hadriel | video (forward-dated to 1/24); but i can't sleep until this is done

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video (forward-dated to 1/24); but i can't sleep until this is done

[The whole world is ending.

Or something like that, he's guessing. Everyone's panicking, everything's burning, and people are running around like Icecaps with their hats off. Chaotic is a word for it. Amusing is another. Either way, there's a skeleton on your video feeds now. He looks just like the skeleton a lot of you are bound to know, save for maybe the look in his eyesockets. It's not the typical world-weary apathy that's more reminiscent of good old Sans. It's more like there's just an emptiness, bleak and cold. But even that's pretty hard to gauge; it ain't like the reading of skeletal facial expressions is common talent down here. Though the, uh, rather sizable crack in his skull, netted just along the ridges of his left eyesocket, might be pretty indicative that this ain't the same Sans.

From the angle of the video, it's clear that he's standing outside the charred remains of Tranquility's temple. He's got plenty of Faith that the decor will be perfect for the tone he's going for.

He looks pretty happy.

There's something very liberating about having reached The End. A number swells, and then it increases. And the last piece slots into place, the last sliver of anything resembling remorse boiled off and burned away.

It's not long now. But he's got one last task ahead of him before, at least, he and his ilk find their much-awaited sleep.]

So I've got a question for ya.

[His tone is a neutral, rumbling drawl, utterly placid and philosophical.]

Did anybody here really buy that innocent, bumbling comedian shtick?

[He opens a hand. A thin white trickle of something hisses out between his phalanges, rattling to the ground in a grainy patter of falling motes. He waits until the last of it whispers to the ground, softly, before flicking the last of it from his fingertips and continuing.

It's dust. Three guesses as to the monster it belongs to.]

Well, what can I say? I'm here to bring forth some revelation. Anybody stupid enough to buy that little act of his...

[He grins, wide - wider. No, w i d e r. And his sockets go pitch-dark, until it's like staring into a pair of black holes. A glacial bite creeps over his tone, razor-thin, the edges filed off, almost like there's something jagged and seriffed curving along the tips of the words.]

Allow me to prove you wrong.

[There's a low, dark chuckle, and the feed cuts out. He's looking for a FIGHT all right, and he won't be sated until he gets it. So come down to Tranquility's in fifteen minutes if u want an ass kicking. "Sans" here is delivering, and will continue to do so right up until his time is up.]

[[ooc: responses will come from

fibia! Feel free to action things up so you can drag this edgelord to hell and back lol he deserves it.]]

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[Right on cue, here he comes along. Gren ain't what Sans would call the pinnacle of subtlety, though at least this go around he's got more than enough HP to actually take a hit should Gren get lucky enough to land one. He's pretty sure Gren hits like a truck, but he also would have no metric to gauge that one on; Gren's never hit him before, real or otherwise.

It's the End.]

Y'know we're gonna disappear anyway, right?

[There's absolutely no attempt made to smother the humor in his tone; it's just so funny, see, that Gren thinks this might mean something. Real cute.]

I dunno, man. Your track record when it comes to mixin' it up with Sans-es ain't real great. Y'know what I'm sayin'?

And?

[He shrugs his good shoulder.]

It ain't like you've been givin' me any big fuckin' revelations, so might as well get rid of your annoyin' ass sooner rather than later. I ain't been buyin' Sans' song and dance shit for a while now.

[Not since Sans busted up his house like it was nothing. That skeleton's got some firepower in his little bony body, and smiling and punning won't change the fact that Gren saw him toss around parts of his house with his brain.]

And sure, I get you. [He hasn't landed a hit on the little shit yet, that's true, and not for lack of trying.] But hey, maybe this time's the fuckin' charm.

[He never dropped glamour to fight Sans; he'd only dropped it for Rage, once he'd pretty much had no other option. But, hey, maybe that'll change today.]

Edited 2017-01-23 05:31 (UTC)

[Sans's own thoughts on Gren range from 'distant amusement' to 'hilariously easy to rankle,' and his double is no different. Guy's maybe smarter than he lets on, though - anybody who picks up that there's more to Sans than his rattle-me-bones puns and witticisms has enough to keep this version of Sans interested. At least for a while.]

You gonna fling some cans at me? 'Cause I'm quakin' in my slippers.

[At the moment, Sans will settle for unleashing a wave of blue bones that some streaking at Gren from all sides.

Blue means stop, Gren.

Did you know that?]

I went a couple of rounds with fuckin' Rage. You know I got more than that when I fuckin' want to.

[And he beat out all of the bets that they put on him, too. Gren can throw his weight around when he wants.]

[First up in this cage match are blue bones from the bone man, apparently, and Gren's first instinct-- as probably anyone's would be-- is to try to dodge them. He avoids some, gets hit by others; it stings, but he's had worse. It's definitely not getting his fucking arm pulled off, so hey, what's a few bruises?]

[He doesn't get the trick of it til he tries to block one instead of dodge. He brings his arm up and braces and he's still in the moment before impact-- and there's nothing. No strike, no bruise, no pain, it just passes right through him like it isn't there at all. Or like he isn't there, one or the other.]

The fuck?

[It doesn't make sense to him to have an attack that doesn't work if certain simple conditions are met, but fuck it. He'll have to try it again on the next blue one, make sure this isn't just a fluke, but for now he'll remember that. Maybe stop for blues.]

That all you fuckin' got? [The murderpotato advances.] Pretty weak shit for all that big talk.

I guess nobody ever told you about blue stop signs.

[KARMA's a bitch, Gren, didn't you know?

But let's start small, right? Work our way up. So another slalom of bones scythes through the ground, driving at Gren with a bladed precision, white attacks intermixed with the blue ones.

That KR will eat you alive if you stay into contact with any of 'em for too long. But don't look up now. I'm sure that ghastly thing materializing behind you with a roar of charging energy will be disappearing any moment.]

[It sure is, and Gren's got enough kills that he's way past LV 20 by now. Sure, he doesn't do that kind of shit anymore, he doesn't go on killing sprees or terrorize mead halls these days, but boy was he a piece of work when he was young. Some people's youthful indiscretions end with an arrest, his had twelve years of butchery.]

[He'll feel it eventually.]

[More bones come his way, slicing through the ground like they really shouldn't be able to-- fuck magic-- and he's focusing on dodging those when there's a sound from behind him. Gren doesn't need to look to know that shit showing up behind him is bad, and he throws himself to one side just in time to avoid getting flash-fried by whatever-the-fuck bullshit that was. Ended up taking more hits from the bones than he wanted, those were getting annoying with how much they stung, but better those than the blasters.]

Well, fuck all this shit.

[Glamour, coming off. The big guns are coming out today, shittier Sans. And he's already gotten two turns, it's time for Gren's now; he's big and pissed and charging at an annoying little skeleton man to have a go at smashing his skull in.]

[That's the lamentable weakness behind the Blasters - for all the damage they can do in one searing blast, you can't switch the direction of their attack once you've set 'em down. That's what he gets for only laying one down to start with.

Point is, Gren sure as hell don't look like he usually does. The real Sans's mental moniker of potato man sure does hold some unintentional water after all - who'da thunk? He comes galumphing at Sans at full speed. Time to switch things up some, yeah?

He blips to Gren's right. The next series of Blasters would be familiar to all of one person - four in a cross, four in a square, four in another cross, and then two massive blasts to either side of him.

Who said anything about taking turns?

Sans has always been a cheater.]

[Sans dodges, does that weird thing where he just disappears and reappears somewhere else, and it's not entirely unexpected. Gren's fought him before, he knows the guy can do this probably-magic dodge thing, he's not drunk enough by this point to have forgotten it already. He's just got to try to anticipate him, find a pattern in the way he blips and exploit it.]

[And also not get fried while he's trying to figure it out. Having giant magic blasters in your arsenal is bullshit.]

[The first one, he gets out of the way in time to avoid the blasts completely. The second, he has to scramble, and it misses him only by inches, too close for comfort; he's off-balance for the third, and the blast gets him on his bad side. It sears the flesh, leaves a patch of him smoking like overcooked meat when he pulls himself away, and it's only luck that he doesn't get in the way of the last round.]

Fuck! [He spits the word. He'd touch at the burned part, but he needs that arm to keep himself upright and it wouldn't help anything anyway. And he needs to not give this shit Sans-double more time to attack.]

[He charges again, ignoring the way his side screams with the movement. Sans is going to blip again, he knows it, and as he's approaching he's waiting for that moment when he disappears. He doesn't know which way he'll go, but at this point, his only options are either to get lucky and guess right, or wear him down until he fucks up.]

[He strikes left.]

[Score.

Looks like ol' Gren's reflexes ain't quite up to snuff, not the same way a human kid with a physiological, psychological, pathological predisposition to be atypically determined is, but that's pretty par for the course. Toughest opponent he's ever faced, right there, and what'd he do once he ran into 'em again? Why, he dropped a building, of course.

True enough, Sans cuts through space to Gren's left.

He don't anticipate Gren being able to anticipate that little maneuver. His reaction time's fast, but it ain't that fast. There's the sting and burn as Gren swipes and connects with his right elbow, ripping the jacket open and eliciting a stagger. LV 20 gives him a hell of a lot more HP, but it cuts through a significant chunk of it.

Sans grins, and it's ice-cold.]

Nice one.

[He turns Gren's SOUL blue in recompense.

He sends him shootin' up for the ceiling, if he can.]

[Well, Gren also doesn't have the opportunity to memorize the way Sans' attacks are going to come, so there's a whole bunch of disadvantages to not being preternaturally determined. Instead of determination, he's fueled by spite and saltiness, which isn't as good but it's the best he's got.]

[There's a satisfying solidity when he hits bone, catching Sans on the arm. It's not his best hit, didn't get to center mass or anything vital, but it's damage. Sans isn't perfect, his stupid teleporting can't save him every time. Gren can hurt him.]

[His mouth's not really made for smiling, not like human ones or a skull's rictus grin, but he bares his needle-sharp teeth in a simulacrum of one.]

You ain't seen shit yet.

[He's going to press the attack, try to keep this bony doppelganger on the defensive for as long as possible, and starts moving forward to do so when something goes... wrong. Nothing that he can see, but there's a feeling in his stomach like going down that first hill on one of Coney Island's coasters, and then the ground drops away. He's flung upwards despite his bulk, slamming into the ceiling; the impact pulls a rough noise from his throat.]

[To be specific, he can hurt this particular Sans. The other one, the real one, wouldn't be so lucky, and that hit would be overkill.

Turns out lifting someone who's as heavy as Gren takes a bit more stamina than, say, playing a game of ragdoll pinball with a child's corpse. He can't go throwing him about willy-nilly, as he's quick to learn. Still, he can release his hold on Gren's SOUL and let gravity do the rest of the work.

And then he can throw up a solid block of KARMA-soaked femurs in preparation for when Gren hits the ground, intending to impale him on the spot. Still, there's a limit to how big he can make that square footage, and it don't cover every base.

Happy landing.]

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