august catch-all log

[skelepun]

Who: Sans and a lot of goddamn people
When: The first half of August
Where: All around the ship!
What: Various closed prompts covering Sans' arrival + laying some groundwork for future Enterprises.
Warnings: Nothing off the top of the dome! Will update if any surface.


[ All prompts will be in the comments! Please let me know if you have any ideas for starters and either PM this account or PP safelybeds and I'll write something up for you! ]

Comments

Aug. 1st (evening); closed to elsa

[skelepun]

Skeletons don't feel cold, as a rule. The lack of skin puts a stop to that. But still, there's a brittleness to his bones that only came when Snowdin was at its most frozen over. He shudders reflexively, bones rattling.

The last thing he remembered... right. Once the fog of sleep started clearing, the memories came quickly. Even the cryo bay, in all its odd and uncomfortable familiarity, brought back memories. Of Toriel, of his brother -- they all must have passed through here too.

Leaning up, Sans squints, scanning the other tubes for familiar faces. There were a few, though not the ones he specifically wanted.

"Pap?" He asks, just in case his brother was hiding somewhere, waiting for him. "You around, bro?"

[isdronning]

Ever since Sans' disappearance, Elsa's been worried sick. Him finally showing up in one of the cryo units had been a relief at first, but after the usual three days passed and he still hadn't woken, her worry had started creeping its way back. She's been spending more time than usual in the bay, pretending to be working but really only waiting for some sign that Sans is all right. Ever since Anna's disappearance, one she's still very conflicted over, it's been difficult to not worry just a bit more than usual over her few friends here. Especially when they've been gone for as long has Sans has.

Nearby, fussing with one of the cryo tubes in an actual effort to do her job despite the fact that she should have been finished hours ago, the voice draws Elsa to a sharp halt. Head raising, she looks over her shoulder and listens. Hearing it again, this time confirmation that she had actually heard what she thought she had, Elsa is quickly standing up and hurrying over to the unit she's been watching closely for nearly a week now.

"Sans?" Her voice is slightly frantic as she rounds the corner and, upon spotting the familiar skeleton up and finally about, the relief that crosses her face is clear. As is the broad smile that it brings. Without much of a thought, too caught up in her own emotions, Elsa rushes over and leans down, pulling Sans into an abrupt hug. Maybe it causes some excess frost, but for once, the effects of her emotions are the last thing on her mind. "I'm so glad you're okay! I was worried you might not wake up!"

[skelepun]

Lucky for both of them, cold didn't have much effect on a guy without skin. He doesn't hug her back right away, more than a little confused by the reaction.

He was used to an emotional response, but Elsa was an old hand around here. Hell, she worked in cryo bay, intimate with the process that went into the unique cycle of life and not-quite-death here on the Moira. Why he was being awarded special concern didn't track.

"Heh, did I sleep in again?" He asks, finally, when his thoughts yield no more likely scenario. "Gotta set an alarm on these things, sweetheart."

Aug. 1st (evening); closed to hawke

[skelepun]

No brother in the cryo bay. No Toriel, no Asriel, no Frisk -- how long had it been? Elsa had given him a vague idea, but processing it? That took more time.

And if it took him this long, maybe the others were taking their time too.

The medbay was the same as before, thankfully. A few new wrinkles here and there, but he never spent enough time here to note the changes day to day. It was comforting, not being familiar enough to know he was unfamiliar.

"Pap?" He asks, walking forward. It's pretty easy to tell his brother isn't here, nor any of the rest of his family, but he is confronted rather immediately with a familiar face.

Well. Somewhat familiar. Much like the medbay, Sans isn't immediately aware of any changes in Hawke's face from the last time they spoke.

"... Hawke?"

[otiosity]

When Hawke was recovering from the Arishok, Varric used to spend late nights sitting by her side and making sure her fever didn't get to high or her wounds didn't bleed to much. He used to sit by her beside and scribble onto parchment until the candles were too low. She used to try to ask him what he was writing though the words often came out as slurred and nonsensical. He'd just chuckle deep in his throat and say "just wait Hawke this one is going to be a hit". He refused to tell her if he was writing about her or what he was saying. The scratch of his quill against the parchment often lulled her to sleep despite any pain her body was in.

So when she comes to in the the Med Bay, she mistakes the buzzing of the medical machines she's hooked up to as the sound of a quill and the blurry figure before he saying her name as her familiar friend.

"Varric?" She slurs, trying to blink the exhaustion out of her eyes. Maker, what happened to her? Oh yeah. She was a slave. That explains some things.

why do you hurt me so

[skelepun]

The name strikes a potent chord with Sans, most notably for how little he expects to hear it. It's been so long since his friend was gone, and even longer since he last spent long thinking about to where.

He assumed home. He always assumed home, when one of their own disappeared one day. The numbers were greater than he cared to admit.

"Close." He offers, as diplomatically as he can before stepping closer. "What happened to you, kid?"

Aug. 2nd (very early morning); closed to j

[skelepun]

He hasn't found his brother yet. It nags at the back of his skull, clawing at him uncomfortably. Anxiety isn't an emotion Sans is especially familiar with; whatever base amount of it dulled by heavier, blanketing emotions. Still, it's hard to chase away the edgy discomfort he feels.

A nap usually sets him right. For someone who had done so much napping already, he managed to make himself exhausted in remarkably little time. And that was saying something, considering just how quickly he got worn out these days.

"C'mon." He mutters, frustrated, swiping his MID over the door keycode. For the third time, it comes back with a red error message. Thumping his skull against the door, Sans lets out a rumbling groan. "Why."

It not being his door might be a good start, but Sans is tired enough to miss the fact that he's one door off.

[gentlemenpreferblondes]

It was way too early in for J to be awake. She has never known to be a morning person and especially now that she spent majority of her days and nights gathering the supplies for the bar into her room, physically exhausting herself, she tended to sleep longer than usually. Though, that still didn't exactly affect the quality of her sleep. The stressful events from the previous month, invasion and its aftermath and what had happened with the slavers in the outpost, made it hard for her to fall in deep sleep -- and those few times that she did manage that, her dreams were filled with violent nightmares that almost all ended up with loud sound of gun firing.

But this time her dreams weren't interrupted by her own demons but by a soft, yet very audible, thump-sound coming from somewhere near her. J opens her eyes and lazily shifts on her bed to look around her room as she tries to locate the source of the noise. Being still half-asleep, it takes a brief moment before she realises that the sound is coming from her door. The sound wasn't exactly what comes from 'knocking' and at first she believes that someone had accidentally just hit on her door.

But then there was another 'thump' on her door, this time followed by a familiar sounding groan -- causing J's breath to get stuck inside her lungs. With quick movements, she tossed her blanket to the floor, nearly stumbling on her feet as she quickly leaps off from the bed and rushes to the door. However, she doesn't immediately grab on the handle and yank it open but instead presses her forehead against the door and listens the groaning and whining coming from the other side.

During all of this time, J hadn't spared a thought for Sans and the fact that he was gone for a such long time, mostly to protect herself from having to face the confusing and upsetting feelings that she has kept carefully guarded. She was nowhere ready to deal with idea of losing someone again.

But right now she could only feel a long lost warm sensation creeping back to her, filling each cold and empty hole in her. She let's the moment pass slowly before she reaches for the handle and opens the door, greeting Sans with a sleepy but curious expression.

Aug. 2nd (morning); closed to asriel

[skelepun]

Sans didn't get much sleep. Maybe it was the room, maybe it was the nagging knowledge there were people he still needed to see.

People he probably could have seen yesterday if he wasn't dreading the reactions. A month. It felt impossibly long -- a unit of time he couldn't wrap his head around. What did a month's passage of time feel like? Hell if he knew. Sleeping through one didn't shed any light on the situation, either.

So it's on the early side -- around 11:30, it's Sans after all -- when he knocks on the private room Toriel shared with her children. Better late than never.

For having no throat, he did an impressive job of swallowing anyway.

1/2

[pleasereset]

It takes a little longer than usual before the door opens. One reason was the wounds on Asriel's feet making it harder to walk, and the other was that he really, really didn't want to leave the blanket nest he's made on Toriel's bed. He vowed to himself that he'd never leave said blanket nest - he'd even given it a name: Asriel Island. The only "island" on the Moira that was surrounded by water that would suddenly turn into super dangerous lava the second Toriel tried to prompt him to leave her bed and encourage him not to stay cooped up in one place all day.

But the knock finally stirs him out of bed, especially since he knew his mom was out for a little bit. Part of him was afraid of answering, not knowing if it'd be the tall man who took him away or maybe one of the new Captains who wanted to do another inspection.

But Asriel keeps his head down, and opens the door. He's still in his pajamas, but the thick bandages around his hands, feet, and neck were all still very visible. His voice is a little more timid than it usually is.

"I-if you're looking for my mom, she's not..."

[pleasereset]

And that's when Asriel notices skeletal feet.

And they certainly didn't belong to Papyrus, so the other only skeleton that Asriel knows of would be...

"...Sans?"

Aug. 2nd (afternoon); closed to frisk

[skelepun]

With Asriel calmed down, Sans felt as if he could finally breathe -- or do whatever skeletal approximation of it he was capable of. His ribs rose and fall, though something past them burned with fresh ire.

What the hell happened while he was gone?

It's with that ire still in place that he hears the knob jiggle. It's not Toriel, he can tell from the hesitancy -- turning slow, he waits.

Chara or Frisk? Sans takes a guess.

"... Frisk?"

[gainedlove]

Frisk is tired, so very tired after the events of the past few weeks. Kidnappings, rescues, things that bounced around Frisk's mind but could never solve themself. Even once everyone was back, it didn't feel any better. Everyone is still hurting, and much as Frisk tries...they're not really able to help nearly as much as they wish they could.

Coming back to their room with quiet footsteps, Frisk actually pauses for a moment when they hear that voice. That...no, it can't be...

Can it?

Exactly three seconds after Sans calls out Frisk nearly tears the door open, leaving another hairline fracture in their palm from the force but paying it no mind. If they needed to breathe, they wouldn't be able to--not with who they see standing in the middle of the room looking as if nothing had happened at all. As if the last month was nothing but a bad dream. As if...

Their expression crumples, and with a whimper they run to throw their arms around Sans and hold on like he might disappear at any second.

Aug. 2nd (afternoon); closed to toriel

[skelepun]

Two children, settled down together. Two children, hopefully better off now than they were when Sans first ran across them. He liked to tell himself that, anyway. Kids were easy as pie in some ways -- tell 'em a funny joke, make a funny face, they're pretty much set -- but endlessly complicated in others.

Mostly in that a few of them, Frisk in particular, could be hard to read when they wanted to be.

The door jiggles again, but Sans doesn't bother turning this time. He just hopes -- really, really hopes -- that this time, it's Toriel on the other side.

[inruins]

Sans luck seems to vaguely looking up, just this once it seems. The jiggling is more than enough to draw Toriel away from reading to the doorway of her shared bedroom with the kids.

"Can I help you-?" Falls from her lips as she opens the door before she actually sees Sans. When she does she goes still, expression sliding from polite pleasantries to stunned shock.

She had never expected to see him again, really. Given how long he has been gone, she assumed. She wrapped up those feelings for later to deal with. Her children needed her more than she needed to grieve for a lost friend, a lost partner.

"Sans?"

Aug. 2nd (evening); closed to papyrus

[skelepun]

In the end, it took Toriel's gentle coaxing for Sans to wind up at Papyrus's door. His brother was so rarely here, but Sans figured he would have to come back eventually. If not for a change of clothes, then at least some sort of quality time with his action figures.

That is, if the new captains didn't take them away...

Heaving a lungless breath, he didn't bother knocking before teleporting himself inside.

[coolskeletonnyehntyfive]

A lot of Papyrus's toys were gone, including most of the plastic dinosaurs, but the action figures were still around. Just tucked carefully into a drawer where they were less likely to be confiscated. The room was tidy, almost clinically neat, and the skeleton himself was inside, humming tunelessly and pulling on a fresh shirt.

He stared at Sans for a moment, glanced down at his shirt, then pulled it back up to peek out from under the lower hem. Sans was still there. He put the shirt back on and, yep, Sans still stood there. Convinced he wasn't seeing things or wearing a magical shirt that made the things he wanted to see appear in front of him, he let out a cry of joy and snatched Sans up, spinning him around and tossing him into the air before grabbing him back into a tight hug.

"Oh my god! It's you! You came back! I was so worried, Sans, you didn't come back and you didn't come back and I thought... I was afraid that..."

He held his brother a little tighter, glass arm bones scraping unpleasantly against Sans's more natural ones.

Aug. 4th (morning); closed to ratchet

[skelepun]

It's weird, going so long without seeing Ratchet. At a certain point, you see someone often enough that you start marking the passage of time by them. Oh, haven't seen Ratchet today? Well then, today must not be over.

Which might have been why, days after coming to, Sans felt like he was still living the exact same day. Sure, it was broken up with sleep, but Sans slept all the time and without any cogent schedule. Sleep meant nothing. Much like, apparently, their old stomping ground meant nothing. Sans teleported inside more than once, only to find a mess of glass left behind.

He wasn't sure why he kept checking after that. Habit, he supposed. And a frustrating need to move time along. He could really do without feeling as if he was stuck in some sort of endless loop of the last twenty-four hours. He had enough of that in his old life.

As luck would have it, he finally does find Ratchet as soon as he stops looking for him. A slow walk through the cargo bay, eyeing the ships, and Sans very nearly walks right past the uniquely lombax shaped foot pressed up against the glass of one's windshield.

Well, whaddya know?

"Ratch?" He asks, sockets squinted skeptically as he reaches up, knocking out the first bar of shave and a haircut on the ship's side. "You in there, buddy?"

[neveroutwrenched]

The knock startles Ratchet; so much so he almost spills his bottle of clear, bad-tasting alcohol on himself. Well, actually he does. Which is upsetting mostly because of what a waste it is in their alcohol-strapped economy.

Shit. He sits up, head spinning and he something incoherent to himself while he fumbles for the door control. It slides open with a hydraulic hiss, and he gives Sans an incredulous look, gesturing at him with the half-empty bottle.

“Holy crap. I thought you were dead.”

That probably came out less coherent than he thought it did.

Aug. 6th (afternoon); closed to megatron

[skelepun]

Another day, another exploration of the cargo bay. What Sans was looking for, he wasn't sure yet.

A blueprint. A guide. Something to serve as the skeleton -- pun, of course, intended -- to whatever half formed plan he had stewing in his skull. One thing was for sure: staying here was untenable. And with the comforts of the Moira Pleasure Cruise being stripped away under a new regime, dragging his feet got a lot less appealing.

Of course, a man is as he does. Dragging his feet comes part and parcel with that, and Sans may as well have been sending up sparks as he slowly circled a few of the cargo bay ships.

One in particular caught his attention. It was interesting in its construction, large enough to carry supplies and passengers while small enough operate with a comfortably small crew.

Surely nobody would mind if he took a quick peak inside, right? Right.

[aminerproblem]

The Rodpod was the most hideous piece of Cybertronian technology Megatron has ever had the displeasure of seeing with his own two eyes.

Of all the respectably-designed shuttles held in the Lost Light's cargo bay, he loathed that this orange monstrosity was what the Ingress decided to pull through the dimensional funnel between their universes.

But alas, he nonetheless willed himself to tromp down to the cargo deck anyway and review its systems following the rescue mission down on the Slaver's planet. Anything to take his mind off recent revelations. The exterior of the ship was marred with black soot and burnt paint caused by gunfire, but structurally seemed quite sound. He seems too focused on the task at hand to immediately notice Sans snooping around, and opens the entrance to the cockpit.

Although the shuttle was a small craft by Megatron's standards, it would be quite large for anyone else. The main area could easily fit a dozen Cybertronians inside, and all the control panels were scaled accordingly. He takes a seat in one of the two cockpit chairs, making the shuttle hum with life as he powers on the systems one at a time. A holographic heads up display flickers to life in front of him, displaying the process as it went.

Aug. 6th (evening); closed to sideswipe

[skelepun]

It's hard to spend an extended amount of time with any of the Cybertronians without his mind wandering to one specific Cybertronian.

Sans didn't have lips to gnaw on, but his left thumb was bound to have teeth marks by the time he finished dwelling on his mistakes surrounding that particular robot. His memories of his time after the death of his fellow monsters were airy and detached, as if he was watching them through someone else's eyes, but a few things managed to root themselves to his facsimile of a heart.

The look Sideswipe gave him was one of them.

Finding the kid wasn't difficult, Sans had even seen him a few time in his inventory of the ship, but being ready to talk to him? That was a different type of difficult. Each time Sans thought he had his nerve up, the lure of slipping into some dark shadow or another part of the ship entirely is suddenly impossible to resist.

Which is why, in the end, Sans opts for a text. Hard to teleport away from the device strapped to his arm.

To: Red
From: sans

hey kid

[redshitlord]

He's... been avoiding a lot of people he ran into during all that, to be honest. Riptide and Bee are the exceptions. He's still not even all that sure how to react to Tailgate and the little guy is a marshmallow puff. Mostly, he just wants to forget it happened. Wants to forget what it did to everyone. Wants to forget being shot at by people -- by organics.

... humans, almost.

It's hard to think about. So he just isn't. He's focused on Riptide and Bee, and making life easier for the two of them. Which is even harder after that whole Magnus fiasco.

The last thing he expects is a text.

A text from Sans.

And it... scares him. Honestly. He jerks away from it like it's some physical blow. And it's not until he can wedge himself under the bed he's started sharing more often with Riptide that he can answer.



hi

Well. It's a start.

Aug. 8th (evening); closed to charlie

[skelepun]

The concept of day and night didn't exist the same way in space, where everything on the outside was the same inky black void. Pricked with stars, sure, but most of them so far away it wasn't much different from what Sans imagined a night sky on earth to look like.

Not that he had ever seen one, but that was unimportant.

Jaw balanced in his hands, he knew enough to figure the orientation of their ship and their position in reality (that seemed pretty flexible on this ship) made all his constellation knowledge moot.

Still, there was fun to be had in making up your own. Sans traces his finger through the air, connecting a few into a vague rubber chicken shape.

Hilarious.

[springlocking]

Ah, the observation deck! A lovely place, one Charlie doesn't visit often-- but in the wake of certain arrivals, she's been finding it hard to sleep. And when you can't sleep, you wander around until you start needing to sleep, until you find a safe place to crash.

It's just too bad that, in her mind, nowhere is 'safe' anymore.

She locates the skeleton soon enough once she gets onto the deck, though. It's strange, but she can't really feel anything at this. Dude's alive after all.

"You were dead for like a month, just so you know," she mutters. Between the yellow glass eye, the beginnings of dark circles under both eyes, and how easy it was to slip back into her mindset from that awful night - well, this month hasn't been kind to her, not one bit.

But hey, at least someone came back this time. It's better than nothing.