Sans (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ribticklers) wrote2021-05-30 02:49 am
ribticklers) wrote2021-05-30 02:49 am
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private message / text / voicemail / phone call / action
username: s[Distant trombone noises.] art credit code credit
INBOX
private message / text / voicemail / phone call / action
username: s[Distant trombone noises.] art credit code credit
backdated: about July 23rd?
I'M GOING TO TRY EATING A BATTERY.
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right now?
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backdated: September 12th
HEY SANS,
JUST LETTING YOU KNOW.
I SIGNED UP FOR ANOTHER SCIENCE STUDY.
BECAUSE OF MY PROLONGED OPTIMISM OR SOMETHING.
[He can't quite hide the snide add-on at the end. Sure, he agreed in a brief moment of feeling important and useful and flattered, after feeling annoyed and concerned. But then he read that thread where Sans... panicked, to put an accurate if repeated word on it, and now his feelings are a little more mixed.]
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why
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1/2
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backdated: October 13th or so
Papyrus called out of work for a day, citing his injuries in the tunnel. His boss, having seen the video, demanded he stay out at least a week. Probably for the best, physical health-wise... but not great for distracting himself. It's a lot of time to not quite feel up to his usual level of activity, or usual ability to focus - his thoughts or his vision. Studying, building, repairing, cooking... All of it's more challenging than he cares to let on.
So it's with a story of looking out for his brother that Papyrus loiters on the couch far more than usual, in a mix of napping and listening - if not quite watching - some TV. The napping, with the hope that sleeping the injury off will speed up the healing, skipping the boring recovery part. The listening, the better to have some coherent stories to think about instead of flickers of media and memory. It... only goes so far, especially with the strange prickling feeling of being watched the last few days. As he shifts positions he talks almost without realizing it.]
Sans, you died... with really good scenery. All those pillars. Sunlight. So much better than that tunnel. Glad I didn't die in there... Snowdin was better.
[He yawns again at the end of that, a jawless yawn that's so much less satisfying than it should be. Almost all his other missing bones grew back as metal, why isn't his jaw getting with the program? Or coming back as bone, that would be better.]
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With Papyrus stuck at home for at least a week, Sans has been doing his best-ish to provide if not entertaining then distracting conversation. He knows sitting still isn't Papyrus's favorite thing. But being injured makes Sans sleep even more than usual, and it's in one of those half-dozing moments that Papyrus's words catch him. Might as well have dumped ice water on his face. His halo eyes are safely covered up, but Sans feels them all open for just an instant. His eyelights flicker out for a just a moment, which he's hoping Papyrus didn't notice. He doesn't sound like he's focused too hard on Sans, anyway.]
Yeah, uh. Yeah. That weird tunnel's not on my places to die list, either. [It's an absolutely terrible attempt at sounding casual. Sans can hear the startled, thin quality to his voice, but he can't make it go away fast enough. His mouth just keeps going, too, and even as he adds more words he knows they're not helping.] Probably better not to do it at all, anywhere, but y'know, can't always decide that, I guess.
going with: no eggnog, just tired / restless / thinking on things
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backdated: November 2nd
But it's probably no surprise when the place is freshly decorated on Sans's return. The living room lights are all conspicuously on, in a somewhat unusual splurge of lighting. They illuminate a a sunny banner over the television, a few presents in cheerful skeleton wrapping paper on the coffee table, and a lot of yellow-green plastic stars affixed to the ceiling and walls. Not being one to just wait around in one room for his brother to get back, Papyrus is bustling about in the kitchen with music on. Sans might recognize it as stuff from the same band Emily introduced Papyrus to, before everything with the ghosts happened.]
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Hey, I'm back.
every now and then i'm freshly reminded of distressing papyrus facts, like his gloves
the distressing (for others) life of papyrus
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babckdated to a couple days after the switch back
...Mostly his right mind. He'd like it if he could honestly say that the days of stewing in resentment and plotting murder were vague and fading. Unfortunately, every moment of it is crystal clear in a way that most of his life just isn't. If he wanted to describe his train of thought at any given moment of any given one of these last several days, he could transcribe them, with timestamps.
And he remembers confusion with himself early in those days, as he didn't feel things as strongly anymore. Remembers comparing his old self to an excitable puppy. The old strength of his feelings... it hasn't really come back, even if he's making a point of behaving more normally. Maybe it's like the way Sans keeps thinking of himself as a void god again, when he gets too focused on space. Some kind of... of damage, of lingering effect.
...The vividness has kept up, too. Any time he really focuses on a thing, he remembers so much about it. Like his memories are making the leap to having a digital copy stored on him. The first time he noticed how empty the fridge was, he's started noticing how much Sans is snacking. Concerning amount, even with how subdued his concern feels. Concerning enough that he's lurking in the kitchen, making some slow-cooking thing, the better to be in place to ambush his brother with a question or three.]
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Hey, bro. [Papyrus being his brother again properly is also another thing to think about. Of course, he's been more subdued the last couple of days, but considering everything that happened, that's pretty reasonable. Sans isn't great at talking about feelings anyway. He's calling Papyrus "bro" again, so that probably counts as emotional expression, or something.
Sans is already digging around in the fridge, meanwhile. He hates to dig into his hot dog cart supplies, but maybe...]
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Gyftmas morning, now that I've got my thoughts arranged
Once unwrapped, they turn out to be: a warm hat custom sized for Sans's skull and wings, a good pie tin, and a photo album of pictures of varying quality full of familiar scenes.
The album's a mix of old underground and newer Canyon memories, focusing on a mix of good times and fond events. The older pictures, from underground and before his transformation, are blurrier from the mix of analog and time. Those between the transformation and the tunnel misadventure are clearer, and those since the tunnel are detailed. The pictures range from little life moments, like the process of making his battle body, to finding Sans loitering outside the ruins door, to snippets of childhood shenanigans, to the various happier things that have happened in the Canyon. It turns out that even Papyrus's imagination could be copied and sent to be converted to physical photo form - there's a pair of the birthday cake, and the unfortunate robot with flame instead of arms he'd imagined.]
January 23rd - not so much backtagging as making that plurk banter official
SO YOU'RE TALKING TO THE STATICKY GLOWING EYES, HUH?
AND THEY SEEM TO KNOW YOUR NAME.
AND HAVE SOME. STRONG IDEAS,
ABOUT WHAT'S GOING ON WITH YOU!
IS THIS A NEW PENPAL, OR,
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maybe there's something up with your connection?
looks like a monster to me
blond hair, three blue eyes, has a halo and wings
[So yes, she probably does have some strong ideas about what's going on with him, because it's also going on with her.]
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papyrus holding off his texts until the pause in the video feed, as to not disrupt that convo
a break for adventure
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During the March event, probably the evening of the wheels and lantern thread
Still, sooner or later he wants to go grab one of the external hard drives in his room, the ones with offline backups of his personality matrix to do some comparison work with. It's beyond clear that things are weird, but he'd like a measure on how weird, the specifics of what he can do about it.
Opening the door from workshop to house and coming eye to eye & eye & eye & ... well, a number of drawn-looking eyes all drawn his way at the movement?]
\E3SANS^1.&EYES^1?&WHY./
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need 'em to see
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April 1st, roughly 5am
[Is Sans's notif usually set to full volume, with old-fashioned dial-up noises? It is now.]
WHAT WAS YOUR PLAN, EXACTLY,
IF I SKIPPED SHOWERING TODAY
[Guess who's blue now.]
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wait
i'm patient
but it worked out so it doesn't matter
april fools
["Worked out".]
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1/2
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1/2, this is apparently just how I'm doing this thread
A FEW HOURS LATER AND NOW IN THE RIGHT REPLY SPACE
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April 5th, roughly... 1pm? during a hot dog cart time of day
It's enough to worry a cybone, especially in light of... well. A few things. Sans pranks people, it's part of his theoretical charm. When he doesn't bother pranking people, it means he's super caught up in an interesting project, or he's having another backslide into depression. And Sans isn't in the middle of any fresh projects, presumably because of how the last one went... poorly. No new note files started up on his phone, only a few fresh pictures of those symbols - mostly just funny videos and space things. (Not that Papyrus's tracker is sending all their contents or reporting Sans's every single network interaction - it's reporting on trends of behavior, flagging the deviations from established norms. Just the right balance of intruding for a brother's own wellbeing, he figures - not prying in all the details, but paying attention to worrying signs. Good to know he's getting so great at programming, managing to pull this off!)
But that's the crux of the matter. Sans's behavior has shifted back for the worst, and there's a big, obvious, gaping reason why that might be, isn't there? Even though the mildew's faded and the certainty that they're all currently dead has gone with it, there's still the fresh knowledge that they're trapped in with something decidedly unfriendly. (Or, friendly, but only in the sense of a child playing with its food before eating it. Very, very literally in that sense.) And they know it's willing and ready to eat them, on account of... Sans is missing something, now, in a way monsters usually... don't. Papyrus can guess, on faded analog memories, what that might do a monster. But he doesn't know, and juggling this when his own emotions aren't at 100% anymore is... Well, it needs addressing.
It's enough that he heads out in the sunny midday, walking and riding a bus near one of the usual hot dog haunts, walking the rest of the way. Thinking and plotting, making a point to appreciate things like the energizing sunlight in his solar panels (thanks to Sans's gift) as reminders that even when things are terrible there's good to be had in doing things anyway.
He doesn't go right up to his brother when he arrives in the plaza where the hot dog cart's set up today. Not because he expects to be unnoticed - people doubletake at all monsters, and Sans's field of vision makes it even harder to get anything by him these days. But he wants to try to get a moment's observation into what Sans is doing, in public where he usually fakes being cheerful and sociable. The tracker reported that's gone down a considerable percentage, apparently eavesdropping with the microphone...? Best to verify it before he really starts an intervention.]
Hot Dog Time
It'd be hard to tell for most people, but since Sans isn't trying to put on a specific expression it should be easy enough for Papyrus to see that Sans is at least a little bit bored. Papyrus is also right about his not being able to avoid Sans's notice for long; one eyelight lands on Papyrus, then a few more do, and Sans perks up noticeably.]
Hey, bro. Great timing, not much is happening right now. [And Sans could use some social interaction that doesn't feel like effort for no reward.] Want a 'dog?
[He knows Papyrus does not.]
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May 15th
SANS ARE YOU HOME?
IS THE POWER ON
[Even if the answer to the first question is no, Sans can always teleport home to check. Faster and more effective than Papyrus trying and failing to ping any of the devices he's connected to his phone, with a short drive needed to get back home.]
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how's your battery supply?
[It's daylight right now, so it's not an immediate emergency, but it could turn into one if this lasts longer than a few hours.]
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May 16th - morning? after positive!Papyrus heads out
Not that he knows any of that. His last coherent memories for a while are of that tugging sensation, around midnight... and then being overwhelmed with anger, shame, and fear in the dark. Like all the flashlights had gone out at once, but far worse - he himself was formless, trapped in a shadows he couldn't perceive edges to. Remembering dying, again and again, sometimes by out of nowhere and sometimes in the middle of facing down a person in pain, but sometimes by a person he'd thought a friend. Sometimes, someone who'd flirted and played along with the puzzles until they didn't. Sometimes, someone who'd admitted to crying in a garden and not knowing what to do with this endless future.
And that only a small piece of the strange echoing pains. Grief for Undyne, who'd died before him, who'd disappeared and maybe on Mettaton's orders, who'd taken the crown and kicked the queen and mercy out with her, who'd taken nothing but the charity of a couch and job that brought her no joy. Grief for Sans, who'd suddenly fallen down - with help, maybe - and left Papyrus to fumble through how to live without his brother's support for the first time. Grief for himself, struggling to maintain an encouraging demeanor even when the souls are gone and kingship is harder than he'd realized, and he can't afford to lay more burdens on his busy brother, so he almost cries into the phone for a few minutes before he pulls himself back together again.
It's minutes, years, hours before metal forms a proper body, and he's rattling on the floor of an unlit closet, a sliver of dim light illuminating things enough for him to recognize clothing and knicknacks but not explain how he got in there. He could call out, but why bother? Maybe nobody would answer, or maybe the darkness will turn out to be hiding just outside the door. Maybe Sans would answer, but remembering all these awful things too, and then there'll really be no escape from it all.
He can't bring himself to even text for help, or signal the little drone to come to the door - not when its charging station isn't charging it, and it might already be dead. He can just bring himself to tuck his legs against his chest and hug them, for all it doesn't really bring any comfort, and he keeps trembling.]
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When he passes by Papyrus's room, he hears the rattling and freezes. There are plenty of reasons for rattling, some harmless and some not. Sans opts to assume the worst. When he teleports in, it's with all his extra limbs filled with energy enough to strike at anything that might attack.
Which doesn't happen. The rattling is coming from the closet, apparently. Okay then.
Sans flings the door open. His extra arms glow an eerie cyan, poised like snakes ready to strike, but he doesn't quite yet.]
getting this started right with an attack from the get-go
good start, good first impressions all around
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May 21st - rudely early in the morning, like 4am - but the power updates have been going all day
[There's a second's pause before the next text comes in - the address in question, and nothing else.
To his mind, there's nothing else that needs to be said - they already made the plan, in that threatening network post - and he's spent the hours since arguing with everyone in the house already. Arguing, and - of all things - coordinating with the nicer Papyrus.
Neither has any issue with a little kidnapping, threat-making, and temporary captivity, after all - it felt like something they've done before, dozens of times in that echoing way. The torture part is still a point of discussion, but figuring that out can wait until they actually have the thief in hand. The hours have instead been spent on analyzing the photos from the (fewer than the threat implied) security cameras, searching social media for matching faces, and renovating the basement to have something of a holding cell.
(If the nicer Sans asked what they were up to, in this latest basement nonsense of things like a metal crate in a pit with home-made shackles...? It proved less difficult than Papyrus expected, for the two of them to coordinate on a half-lie. One not feeling guilt about lying and willing to do so to make things more comfortable for everyone, the other ashamed of his eagerness to hurt someone and wanting to hide it, they said something about a pit to secure the generator in, later.)
...Searching, renovating, and generating power. With his changes accelerating to where he has no bones at all, an awful monitor of a head displaying various things he'd prefer not to share and wires that keep growing and trying to hook up to electrical devices around him, it wasn't long for them to wonder if there was a reason for it. After all, magic was always an expression of emotions and now they're so sharply divided by emotion. Pushing those extremes together, something like magnets, like electrical current? Forming a circuit with those trailing and spreading cables turned out to recharge them both.
...It doesn't change the need for the generator back, to power the house with something not so radius-based, for the jealousy of keeping it to themselves, for in case this emotion-based power is somehow finite.]
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[Sans has plenty of experience when it comes to lying to himself, more even than he has in lying to anybody else. He knows his other half won't approve of this, as much as he can not approve of anything, so it's easier if he just doesn't know any of this is happening. That's why Sans deletes the latest messages off his phone as soon as he teleports over to said address and doesn't need it anymore. The other Sans doesn't want to hurt anybody. This Sans, well, he's the one who got stuck with all the anger and pent-up desire to get back at the people that hurt him.
This is ostensibly a kidnapping mission, but Sans looks for the generator first. If he's only coming back with one thing it's going to be that. Luckily, outdoor generators aren't hard to find. Can't unhook it yet--if he cuts the power it'll just make what's happening obvious--but now that he knows where it is he can deal with the rest.
The human is asleep. Easy to deal with like that. The meanest parts of Sans consider waking him up just to see the look on his face, but practicality (and guilt at being a terrible person, even if it's not enough guilt to stop him any more than it was enough to stop him from offering to do this in the first place) means he just places a hand on the guy's arm and vanishes with him. The bedsheet the human is tangled up in comes along, which makes for a funny image when Sans just dumps the guy unceremoniously on the floor.]
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important decisions for this thread: how sympathetic to make the thief
this is a good question even though negative sans doesn't really care
cw for anyone reading this - uhhhh accidental child endangerment? kidnapping is bad
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in this thread: creepy weirdo shit continues
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May 23rd - power grid
Between all that and the return of various electrical signals, he's a little preoccupied. Too much so to remember the charge tracker, and it goes off automatically and immediately on recombining - after all, each stat it's tracking changed at once. (Battery charge goes down a little, EBSM sharply rises, and nap willingness rises a moderate amount.)]
Battery charge: 87%
EBSM: 61%
Willingness to take a nap: 37%
Hope this helps!
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you okay?
[He's not sure how many replies he's going to get. Any reply at all would be good, though, even if that also means one step closer to having to properly deal with everything that's happening.]
as the phones went out on entering the building, I'm assuming they don't return until exiting
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about July 27th? enjoy the setting of a scene
For a while - days? weeks? - he's not in any position to really say anything, but he'd like to say that was the last thing he remembers.
It isn't.
He remembers his own room, mostly, and a sense of dust - his own dust fallen into the nooks and crannies of deactivated body parts, the slow accumulation of dust over time. Occasional flickers of awareness of radio waves and phone lines let him try to look back in on the world he can sense going on without him, to try to cry out - though he wouldn't want to admit it.
Eventually, something clicks in all his tugging at reality. A grasp on the electrical grid brings the phone flaring back to life, enough to wake him and give him a sense of time and place again. Like he's alive, as a soul of electricity alone - and certain he doesn't have to stay electricity alone, sure he can rebuild himself. The broken body parts distort as he reaches, but not just them - the phone, nearby power cords and devices scattered on the floor, even one of the action figures warp and blend together before he realizes it. The power flickers with the drain, then goes out entirely. A robot comes to on the floor, reorienting.
No text notifications go off to anyone's phone, though - his phone, its code and components and all, are in him as if he'd eaten it. This doesn't cross his mind, though, as he's too busy staring at an unfamiliar ungloved hand, at limbs that aren't the same as he remembers, and taking in the sight of a room with a few holes in the floor and wall where cables were torn up through drywall and carpeting. Physical reality again, but... it's not right, not how he remembers, and has it really only been a week?
Has it really been an entire week of being all but dead?
It's clear his eyes are still mechanical, much the same as they'd come to be, with a faintly reflected light helping illuminate the dim room. The rest of his head... It's not clear yet whether it's just that his neck is changed too, and that's why it feels heavier than it used to, or... or whether any of his head is bone anymore.
He shudders rather than reach up to it, and instead staggers to those slightly unfamiliar feet, making his way to his door to open it. Maybe he could reach out to text his brother with a decisive enough thought... But he doesn't want to test that yet, either. He needs to find Sans, in person, or at least one of his eyes.
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He's staring in the direction of a window more than he's looking out it when the power goes out. He'd be tempted to dismiss it as just another result of the spotty power throughout the city if he didn't hear other noises. He can't really place them, but he knows they're coming from down the hallway. Toward Papyrus's room.
Great. He's hearing things. Goes with the haunted house. Goes with maybe seeing things. Awesome week he's having.
Sans still needs to check. He can see a lot of the hallway without moving at all, but the area around Papyrus's room is mostly eye free. He's just gotten into the hallway himself when Papyrus's door opens.
Sans goes perfectly still, watching with every eye he has available.
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October 1st
As a matter of fact, he didn't wait until dawn. When midnight struck, the odd liveliness of all the technology around him had faded away. The action figures went inactive, the metal he'd been shaping went hard and fixed, and the continuous drain on the house's power had flickered and gone back to normal. Everything went back to normal. "Normal," anyway. Except the things he'd already changed.
It took a while to get to the sidewalk, is the thing. Without metal bending to his will, there wasn't any scaffolding to hold him and deposit him on the dirt. The step ladder... It wasn't quite tall enough to him to drop off the porch and climb down, by itself. A well-secured chain, the ladder to carefully slide down to and balance on and then climb down... He really, really, really misses blue magic. And not being so dense with metal. Not so much that he still wants to shed his body and go float in space forever, but... Okay, maybe a skeleton can still see the appeal. A little.
As it is, he's finally on the sidewalk, hands on his hips, staring up at the house. Foundation and basement still buried in the ground, then sturdy but sparse support beams holding the house itself to tower above shadowed ground. Like a house's metal skeleton, revealed - now the metal skeleton lives in a metal skeleton. It's enough to make him snicker, a little hysterically.]
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Then he remembers that he stuffed the blankets in the closet because they existed too much. That is magic is so drained because he's been using it nonstop for--weeks, he thinks. What he's been using all that magic on. It would be easier if his thoughts just ground to a halt there, but no, they work triple time, piecing together blurry snapshots of days of altered perception. He'd been trying to fix people--he'd been shoving himself into their minds and adjusting them. He'd spent days and days doing that. He'd done it to Papyrus. To Papyrus, and he hadn't--he hadn't been careful, and if he'd broken something, then--
Sans teleports rapid pace around the house. He forgets that it's been lifted off the ground until shortcutting outside puts him several feet above the ground and, not expecting the distance, he's a mess of haphazard, flapping feathers as he tumbles to the ground flat on his stomach. He's not hurt, but he is sprawled flat on the lawn in pajamas.]
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everything everywhere all at once... I still need to watch that
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