![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
closed to skelebro!Sans and itstheend!Frisk
[Sometime around the beginning of the month, Sans will get a text. It simply says:]
I have something for you from Delight. You should come to the bar so I can give it to you, yes?
-Muscovy
[No more than that.]
I have something for you from Delight. You should come to the bar so I can give it to you, yes?
-Muscovy
[No more than that.]
text/action
that so?
alright.
i'll be there soon.
[And sure enough, he's at Delight's in about half an hour or so, parked on one of the bar stools.]
no subject
Chara is already in the bar, parked to as to give a good view of the doors, and amusing themself in the interim by slowly and precisely shredding paper napkins into little squares, a pile of which has built up next to them. It's been decided that since Muscovy is the one that texted him and therefore the one that Sans will be expecting to see, then Muscovy will be the distraction.
Or they could wait for him to fall asleep at the bar. But he might get bored and leave before that. They'll see how things play out.
In their lap is a wig. It's exactly as ridiculous and fanciful as you'd expect an item requested from someone called Delight to be. They're being very careful not to touch the inside, close it, or let any of the homemade confetti fall into it, because it's been lined with glue. A one-step process is as uncertain of success as it is, given Sans's propensity for dodging.]
no subject
[He jumps off the stool that he was sitting on and lands on the ground with an odd precision that isn't grace, just habit.]
It's been very long, yes?
GUESS WHO FORGOT TO TRACK THIS THREAD LOL
He looks to the both of 'em neutrally, dipping his skull faintly in greeting.]
Been a bit, yeah. 'Sup?
no subject
[A little bit of a mirror, is Chara, using Muscovy's greeting and Sans's slight nod. In them, Frisk shifts. They feel bad for blowing up at him earlier, as much as they do, but not quite enough to not want to see how this goes.]
The ceiling, mostly.
[An idle glance towards Muscovy. Give them an opening, please, if you will. Right now his attention is split between them both. They set the wig carefully down next to them and then stand up, stretching.]
no subject
He'll just talk about something that is on his mind.]
I met a very mean flower a few days ago.
no subject
Figures another kid would run into it.]
A flower, huh? What happened?
no subject
It's probably backwards or at the very least coming in at a skew, but it's going to be hard enough getting it on, they think, without bothering about getting it on well.
Someone is muffling giggles, despite being unable to be heard.]
no subject
[He still isn't over it, even after Firo put it in perspective a bit.]
no subject
Given that floral abominations have taken up the majority of his scant attention, he's pretty unprepared to get a hair job plonked right onto his skull. He pauses only to adjust a few stray locks, fingering them aside, before continuing as if there'd been no interruption.]
Did it hurt ya?
no subject
Once again, Sans's inability to be fazed by anything leads to Chara's frustration, but they pack it down. Maybe there'd be more of one when he tries to take it off, although they aren't exactly holding their breath now.
They step back to sit on a bar-stool and do their best not to let any of this reach their face, arms folded. Success is debatable.]
Lucky you.
[It's an offside mutter to Muscovy. The flower wanted to be their friend far too much.
*...]
no subject
And I didn't see it again after. [Which was both relieving and disappointing. Relieving because that meant that it couldn't be mean again and had maybe been sent back by the door soon after, and disappointing because he had wanted to try and see if it could be fixed.]
...Why lucky? [The last is directed at Chara, with honest puzzlement.]
no subject
[This hair is really not jiving with him. And it's gonna be a real pain to get it off without, uh...tearing things up, so to speak. Yeah. That'll be a trial.
This time it's Chara that gets the arched supraorbital ridge, the glance of mild interest.]
You met the little sucker too, did ya?
no subject
The flower's more interested in stalking than talking, it seems.
[Not that it didn't do some of that too. Babbling away excitedly, or nervously. Aggravating, half-listened-to noise at the time.
So yes, they've met. Lucky because it left.]
(bowing out of this thread because of hiatus, if you want to continue without me please do so)
o7
[He's posin' the question to the room at large, though he's expecting Chara - this one, anyway - to have a few more answers for him than Muscovy.]
no worries
[It wasn't familiar, except for it's species. It was a golden flower. A talking, terrible one. They can feel Frisk sort of slowly mentally ducking behind a parapet - something to corner them about later. Bells and Sans makes them by process of association think of a golden hallway. Who was ringing them, come to think of it? They tilt their head.]
Do you know it, Sans?
[That's interesting, in point of fact. The flower could apparently travel in time before them - did it encounter a similar judgement? They suspected the "little buddy" Sans briefly asked them about in the third timeline in, well, a bar much like this was it. They'd also wondered if he could see inside their head to Frisk but. No. In light of this, the former makes more sense.]
no subject
I know of it.
[A talking flower. He focuses on the kid with the lazy lift of a supraorbital ridge, his tone one of vague curiosity.]
Papyrus knows it a bit better than me, I think.
no subject
Meanwhile, Frisk has a quiet revelation backstage.]
Mm. It seems you know more than I about it.
[In certain senses - they were confided in. They could leave it there. But they can't resist sticking their hands back into the Disaster Fire. Some kind of morbid, schadenfreudic curiosity at work, perhaps.
...maybe his earlier accusation, both here and there, was precisely on the nose. 'To see what happens', as a motivation, at least in this case.]
How many times did you make it RESET?
no subject
Sounds like they've actually got terminology for doin' what they do. Interesting. Here he'd just been callin' it a recursion, a retreat back to t0.
RESET. Figures it would be an all-caps-er.
Sans shrugs. They expect him to remember, huh? Joke's on them. His memory might be the only good thing about him, but it ain't that good.]
I'd be the wrong guy to ask.
no subject
Sans, like that in and of itself isn't terminology.Circumstance requires language. It makes sense a kid would think of it in video game terms, right?They don't expect him to remember. Their fight with him would have gone likely very differently, if that was the case. But there's still those two words that itch at them.
Our reports.
Who, out there, is capable of tracking time? Who thought or was told that that would be needed?
They'll probably never know. 'The wrong guy to ask', he says, infuriatingly evasive like everything else about him. An 'I don't know' or a 'Don't care to say'?
It's fuzzy enough that they uncomfortably have to guess, but guess they do. Whatever the reports show, do they differentiate between what Flowey did and what happened during their tenure?
That's you, isn't it? Isn't it?
They open their mouth.
*Muscovy.
Yes. They do still have an eavesdropper. They close it. They smile, and likewise shrug, an exaggerated mirror, pulling the second elbow onto the bartop to join in propping up their head.]
That's a good look for you.
[Someone's learning.]
no subject
Looks like he ain't gettin' anything more from this little source. Thankfully he's learned quite enough from 'em already. So that was a nice thing to come away knowing.
Sans grins, and rolls with the topic shift accordingly. He fingers a few strands with an appraising air.]
Ya think so? It kinda tickles.
[Somehow. Despite him lacking skin.]
no subject
Yes. You should keep it.
[They wonder if he would, now. He's certainly inert enough to just leave it on there until it fell off entirely by itself, they think. Although usually that happens when the skin does, which along with the mention of tickling brings up several questions on how skeleton monsters work exactly.
It's not as if first hand experience is on the horizon.
They wouldn't put him past deliberately baiting humans with such questions for amusement. They drum their fingers on the benchtop, digging into it with their nails, suddenly antsy, and hop down from the stool.]
Frisk apologizes, by the way.
[A less than enthused passing on of the sentiment.]
no subject
For the hair, or for our little discussion beforehand?
[Can't imagine why that'd be, huh? Well, he can imagine a couple good reasons, honestly, but it might hard workin' out which one Frisk is exactly sorry for.
Then again, the Frisk he knows apologizes for gettin' blood on his jacket when they're the one busy dying.]
no subject
[Chara's in an unparalleled position to guess Frisk's motivations. They can keep secrets from each other, Frisk easier than Chara, but emotion bleeds through easily.
Sorry for getting angry, sorry for almost wiping away the conversation, sorry for being what he accused them of.
Chara is going to mention none of these things.]
I do not see how anyone would be.
[Bewigging Sans is one of those rare unregrettable things.]
no subject
Well, you can tell 'em thanks. Means a lot.
[More than maybe they realize.]
no subject
[Looks like two can play at the willful misinterpretation game now. Frisk's right here, you know, but there's a grudging regard that he doesn't say it straight to them in front of Muscovy, who they tilt their head towards on mention.
*...
Frisk's curling down. They aren't sure it does, really. That he thought to say it counts, still. There's a brief mental discussion, like two people sitting only a metre apart rapidfirely texting each other.
There's a reluctant shift. Someone looks down and away, nods a little.]
...Yeah.
[And then it's as if it didn't happen at all, smile back on. Chara walks to the side of their bar stool and swipes their pile of home-made confetti onto the floor with the same kind of air as someone stuffing breadsticks into a handbag.]
I think I shall leave you and your hair to get acquainted.
no subject
He tosses his new hair with exaggerated pomp, performing what can only be described as the skeletal equivalent of an eyebrow wiggle.
It looks, uh. Strange.]
Why, thank you.
no subject
Frisk chooses the moment to tease by mentally mimicing the motion. Stop.
They don't stop.
*The hair makes it even better!]
...goodbye, Sans. Muscovy.
[A nod to the latter, and they are out. Adieu.]
no subject