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

[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.]

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Wouldn't you? 'S a hell of a week we've had.

[Hell of a week everyone's had. He's overdue for a nap or twelve..]

That's for sure. [ Grins. ]

Only I can't sleep. What's your secret?

Close m'eyesockets and hope real hard.

[Skeletons're plenty capable of sleep. Or, uh, Sans is. Papyrus - not so much. And it's really, really just best not to think about Papyrus, if he can help it. So he doesn't.]

Does that work all the time, or just some of the time?

[ If Sans doesn't want to think about his missing brother and friends, Curufin will cheerfully help him avoid the subject. ]

Sleeping ain't exactly tough for guys like me.

[He's never seen those wacky videos of cats falling asleep in absurd formations and unlikely places, but he'd probably relate to 'em on a spiritual level.]

[ Chuckle ] You're the only person I've ever met who could fall asleep on the lawn less than a hundred yards from where a window-crazed demolition expert (me) was blowing up a building.

[ At least he assumes Sans didn't amble far before he fell asleep. ]

It's a gift.

[One of the few gifts he has, truth be told. Ain't a real talented chap one way or the other.]

Don't be modest. [ Smile ]

[ Who says sleeping isn't an accomplishment, even a high art? XD ]

Not modest. Honest.

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