice. Didn't ruin their life, apparently. Good job, good for him.

"How you holdin' up? Settlin' in all right?"

In retrospect, that sounds like a mockery, after everything the city's endured.

[turingmachine]

"Hi." Turing was fortunate in that their combination of mostly staying in their apartment, not paying much attention to the network, and having very few people who knew them well enough to want to bother them specifically had shielded them from the worst of the event.

"I'm doing well enough, considering the situation." Hopefully things won't be like that all the time...

"What about you? Are you okay?" They hadn't seen the network post about Sans' death.

down by the bay

[purpleknee]

[It takes a bit for Warrick to approach Sans when he notices him, and in the end he doesn't get all that close. Doesn't have much to do with the skeleton himself, just the fact that he's by the water, but... Hey, feel free to turn it into another reason to hate yourself, I'm not gonna stop you.]

...You're back? And -- [you?]

where the watermelons grow~

[skelebro]

[He's got nothin' to do with his hands. Typically, he ain't really what you'd call a bastion of anxiety - that's more Alphys's deal, and anyone who's met her could tell you that for themselves - but after everything, it's proving difficult to stand still like he's used to.

Maybe it's the heat in here. Maybe it's the pressure.

...nah.

Warrick, though. Did a pretty stand-up thing. Didn't buy his double's shtick for a second, even if it was, for the most part, pretty true. Hints that maybe he's gotten to feel some of those things he was sayin' he couldn't feel.]

Guess Hope was holdin' off until he could be sure everybody was gonna be themselves when he brought 'em back.

[He grins, tiredly.]

'Sup?

[purpleknee]

["Not for a second" isn't...entirely accurate. He doesn't have a doubt there was truth in what the double had said, but he knows more than most that context means everything. He was thought to have been the reason their princess was dead, after all, but now Ozma was alive and -- well, not well, but she was on a pretty comfortable bed, anyway. So Sans has done questionable things, some of which could be summed up as "nothing". Who...h-hasn't...]

...Well, he's as practical as ever, I guess. [It's still a bit grudgingly. He doesn't hate Hope anymore, but he doesn't exactly agree with everything, either.] Told some jokes for your, uh. Funeral. I guess. That was a new and interesting experience.

1/27

[prazerbutterfly]

It gets better. Things will change. Time will tell. The ocean is wide enough.

It doesn't. Things don't; they repeat. Time goes on without you. The ocean just isn't.

There's truths and then there are lies people tell themselves to feel better. He comes here often to this lake to fish where he can be still and quiet without family or friends. It's hollow here. People are too wise and wary here to ever let him in. It's not simple as his Victorian era and home. He can smile, grin, assist but it doesn't work. They know who he is now. There's no need to hide yet he's always trying to separate the monster from the man.

He's just not expecting Sans to be standing there looking like he was now. His steps are loud as they always are when he announces himself with those expensive heels touching the ground one after another. It's confidence in every step the closer he gets and he's expecting him to turn, to flee. He's heard from those he's talked to that they remember if they've died. Well, some of them. Whispers and silent hushes brought news of Sans' death. His pal. He needs to know.

He stops behind him, "Need a push, Sans?"

[skelebro]

A lot of those complicated, mixed feelings about Tyki have taken their sweet time solidifying into something that's curdled over unpleasantly; a knowledge that despite his quips about Innocence, the man himself is far from innocent. He's powerful, absurdly so, and that's somethin' Sans himself can't shake. He himself is far from powerful. He just carries the illusion of it real well on his shoulders when he needs to.

Too bad that double of his played those cards fast and loose for everyone to see. Like a complete tool.

Funny, how explosive decompression is a hell of a painful way to go, even for a guy without lungs. Funny how he can remember every moment, every inch of himself going to dust for the second time in as many days, the way the unrelenting pressure had turned his own skeletal body into its worst enemy, folding it upon itself like a scrap of paper, like bread dough, and ripped him apart.

Time is a funny thing.

He's always been able to stretch it out when he needs to. He's always had a relationship that's a bit at odds with it, skippin' here and here when he needs to in the heat of battle, casually ducking little things like laws of states of matter because it's funny enough, or dramatic enough, for him to pull it off.

Time is a funny thing.

And when you've got 1 HP, when one hit clips you down to zero, you learn to pull it into something loose as putty, give yourself a minute to utter your parting words.

Give yourself a minute to endure every moment of the painful death your opponent plucked out for you.

Thanks for that.

Really.

He's so very grateful.

He hears him comin' a long ways off. Ossicles are better at hearing than you might think. He don't say a word until Tyki does, and he don't turn to face him even when he pipes up.

His tone is dull, and it's measured:

"I think you've done enough."

[prazerbutterfly]

He's not sure how to take that but it answers his question. He knows possibly everything. Tyki hadn't expected it and in a way he was a liability. Usually that makes them dangerous to have around except Sans is Sans. He likes Sans.

"So it's true," he says dryly. Great. He often didn't show his full hand to anyone unless they were bound to be dead for good. It's starting to become a trend. Only one other person has survived that vacuum.

He walks around his skeleton friend on his left side towards the edge of the water and he'll step onto the water's surface so he's in front of him instead of behind him. It takes the edge off his own mood. It makes him resist temptation. Truth is he didn't quite kill Sans' double for Sans. Not 100% in any case. One hit into the fight and he was hooked on a kill. He wanted it.

[skelebro]

[It is a strange sight. Whenever he's run into Shadow, he's always ended up running into him - or rather, Shadow running into him, quite literally. Seein' him holding still like that is troublesome in its own way, implying things ain't as they should be.

But things've been pretty messed up for a while, for damn near everybody. 'Cept for Mandelbrot there. The little fox comes nosing on over to Shadow's tree, scratching at the bark here and again with his foreclaws.

Sans ambles up behind him, kneeling down to give the fox a tired scritch behind the ears.]

Hey, hey. C'mon, buddy. Hedgehogs ain't for chasing.

1/28

[ishotyouuu]

[It's been a weird couple of days, to be sure. In all honesty, Wade barely has enough time to register all the shit that's happened. Between looking after the kids and learning about Sans's demise and that... weird thing that happened in Delight's bar, Wade hasn't had much time to really check in with himself.

He supposes that's what he's doing now, as he strolls through the orchard with no real purpose or destination, hardly even watching where he's going. Trying to get his thoughts in order. Gingerly poking at the rough raw place inside him that is decidedly Sans-shaped. Funny, that. He almost believed he couldn't feel the pain of losing someone anymore. That was the great thing about pain, really-- if it happened enough, eventually you became desensitized to it.

The not-so-great thing about pain is that it seems to be the physical pain that lessens after a while. Not so much the emotional. They didn't teach you that shit in school.]

[skelebro]

[The orchard's nice for introspection. Soothing, y'know? Something calming about sittin' among the trees and watching his unexpected pet trot about as he sniffs every nook and cranny he can get his rust-brown muzzle on.

He don't expect to catch a glimpse of Wade here, though in retrospect, maybe he should've. They talked here not too long ago. Or it...could'a been longer ago than he thought it was. Time's a funny thing, 'specially when you're not used to it progressing in the linear fashion. Either way, he - he should'a checked in sooner, huh? He should'a done a lotta things.

Somethin' in him stiffens as he lifts a hand. Kinda wants to just blip on outta the orchard before Wade notices, but the thought crosses his skull a split second too late.

He's already spoken.]

Wade.

[ishotyouuu]

[Wade really wasn't paying much attention to what was in front of him, considering how lost in his thoughts he was. The entire world seems to have been put on mute-- even the colors seem faded and old to him. Eventually some urge, some instinct that he hardly understands causes him to glance upwards, and for the smallest of moments he sees someone else sitting in front of him-- same blue hoodie, different face. Wade's gait stutters to a stop, his heart jutting up to somewhere above his Adam's apple, but the image is gone the next time he blinks, replaced with the visage of someone a lot more skeletal.]

S-Sans...

[He's too shocked by Sans's sudden appearance to put his usual strength in his voice, and the skeleton's name ends up coming out in a weak and uncertain tone.]