video; what's gonna be left of the world if you're not in it

[skelebro]

[Sans has something in his hands. It's a bolt of fabric that he runs between his metacarpals with a distant, unfocused precision, something to idly turn between his phalanges as he speaks. Might take a moment to realize that the backdrop to his video ain't the typical one. It's not his room he's sitting in, after all. He's reclining atop a racecar bed. The sheets are perfectly made, as though the owner were planning on returning at some point. On the bedside table, there's a small stack of belongings that clash rather astutely with the layout of the place. A snowglobe, a binder, an ECHOcomm, and at the very far right of the frame, a folded-up sweater vest.

He dropped in to visit some pals of his, you see. Only to find they ain't around anymore.]

For those of you who knew 'em, seems the docs've gone home. You know the ones. Newt and Hermann. [A pause.] Dr. Gottlieb.

[Being a pain in the coccyx suddenly gets to be less funny when there ain't anybody to yell at you about it, huh?]

Hope it's home they went, and not, uh...wherever it was before they got here. Yao know what I'm talkin' about.

[He folds up the cloth in his hands and stands up, grinning at the camera without a lick of despair. Maybe there's somethin' a bit tired to the whole facade, but who can say? He's always tired.]

I hate to tell ya, but it looks like my bro might'a been the guy to slack off for once. Funny, right? Takin' that hard-earned title from yours truly. Here I thought I was supposed to be the guy who nips off without a word.

[Those with sharp eyes might pick up that the cloth ain't just any old thing. It's Papyrus's sash delineating him as an official member of the City Guard - twice torn, twice mended, and now without an owner. Like hell Sans is cut out to wear a thing like this.]

'Pologies to the Guard. Looks like you're one member short. 'Fraid I can't help ya there either; Papyrus, he's got some big shoes to fill.

[He winks at the lens before reaching for the communicator and then, almost as an afterthought, adds:]

Someone ought'a take care of the lab the docs built. Lotta their stuff's still in there, too, and lyin' around my place. Figure it should go to the people who knew 'em best.

[Y'know, whoever that is. But you all know who you are, don't ya?

Yeah. He'd think so.

He cuts the feed.]

Comments

[ushahin]

Only in myself.

[Ushahin prides his abilities on being better than everyone else around him. When people question them, that's when he gets annoyed.]

[skelebro]

[That earns a faint chuckle, though it lacks as much humor as it does effort. Not one for effort, Sans. Humor's about as worn-out as he feels at this particular moment.]

Yeah, yeah. Y'got anything nice to say, or should I quit holdin' onto my hopes?

[That one's another joke, see. A guy like him hoping about anything - that's a good one, ain't it?]

[ushahin]

[Ushahin has a crooked finger rest lightly under his chin as he thinks.]

Sharp pain never grows lighter or ceases to be. It merely fades to a dull ache with the passing of time.

[That's what passes for nice with the half-man. He really is trying here.]

[skelebro]

[...

...uh-huh.

Sans lays a hand over his chest, where a heart might be located if he had any organs to speak of - where his SOUL, roughly, is housed, in overdramatic exaggeration.]

Someone ought'a get you credentials to be a mandated therapist, pal.

[ushahin]

[Ushahin snorts softly, an amused sound that threatens to turn into a laugh.]

That's not the first time someone has said such a thing about me. I suppose when one reaches a certain age, they learn a little bit of wisdom, even if they are not wise themselves.

[skelebro]

"Wisdom." Suppose that's one word for it.

[He'd call it somethin' else. His "realism" ain't really realism at all, but no level of awareness of that fact is gonna make it easier to bear. For anybody.]

[ushahin]

[Ushahin cocks his head, watching Sans with a pair of sympathetic eyes.]

And what would you call it, in all your cynicism and apathy?

[skelebro]

Platitudes.

[You want him to be "frank," he can certainly deliver. Sympathy only takes you so far. Sure were willing to threaten Papyrus for the sake of Sans's cooperation, weren't ya, pal?

Yeah.

He remembers that pretty clearly.]

[ushahin]

Call it whatever you like, Sans. I have given you my piece. [And behaved himself, though he wouldn't call it such and in so many words. He could be much worse and has been in the past.]

[skelebro]

Yeah, real loss for you, huh? ["Behaved himself" sure is a term for it, huh?]

Guess you'll have to default to threatenin' someone else on my behalf from here on out.

[ushahin]

[His eyes glance downward, and for a moment, a look crosses Ushahin's face that can only be described as being ashamed.]

Ah, yes. I have been thinking and perhaps I went too far in that instance. He was my friend too. I...I apologize.

[It looks like he's made some real progress since he showed up in Hadriel. Eight months ago, he never would have made an apology to anyone for any reason.]

[skelebro]

[...interesting.



Welp. Can't claim that some Aarons can change their biceps while others don't get the chance. If he's offering second chances to kids with knives, who've ripped him in two without pausing to blink, then it stands to reason he offers the same chances to fellas who apologize.

Who seem to mean it.

He don't bat an eyesocket, but he does pause before answering in turn.]

I guess that's somethin'.

[It ain't disparaging, or not as much as it would be in any other brand of exchange. He's good at reading people - one of the few skills to his name - and that's shame flicking across Ushahin's features, distant as they are. Sans's tone is neutral but sincere, for what little it's worth, when he answers.]

Thanks.

[ushahin]

[Small steps were what Ushahin was all about. He never changed dramatically or in big ways, only being shaped by the relationships of those around him.]

You're welcome. Sleep well tonight. Dream of better times.

[That was a promise on Ushahin's part. He wouldn't invade his dreams and push his way in, as he was warrant to do. He would merely nudge it in the proper direction of a good dream rather than letting it fall into its usual patterns. See? He was trying to be better. Though Sans, of all people, knew how different Ushahin's defintion of better could be.]

[skelebro]

[And the surprises just keep comin', don't they? A promise, even if Sans hates promises - promises're just invitations to break and breach trust, don't anybody know that? - to keep outta his skull.]

Been tryin' to do better?

[ushahin]

Two people that I care about recently left this place and then came back. I was afraid I would never see them again. It occurred to me that if someone I know leaves here, and never returns, that I should be thought fondly of rather that with distaste.

[He's trying, which is more than Ushahin has done in hundreds of years. He will not be a villain in the tapestry woven into his mind.]

[skelebro]

[Maybe it ain't the best reason to keep going, but hey, when's Sans ever had the best reasons to keep going? Sometimes those reasons are downright stupid. 'Cause Papyrus was gonna cook dinner, or 'cause there might be some quality garbage falling down tomorrow.

It's something, bottom line. And if it works, it works.]

I guess that's something, yeah?

[It ain't unsympathetic. For once.]

[ushahin]

[Well, what do you know. The skeleton is capable of being sincere. There's always a new surprise when it comes to him. That's the attraction that keeps Ushahin coming back to him time after time.]

Yes. We do what we must to keep this world from falling down around our ears.

[skelebro]

[All right, all right, so he does have a shred of something approaching genuine candor buried deep, deep under. Don't tell a SOUL; he's gotta reputation to uphold.]

Well, hey. Maybe doin' somethin' nice for people matters after all.

[ushahin]

Everything matters, Sans. Everything we do.

[He knows the skeleton well enough to know he probably doesn't believe that. He'll tell it to him anyway.]

[skelebro]

[Everything we do matters, huh? It's, uh...it don't mean much, really. He stopped believing in a thing like that a long damn time ago. But still - he can humor the guy, can't he?

'Course he can. He's a real funny guy. He quirks a supraorbital ridge, tiredly.]

Yeah? How d'you figure?

[ushahin]

You don't see the patterns like I do. Everything we do affects it, leading us down a path like a spider's web. You may jump from one thread to another, but the vibrations will still be felt at the middle.

[He told Sans a bit of how he sees things before. The connections between worlds he finds here and how they all mean something. He can't believe otherwise, that all he has done in his life was mere chance.]

[skelebro]

[He don't see the patterns like he does. Well, hell, maybe he's right. He's long since figured patterns, a routine, a reason he lives out the same day ad nauseum.

Only he kinda had to adjust to not living like it's the same day ad nauseum. Weird, huh?]

Huh. Guess patterns do change after all.

[ushahin]

Only with great effort. But change they do.

[Ushahin had to believe that, despite his master Satoris giving into his eventual destiny. He refused to be a pawn in the great pattern. He would forge his own destiny. After all, he'd prevented Haomane's prophecy from being fulfilled. Therefore, the pattern could be woven into a different way.]

[skelebro]

Who'da thunk, right?

[Blasé as he is - it ain't all lost, huh? He's lost people, sure, but he's always losin' people. The hard part is wakin' up the next day and choosing to keep going.

Choosing to advance.]

Effort. Heh. Who needs it?

[Halfhearted protests at best. He's already a hypocrite for sayin' anything at all.]

[ushahin]

Certainly not yourself.

[Despite everything that had happened, Sans remained very much the same. Ushahin couldn't tell if this was unintentional or pure ornery stubbornness that kept him going at this point.]