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]

[Guilty as charged. On two counts. Either he's losin' his touch, or...nah, actually, he's pretty sure that's it. He don't know how to do this in the long-term. All the secrets come wormin' on outta the woodwork, and there's no convenient scaleback to ensure they never get spoken in the first place.

Consequences and permanence. A little lesson learned for all of 'em.

He reaches up with his free hand, scratching at his cervical vertebrae. There's no real point to the gesture besides simply givin' himself time to answer; bone don't exactly have skin to itch.

In the end, there's no plausible deniability. No out.

Might as well.]

Yeah. 'S why I actually tried keepin' it for once.

[skelebro]

[Buddy, he hit rock bottom a long time ago. 'S just that he found himself a pick-axe, and he's ready to dig.

Is he shocked 'cause Sans just said something straight and even, and didn't play word games? 'Cause he admitted to not being half as out of touch with the world as he pretends to be? Either way, he ain't gonna fault him for that.

So, uh, sure. Here's a toast to hitting rock bottom, a long time ago.

He lifts his bottle in lazy solidarity before draining it dry. Give him a minute or two, and he'll fetch another one outta his jacket pocket. Those pockets of his always seem to carry just what he needs. Or maybe he prepared beforehand. Who can say.]

This is why I hate promises.

[skelebro]

[If he was the guy askin' him about his promises, then yeah, it kinda all lines up in just the right way. Promises - they suck, don't they? They just give you a list of obligations, and it's almost like they're made with the expectation that they'll be broken.

He uncaps his second bottle and gets to work. With any luck, he'll be so trashed by the end of this that he'll be too tired to get roped into whatever comes next.

(He will anyway.)

(Of course he will.)]

Anyway. I'd recommend you get rid of 'em.

[The pages, he means.]

Turns out holding onto pages like that goes bad for just about everybody. Who'da thunk, right?

[skelebro]

[A telepathic skeleton? C'mon, that's just ridiculous.

Long as Frisk and Chara don't get their hands on those things again - or Asriel, for that matter - then maybe it don't rightly matter. Maybe Shadow'll just take care of 'em on his own time.

As long as they don't end up in the hands of anyone from his home, he just wants 'em gone.

He manages a weak little chuckle, dropping an eyesocket shut in a lazy wink.]

I had to ask you where you kept the binder before, didn't I?

[skelebro]

What kinda surprises?

[Promises? Caring about a couple of kids who've been kicked in the teeth by the world at large enough?]

[skelebro]

[A phony, a waste...yeah, sounds about right. But not completely, so that makes him, what? Slightly better than initially assumed to be?

Funnily enough, that also sounds about right. Sans manages a wry chuckle as he sets down the bottle.]

Not real sure I deserve commendation for not bein' as useless as you thought.

[skelebro]

[All right, all right. He puts a hand to the center of his chest, as though struck by the hedgehog's disgruntled flattery.


He don't expect the conversation to take the turn it does, and he stills, just for a moment, before reaching out to retrieve his ketchup bottle, lettin' it roll idly from one hand to the other and then back again.

The little you. The one he spooked, completely on accident. The one that was simultaneously him and not him, like everything was just removed an inch or so to the left.]

Back when the city was full of all sorts, yeah?

[skelebro]

Family's pretty important.

[At this point, he's just kinda cagey by default. Don't necessarily mean to be; it's just instinct, plain and simple. If the latest strings of incidences have taught him anything, it's that like it or not, he's still locked up in survival mode.

Maybe he always will be.]

[skelebro]

[He braces one elbow across the counter's surface, chin propped up on his fisted knuckles as he eyes Shadow sidelong. God but he's too tired for this kinda prying.]

'S that real surprising? [Disappointment's more or less his lot in life, ain't it? The one thing he's always been good at.]

[skelebro]

[Can't say he's surprised; it ain't like Shadow's got a whole lotta body mass to distribute all that alcohol throughout. He's gotta be the only person here who's shorter than Sans is.]

He ain't here anymore. He ain't...me, technically.

[But he apologized. That's the important thing. The oddly - touching, important thing.]

But, uh. Thanks.

Means a lot.

[skelebro]

I hope so.

[He'd cut a wide berth after their conversation ended the way it did, with things not quite aligning in the right way, and the younger version of him being - utterly unable to come to terms with it. Couldn't blame him, exactly. Quantum variation ain't exactly something they impress upon the elementary mind.

And, hey. As long as they're doin' the sappy apologizing thing - ]

For what it's worth - sorry I got you all into this mess. Throwin' you around. The whole nine yards.

[skelebro]

[And that's -


Really all it took, huh? That's really all it took. He held off on sayin' anything to Shadow's face for months and figured the hedgehog detested him just on principle, and the whole insisting he apologize bit just seemed - like exactly that. A bit. Somethin' to push the envelope, feelin' like he's owed.

He don't seem to mind it so much. Or maybe he's just tipsy enough where nothin' feels like it's much of a bother. Where apologies come easy, and emotions come frothing out even easier.]

Heh.

[It's really that easy. All this time, it really is that goddamned easy.]

Should'a checked up on you, at least. Didn't even bother with that.

[Maybe it's the drink fizzing away in his skull talking. But he feels like shit over it, turns out. Feels like shit over a lotta things. Feelin' about ready to knock out for a week. A month. A year.]