hadriel | 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.]]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Then he's a fucking idiot, to be frank.]

It's the end, pal. Gotta secure me some future investments.

[ No, just a connoisseur of roguery. Seeing as how he used to be a rogue, and he still has a professional interest. ]

Investments? What do you mean?

And sure, I'll fight you.

[Yeah, he ain't gonna explain it to you, buster. Either show up at Tranquility's temple or don't. He ain't gonna dignify you with an answer either way.]

[ Curufin gets the message. He grins and ends the transmission. He's not that far from the temple, so he picks up his weapons and lopes across the fields and streets until he comes to Tranquility's house of worship. Ironic, that her front yard is a scene of carnage. ]

Nice night for a brawl.

[Something something irony, sure. Let's just get to the point. He might be smiling, but his expression is one, unmistakably, of boredom. No one's had the decency to put up a good fight just yet, evidently.]

I'm gonna need you to shut your mouth.

[But even if he won't, hey, it's no big deal. There's several lines of bones churning through the ground at the man in question, every one of 'em loaded with the pink poison of KARMA. One touch and they'll sap at his strength, unrelentingly.

That's several ticks of damage per frame, pal. Have fun.]

Do I care what you need? [ Snide, provocative. ]

[ As soon as he sees the bones, he becomes extraordinarily light on his feet, even for an Elf. No, Elves cannot fly. Nor can they run up walls. But they are dancers of great speed and agility, and he is a warrior of great strength and skill. And incidentally, his power is more than extraordinary. He is one of those Elves who were born in Valinor in the country of the Valar, the gods, and that generation were so strong that even the corrupted demi-gods they had to fight later on in Middle-earth were afraid of them. ]

[ He evades the bones, and the pink poison is wasted. And he reaches over his shoulder and whisks his sword out of its sheath and aims a scything blow at San's neck-bones. His power has flowed into the blade and it shimmers blue-white, like lightening. ]

[Tricky little fuck, ain't he? That's fine. As soon as he gets close enough to draw that blade of his, Sans is abruptly - not there anymore. He's behind Curufin instead, and he winks cheerfully.]

'Sup?

[With an out-thrust left palm and a bright spark of magic, he turns Curufin's SOUL blue, suffusing it with an increase of gravity that ought'a fix that lightness on his feet well enough.]

Say, I never got an answer the last time I asked the question, but - d'you know which ones are the spikes on the ceiling? Is it stalactites or stalagmites?

[And more importantly, Curufin, would you like to find out? 'Cause he's about to throw your elf ass onto the ceiling, just because he can.]

[ Curufin whirls around the instant San's double vanishes. Of course he's going to appear behind Curufin, where else? And because the power flowing into his sword has its wellsprings in his soul, it's light suddenly flares a deep, intense cobalt blue. Curufin smiles, aware of the change. ]

Oooh, pretty! [ His smile is still cocksure, but it's turning nasty. ]

[ Actually, hate to tell you this, Sans-double, but you can't hurl him onto the stalactites. The heart of a Fëanorian's power is the fires of earth, but even more so, the weight of earth. Any Elf at all is bound to the earth until it's ending, their spirits transmigrating back to the Halls of the Dead. And then, sometimes, a Elf with a powerful enough spirit may return. A new body may coalesce around that spirit, summoned into existence out of the gravity-loving elements of earth, air, fire, and water. With that level of control over the elements, and with that degree of kinship with them, Curufin does not have to obey the summons of an artificially created gravity. It is not strong enough to summon his powerful spirit and its attached body. ]

Stalactites.

[ And the soul of this Elf belongs to Mandos, the keeper of the Dead. It will never belong to Sans' double. ]

[Since none of his tricks'll work, evidently, he sees no real reason to stick around. So he blips out of the vicinity.

See ya, chump.]

[ And Curufin shrugs, grins, and lifts a hand in farewell. See ya, jerkface. ]

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

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With respect to who dies, would you go for NEITHER or BOTH? XDD

someone else has dibs on killing this asshole it turns out

In that case, happy death, Sans-clone!