there's no way this won't be great

[skelepun]

Who: Sans + Toriel + Ivan + Frisk
When: April 14th/morning of the 15th
Where: Gardens, bars, and rooms
What: The goat asks out the skeleton. The skeleton gets drunk. The hunk teaches the skeleton how to be a player. The kid learns what a hangover is. Fun for everyone.
Warnings: Drunkenness? Hurt goat feelings? Ivan?


gardens; closed to toriel

There are a few similarities between the gardens here and the Waterfall marshes. Despite every logical impulse, it is easy to pretend for a little while that the sky stretching above isn't a cavern ceiling or ship's hull. With just a hair of concentrated effort, those trappings of reality melt away into something wholly imagined. The glitter of crystals turn to stars, and the shine of light off metal becomes the sun.

It's peaceful. With the feeling of grass poking up between the gaps in his bones, Sans can't remember when he fell asleep and isn't keen on waking just yet. Even the warmth feels like the genuine article, soaking into his bones like a heat lamp. As reality drips in clearer, bit by bit, Sans notices that warmth is located to his back specifically. Another few seconds remind him that the grip around his rib isn't, in fact, a furry blanket -- rather, it's a furry arm, pressed in close and in a position he definitely didn't remember falling asleep in.

So much for staying asleep.

"Whoa, uh." He leans up and away, rubbing at his eye socket and feeling like the world's littlest spoon. "Hey, T." Nudge nudge. "Wake up, Tori. Think we conked out."

bar; closed to ivan

Well. That went well.

Toriel was many things, and kind might top the list. Maybe if she were to get angry at him, or ask for an explanation, or even react beyond quiet understanding, Sans would feel less low right now. He would be so content to coast along as best friends, full satisfied by that arrangement. Companionship without complications or strings. Sans' favorite kind.

She was just so understanding. Ironic, considering Sans understood only about 10% of his own reaction. Even more ironic, the person he wishes he could talk to about this, the person he's sure would have all the answers he needs, is Toriel herself.

Welp. Sans would just have to resort to his second best friend: ketchup. Maybe Miles would be back tonight. Sans wasn't hopeful -- he might not have ears, but he kept them to the walls all the same, and word was Miles had some further recouping to do -- but today was a day of surprises.

Of course, Sans was wrong about everything except for the surprise part.

"'Sup, Ivan." He nods, sliding up onto a stool. "Usual, please. Extra vinegary, if you have it."

nomo deck; closed to frisk

If Sans didn't know any better, he would be sure there were hamsters skittering around in his skull. Hamsters with tiny hammers tied to their tiny feet, pounding with each frantic footfall.

Hamster hammers. There's a pun in there somewhere, but it's a testament to how prominent the ache in his head is that Sans can't think of one for the life of him.

He had a reason for setting his alarm this morning, but pulling the covers over his skull takes precedent. Whatever or whoever it is can wait. Sans has the hangover of the century coming on and he's not about to miss a moment of this groundbreaking personal event.

Ow.

Comments

gardens

[inruins]

Toriel for her part makes a very dignified sound at being roused, a half awake snort. "Sans-?" They really needed to stop falling asleep in the gardens, it was getting a bit silly. When she realizes where they are the boss monster sits up a little, rubbing at her eyes with her free hand herself. Her other arm still lazily cast in Sans' direction. Her body is comfortable and would rather sleep, but they need to get up eventually.

"Sorry, did I squish you?" It was a legitimate concern to have.

[skelepun]

"Nah, nah, I'm good." Sans shrugs, a blue cast across his cheekbones as his magic works itself up into a warm fervor. The longer he thinks on their position, the more embarrassed he seems to get. Doesn't Toriel's son work around the gardens? Talk about something a kid might misconstrue.

"Can't believe we did this again... I mean, I've heard of flower beds, but this is ridiculous."

[inruins]

She has to smile in turn, her gaze turning to something fond at the flush of blue settling across his cheekbones. It only confirms something she's been feeling for awhile. The conformation to herself is... a little scary in part. Toriel has been debating about this for the past week, but now seems like a good time.

The boss monster laughs at that, gladly distracted from her thoughts. "We're a ridiculous kind of pair I suppose." She spares the gardens a glance, quietly relieved Asriel isn't around today as she continues. "Besides.. it feels more like home here. A bit of nature that feels more alive than a good portion of the white walls."

sorry for the delay, busy weekend!

[skelepun]

"Wish I could say the same." Sans shrugs, eye sockets scanning the lush foliage. It didn't feel like home to him, so much as a place he wishes was home. Home, to Sans, was cramped caverns and endless snow. He didn't mind it so much -- there was Grillby's, the inn, his house, the door...

But of course, that's the thing that feels most like home of everything -- Toriel. Her voice acts as an instant sedative to his nerves and fears. In retrospect, it's no real wonder why he gets all his best sleep with her around. Smile settling into something more genuine, Sans elbows her gently in the side before stretching. His bones crack impressively as he flexes them over his head.

"But, y'know, it's pretty great. I'm not complaining."

psh u all good

[inruins]

"I still owe you, quite a few descriptions of where we lived on the surface, don't I?" She muses lightly in turn, knowing this was something they generally danced around for each others comfort. She watches him gaze around, taking in the light of his eye sockets and the flush thoughtfully. The shift of his smile into something real makes her feel warmer.

She had only realized recently, very recently, but... the temptation to tell him was there. She laughs softly at the elbowing, poking him lightly back. Gladly teasing the skeleton back. "Maybe next time we'll plan a nap opposed to having it just happen suddenly."

Even if it didn't work out, she would be happy with this. She would always be happy with Sans.

these olds....

[skelepun]

"Heh, what, you don't like our surprise naps?" Sans' grin went wider, waking up more by the second. "I find them very a-resting."

Of course, he wasn't so awake that leaning on his very soft, very big, very warm best friend wasn't still an option. Yawning, he settled against her arm subconsciously and let his eye sockets droop.

"What sort of plan did you have in mind?"

[inruins]

The boss monster snorts at that, the pun making her smile back. "I should hope so given how often it happens." She gladly wraps an arm around the smaller monster, enjoying the contact.

"Nothing concrete. We deserve a soft surface to sleep on after all." The goat laughs a bit at her terrible wordplay before pressing on. "Maybe something besides planning to just sit together and drooping into a nap accidentally."

She hesitates, wary about breaking the easiness of the moment. "I did want to talk with you though, about something that has been on my mind. But... we fell asleep."

[skelepun]

"Really? Sorry, T. If I knew you had a bone to pick with me, I'd have held off on the nap." Sans straightens up a little, determined not to give in to the plush of Toriel's fur. That stuff was softer than a down comforter, and twice as cozy. A man with ten times his constitution would be hard pressed not to doze against her.

"What's up?"

[inruins]

"Ah, you never have to apologize for a nap. I enjoy them, even if they distract both of us." She answers lowly in turn, trying to find the right words. "Ah, I'm not sure where to start, really." Toriel settles on being forward opposed to shy about this. She was never one to shy away from these things.

"Are you a carbon sample?" She leaves the question hanging in the air, hoping he'll be curious enough to continue.

Nomo Deck

[gainedlove]

Frisk is pretty used to Sans's...questionable ability to keep a decent schedule. It's like pulling teeth to get him to go anywhere in the mornings...or after he takes a nap. Or when he's busy slacking off. Or anytime, really, but when it's something important he does tend to at least show up.

About an hour after they had agreed to meet up for their lessons Frisk peeks their head into Sans's dorm with a small frown. The door had been left open by someone, and Frisk slips inside without a second thought. It doesn't take long to locate the lump under Sans's covers, and they can't help a small sigh.

Sleeping in again. Of course.

Well, not much else for it but to wait for Sans to wake on his own time. Frisk crawls up onto the bed as carefully as they can, curling up next to the skeletal heap without bothering to get under the covers.

sorry for the delay, busy weekend!

[skelepun]

When you room with three other people, you got used to mid-morning disturbances. Be it the soft chatter of your roommates, the clack of heels getting strapped on, or the sound of J berating someone over her MID. These were all normal sounds, ones that Sans long since learned to file under the part of his mind he ignored. Right next to physical discomfort and, well, most things.

But the pressure against his side was new. It has been a long, long time since Papyrus was young enough to seek comfort from Sans like this, and the size was all wrong anyway. If Sans wasn't also fighting off a particularly aggressive migraine, he might be curious enough to open his eyes.

Instead, he grunts and tries to escape the invasive lump the only way he knows how: limply waving his hand in its vague direction. Surely this will work.

[gainedlove]

Sans's hand brushes against their shoulder and arm, and Frisk opens their eyes curiously. Watch him try to wave them off, they instead giggle softly and reach up to pat the back of his head in return.

"Saaaaans, wake up, lazybones!" Thankfully they aren't at full volume, but still probably louder than Sans wants next to his ear right now.

[skelepun]

The sound of children's laughter is a beautiful sound. Really. Like tinkling bells tied to the tips of angel wings. Sans tells himself that aggressively while swallowing the urge to upend Frisk off the bed and onto the floor.

"Nnngh, g'morning, kid." He mumbles, face still pressed firmly into the pillow. "Sans is a little behind on his beauty sleep."

The so could you lower your voice follow up is implied rather than spoken.

[gainedlove]

"You're always behind on that." Frisk does lower their voice, at least, but rather than leave poor Sans be they wriggle up to let their head flop down beside his on the pillow. "We were s'posed to have a lesson an hour ago!"

[skelepun]

"Ouch." Sans manages, though the sickness of that burn is enough to make him chuckle. He might be hungover, but he's not dead. "Well now you hurt my feelings."

[gainedlove]

Frisk giggles again, patting his shoulder in a friendly 'there, there' gesture. He's obviously not actually bothered by the insult, or at least not in any capacity that they can recognize. "You're cuddly enough to make up for it!" Sure, that's mostly by product of his usual wardrobe, but they work with what's presented, alright?

But more importantly-- "Are you gonna get up soon?"

[skelepun]

"Eh... maybe." Sans grunts, rolling enough that his eyes glimpsed into the cruel light of morning. Or at least, ship lights. "I'm kinda in the midst of a grown up skullache, here, kiddo. They can take a while to wear off."

bar!

[whatdidisay]

As much as Ivan loves his cousin, he's glad for any and every break away from the hesitant re-entry of Miles Vorkosigan into the world. Gregor can handle it, and Ivan needs a goddamn drink. Sans is a regular no matter what, and Ivan brightens when he sees the small... skeleton.

"Hey Sans." Ivan raises his own glass - what's the point of being a bartender if you can't drink, right? - before going to dig around the shelf he's begun keeping all the ketchup. It takes a few bottles before Ivan finds one that looks fancy and might have that added kick that Sans is looking for. "Bad day?" He asks, sliding it down to him - see, he's got this gig down perfectly.

sorry for the delay, busy weekend!

[skelepun]

"I don't have bad days." Sans corrects, though he takes the ketchup with fresher haste than usual. "Well, only on days that end in y, you know how it goes."

After what feels like a nigh endless chug, Sans sets the bottle down with a loopy look in his eye sockets. The only thing missing to complete the cliche is the standard I needed that.

"How's Inches?"

not a problem!

[whatdidisay]

"Something like that," Ivan says, leaning on the bar to watch him drink. "Anything particular you've got gnawing at you this time? I figure I've got to fill in all the aspects of a barkeeper." Keeper of secrets or there to listen to spill their sorrows. He's got this.

As for Miles-- "Better, actually. If you've got a mind to stop by, feel free."

[skelepun]

"Think I might do that." Sans nods, tapping his fingers along the bar. He tries to keep them at a steady beat -- 1-2-3, 1-2-3, like the world's most pathetic waltz -- and only half manages it. For a bit it seems like Sans might ignore Ivan's first question entirely. In fact, on most occasions he would. If it were Miles standing there behind the bar, you better believe he'd keep his jaw clamped.

But Ivan was, well... Ivan. They were family, sure, that much was obvious, but Sans didn't see much by way of resemblance. For better and worse.

"Heh, lemme tell you, man. I've got an seven foot tall furry problem, and she's gnawing at me something fierce."

[whatdidisay]

"Hang on," Ivan says after digesting the seven foot tall furry problem. Sans says it in the way some men talk about girlfriends and wives at the officer bars and he frowns, working this over in his mind. "Are you having girl problems?"

He frowns, getting a look of vague concentration before blurting out "How does that even work?"

[skelepun]

It's not exactly the response Sans is expecting, and yet also the exact response Sans is expecting. There's an indulgent look in his eye sockets as he leans over the bar.

"How does what work, pal?"

[whatdidisay]

"You know," Ivan says with a gesture, trying to convey exactly what he means before diving down into vulgar gestures. He's still Vor at heart, and raised by Alys Vorpatril does mean that some of the manners have leaked through. Some. Not enough, clearly, as he tries to tackle this.

"Is that why you're having problems? You can't--" If Ivan were the punny type, there'd be a crass one he could make at this point. But he's not, so. He just lets that awkwardly hang there.

Very awkwardly.

[skelepun]

"Can't what? Scrapbook? Knit a sweater? Play the flute? 'Cuz I'll have you know, I'm an excellent flautist." He enunciates the word, as if trying to put a very different word in Ivan's mind. It's just too easy.

Still, torturing the guy only goes so far. At the end of the day, Ivan seems game to help, even if it is in his own unique way.

"Anyway, I think the world you're looking for is 'bone.' And sure I can. But that's not the problem."