thisavrou_log | with scarves of red tied 'round their throats

afternoon;

The bar was a home away from home at this point. Even if Sans had to sneak in his own food, the liquid menu was unmatched and he intended to take full advantage. Just like every other night, but who's counting?

Settling at the bar, Sans immediately waved at the bartender on duty for a drink. The ketchup appeared almost instantly. Never let it be said that being a regular didn't have its perks.

Of course, to any not familiar with Sans, the sight of a skeleton pulling a half eaten burger out of his hoodie pocket and squeezing ketchup on it before emptying the rest of the bottle directly into his mouth might be an alarming sight. For other regulars, that was just Sans, and he was always up for some company.

evening;

One bottle of ketchup turned to two, then three, then... well, Sans lost count around five. Warmth spread through his bones like cotton batting, wrapping him up and dampening his worries. Sans isn't sure why people get so uncomfortable around drinking. I mean, c'mon! It's the best thing for a bad mood.

Spread out over the bar, Sans had one hand on his MID, giggling to himself as he sent off yet another text. Oh man. Clark was gonna get a kick out of that one.

As if suddenly noticing a presence behind him (regardless of how long it's been there), Sans turns his giddy smile onto whoever's behind him.

"Heh, hey, pal, what's the difference between a porcupine and the Moira?" He pauses a beat, though not long enough for anyone to get an answer out. "On a porcupine, the pricks are on the outside!"

late;

Oh. Now Sans remembers why people get uncomfortable about drinking. Funny how this part always escapes his memory when he decides to make a night at the bar. All that pleasant, buzzed numbness from before turned to crystal glass over the course of another several rounds of drinks, magnifying every fresh wrinkle in his life over the last few weeks.

It's almost funny -- no, it's definitely funny -- and for all Sans looks like a deflated baloon, the thin creaky laughter is unmistakably his.

"Do ya know what time it is, bud?" He asks, vaguely.

Edited 2016-03-12 20:05 (UTC)

He was in his house. Gyftmas lights blinked out the window, reflecting off the snow just below. It felt nostalgic somehow, from the lumpy green couch to the dim glow of the TV. Nothing was on, but the warbly rendition of the MTT jingle spelled out home in no uncertain terms.

A warm heaviness weighed him deeper down into the couch, increasing his comfort tenfold with each added pound of pressure. Whether it was minutes or hours, time seemed to slow and stretch all at once. The only constant was the added pressure, pound by pound, tightening around his skull.

It wasn't comfortable anymore. Suddenly, Sans felt the inky force spilling out down his spine, interweaving through his ribs. A few hands flashed behind his eye sockets in rapid succession, gesturing wildly at him, but he couldn't make any sense of what they had to say.

Black tar oozed between his bones, weighing him down even more. He couldn't move, he couldn't call for Papyrus, he couldn't even think. Nothing existed outside that pressure. Panicked, Sans began to thrash, hoping against hope he might be able to free himself from the weight that threatened to crush his bones to splinters.

He thrashed, soul thudding against his ribs.

✡⚐🕆 ☞⚐☼☝⚐❄ ✌👌⚐🕆❄ 💣☜📪 💧✌☠💧📬

With a start, Sans woke up moments before his face hit the floor.

"Ngh..." He managed, too tangled up in bed sheets to reorient himself. The floor was comfortable enough, even if sleep seemed impossible with how his soul still vibrated in fear from the nightmare. Been a while since he had one of those. Absently, Sans' eyelights drifted towards his MID.

If he couldn't sleep, why should anyone else?

To: Lara Croft
From: Sans

hey.
what do you call a guy who can't get to sleep?

Edited 2016-03-12 06:01 (UTC)

While Hands never did much for him practically speaking, realizing he lost the ability to understand it was profoundly unsettling. The fact that Sans couldn't remember where he learned it originally or why it felt so important only added to the unease.

But while his memory surrounding the language and everything else it touched was thick and impenetrable, his recollection of other memories remained iron clad.

Namely, a remembered conversation between himself and--

"Frisk?" He called, knocking gently on the child's door.

Edited 2016-03-12 06:32 (UTC)

With Grillby's a distant memory, Sans was still on the hunt for a new haunt. The mess hall was both too crowded and not crowded enough, the bar was decent but they didn't really serve food, and Sans found himself taking quite a few of his meals in his room. His roommates weren't exactly neat freaks, but even they were starting to get fed up with the crumb situation.

Sans needed to find a new hangout, and yesterday.

Enter the Moira Cafe.

Cute, quaint, and with all the food and coffee Sans could shake a stick at, the skeleton took to the place immediately. It's not uncommon to see him leaning over one of the tables with a book and a coffee that's 50% cream and 49% sugar. Decaf, of course.

Today, much like almost every other day, Sans was flipping through one of his finds from the library (a joke book, full of quantum equations. Don't ask). Flipping turned to staring into space, staring into space turned to dozing, and before too long the long, drawn out snores of a skeleton fill the cafe.

Ambiance, right?

Edited 2016-03-12 07:19 (UTC)

The standing offer from Furiosa isn't one Sans had the occasion to use for a while after it was given, but one that stuck tot he back of his skull all the same. Subconsciously, he finds himself drifting towards the cargo bay more and more often over the course of his shift. What would a war rig look like, anyway?

Maybe he could just check it out.

Several hours of napping, investigating, and low key enthrallment, Sans can't help tossing Furiosa a text.

To: Imperator Furiosa
From: Sans

[attached image: this very unique steering wheel]

you didn't have to decorate just for me, kiddo.

Edited 2016-03-12 20:04 (UTC)

[The gardens were a nice place to pass the time, kitten tree and all. It's odd to see so many cats in one place, and not one of them gossiping about garbage. Takes all sorts, he guesses.

They were great inspiration, though. Pulling up his MID, Sans scanned through his contacts until finding a name he's certain would appreciate this fully.]

To: River Tam
From: Sans

question for ya: does a radioactive cat have 18 half-lives?

Edited 2016-03-12 20:16 (UTC)

[A lot's been going on lately. Every time Sans expects him to have a nice relaxing month with nice, relaxing sky whales, reality seems to have other plans.

These nights were semi-common back home, but Sans was getting better and better at ignoring them. Not having any outlet to vent his concerns meant swallowing them whole, more often than not. It's preferable to the alternative, and sleeping through those peaks of existential discomfort was a tried and true method to avoid them.

Unfortunately, sleep wasn't coming. Maybe some fresh air would do him good.

Sans hefted up out of his bunk, moving as quietly as he could for the door.]

Edited 2016-03-12 20:21 (UTC)

[Venom was at the bar yet again when he noticed the strange looking guy sitting there. He looked like some sort of skeleton dude. Was he an alien? Who knew? No need to be rude though, right? This guy probably wanted to get drunk and Venom saw nothing wrong with that.]

Saving a seat for someone or can I sit here?

The knock is answered almost immediately by a muffled "Coming!", and a few moments later a very rumple-haired child opens the door with a wide grin.

"Hi, Sans! What's up?"

Rough night, huh?

[He keeps his voice low to avoid waking anyone else in the room, but Ryan doesn't actually roll over and sit up until after that quiet callout. Having a sixth sense does have its benefits, sometimes.

Ryan rubs at his face and reaches for his glasses, stifling a yawn.]

I'm getting a little sick of staring at the ceiling too, honestly, so if you don't mind company...

[Well, hopefully he doesn't, because Ryan has every intention of tagging along anyway. He's well aware how easy it is to just run circles in your own thoughts at times like this, when everything else is quiet.]

"Heeey, kiddo." Sans smiles, rumpling that hair a little more as he steps inside. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything. Just had a question to ask."

[Scooting over, Sans lifts a hand in greeting. He's seen this one around before (he... thinks? There were a few people who looked pretty similar aboard the Moira.]

Not at all, man. What're you having?

It's... a night. Too early to say if it's bad or good and perhaps that has more to do with the fact that Lara is keeping herself from sleep, that she can feel the clawing fingers and sharp bite of pain that is only memory just in the corner of her mind. She can't even focus on any of the books she brought up from the library, nothing quite dull enough to lull her to sleep or engaging enough to thoroughly distract her.

The text is a relief.

To: Sans
From: Lara Croft

I don't know, what do you call a guy who can't get to sleep?

"I suppose I'm one of the pricks then?" Toriel teases, amusement written across her features. "I suppose it's true enough." Without much need for invitation she settles down next to Sans. The stools are a little small for her, but she can manage.

Toriel hasn't really drank anything hard in a long time. With her isolation and new child in Frisk on the surface, it just never really came to be. "I would ask if you had any suggestions on what to drink, but- I think I can guess." She can smell the ketchup on the skeleton at this point.

Frisk laughs and lean a little into his bony touch, not minding the messier state of their hair at all. "Nope, it's okay!"

Hurrying back over to their bunk, Frisk clambers up and gestures for for Sans to follow. "What'cha wanna ask?"

"Time to get a watch."

Hilarious. Alice slips onto the stool beside him, doesn't turn until there's bourbon in her own hand. Is he. Is he drinking ketchup —

She blinks. Shakes her head, downs the glass. There are a lot of things that Alice isn't ready to handle sober tonight, and the idea of alcoholic tomato paste is definitely one of them. Hopefully it doesn't just...fall out of his ribs.

She's trying very hard not to discreetly glance at the floor to check.

"How many have you had?"

Whiskey. [The man indicated the bottle of copper coloured liquid on the bar shelf. It's what him and Ocelot usually share when they come here. Kaz likes it too.]

Can I ask what sort of creature you are? Never seen a skeleton man before.

When Sans had first come to visit the cafe, Allison had been pretty nervous. After all, Ivan had mentioned a murderous clothed skeleton during her introduction to the ship, and then there'd been that business with the murders that she'd mostly tired to ignore...

However, she'd quickly found it was difficult to be intimidated by a guy who frequently tries to order all her allotment of snacks for the day - no Sans, you can't have it all, there are other people who want muffins! - subjects her to the most godawful puns, and then falls asleep despite his sugar-loaded drinks.

Flash-forward to today and the rise of the snores from a nearby table has Allison blowing stray hairs out of her face with a sigh and shaking her head with something that might just be exasperated affection. She usually either lets him sleep, or if the snoring starts to annoy her she'll go over and rouse him and complain how he's totally scaring off all her customers.

Today, though, she's feeling a bit silly. Maybe because she had to deal with one of Peter's most ridiculous orders yet, earlier. Maybe because Sans had subjected her to what she'll swear was his worst pun yet. Maybe she's just starting to feel particularly settled now after having finally adjusted to her roommates. Whatever the reason, today Allison grabs her cream whipper and proceeds to give Sans two big fluffy sugary eyebrows.

Edited 2016-03-13 14:25 (UTC)

[The voice isn't entirely a surprise, but it's enough of one that Sans jumps. Sharing a room with three other people had its perks (usually someone else was willing to clean up after you) and it's pitfalls (...this). That said, Sans' doesn't appear to mind.]

Heeey, bud. [He turns from the door, rubbing at his eye socket and feeling a little caught.] Sure, why not. C'mon, I was just headed to the observatory.

To: Lara Croft
From: Sans

resisting a rest.

It's not very good, but Sans still chuckles a little as he sends it.

how're you sleeping tonight, sweetheart? should i come arrest you?

Edited 2016-03-14 05:38 (UTC)

Kain's spent so much of his life the last year ruled by minding the sun - and avoiding it - that it's surreal to consider periods where watching the clock is a matter of "I don't want to get stuck out in public as a statue" more than "schedules"; at least whoever scheduled shifts had mercifully placed his at "Night".

Such as it would be, a lot of the time.

He'd taken a seat near the skeleton without a thought; Sans was hardly the weirdest thing he'd lived around lately, and he's already got a few shots lined up when the skeleton speaks.

"A few hours until sun-", he catches himself. "...You're either up late or drunk early."

Inhibitions lowered thanks to that unfortunate cocktail of vinegar and tomato paste, Sans can't even make a show of holding back the bright flush spreading across his cheekbones when he realizes who was standing next to him.

"Oh, uh, heh, hey, Tori." Each words comes out stilted, like someone offscreen was poking him with pins to keep him on track. Embarrassment made quick work of spreading the flush all the way down his spine. "Didn't know you came around here much."

"Not often. I'm not much of a drinker." She rests her elbows calmly against the bar, smiling amusedly back at the flushed skeleton. She had to admit it was... rather nice to see him flustered. Charming in its own way. "I felt like today could be a nice day for a drink."

Her gaze only drifts to the bartender, when she catches his eye she orders. When finished her gaze drifts back to Sans. "Looking for a replacement for Grillbys?" Toriel thinks she's got the name right. She's only really heard Sans talk about it, never actually visited the establishment.

Taking a seat, Sans heaves a deep sigh. The room is much like his, albeit a lot cleaner. He looks down at Frisk, schooling his expression into something warm, even if it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Believe it or not, kiddo, I need a favor."

Frisk settles crosslegged on the bed facing Sans, watching him with a curious look. If they notice the cold undertones in his expression, they don't let it show.

"...um, okay. What for?"

with scarves of red tied 'round their throats

OPEN - March 10th

closed to lara croft

closed to frisk

OPEN - Cafe

closed to furiosa

closed to river

closed to ryan

Re: afternoon

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afternoon to late [confetti toss]

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late;

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Late!

VIBRATES

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