text;

[justribbing]

hey, it's sans.

y'know, looking back? it's been pretty interesting.

i mean, look at us. we've got some basic amenities, power, even phones and the best internet you can make banging rocks together. we've got a community and everything, hey! nothing quite like the stale smell of desperation to really bring people together. but i've heard more than one of us ask what this war's really good for. for us.

makes a guy think about something other than starrs for a change. (yeah, see what i did there? you just dated yourself.)

anyway there's an actual point to this. see, being a good little soldier really tuckered the kid out, so frisk's gone on a vacation. some of you probably have questions. before you do, i want you to think about how much pressure kids should take. and maybe, y'know, lay off a little.

i'll keep you posted. see ya.

Comments

[justribbing]

[ As his unique perception narrows its focus, that invisible and imagined outline where Frisk should be occupies precisely the same spot of floor that Sans does.

Odd, ain't it? World's just full'a mysteries. ]

If it weren't for the Shadows that ambushed us, would've been the poison their flowerpot grew. Pretty, purple thing. The kinda bloom you'd give a lady if you didn't know any better.

[ Sans doesn't know that the sense of impending doom that had gripped Frisk when they first touched that flower wasn't a symptom of poisoning, but an actual effect of the Wolfsbane, a portend of coming danger.

Too bad that meant they were both caught flat-footed when the shadows arrived. ]

Too many of them, too few of us. Only made off with part of the kid, which, uh, you noticed that already.

[concasse]

[Excuses.

That's all Sanji fuckin hears underneath Sans' attempts at explanation. Poison, Shadows, a number of bullet points he'd love to shoot through someone's head.

Too many of them (Then why didn't you try harder--), too few of us (I've seen what you can do you lousy piece of shit, you waste of my time--)

And ah -- there it is. The anger, the hurt he'd be waiting for. The ice in his gut had kept the fire quiet, his need for an answer had cooled the flames, but the skeleton gets front row seats today; flashes of rage hidden underneath the blond curtain of bangs when Sanji's head jerks forward again, away from the skeleton.

Away from Frisk's SOUL and aura.]

There's no body for her to go back to?

[justribbing]

[ Her?

In the grand scheme -- nah, actually, phrases like the grand scheme are too big for any sentiment other than being exhausted by the very idea of 'em. Basically, he's too tired to bother correcting him.

He doesn't really see a point to a lotta things. Guess this is a new addition to the list. ]

It's a work in progress. If it weren't for the danger to their SOUL, everyone would know what really happened that night, maybe find a better solution faster that way, y'know?

But a free-floating human SOUL, brimming with Determination? There's more than Shadows that wanna piece of that.

[concasse]

[Sanji's mind is a catalog today. He dissects Sans' words at knife-point, with the careful precision of an irate chef with time and anger to burn. Only two phrases really stick out.

'Work in progress' ... well, to a grieving man, that sounds a lot like hope. A little less like death. At first he doesn't know what to do with that information, because it's too alien a concept with the burden of emotion clouding his senses. Even still--]

Ozuma will grant favors if you pay a high, shitty price, right? [He folds his arms, back still turned to Sans. Well then. He knows what his next stop will be.

And as for the second phrase... Frisk's SOUL might have an enemy in the castle? If he's reading between the lines correctly, that's all the chef hears, and to his grudging surprise, he can suddenly find no fault with Sans for lying to the public to keep a friend safe. Shitty seas, Sanji would've done the same damn thing (though certainly had come up with a better lie. Jeez, man.)

It's a terse moment before the angles in Sanji's frame abruptly soften. Doesn't mean he feels like looking at the skeleton yet, but the blood lust lurking as thick as shadows under the bed has left the room.]

I hope your lie convinced whatever's worse than Shadows to keep the fuck away. [He... sounds like he means it.]

[justribbing]

This ain't like when one of us dies and Ozzy does his thing that brings 'em back.

[ Sans grins bleakly at the back of Sanji's head. He can't guarantee he won't be overheard or otherwise discovered if he tries to ask Ozuma specifically for help in reuniting Frisk's SOUL with the sick and weak body that the Queen's shadows had stolen. He has theories.

That if the Queen's got a shadow of the kid running around, then... Maybe the first step is defeating that shadow, and then--what?

He's in the dark as much as Sanji is. ]

It wasn't. But turns out somebody else has a hand on his leash. I'm pretty bad at my job, anyway.

You, uh... Learn what you wanted?

[concasse]

[No answer to Sans' question (or his dismissive, self-abasing statement). That "want" is what's tripping him up, and if he were a different man, he'd probably start laughing. Just keep going until his lungs bled. Oh, he learned plenty today. None of it was what he wanted. Guess that means the damn joke's on him, isn't it.]

Does Toriel-chan know?

[He recalls her reaction over the network: blissfully unaware, simply asking for the courtesy of a check-in whenever Frisk was ready to talk. Even knowing more of Sans' reasons, Sanji feels a bitterness stir in the back of his throat at the thought of him lying to a mother.]

[justribbing]

[ Of course Sanji would know about the connection between Toriel and Frisk, readily apparent in not only his interactions with each of them but also in situations like that time he served them a dinner, one big, happy family, right?

That makes him feel...

Something. Weird and out of place, like a misshapen lump left in an orderly row of more ideal objects. ]

Yeah. We talked about it.

[ And the news hit her about as hard as he expected. He tried to give her hope -- they have the kid's SOUL, there's a way to get them back, there's gotta be... But losing another of her children is a wound too deep. ]

She's worried to death over her other kid, really working herself down to the bone-- [ Even the joke is weakly delivered ] She isn't taking care of herself, but there ain't much I can do for her, either.

Can I ask you somethin'?

[concasse]

[Sans must be talking about Chara, Sanji figures. The other child. Another person probably left aching by the terrible news, and he gives a frustrated rub of his temple. How many people did Frisk know? Who's already figured out the truth? What is the extent of damage control?

What a shitty mess this is.]

What is it?

[Much as he'd love to turn for the door and march through it, his questions done, Sanji just as quickly deals in favors and acknowledgements of respect. Sans has been... rather straightforward in a way the chef isn't used to, and even if he won't dwell on the "whys", that's probably the only reason the pirate hasn't burned something to ashes yet.]

[justribbing]

[ And Sanji assumes correctly, with his speculation about Frisk's list of associations going down the right track, too. The kid had touched the lives of not only every monster in the whole Underground, but many of the people here. Their absence is... notable. Significant. Kind of scary, how much influence was in the hands of such a young child.

Sans shuffles his weight from slippered foot to slippered foot, finding it takes more effort than it's worth to maintain eye contact. ]

I said there ain't much I can do for Tori, but maybe, uh.

[ He starts over. ]

Y'know snail pie's her favorite? It can't make this mess any better, but maybe it'll perk her up a little. Thing is... I don't know the recipe.

And, uh, I can't exactly hit the shop downtown for a pre-made pie crust, either? Could really use some help, buddy.

[concasse]

[...

Is Sans fuckin kidding him with this.]

You-- [No, he has to stop before he lashes out with a fury, and it's clear that something in Sans' statement has thrown Sanji's emotional state back to square one. He combs a hand through his hair like he means to rip it out, hissing quickly through his teeth.

If this were Usopp, anyone he counted as a nakama - if Frisk weren't halfway to death and stuck beating inside a skeleton's ribcage - then Sanji might have the patience to walk Sans through everything that's wrong with that first sentence. Why that's an insult to Toriel's love if he's gonna throw himself that far under the bus.

But he doesn't say it. Because at this stage in the game, he's too far into common sense and knows any tongue-lashing would be born of a need to tear someone to pieces. This damned skeleton is too useful of a scapegoat.]

Tch! Like you gotta ask me that shit. Of course I'll help Toriel-chan!

On one condition. [He doesn't wait to see if Sans will agree to hear him out; Sanji barrels on through and finally -- finally looks at Sans through a slitted stare]

You're gonna give her the pie-- and don't mention my name, got it? It was your idea in the first place.

[justribbing]

[ Toriel's friendship? Love? Sans doesn't deserve it. Doesn't deserve any of it. Heck, he's lazy, slovenly, utterly lacks any sort of diligence, work ethic, or ambition, and he's ugly, and that's just scratching the surface of the many reasons he's a sack of shit. He doesn't love himself, heck, some days he can barely stand to see his own reflection.

So yeah, there might be some things wrong with that statement, but like hell Sans can see it. ]

...Yeah? Thanks. [ He says, so easily. Like he's not half as surprised as he feels. But talk of a condition has his eye lights vanishing for a moment, like a blink. ]

I hate making promises, but, uh.

[ He shrugs. ]

Running out of options before I reach the finish line doesn't appeal, either. You got yourself a deal.

[concasse]

[Lucky Sanji, he's probably one of the few people in the castle who's been on the wrong side of that eye flash to guess what it means. And watching the lights vanish makes him want to add another condition, just to appeal to his spiteful, bitter side. It's harder than it should be rising above pettiness.

Frisk's SOUL pulses quietly, catching his attention and calming his breath, a reminder of why he should just let his temper lie.

... And maybe that's why it happens; Sanji visibly squinting at Sans' chest again. He stares for a couple of beats with his mouth flowing into a steady, unhappy line, until he seems to shake himself awake - a few seconds short of doing some serious meddling.

Not that it matters. Grieving souls tend to look the same.]

Your puns are getting worse. [He mutters it, and can't help but looking as numb and sad as he feels.] When do you wanna do this?