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]

[ 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?