what did the skeleton say to the other skeleton

[skelepun]

Who: Sans & YOU
When: From the 16th on.
Where: All around the ship.
What: Catch-all log for May!! Some post-void shenanigans, some general around the ship shenanigans, fun for everybody!
Warnings: Will add if any come up! Probably some talk of mass murder, though.





( All prompts below! Please either PM me or PP me on plurk (safelybeds) if you'd like to hash out a custom starter!)

OTA (MEDBAY)
Sans tries to sneak out of the medbay after Magic Overload.

OTA (CRYOBAY)
Who wants to tell bad jokes and hang out around a bunch of kinda dead people?

OTA (TRAINING ROOM)
Magic burnout sucks. Let's talk about powers and why they're the worst.

OTA (CLASSROOMS)
Who wants to learn chemistry from the world's most tired man?

Comments

[skelepun]

"Oh yeah." Sans nods, his dismissal quick and perhaps a little too easy. "No offense to the medical staff, they did a great job with Pap's arm, but y'know... they wouldn't really get this."

It occurs to him that maybe he shouldn't be so vague, not when Ratchet is being so nice and worried. Not that it ever stopped him before, but, well... things were a little different now. His memory of the time in the void came in scattered bits and pieces, but he knew it couldn't have been pretty.

Not knowing what it was he said... that was the worst part, really.

"Think of it like... idk, really bad dehydration in humans." He shrugs, taking advantage of Ratchet's offered arm after a moment's hesitation. Pride didn't stand a chance against laziness, not now not ever. "It'll fix itself eventually, I'm just feelin' a little brittle right now."

[neveroutwrenched]

"Because of all the magic?" It's a little blunt of a question, and he doesn't look over at Sans. But dodging questions and avoiding subjects hadn't exactly done them a lot of good so far. "Using so much I mean?"

[skelepun]

It's a blunt question, sure, but it hits its mark. Sans actually looks a little swayed for the half second it takes him to contextualize why Ratchet knows about that.

He's ready for this headache to subside. Delayed reaction time isn't a symptom he's used to.

"Heh... yeah, that's about the size of it." He shrugs, trying for easygoing. "I'm a small guy. It takes a lot outta me."

Another beat, longer this time. Sans wonders if maybe he could risk it and just try to teleport away from the awkwardness that hung between them, but all that would probably give him was an uncomfortable trip back to the medbay.

"Sorry about all the bones, by the way. Wasn't personal."

[neveroutwrenched]

"Hey, don't worry about it. I never take people trying to kill me personally." Not that he thinks Sans was actually trying to kill anyone (he sure hopes not anyway), but his point stands, and he gives the skeleton a gentle elbowing in the ribs to emphasize the good-naturedness of the comment.

Something doesn't translate though; something lost in that awkwardness. Ratchet looks down as they walk, his smile falling away as fresh questions form and go unsaid. At least for now. He lets silence settle between them, nothing comfortable about it, all the way back to Mero deck.

[skelepun]

Silence isn't Sans' natural state. Not out of lack of appreciation for it -- there's something to be said for a quiet Sunday at home with nothing between him and his mattress save the passing urge to grab a bite to eat -- but rather an allergy. The longer it stretched out, the antsier Sans got to fill it with something.

Even alone in the woods on long sentry shifts, Sans would practice jokes aloud to himself. Get the timing down, make sure his cadence was right, rehearse and rehearse until it sounded unrehearsed. Jokes were the perfect death knell to any uncomfortable silence. Whether it landed or not, a joke could at least put two people on a track towards anything else.

Unfortunately, Sans was plum out of jokes.

Getting to Ratchet's room, Sans stared down at his feet. They looked small and strange without his slippers or socks bulking them up. Vaguely, he realizes in that moment that he can't for the life of him remember what Ratchet's feet look like. Huh. You'd think he would. They were friends, after all. A friend is supposed to know the general topography of a friend's feet.

Instead, Sans clacks inside the room, suddenly extremely aware of the sound his bones make against the floor before tumbling face first into Ratchet's bed.

"Oh yeah," he says, voice muffled through bedding. "That's the stuff right there."

[neveroutwrenched]

Ratchet half smiles at Sans’ collapse into the bed. You had to admire the guy’s appreciation for the simple things. Even if that appreciate was born of severe exhaustion.

He sits on the edge of the bed, back to Sans, staring hard at what had been Tali’s portion of the room. The emptiness of it was strange; Tali had been his roommate since day one. And more than that, she was someone he could talk to frankly, someone who understood, and who he didn’t have to lie to. Not about most things. It wasn’t as if she were gone, not from the ship, no...but the absence of her nearness was unfamiliar. Her empty half of the room like a wound, not particularly deep but still unpleasant.

He looks down, tapping his heal against the side of the bed.

“Do you want me to let you sleep, or...” He trails off, but there’s a significance to that 'or'. A weightiness that makes it clear he has more to say, even if he's going to let Sans decide if it's the time to discuss it.

[skelepun]

For a long moment, it looks as if Sans has already fallen asleep, face pressed down against the pillow in an impressive imitation of lifelessness. One of the perks of being a skeleton. But the stillness is short lived, and all at once Sans rolls onto his back, eyelights pinged squarely at the roof of the all-too-familiar bed.

"Nah." He seems to decide all at once, with a sort of confused force that implies this is news to him too. "Let's just do it."

[neveroutwrenched]

Right, don't make it sound like a chore or anything, Ratchet thinks but doesn't say, aware of his own stunning hypocrisy. He exhales, a familiar sense of maybe it was none of his business rearing up, but he pushes it back. They were way past not being in each other's business at this point. He glances over his shoulder very briefly, before looking straight ahead, the line of his shoulders tense.

"What happened back there, Sans?" And with barely a pause, and some added sharpness: "...And don't give me some bullshit answer or try and brush me off."

Options they both knew were all too likely.

[skelepun]

He was already considering not doing that, for once, when Ratchet's laser-focused order puts an end to any version of reality where he isn't straight with the guy.

It's almost annoying. Or it would be, if Sans wasn't so damn tired.

"I told you before." He stares up at the roof of the egg bed, focusing on the line where it eclipses the room's ceiling. "That kid took everything."

Was that bullshit? Sans couldn't tell anymore, but he erred on the side of caution. Just this once.

"It's... a real literal statement."

[neveroutwrenched]

Ratchet does turn this time, an ill-concealed look of surprise on his face as he stares at Sans through the dim light, trying to find the joke that wasn't there.

"So that was..." He breaks off, looking for the right words, the right thoughts. It was a crazy concept....a horrible concept. "Are you saying that was your world, back there. That...." Nothing. "How?"

The void hadn't just been empty; it was nothing. Even the vacuum of space has more substance, more logic and consistency than that place had had. It isn't that he can't believe in all the infinite universes in existence that it couldn't exist, but that a place could be reduced to that...

that one child could reduce a place to that.

[skelepun]

"Home sweet home." Sans waved a hand in the air, in time with the sing-songy tenor of the statement. Everything about his vision was too focused, too sharp. He could really use a drink.

"It wasn't just a genocide. I mean, it was... families, running for their lives. Towns abandoned, covered in dust. But it was more than that, too. They destroyed it all. That's how powerful that kid is. Was. I dunno."

Another breath, hand coming down, raking impressively down his skull. He doesn't let it slip away again this time, either, instead keeping his face covered.

"... I dunno."

[neveroutwrenched]

Ratchet doesn't say anything. Sans' words feel like a physical weight and his shoulders slump. Turning back away, Ratchet looks down, a tightness in the back of his throat, a feeling like being sick just thinking about it. Thinking about that void, Sans' recollection, Chara, how they all tie together.

He doesn't want to think about it.

After a moment he falls back on the bed, his head somewhere near Sans' elbow. He stares up, although there's nothing to see but dark. There's another long moment of painful hesitation before he speaks, voice strained.

"So why did you go?"

[skelepun]

The thud of Ratchet's body against the mattress is met with a muted laugh, reflexive more than anything else. There's a familiar sort of comfort to the scene, fitting like a sweater from the back of the closet. Still stretched out in all the right places, no matter how long it's been.

"Curiosity, I guess. Wanted to know what my future on this ship was." His smile crooks wider, another reflexive gesture. Ratchet wasn't even looking at him. "Now I know. It sure isn't through an Ingress."

[neveroutwrenched]

"Geez, Sans." Ratchet wants to laugh, something bitter and burning and devoid of humor. Instead he sighs, closing his eyes.

"So it's not through the Ingress." He can't believe how logical it sounds, really. Maybe he was losing faith that any of them would see the other side of the Ingress. Maybe he never had it in the first place. Maybe he was still worried (like he was always worried) that there wasn't anything on the other side for him either.

Another thing he doesn't want to think about.

"I guess you'll just have to find it somewhere else."

[skelepun]

"Guess so."

The words hang there, almost light when dressed in such a casual tone. The only sign of any lingering stress hanging off his bones is in the fidgeting rock of his heel, slipper barefoot bouncing erratically where he has it slung over his bent knee.

"Offering to come along?"

[neveroutwrenched]

"Tempting."

And it was. Whatever unknown hypothetical it was that they were talking about.

"But I...just want to go home. If it's not through the Ingress..." He shrugs. "I'll go wherever the best chance of that is."

[skelepun]

If there's a tinge of disappointment in Sans' eyes, well, he's not looking at Ratchet anyway.

"That's fair. You must have people waiting for you, right?"

Not Lombaxes, that much he knew, but family was larger than just those that looked like you. The thought makes Sans go silent for a moment, hand subconsciously squeezing at the bed sheets.

"But... y'know... you've always got a home with me and Papyrus, Ratch." And then, a little faster: "If the Ingress thing doesn't work out."

[neveroutwrenched]

“Yeah.” He responds hoarsely, his voice very quiet. Almost subconciously - habitually - he crosses his arm over to touch the version of the MID he never talked about on his left wrist. The inactive CDC cuff he still wore out of some kind of...what? Habit? A reminder? Fear?

Clearing his throat, he tilts his head just a fraction towards Sans.

“Thanks...either way, Sans. I appreciate it.” He hopes his voice conveys his sincerity, because he means it. The Moira wasn’t home to Ratchet. It never felt like home or anything close, even though he knows there are plenty of people who view it that way. It’s nice to know he has something over here. It didn’t make him want to go home less, but it made him feel less alone.

[skelepun]

Observation isn't something Sans takes pride in so much as he can't seem to turn off. The tone of his voice, the subconscious habit, it might as well be an entire speech in two motions. Out of nowhere, Sans remembers their first real meeting -- their date -- and can't help but recall something he said then.

No, that's not right. Not said. Intoned somehow, written in a noise he couldn't quite smother. He recognized it then as evasion, but at the time it wasn't anything to poke at. They barely knew each other, and Sans had more than enough of his own secrets. Hearing it again, it felt like a sort of deja vu.

He didn't ask then, but he could ask now.

"What the hell happened to you, Ratchet?" He asks, blunt but quiet and thick with concern, still not looking at him so much as at the roof of the bed. It's easier, for both of them.

[neveroutwrenched]

“Nothing.” The response comes fast. Way too fast. He swallows, a stab of panic rising up, trying to figure out what he’d said to make Sans ask that. He tucks his hands behind his head, his tone almost completely different than it had been a moment ago. A somewhat transparent attempt at casual.

“Other than getting not-kidnapped onto some strange space ship with a bunch of weird aliens in an alternate dimension, I mean.” It was a bad lie, even for him.

[skelepun]

If Sans was feeling less fresh from his own run in with the consequences of avoidance, he might've let him get away with it.

If Sans didn't care about Ratchet as much as he did, he might've let him get away with it.

"C'mon, Ratch."

It may have only been two words, but it communicates one thing: he wasn't gonna let him get away with it.

[neveroutwrenched]

Ratchet’s expression falls flat, even without even looking in Sans’ direction. He wasn’t going to let this go. Considering Ratchet had just been embracing to virtue of talking in the other direction, he couldn’t really blame him.

But he doesn’t feel grateful or cared about. He feels sick.

“Have you ever....made a decision you regret?” He takes a shallow breath, a tightness in chest. He’d never wanted to talk about something less. “I don’t mean like, you wish it had turned out different, or that you could have done it sooner, or later, or someplace else, or just...better. I mean...something you wish you could just erase from having ever happened at all."

[skelepun]

"Yeah." Sans says, quietly and without hesitation. He's on his side now, looking at Ratchet -- or, more accurately, studying him. Easy to do, under the guise of darkness, though the lights of his sockets give him away.

He doesn't say anything else, letting the implied go on stay silent.

[neveroutwrenched]

Ratchet can feel Sans' eyes on him, and he turns his head away.

"I used to be on another ship, you know. Before the Moira. With a bunch of people from different universes, just like this." He folds his hands on chest, rising and falling with his breathing. It was weird how many of them had ended up here. Too many to be a fluke. Maybe interdimensional hopping just turns you into some kind of magnet for it. "It....wasn't like the Moira. They came to our worlds on purpose. Asked us to help. You said yes, one way or another."

Maybe some people didn't. Some people had to say no. Those people didn't end up with the CDC.

[skelepun]

He's silent again, watching Ratchet's face, waiting for him to continue. When he doesn't, Sans' voice carries little more than gentle prompting.

"One way or another, huh. What sort of help?"