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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Everybody always knows Sans. That's how it was back home, too. The members of the Guard, local townspeople, just citizens who bought his hot dogs... even Asgore seemed to know him. But she gets that. Everybody knows the Royal Scientist exists, after all.

But what a shame if they knew how she really was.]

That'd... b-be nice. I mean, as long as you're okay with me, uhm, ruining your s-stellar reputation by, uh, your association with me.

[Since, y'know, she's always such an embarrassment, and meeting new people always makes that worse.]

Please. I work very hard to ensure my reputation's as objectively terrible as possible.

[Can't possibly make something worse when it's already shit to begin with, right? You can't ruin someone who's already ruined themself, it turns out.

That's the general hope, at least.]

H-Heh. Well that I could actually help with. Just by, you know. Existing, and, e-everything.

[They're the Fuckup Twins! In varying degrees of publicity.]

No bigger pair of mistakes on the face of the planet, us two.

[He'll drink to that. Figuratively, anyway. Literally, he ain't drinkin'. Not much in the mood for a thing like that, even now. Though on that note, pretty soon he's soberin' up, if only marginally. 'Bout as sober as a guy like him gets on short notice.]

But - seriously. Thanks.

For, y'know. Checkin' in.

S-Sounds about right.

[That's them. Disaster Squad.]

I mean, it... it didn't seem right that you were, uhm, right there, and, obviously... y-you know. And I didn't do anything. Like, I couldn't even be bothered to... w-walk to another room.

It just felt, uhm. Like I should do something.

It ain't your job to make me better, Alph.

[There's no makin' things better, sometimes. You just kinda have to accept that they're shit, and they're gonna keep being shit for a while yet. Accepting the shit for what it is makes it easier to live with it.

Sometimes, anyway.]

But, uh...I still appreciate it.

[She knows it's not her job. Taking care of people has never been her job. But if they're not happy, if she can't help... what's the point to her?]

Well, I... I know. I just, thought it might be... nice.

[That's the easy way to go about it, without dragging so much of her mental state into the problem. Regardless, she stands, grips at her clothes a bit.]

I'll be, uh, around, if you just wanna h-hang out or... anything. Okay?

[Find a bad movie to watch. Some shitty, awful, horrendously greasy food to enjoy. Something stupid and mundane, so long as he can blot out the phantom screech of Papyrus's protests.]

Yeah. Yeah, I'll...

[He don't have an answer to that. Not right away. Feels wrong to just up and ditch all this, so he simply shrugs, limply. And he grins.]

Thanks.

[It's okay, she reminds herself. He doesn't have to have an answer. She doesn't either. He should just... know she's gonna be there. Know even if Papyrus isn't here, he's not alone.]

Y-You don't need to thank me, it's... yeah. It's okay.

See you, uh, l-later, then.

[And she steps out, shutting the door behind her as quietly as she can as she goes.]

[It's okay.

Farthest thing from it, but, hey. Could be worse. Better here than Hadriel, right? Papyrus is gonna be all nice and elated on the surface. Might even get himself a shiny car. Nothing like this fake bed, all plastic and useless.

The little him, though. He'd - he'd liked it.

He shunts the thought aside.

Tips his skull back to stare at the ceiling without seeing it.]

Yeah, [he mutters to the empty room. To no one in particular.]

See ya.

[And good night.]

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

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