with scarves of red tied 'round their throats

[skelepun]

Who: Sans + lots of people + YOU
When: Throughout March
Where: Around the Moira, not so much planetside
What: Catchall for march + come get drunk with a skeleton
Warnings: Alcoholism, probably some general nihilism bullshit. it's sans, so, y'know.



(( if you would like a top level, please let me know via PM or contacting me on plurk at safelybeds ))

Comments

[skelepun]

Sans nods along with her once the texts appear -- the nod of a guy who's had way too much to drink and risks unbalancing himself in the process.

"I gotta discuss you with the captains." He starts, then stops. "I mean, I gotta discuss the captains with you. It's the only safe place since there are no cameras but uh you gotta bring..."

He gets the signal, screwing up his expression in deep thought.

"--You gotta bring all the sheets in your room. Like, all of 'em. It's really important." Satisfied, he leans back, shoulders practically vibrating with resisting the urge to bust up laughing. "Okay, thanks, see you there, love ya, bye."

As soon as he ends the feed, the pretense of sounding composed falls away. Sans falls away too. Literally. The man is on the floor. If he's laughing, wheezing, or literally dying, it isn't clear.

"He's gonna--" Another gasp, still laughing, still not done. "He's gonna shoot us."

[niffin]

"Nah," Alice considers. "I mean. He might shoot you."

She slumps back against the wall beside him, easing down onto the floor.

"So are we gonna document this, or let him hang out there a while first."

[skelepun]

"I dunno. Walking is hard."

Sans runs his hand down his skull, fingers catching in his eye sockets on the way down. The laughter is dying down, leaving him feeling warm and spent and tired. He hunkers down deeper into the comfort of his hoodie, eye sockets drooping on cue.

"Here, hold onto my arm." He nods lazily for her to take hold, stifling a yawn in the process.