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]

[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.]

[skelebro]

Heh. Nailed it, pal.

[For the most part. He's tried with more things, more people, than he thinks is strictly up his alley, and yet - what's that gotten him, huh?

He tries. He gives a damn.

And then they vanish, and take everything they were with 'em.

Why even try?]

[ushahin]

[He could say much in response to Sans right now. But there's no need to be antagonistic or kick him while he's down. Ushahin will let it go, allow him to mourn his brother's loss.]

Good night, Sans. Sleep well.

[He'll creep into his head tonight, but only long enough to plant the seeds of a good dream. It is the least that he can do.]

[skelebro]

I always do.

[...yeah, that one's a pretty filthy lie. But he's too tired to try very much at all, as per usual.

He'll even fall asleep on camera. He's good at doin' that too.]