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

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

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! ]

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"Ahhh... I was headed for the cargo bay. Maybe we talk while I'm on my way there. It won't take too long."

He nodded in the direction he'd been headed, waiting on Sans.

"How are you feeling by the way, man? Probably one hell of a hangover."

"Like little men are using little hammers up and down my parietal," Sans commented mildly. It was sort of nice, falling into an easy conversation after so many... profoundly difficult ones.

It's with a certain curious apprehension that he follows behind Niko. Part of him wanted the guy to get to the point, another part hoped they'd never actual reach their destination. No such luck on the latter.

"So..." The large doors shuttering open to reveal a warehouse of crates and vehicles. "What's up?"

"You know, I'm not a good guy." He said as he headed inside to clock in. "I haven't been since before my balls dropped. My cousin? He's a pacifist. Best guy you could meet. But he lies a lot.

"Or at first, I thought it was lying, you know? Why the fuck would he say this shit about me having adventures in Europe and getting a lot of women and making a lot of money. About how good a person with integrity and strength I was. Then I figured it out." He turned to Sans, tapped his own head. "That's how he actually saw me. His shitty apartment in Liberty City? He told me it was a mansion. To him, though, all the work it took to get it? That's what it was.

"Your brother reminds me of that. Like that guy that sees everything better than it actually is, because he knows something good had to lead to it." He gestured as he talked, motioning to about Papyrus's height as he spoke of him, and shifted his weight from foot to foot.

At first, Sans isn't sure what to think. A speech about doing better, maybe? Some sort of... message about the dangers of murder? It seemed a little odd for the guy who rolled so easily with finding a dead body, and yet here they were. Sans braced himself for a speech he didn't have the mental energy to swallow.

Only it never happened. Not that way Sans expects it to, at least.

"... Yeah." It comes out almost choked, and Sans has to work his jaw a few times before finding his steadiness. "Yeah, that's Pap. He's, heh, he's everything to me, man. He always looks on the bright side, no matter what happens..."

Sans stops, teeth set on edge. No matter what happens. God, he must've known, he must've lived a whole week knowing, and just ignored it like Sans was taking a long nap... shit. Dragging a hand down his skull, Sans sighs.

"I'm not much of a good guy either, if I'm being honest."

"I could sort of tell." He didn't mean to judge, but he wasn't going to gloss it over, either. "But I could tell before, you didn't like dead bodies too much.

"I love my family and friends. People who have fucked with them? I don't give a shit about this ship's fucking rules. If the people that threatened my cousin, killed relatives, if those people came here? I would fucking put them out an airlock." He thumbed to himself, then pointed at Sans. "That's why I didn't judge at the trial. Because I don't know what the story is, I just suspect you are not the type of guy to knock people off for no reasons."

"So what gives? Little psycho asshole comes by and wrecks you man. Leaves your brother to have to repeatedly tell himself shit is okay." As he cleaned up San's body in a firm state of denial, at that. "Has he always been that crazy?"

Sans chuckles, looking distant. That's right. Chara. They're here. It's a wrinkle he somehow didn't consider until now -- guess he'll be sleeping with one eye open for the foreseeable future.

"My brother ain't crazy." For the first time since they started their friendly conversation, Sans' voice goes razor thin. "But I'm just gonna assume you're joking around. Some new material might suit ya better."

And just like that, his tone returns to normal. No harm, no foul.

"Anyway. Heh. Yeah... that little psycho's got so many issues they're in syndication. Believe it or not, they've never been fond of sharing the whys with me. Mostly, I get the business end of a knife."

"Not your brother. I mean the little shit that killed you."

Well, as he figured, there was some history there. It's why he hated judging; as much as there was a ton of bullshit about healing, you can't fix history. Only try to work around it if you had no choice. If someone came on board Niko hated? Dimitri Rascalov? Dead, instantly. Pegorino too. What about Gliese from the fucking Nehada? Oh he'd find someone who could wreck her in a heartbeat. They had to be here. But he wouldn't let her stand. So many people didn't deserve to.

But no one here got to live through that.

"Alright, friend. I get where you're coming from. Look, here's what I want to say. You have shit go down?" He motioned around the Cargo Bay. "I know you're probably not the type of guy to run off, but we got big fucking robots, a super spy, and a career assassin in here. Pretty sure we could carry him out by his ankle.

"I know you can take care of yourself, man. But sometimes it's good to know that there's a place where you can go hang out and say, 'Hey, I'm safe here'. And I don't think they would mind your brother too much when you're worried about him."

Sans snorts. Ah. He should've figured it was Chara on the agenda. Little creep was inescapable these days.

He went to apologize, but Niko is all business. It's almost refreshing, honestly. When given the choice, doing less is always the direction Sans prefers to lean. Having this friend(?) do all the talking is... a relief.

Of course, then there's the matter of what he's saying.

"Heh... I appreciate it." And he does. It's clear from the tired look in his eyes that he does, for all there's a sort of emptiness there. "Seriously. I'm gonna pass that on to my bro. But, well... present situation aside, I can take care of myself. You don't gotta worry about me."

The apparent irony is thick in that statement. To look at him, Sans is a short, inexplicably chubby little pile of bones that creak and rattle as he walks. Even keeping up with Niko's strides is enough to prompt beads of sweat at his forehead.

It's not exactly an intimidating sight.

"Sans. I can call you Sans, right? But Sans. Man."

He turned and slowed, spread out his hands toward the skeleton person in a comfy looking hoodie.

"Even if you are sure? You just got turned into kitty litter. If you were in the gardens when it happened? Papyrus's job would have been much more terrible.

"The offer will stay open."

Control was never something Sans felt he had much of. His life, hell, his world -- it always fell in someone else's hands. Someone else pulled the strings and he rolled with it. It was a comfortable, if depressing, way to go through life.

And now here was Niko, laying out in a few words just how much he had to be responsible for now.

Talk about uncomfortable. And nice? Sans settles on weird.

"Y'know, Niko, you're not as bad a guy as you say you are."

He snorted a laugh at that. "You've not seen me mad yet. I hope no one here does."

Because his rage hits "red" quick. Still, most of the time? Laidback, easygoing guy.

"But ah.... Seriously though. What's up with that kid." Chara. Yeah, a kid, but Niko was pretty seriously unsettled by him.

The question was a long time coming, and on some level Sans expected it. Still, he takes his time leaning against the wall with a sigh.

"Man, where do I start. The short answer is they're trouble, but probably not that much for a guy like you."

"I don't know. Don't underestimate a kid being trouble. When I was very young and a soldier, people did not expect the things that I could do. I am pretty much expecting him to be capable of pretty bad shit at this point." He sat on top of a box cross-legged and gestured over Sans.

"But I am ready for the long answer, too. I'd rather know than do or say something I could regret."

Don't underestimate. It's enough to make Sans erupt in short, sharp laughter, for reasons he couldn't even begin to explain.

"Heh, don't worry chief, I've made that mistake before." Sans drags a hand down his face, turning his attention out to the cargo bay. "Think there's a crate out here with some ketchup in it?"

It was strange watching a skeleton do something as close to a facepalm as one can imagine. "I can check, hold on." He brought up his MID.

"Why do you need ketchup for?" Not that he wouldn't give some to him if he didn't say, but how could someone not ask?

"You said you wanted the long version." Sans winks, leaning back against the guard rail. The exhaustion poured over his bones like lead. "If I'm gonna tell you this story, I'm not gonna do it sober."

"You can get drunk off ketchup? Hotdogs must be amazing for you. I like them a lot myself though."

He gestured at Sans to follow again.

"Come on, we'll get you pissed."

"Love 'em. But you haven't lived until you've tried a hot cat, my friend. Hot animals in general -- very popular with a certain class of people. Remember that if you ever want to make a killing selling illegal foodstuffs."

It's nice, shooting the shit with someone who has no real emotional attachment to the situation. Even if that's not completely true, Niko's casual airs are a relief to him.

"I'm with you, man."

Despite his own bouts of extreme depression (usually vented in the worst self-destructive ways rather than simple exhaustion), his favorite coping mechanism was mentally dismissing the intensity. If it was just a thing that happened, then it happened, and rather than being told that it was exceptional sometimes just having someone go, "Well that sucks" helped intensely.

He found said crate of various condiments back beside the refrigerated area and pulled it out for Sans. Pried it open with a crowbar.

"I don't know if hot cats sounds so good. Hairballs are not so great a time." He said as he hefted out a couple of bottles.

"Heh, probably for the best. The most you find around here is hot humans." A lot of them, by chance. "But then, I'm sure you've noticed that."

Sans settles on the floor. It was ketchup packets, not bottles, but that's good enough. Even if he has to tear each one individually with his teeth, it's something.

"Can I ask why you're being so nice to me, pal? I mean, aside from my recent vacation."

"You were in a situation you didn't like, and you had every opportunity to leave. But you didn't. You stuck around while I hung out with a corpse. I could have done it alone, no problem. But you made sure I didn't have to.

"I am a pretty big prick. But the thing is, I am also the type of guy that, if I'm treated good? I won't be a prick to you. I try to be a loyal friend. What you did? that was a stand up thing to do."

And then he shrugged awkwardly. "Not just humans. My girlfriend is Quarian. And I think she is the best looking lady on this ship."

There's a warm feeling in Sans' ribs, and he's not sure the ketchup is solely to blame. The mention of a girlfriend -- and a non-human one to boot, good for him -- draws a soft chuckle out of the skeleton, bones rattling faintly.

"Here." He tossed a few packets towards Nico, grinning. "Consider it a toast to loyal friends."

He nodded and took the ketchup packets. Well, wasn't his usual choice of libation, but he'd accept that. He opened the top of it.

"You got a girl back home? Or boy? Or whatever. I guess there are more options out there." He gestures to and fro with said packet.

Nico's wasn't the first human Sans offered ketchup to, but he was certainly the first to accept. Sans couldn't help feeling immediately more at ease.

Sure, Nico was human. Sure, his soul was heavy with LOVE. But... it could be worse. After all, he could be the kind of guy who turned up his nose at sugary tomato and vinegar paste.

"Me? Nah." Sans chuckles, a little wistful. "Those things have a way of not working out where I'm from. My priorities always went to other things."

It's cryptic, but nevertheless the truth. Hard to stay in a relationship when time was just going to reset itself back to zero again.

"That kid, for example."

Probably shouldn't have said that. Whoops. Sans didn't have a tongue, but ketchup sure had a way of loosening it anyway.

Nope, Niko was an Old World boy offered a drink from a friend and he was taking it, even if it seemed nonsensical. And as Sans was speaking, he did indeed squeeze that ketchup packet into his mouth. When in Rome or whatever.

"Had to watch out for him even at home, huh?" He asked, wadding up the packet when he was through and putting it in his pocket, and then opening up the next one.

It seemed, though, somewhere in there Sans was a romantic. He heard that note of wistfulness. Niko was one, too, and wondered if there was someone that the squat skeleton man had missed a chance with, by necessity or misfortune. ...Or both. Seemed to be the luck of a lot of people.

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skelepun - 2016-03-14 09:31 (UTC) - Expand

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