![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
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![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fibia! Feel free to action things up so you can drag this edgelord to hell and back lol he deserves it.]]
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.]]
action
'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.]
With respect to who dies, would you go for NEITHER or BOTH? XDD
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. ]
someone else has dibs on killing this asshole it turns out
See ya, chump.]
In that case, happy death, Sans-clone!