do every stupid thing that makes you feel alive [mostly closed]

[skelebro]

Who: Asgore, Asriel, Chara, Frisk, Sans, and Shadow; plus potential guests, later
What: Two plans get executed simulataneously
Where: The orchard, the Kid House, and eventually the Silent Hill zone
When: March 1st - 9th
Warnings: Discussions of and implications of suicide. Likely more to follow.



[ * besides. ]
[ * chances are... ]

[ * i've already tried to steer you in the right direction. ]

[ * ... ] [ * so what can i say? ]

[ * what can i say that will change the mind of a being like you? ]

Comments

[skelebro]

[Fair enough. Secrets are all, generally, more trouble than they're worth. You get stuck with secrets, and they start pilin' up, and after a while - hell, they start to feel a whole lot like promises.

Promises to keep. Secrets too.]

Then I guess this'll be ours.

[He opens his hands. The binder drops, as though about to slap against the ground, but some invisible force seems to catch it before it impacts. It suspends there, silently, and his eyesockets slip shut as he thinks whatever thoughts somebody like him needs to.

They're all iterations on the word goodbye.

Then, silently, the thing shoots off, skimming the surface of the water, until finally it drops with a soft splash.

Spiraling down, and down.

Indestructible, but not impossible to get rid of.

He just had to get creative.]

[skelebro]

[He should'a done it from the start, it's true. If he had, they wouldn't be in this mess in the first place. He wouldn't be watching the tapering threads of a rope bridge twist and blacken, until at last they separate and send the whole thing plunging into the inevitable inferno. There might'a been some part of this that could'a been salvageable.

But he took too long. He clung to what he shouldn't've. He hold onto it, like that'd be enough for goodbye, like that'd be enough for - for -

"Sorry?"

Why's he feel like he's heard that? Doc never would've - never could've lowered himself to that level. That ain't his style.

Why's he feel like he...?


...


Doesn't matter.

He should've forgotten, a long time ago.]

Should'a done that a long time ago.

[He lets the pinpricks of light in his eyesockets slide to Shadow, slow and lateral. There's something in his gaze that's less the scornful default he seems to have mastered, when it comes to conversing with Sans. Somethin' akin to, maybe -

It'd be too much to hope just now.]

And I should never've dragged you into this.

[...]

'M sorry.

[skelebro]

[Did he?

Hard to trust that, even now. He could'a taken Chara's advice from the get-go, and then they wouldn't be in this mess. He's never been a sentimental kinda guy. He's never been one to cling to something when it's gone; he's never been in control of his own life, and he ain't about to start deluding himself into thinkin' he is now. But he held on regardless. Held onto the last fragment of the man who spoke in hands, until at last he - fell into his creation.

Weird.

Weird how everything started, and how it's gone. Shadow glances away, and he don't make any attempt to hold the hedgehog's look. This is - heavy. Between the both of 'em, and he's so far outta his depth (heh) that he's got no clue where to start.

Or where to go forward from here.

So. Turn things back to business. What needs saying, and doing.]

They'll know it was me. You shouldn't get any guff from any of 'em.

[skelebro]

Well, they're pretty determined.

[What's he say to that, exactly, that won't raise more questions? That all three are full of more Determination than should be physiologically possible? That all three have, at separate points, at least attempted to kill him - and in one case, succeeded?

Best to keep thing simple.]

More so than maybe your average human.

[skelebro]

[Maybe not, no. But he don't deserve to take the fall for this, when he weren't the one who formulated the deception in the first place. He was the intermediary, and for good reason.

If whatever's left of the doc is gonna languish in his lodgings - well, fine. They can deal with that as it comes.]

So why didn't you?

[skelebro]

[Heh.

Fair enough.

'Bout all Sans deserves, after the hoops and cartwheels he's put Shadow through to keep his secrets, keep his lies and untruths sequestered away where nobody'll touch 'em.

Say, Shadow says, outta the blue, can skeletons get drunk?



He's...

Would it be wrong to say he's tempted?]

With a little work, yeah. Why d'you ask?

[skelebro]

[Well, it's one of his gifts. Evasion. Dodging. Obfuscating, dancing - he's kinda had to learn, at an early age. Be unpredictable. Paint on a mask so no one can see where you're looking, or what you're thinking.

He seems to need it, Shadow says. Looks like something's leaking on through the cracks. Or maybe he's just gotten good at reading him. Sooner or later, it seems that people tend to do exactly that. They figure him out, or they get the time to.

That's his whole problem, really. How the hell's a guy like him meant to last in the long-term, when he was only barely scraping by in the short?

Wade's rubbing off on him. It's the only explanation.

(No it's not.)

He glances back out across the water, its surface glassy and undisturbed; maybe somewhere, the lower down you get, some nebulously-defined bottom feeder or another is enjoying an insubstantial, overly fibrous lunch that doesn't really exist.

He looks back to the hedgehog, and his shoulders drop, and he grins.]

Yeah, actually.

[So they say.]

[skelebro]

[He follows, easily. Not like he's a real big fan of walking, but somehow he doubts offering Shadow a shortcut would go over real well. A break just as the proverbial storm clouds gather sounds about right.

This is the last union-regulated break he gets before his life slams back into overdrive. He's pretty patently certain of that.

Slidin' into a stool, he slips a bottle of ketchup out from his pocket, easy as you please. It ain't what you'd call typical ketchup. It's, uh...got a little kick to it.

Skeletons can get drunk, with a little work. Had to prepare the stuff special, but hey, if it works, it works.

He tilts the bottle to the hedgehog with a weary grin.]

Wanna sip?

[skelebro]

'S ketchup.

[Very special ketchup with magic added, but ketchup nonetheless. It'll taste exactly as tomato-y as you'd expect. His sockets sweep the counter for Nick - that's usually who manages the place, right? But she ain't around.

Or maybe she ain't anywhere at all.

He jiggles the bottle, like that might tempt anyone to wanna chug the stuff any more than usual.]

Magic stuff. Prepared all special for guys like me.

[skelebro]

[That prompts a chuckle. He's gotta point. Guys like him tend to be cryptic to a fault, and that's partially outta habit, and partially outta necessity. Promises to keep, and bridges to burn.

He's gotta point. At this rate, he earns more than a lazy answer ratcheted out for the sake of comedy. He gestures down at himself with one hand, ribcage and all.]

Gotta be magic for somebody without, uh...organs.

[skelebro]

[He's gotta laugh at that, tiredly.]

What, hilarious?

[He digs the ridge of his thumb beneath the cap and flicks it off. It lands on the counter with a clatter, and he tips the thing back to take a swig without technically breaking his grin.

Don't worry about it. It's probably magic.]

Magic ain't contagious, y'know.

[skelebro]

[They can agree to disagree. He takes another swig, letting his eyesockets drift shut for a moment in the wake of the question. Comes outta nowhere, relatively, but it's relevant. And he's more than earned an answer.

He leans forward, settin' the bottle onto the counter with a quiet clink of aligning edges, elbow braced across the surface.]

I think it was my fault. Or...I didn't help any.

[skelebro]

[He don't have an answer. Not right away. He runs the tip of one phalanx around the rim of his bottle of ketchup for a long moment, silent but for the rasp of ossein on glass. He hums a weary sound, somehow approximating a sigh, and passes his free hand over the crown of his skull.]

I made 'em care.

I made 'em think about consequences. And now these're mine.