The nicest thing about being a space janitor, Sans has realized, is that space is kind of like the world's largest garbage can. Trash needs to go out? Out the airlock. Dirty dishes? Out the airlock. Not feeling up to cleaning out the mop bucket? Out the airlock. Sans went back and forth between his chores and the airlock so often one might actually mistake him for someone who gave a shit.

Nevermind that they were technically docked on a planet. Emiri was kind of trash anyway.

Still, avoiding work was still work. Rather than make the trek to his bed, Sans made himself comfortable right there in the hall outside the airlock chamber. Hoodie flipped up, it took all of thirty seconds to drift into a nice, uneventful sleep.



Sans jerked away with a start. How long was he out? Who on earth was that girl? Visions of people who should not exist thumped inside his skull, dulling his eyelights to empty sockets. Faintly, he smelled something burning. Burning... In a flash of sickening realization, Sans noticed the large shadow looming over him. A giant animal skull, fangs contorted and twisted into an unnerving grin, hovered above him with its mouth lolled open as energy gathered at the back of its throat.

"Hck, hold up--!"

The beam of raw magic fired, flooding the room with light and noise before vanishing along with the monstrous fanged skull. Eyes shut, Sans' mind raced. He couldn't remember the last time he lost control of his magic. Not since he was a baby bones, and even then...

[[ ooc: feel free to have your character hit by the blaster (it won't kill anyone with just one blast, but it can hurt like a bitch) or simply hear it/see it! ]]

St. Murtel was a bust.

Rattled by his dream and the resulting accident, Sans went looking for his brother... only to get roped into an entirely unnecessary physical. When you're composed of two parts magic and one part dust, doctor's visits were a colossal waste of everyone's time. It's not like Sans was in dire need of x-rays, either. From his perspective, all that did was custom print naughty photos. Not for him, thanks.

Of course, leave it to good ol' Emiri to come up with something even worse than a mandatory, unnecessary doctor's visit: mandatory, unnecessary detention. The girl's unnerving plea rang inside his skull all the way back to the Moira, where he was unceremoniously dumped with a warning and a cold look. Whatever. Sans was done with this planet and their creepy corporate love fetish.

Unfortunately, his brother apparently wasn't.

"Yo, have you seen a skeleton come through here?" Sans stopped everyone he could, asking the same question each time. "Real big smile? Likes to say 'wowie'?"

Avelle was... loud. Way louder than St. Murtel. Sans didn't mind a good party now and then, but he was in no mood after trekking this far on a hunch. Dancing would just have to wait.

Carefully, Sans scanned the crowd along with his travelling companions. There had to be a familiar face somewhere in this throng of people, right?