Sans (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
skelepun) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thisavrou_log2016-01-23 12:52 am
skelepun) wrote in thisavrou_log2016-01-23 12:52 am
[closed]
Who: Sans and Miles (and Steven + Papyrus!)
When: 21st
Where: Harashan, to start.
What: The first bimonthly meeting of the itty bitty brittle bones committee.
Warnings: An excess of determination.
Emiri was, in Sans' opinion, one of the last places he wanted to be. The travel ban was frustrating enough without the obvious unrest quite literally written on the walls of Harashan, warning all passersby of whatever vague threat Link'd Inc. posed. If Sans was sure of one thing, it's that they should have left long ago.
But hey! He was just the janitor, right? Who was he to meddle in the affairs of those much, much higher up the food chain. It sounded like a whole lot of effort. Better to leave it to the Miles Vorkosigans of the world and keep his nasal bone out of other people's business. It was a good, solid plan. For a little while, anyway.
"Sir?"
Sans looked up lazily from where he leaned against the wall, unsurprised to see the voice belonged to some sort of police officer. Beaming, Sans hoped he looked as unassuming as he felt.
"Morning, officers." He saluted, grateful he thought to wear his Moira uniform today. Whatever distance he could get from this local conflict, the better. "Just taking in some air."
They gestured to the wall directly behind him, diving immediately into a series of rapid fire questions. Sans filtered them out easily enough, turning to squint at the graffiti. Something about the children. After his run in with a little girl in St. Murtel, Sans couldn't really blame the city for getting antsy about protecting its kids. That said: still really, really not his problem.
Unfortunately, the police disagreed. Pretty forcefully, actually. Any attempts to explain that, no, Sans was not responsible for the cryptic message were met with disbelief at best and veiled threats at worst. Getting dusted on this hellhole, where his brother would never know what happened to him? That wasn't an option. Resisting in any way wasn't an option.
The holding cell was about as hospitable as you could imagine, but Sans thanked the guards with all the veiled contempt he could muster. None of them appreciated his crack about cell phones. Their loss. What Sans did know is that he would eventually be led out of the holding cell, into a much smaller room, and then questioned in regards to his involvement with the Komai.
The tone used wasn't very reassuring.
So, really, what better time to catch a nap?
When: 21st
Where: Harashan, to start.
What: The first bimonthly meeting of the itty bitty brittle bones committee.
Warnings: An excess of determination.
Emiri was, in Sans' opinion, one of the last places he wanted to be. The travel ban was frustrating enough without the obvious unrest quite literally written on the walls of Harashan, warning all passersby of whatever vague threat Link'd Inc. posed. If Sans was sure of one thing, it's that they should have left long ago.
But hey! He was just the janitor, right? Who was he to meddle in the affairs of those much, much higher up the food chain. It sounded like a whole lot of effort. Better to leave it to the Miles Vorkosigans of the world and keep his nasal bone out of other people's business. It was a good, solid plan. For a little while, anyway.
"Sir?"
Sans looked up lazily from where he leaned against the wall, unsurprised to see the voice belonged to some sort of police officer. Beaming, Sans hoped he looked as unassuming as he felt.
"Morning, officers." He saluted, grateful he thought to wear his Moira uniform today. Whatever distance he could get from this local conflict, the better. "Just taking in some air."
They gestured to the wall directly behind him, diving immediately into a series of rapid fire questions. Sans filtered them out easily enough, turning to squint at the graffiti. Something about the children. After his run in with a little girl in St. Murtel, Sans couldn't really blame the city for getting antsy about protecting its kids. That said: still really, really not his problem.
Unfortunately, the police disagreed. Pretty forcefully, actually. Any attempts to explain that, no, Sans was not responsible for the cryptic message were met with disbelief at best and veiled threats at worst. Getting dusted on this hellhole, where his brother would never know what happened to him? That wasn't an option. Resisting in any way wasn't an option.
The holding cell was about as hospitable as you could imagine, but Sans thanked the guards with all the veiled contempt he could muster. None of them appreciated his crack about cell phones. Their loss. What Sans did know is that he would eventually be led out of the holding cell, into a much smaller room, and then questioned in regards to his involvement with the Komai.
The tone used wasn't very reassuring.
So, really, what better time to catch a nap?