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]

[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.]

[skelebro]

[That's the bottom line, with all the weight of this mess, ain't it? It ain't really bein' powerful at all, his lot in life; it's the illusion of it. It's the illusion of it that's so explosively effective that it makes it hard to endure whenever it does come roarin' to the forefront.]

Could've, yeah. Turns out I'm real good at avoiding the shit that matters.

[And not nearly good enough at avoiding the shit that doesn't. Who'da thunk, right?]

Just kinda sick of Confusion in general, tibia-nest.

[skelebro]

[He don't stand it at all. He just kinda sits through it and lets it all wash over him. It's a real swell gig, 'cept for the part where actually up and doin' things about it don't exactly come natural to him.]

Tibia. 'S a bone in the...

[He almost points it out with one leg, but - fuck it. They ain't here for anatomy lessons. They're here to drink.

God but Wade's rubbin' off on him, big time.]

Eh. Fuhgeddaboutit.

[And he knocks back another handle.]

Let's just drink 'till we pass out. Whaddaya say?

[skelebro]

You gotta leg up on me. Lower body mass means you get drunk quicker.

[Hopefully that won't sound like some kinda insult against him for bein' short-impaired. Ain't like Sans is one to talk, bein' all four feet tall and made of nothin' more than magic and bones and generalized apathy.

He catches you reaching for the bottle, Shadow, and he grins lazily as he pushes the thing over. Go ahead. Drink away to your heart's content. 'Long as you don't mind it bein' ketchup.]

[skelebro]

Hey, don't take it personally. [Look pal, look. Shorties gotta stick together. Sans gestures loosely in his own directly.]

I'm some four feet of magic and bones. We're in the tail-end of the bell curve, you 'n me. Everybody else in this cave's a freakin' giant.

[skelebro]

Hey, size don't match up to ability. I'll be first to admit it.

[He can't help but snort out a huff of amusement at the hedgehog's reaction; both to the perceived slight and to the ketchup itself. The hell is it? Well, it's a special little mixture of his. Unique.]

Ketchup. [He winks.] With a little somethin' extra.

[That "something" being magic and alcohol.]

[skelebro]

[Those inhibitions of his are lowering, faster and faster by the second. That'll be a problem, probably. Even that little anonymous post didn't have him scrapin' everything he had off his chest. Not nearly enough.]

Magic. Alcohol. The works.

[He retrieves his bottle and tosses it back. Might even need to start on a third. That's a first. Heh heh.]

[skelebro]

[He's foggy enough to comply without much second thought. Lets his mind drift and latch onto the first thing that comes to mind.]

No sky. I know, I know. No-brainer, right? 'S never any sky Underground. [Though it was nice of Tranquility to help 'em all pretend for a little while.] But some monsters could still remember what the sky looked like, see. So there's these sparklin' stones stuck on the ceiling, in some parts of the cave. And when it's real dark, you can take out a telescope.

[He opens a hand, opening the phalanges in a lazy, spiraling gesture before it drops limply back onto the counter, his gaze drifting outta focus.]

Can almost pretend they're stars.

[skelebro]

You lived out in space?

[If Sans were more of an open sorta guy, there might be a twinge of envy bubbling up in his chest at that. Living among the stars, of all places. Same way that Miriam did, only...heh, only she ain't around any longer. Went back to those stars of hers.

Jealousy takes too much work. But his tone softens.]

Must'a been pretty...pretty stellar.

[skelebro]

[Heyyy he gotta laugh outta him! Sans is considering that a personal victory, even if the pair of 'em seem pretty well plastered at this point. Enough so that Shadow's suggestion don't sound too outta the blue.

Sans slits an eyesocket open, intrigued.]

Better'n Tranquility's?