in the words of thomas jefferson, "what'd i miss?"

[skelepun]

Who: Sans & YOU
When: The 24th, spanning from early in the morning to the evening
Where: All around the ship
What: Sans is back! It is unclear to him at this point what "back" means, both for him and for everyone else.
Warnings: Alcohol (er, well, ketchup, but y'know), Undertale spoilers out the wazoo

Groggy doesn't begin to describe. Sans knows groggy, like any guy who spends most of his life exactly that. No, this feels as if someone methodically stuffed his skull with cotton until it was fit to crack.

In other words, he has a headache.

Rolling up out of (bed? If it was, it looked more clinical than comfortable) wherever he was, Sans took a moment to take stock of his surroundings. For one, he wasn't dead. Guess the kid finally reset after all, and further back than he expected. To that point, there are his memories to consider. Much like the first time he awoke after death on the Moira, his memories were all exactly where he left them. The feeling of disintegrating, the indescribable expression on the kid's face, the slice of their knife...

No, not knife. Cup. It was a cup this time. Heh. What a way to go.

Yawning, Sans shakes out the last of his stiffness. One of the upsides to losing your memories each reset was blending in. When your brain simply reloaded, it knew exactly what to do and where to be. Like this, Sans has no idea what day it is, let alone if he's got a mess duty or not.

And people wonder why he takes such relish in laziness. It makes for great cover when the world decides to rewind and leave you stranded.

Papyrus would know -- he always knows exactly where Sans is supposed to be and how late he is getting there. With a bounce in his step, Sans steps outside with the intention of finding his brother.

closed to papyrus; outside cryo

He doesn't have to look very far.

"... Bro?"

Papyrus is parked outside the cryo lab, deliriously going over a puzzle book. The page he's on appears to have already been solved... twice? No, three times. Incorrectly, correctly, and then incorrectly again. Huh. For once, his little brother's superior perception seems at a loss -- he doesn't appear to notice Sans' presence at all.

Leaning against a wall, Sans is content to watch for a while -- though his smile can't help tightening when he notices just how out of sorts Papyrus looks.

"Figure out this page many more times and you'll need an upgrade to the senior scramble, bro."

ota; around cryo/halls/nomo deck

Parting ways with his brother, Sans rubs at his eye socket. The exchange was... bizarre, even for the two of them. All the component parts were right, but they wouldn't fit together. His brother scolded him for his laziness, encouraged him to shake a leg to work, talked at length about his exploits around the ship...

All together, it should be normal. But then Sans thinks about how he fell asleep right there against the wall, how tired he looked before that, how bone deep his exhaustion seemed to penetrate, and it's not right. Something happened, and Papyrus isn't telling him. Then again, he didn't ask. They really were the poster children of talking about their feelings, weren't they.

Hands shoved deep in his pockets, brow bone furrowed deep in thought, Sans makes his way in the direction of his room. Maybe he could find some answers there about where the reset spat him out...

closed to miles; his office

Welp.

Welp.

Sans doesn't bother mincing words. He doesn't bother walking, either, teleporting with careless agility. It's a miracle he doesn't wind up in another wall.

"Miles!" He barks, in a tone entirely unlike any Miles (or, well, most people) has heard from him. "I know you're in there, I can hear you being smug from out here."

closed to roomies; nomo deck

It couldn't have been more than half a day since Sans woke up. Revived? Jeez, this was a mess. And despite reality, it feels like thirty years by the time Sans drags himself into his bedroom. It's cleaner than he remembers. But then again, why wouldn't it be, his roommates have had more than enough time to adjust to life without him. Won't they be disappointed.

No, that was mean. Sans takes a moment to regard his bunk. Someone went to the trouble of making it (by who, he can't be sure -- well, no, he's sure it wasn't J), and Sans feels a tinge of regret as he promptly messes it up again.

One veggie burrito, heavy on the calcium, coming right up.

ota; gardens

Things don't really start to sink in until he looks his blueprints. Even then, they don't sink so much as tie an anchor around his middle and hurl him overboard.

He needs to be alone.

A step, a quick calculation, and he gets his wish.

The tree in the garden is tall, but Sans never appreciated how tall until finding himself perched at the top of its canopy. The trees are sparse and thin enough up here to be dangerous, but Sans doesn't weigh much to begin with. And even if they did snap, would it matter?

It would, his mind reminds him, it would matter more than it has in a long, long time.

No, Sans decides. He's not going to think about that. He's going to go through all the tree jokes he knows until he's either laughing or asleep.

What did the tree wear to the pool party? Swimming trunks.

(There are no resets. There might never be another reset.)

What did the beaver say to the tree? It's been nice gnawing ya.

(Time marches on here, with or without you -- no, with you, because they'll keep bringing you back and taking pieces until there's nothing left. No more do-overs, not for you, or him, or them, or anyone.)

How do you identify a dogwood tree? By its bark.

(You can't afford not to care anymore, but do you even remember how to care? To really try?)

Why did the tree get a timeout? It was being knotty.

"Heh... knotty." Sans chuckles from on high, oblivious to anyone below his perch. "Gotta use that."

[ ooc: i'll match action or prose, gimme whatcha got! ]

Comments

[skelepun]

The spiel is tolerated, but only barely. Brow bone drawn, agitation writ into his grin, and with all the zeal of a deeply lore confused vampire, Sans pushes past Miles the moment he offers invitation.

"Okay, yeah, I know. You quip, I quip, we do the whole laughing with our eyes thing, our unlikely friendship secured another day -- it's great. I mean that. But let's skip it just this once."

Turning back to face Miles, Sans roots his feet to the ground. For a creature not technically capable of producing determination, he's practically brimming with it.

"Did you do this?"

[forwardmomentum]

This is not only new, it's unprecedented. But Miles is secretly pleased, on some level, because he always knew there was someone else buried under the heavy layers of bad puns and laissez-faire. Now he knows what it takes to bring it out.

Miles drops the conversational air and lets the door close behind Sans, still watching him, but without the air of vague amusement and curiosity. Now it's just intent, a look of appraisal, consideration. His brows draw down.

"Do what?" He looks Sans over. No missing parts, as far as he can tell, anyway. But the Ingress doesn't only take the physical. "Bring you back from the dead, you mean?"

[skelepun]

"Nah, I'm asking you got a haircut." Sans glares, hands stuffed deep into his pockets. "Look, buddy. Like I said. Let's skip the coy bantering bullshit. Neither of us are exactly newborns here. ... Except me, if you want to get super techni--okay, now you've got me doing it."

Taking a breath, Sans squeezed his nasal bone. He's not used to feeling this scrambled.

"Just tell me what's going on, man."

[forwardmomentum]

Miles drops any lingering coyness and grabs the other chair, turning it around backwards and straddling the seat. His expression is totally frank, if a little grave. He rests his arms along the back of the chair, shoulders straight, and gives Sans a direct look.

"What's going on is that you have just undergone resurgence," Miles says, his tone very matter-of-fact. "This isn't the kind of deal you're used to, Sans. Time didn't stop when you died. You're not back because of any reset. When you die around here, the Ingress usually spits you back out after a few days or so, more or less intact."

But not always... Miles knows, of course, just how they come back, what Thán can do. But Thán had told him that in confidence, and Miles had given his word.

"It...pulls your body out from a time before you died, I guess, but it retains your meories memories up to the point of death. Somehow. I don't really know." Miles looks hard at Sans.

"I didn't do any kind of reset, beacuse, like I told you, I can't. I don't have that ability." Miles spreads his hands, lips thin, then adds thoughtfully, "Chara seemed to think so too."

[skelepun]

Some deep seeded part of Sans is regretting his own banter moratorium at the advent of Miles' concerned camp counselor shtick. Luckily for them both, Sans has far bigger things on his mind.

"... Alright." His voice is quieter now, grin not quite pulled so tight. Less of his teeth are immediately visible. It's a start. "Alright."

Stumbling slightly, Sans grasps blindly for the nearest chair and very nearly misses when he goes to sit down. Wouldn't that be embarrassing. A hard enough fall and this whole circus would start up again from the top. It's enough to almost make Sans laugh. Almost.

"So... what now?"

[forwardmomentum]

Miles watches Sans totter around with an anthropologist's curiosity, wait until he's finally settled and looked at Miles with that question that almost sounds helpless. Almost. Miles taps a finger along the back of the chair for a moment before he answer, eyebrows knit slightly as though it's a question he's never heard before.

"What now?" he echoes, tilting his head. He looks considering a moment, then shrugs slightly. "Life goes on. Same shit, another day. You get up in the morning, report to work -- or don't, in your case -- you see what happens tomorrow, for once."

[skelepun]

Now Sans does laugh, a stilted sort of chuckle vibrating through his ribs and causing them to rattle. See what happens tomorrow? What the hell's tomorrow.

"Everything I told you -- you remember it all?"

If he's going to have to put his house in order, he'll have to start cleaning up messes. Shit. He hates cleaning up after himself.

"Heh, of course you do. Why wouldn't you. Another day, right? Hah." Deep breath. "Could you do me a favor and forget about it? Thanks."

[forwardmomentum]

"Forget about what? That you murdered Chara before they turned right back around and returned the favor? Or that you just lost a bet?"

Ordinarily Miles would sound smug as hell about that, but it's curiously absent, his voice mild and neutral. He shrugs, and his tone shifts, leveling out to something more like friend-to-friend.

"The Ingress made me forget enough on its own. I don't like having my brain diddled, and I'm sure as shit not going to do it to myself. It's not that simple, anyway." Miles' brow knits slightly, and he leans forward. "Moreover...why would I want to forget?"

[skelepun]

"Easy, easy." Sans held up a hand, most if not all of the aggression he started with fizzling out to a dull ember. So this is how it was. Sans had contingency plans upon contingency plans for every situation. He knew where he was supposed to be. Now, the world suddenly seemed... large again.

Sans somehow felt even smaller than usual, and he was tiny to begin with.

"It's not an order, chief. It's... heh, I dunno." Suns rubs the inside of his left socket, chuckling weakly. "A request, I guess?"

Ribs rise, ribs fall, and somehow Sans feels as if his bones might crack if he so much as think too hard about the implications of what he's learning.

Quietly, "I meant that stuff about... me. Not asking you to forget I'm a piece of shit, and I guess I owe you a favor now, but if you could just forget what I told you about me I'd appreciate it. Or not. I dunno if I even care either way, wouldja believe that? Yeesh. Talk about bonedoggled."

[forwardmomentum]

Miles quirks a grim smile. "Not used to living with consequences?" And is that hypocrisy or commiseration in your voice there, boy?

He sits back in his seat, chewing on his lower lip. "You know I can't just make myself forget things," he says reasonably, or at least in his opinion. "And I'm afraid I'm not inclined to."

Miles gestures out with one hand. "But that doesn't mean I have to share it with anyone. I'll keep it to myself, Sans. No one else need know."

[skelepun]

"Heh... nah, guess not. It was worth a shot."

There's a dryness to his laughter, scraping across his bones. Did Miles' office always feel this small, or were the walls just closing in?

That's not bad. A little dark, but not bad.

"Shit." It's quiet, barely spoken, as Sans rises up from the chair. There's an emptiness to him, as if there's suddenly so much less than there used to be. "Lemme know how you wanna cash in on that bet, pal."

[forwardmomentum]

"I'll drop you a line," Miles agrees. He watches Sans get up, but he doesn't rise from his own chair, nor make any move to stop him. There might indeed be less of Sans than there used to be. The Ingress takes something from everyone, after all. Miles wonders what it took from Sans.

"I mean it, Sans." Miles's voice is quiet, far from a demand to stay. "I won't tell anyone. You can have my word as Vorkosigan, if you like."

[skelepun]

"Do I get to choose the word?" It's a phenomenally weak joke, but it's decidedly more genuine than a few of the other lazy jibes Sans' has had to offer in the last half hour. "Thanks, though. I really do appreciate it, man. It's not that it's a secret, just... there are pieces I haven't sorted out myself yet, you get me?"

[forwardmomentum]

Miles lets out a wry huff. "Ha. Don't I wish." He smiles slightly in a way that doesn't quite reach his eyes, but it's a knowing smile all the same.

"Oh, yes," he murmurs, trying to ignore the dissonant rush of static in his own mind, "I get you, alright. Take care, Sans."

[skelepun]

"Right back atcha, slick." Sans gives a quick salute -- a silly little gesture he used so much around Miles it was starting to lose whatever sardonic edge it originally held. "I'll take a rain check on that award winning banter. Seeya around."

There's no point in bothering with the pretense of walking out the door, Sans is simply too scattered for it. One moment he's there in front of Miles, the next he's... not.