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Colin, hey.

[ He sounds tired. Which, uh, is a pretty normal thing for Sans. Maybe there's a little relief there, too. ]

Top of the world, or close as you get in this castle. Heh.

[ Judging from the barely audible squawking in the background, he means he's in the rooftop garden. ]

Won't say no to company. How 'bout it, pal?

Already knew that, just wondering what party favors to bring.

Not spying. Just got you pegged for that spot of grass we've been packing down.

[He IS keeping track of Sans, but he didn't need it to figure he was there.]

'Course ya did.

[ you dirty stalker.

Just kidding, this time he's... pretty glad he doesn't have to go through a lot of explaining. Colin isn't cutting through the bullshit to ask any hard-hitting questions, and that's helpful. Maybe not healthy, but helpful. ]

Anyway, thanks, but uh, skip it. Not really a party animal.

Got it. I'll bring an extra pillow and a blanket.

[He doesn't need to ask questions. He's learned to speak "Sans" to some proficiency. Bad shit's happened.]

We'll watch the sky, I'll talk about stuff. You can interject as needed. Haven't had a good chance to really give me voice a marathon in a while, getting kinda rusty.

Maybe I'll tell you about Psilon Science. You'll probably love it and wonder how insane we both are for that.

[ Music to his non-existent ears.

The fact that he's so, dare he say, eager for any kind of distraction is probably exactly why he should preface it with some important admissions, but...

Nah, despite everything, it's still Sans. ]

Sounds great. See ya soon, pal.

---

[ He's alone, hunched over his cellphone as he sits with his back to a bench, turtle-ducks paddling around the pond. There's someone else, too, a little blue and black creature who is stooped at the edge of the pond. Its distracted attention on the turtle-duck pond might have made it inscrutable, save for the way it seems to emanate a morose uncertainty like an aura.

Sans isn't good at dealing with those sorts of feelings, let alone when they come from a young monster that was sort of foisted off on him not too many days ago. ]

[Colin makes his way up to the roof, carrying a large, fluffy blanket and a pillow. He's also pre-shredded a loaf of bread for the ducks, since he's apparently got them trained to recognize that his presence means food.]

Hey Sans.

[He stops by the pond first, looking down at the little critter nearby. Sans' egg must have hatched...]

And hello to you too, little guy.

[The turtle ducks start quacking at him in expectation of food. Colin gives a little smile, and he opens up the small bag of bread crumbs he's prepared. He throws out a few to distract the ducks, then he overturns the rest a short distance away.]

You okay, little one?

[He glances over to Sans.]

You comfortable?

[ That's just it: Sans wasn't carrying around any eggs, the only proactive and (maybe) aggressive act he'd done lately was avoid the eggs. And, uh, the skeleton's the type to shirk responsibility, not take more on.

Welp. Rio's his now, he guesses. There's a wave in greeting, with the sort of noise that means he's in the middle of something. Sorry, he trusts Colin knows what he's trying to do. Head things off at the pass so he can be spared a greater headache later.

The Riolu's ears, already droopy, seem to sag a little more. Seems to not be the talkative type, or at least, its favored mode of communication appears to be whatever makes it out, unfiltered, through the aura he emanates. ]

His name is Rio. [ And no he hasn't done any dancing on the sand, or any dancing at all. ] Chara dropped him off with a note for the kid, and uh. The kid's indisposed, so.

[ Sans puts his cellphone to the side, shrugging. ]

Had any experience with these flowers getting passed around, buddy?

[Colin frowns, and crouches to hold a hand out to Rio.]

Rio, huh? You look like you're having a rough time, Rio. You want some company?

[He'll get to Sans in a second, he knows that Sans is holding together at least better than a depressed child.]

None, I've been mercifully spared their presence.

[ The Riolu looks uncertain (not that this is a far deviation from the running theme here) but puts a paw into the outstretched hand, tentatively. Give an inch and the little guy will take a mile, like Frisk and their tendency to throw their whole heart into offered affection, he might just climb right into his arms if given half a chance.

Sans's cellphone chirps, but he ignores it. ]

Merciful, heh. Yeah, that sounds about right. Uh, Rio's kinda clingy. I get the feeling he's worried he'll get ditched again.

[ He rubs at his skull with a dry, grating rasp.

Kids with separation anxiety, go figure. ]

[Colin smiles, and gently squeezes Rio's paw between his fingers.]

I'm Colin. It's a pleasure to meet you, Rio.

[With his other hand, he reaches up to scratch Riolu between the ears.]

[At the same time, there's a bizarre digital chime from his wrist. Immediately following the chime, a small, blue and red polyhedral pokemon materializes next to them. It gives a melodious chime of curiosity, looking between Rio and Colin.]

And this little one is Emma. Say hello, Emma.

[Emma gives another chime, and walks closer to Rio on blocky legs.]

[Colin looks back to Sans, rather certain that the two pokemon will at least take a moment to get to know each other. But he's keeping an eye on them out of the corner of his eye.]

So, flowers huh?

Yes Sans, please tell us all about those flowers.

[A voice not entirely welcome- but invited. Chara steps forwards regardless of the looks being sent their way; and usually, their eyes would land on those Pokemon, and stay there.

Not today. Slightly more disheveled than they'd usually allow themself to be, their own Pokemon has been left in their room, and Chara's eyes skirt the gardens for something else...when they don't find them, it's Sans who bears the weight of that gaze. What's the saying? You feel your sins]

What did you do, Sans?

[A soft question, but there's no hiding the thinly veiled acidity, there. What did you do?

What didn't you do?]

[ Rio certainly does seem interested in Emma, stepping up to the other Pokemon with curiosity rolling off them in soft waves.

With the way Sans's face is always a matter of permanently locked mandible, it's hard to say when Sans intends to say something, because words just end up being a thing that passes through the gateway of his perpetual grin. One just has to guess, when he makes the impression of taking in a breath for the sake of the lungs he doesn't have, like breathing is a show of solidarity with his fellow monsters (and humans, and other living, sentient beings) who think respiration equates to being alive.

Or something. Thing is, he doesn't get that far, because they've got company. ]

Kid--

[ He doesn't bother to get up from where he's sitting. There's really no point. Rio looks at Emma, and begins to sidle away to the other side of the turtle-duck pond, not so much timid as cautiously hopeful. Are they here to take them back?

As for Sans, he exhales, spreads out his hands. ]

Whaddya think?

[ What he's best at, nothing good? ]

The best we could. You want the story? Take a seat.

[Colin glances over to Chara with a mixture of surprise and irritation. This kid has amazing timing...]

Let's grab a spot of grass, shall we?

Unless you've heard this one already.

[He glances at Rio and Emma, and leaves the Pokemon to sort things out themselves.]

[Emma follows Rio, giving a friendly, inquisitive chime.]

I'll stand.

[Colin garners- absolutely nothing. The look they shoot him is nothing short of dismissive, a moment of attention as he speaks, and nothing more.

If they had the time or the patience to care about anything past the words coming out of Sans' mouth, then Rio would get a few exasperated ~~and slightly affectionate~~ comments, too. But time and patience are not in anyone's favor, today.]

Your potential gardening issue is sorted. [And they're sure the implications are clear; of course Chara had something to do with that.] So now you can do me a favor.

Just get to the point.

[They swear they can feel it beating. And they curl their fingers in their sleeves, just to hide the fact that they're shaking.]

Yeah, with an expression like that--

[ Sans heaves himself up on his feet, moving with a little more care. Gingerly, but it's not like he could have an injury to nurse, not with his abysmally low HP (which, hey, isn't just 1 anymore, but who's counting?). ]

--you ain't here on a social call.

[ Which isn't the kid's style anyway. They're too, uh, outta practice, or something. ]

I noticed. Thanks for yanking on his chain, by the way.

[ He says, shrugging, as he shuffles over to the spot of green grass. ]

I mean, I get it. You've got, uh, reasons for wanting to SPARE that flower the mess going down that road leads to. Maybe to protect your partner from being responsible for his thoughtless actions. Maybe you even... want him to have a shot at being whole again?

Hell if I know.

[ Sorry, Chara, you come in here and disrespect his friend, you show your hand a little and manipulate him? He'll admit you've got a point and he'll get to his, but he'll make you pay the toll. Cut to the heart of the matter, and he'll tear open that facade and show they're motivated to do something good for a lot of the same damn reasons.

Sorry, kid, this is where the demon ends and the child begins. ]

Point is... Frisk got sick. Really sick, came on fast, too. Said something like maybe one of those flowers predicted trouble.

Edited (werds) 2016-04-30 19:34 (UTC)

Shadows set on us before we reached the elevator.

[ He eases himself onto the grass, smells the spring sweetness, the rich earth, scents he couldn't experience too often in the Underground, where there was really no sunshine to speak of to nurture the soil.

Only so much a king can do. ]

Let the kid fight. That's what you both wanted, right? Heh heh heh... Turns out we didn't have a choice.

Took my eye sockets off 'em for a second. Big mistake. Saved what I could, but. Heh, my best just ain't enough.

[Sorry Sans.

But they could care less.

They're so tired of mind games, with him. A favor for a favor; at least they'd genuinely done him one. And he returns with...questions they don't want to think of on a good day. Constantly digging to try and find someone who cares, separate the child from the demon.

They bite and he bites back. That's the Game they play, over and over again. How the Game hasn't changed, huh?

If he'd wanted to find them, the child...all he had to do was tell them what they wanted to know. Or throw words at them with the usual lack of understanding. That's what they both wanted, of course. Necessity. A lack of anyone else to rely on.

Of course. That's what they wanted. Zero security in a Game that's changed but will never really change. It's what Chara's wanted this whole time.

It's why they've constantly bit and prodded him, used Frisk as a weapon just as much, if not more, than his brother, or the timelines. Why does a child climb a mountain like that, Sans? Fifty-four. If you're just going to sit there and be reactive, then get out of the way of those doing the opposite.

They tell him over and over again that sitting there with a first-aid kit stuffed in his ribs is doing no one any favors, and here they are.

And there he is, turning around and judging them anyway.]

[Saved. Almost immediately upon the word used, Chara's eyes go right to his shirt. Or rather, what was under the shirt; beating away in a horrid echo that they'd been mistaking for something else, but that wasn't it at all. Saved what he could, that's...

That's really something, they'll give him that. It's beyond words.

And they have plenty of words. They always do, and always, constantly, Chara uses them. It's a weapon in a new FIGHT, a knife with ATK 99 that deals out blows and causes their enemies to take several proverbial steps back for every step taken forward. So they could FIGHT. They could argue his right to even hold onto what had been saved- or SPARE themself the trouble of bothering and go immediately for their knife, an easy target. Leave his dust to feed the grass, take Frisk and go. Leave.

Colin's still here. Witness. Enemy with unknown strengths; he's not a monster either, he's just- human. And for all their usual barbs, all the knives that they come with, this time, they best they have to give Sans is-

Is the fact that they feel sick. They meet his eyes, just for a moment.]

I thought, if there was one thing-

[Never again. Deep breath, gaze drops. Hands shaking so hard they can feel them; it's hard, being powerless. It's hard, knowing that in order to go unchecked long enough to win, they have to walk away.

They have to leave Frisk with him.]

I trusted you.

Edited 2016-04-30 18:51 (UTC)

Welp.

[ He deserves that, watches that bridge collapse and burn, not that it'd been much more than rotted boards haphazardly nailed to rickety sticks. Trust isn't their strongest suit, either of them.

Still.

That smarts.

And he screwed this one up. All things considered, if he thought he didn't deserve the knife he'd be up where he could stand a chance at dodging. He isn't. Which either means he doesn't anticipate an attack or wouldn't see a point to defending himself. ]

Guess that was your mistake.

Ah....

[Colin looks at Chara.]

Hang on just a sec.

[He raises his index finger in a "Hold on" gesture, and he walks over to Sans... and dumps the blanket he's carrying on top of Sans' head. Sit in the cave of shame for a moment, would you?]

What did he do to earn your trust, kid?

[He's giving the blanket mound of Sans a disapproving look for a moment, before he looks at Chara.]

[He might as well have slapped them. And Chara's a fair few shades paler when they look Colin's way, brow furrowing as he-

What...is he doing? It takes them longer to collect themself than they'd like, expression shifting into something- close enough to expressionless. Maybe.]

...Excuse me?

[ Oh, hey.

Sans is under a blanket and, guess what? He's ok with that. He'll just hang out under here and... listen, mainly. This is for the best, Sans was on a self-destructive roll there and that really wasn't helping matters. ]

Sans, love him as much as I do, is being an idiot. Also, probably hurting more than he's hurt except when he saw his brother die.

Doesn't excuse the foot in mouth disease, but sure explains the attack vector it took.

But anyway, Trust ain't easy. Trust ain't cheap.

What did my skelebro here do to earn your trust, kid? That you could throw it in his face like that?

[He reaches down to pet Sans' head through the blanket.]

[Trust ain't easy. Trust ain't cheap.

No it's not. Trust comes from things like people turning around and telling you...that they don't buy what you're selling. It comes from people poking holes in your stories, and sending you stupid puns. Telling you to breathe and other, ridiculous exercises that you grew up doing, absolutely useless. It comes from hands on your head that pat the bump, the boo boo, trying to separate the demon from the child, the same hands that pick you up and don't put you back down- don't drop you. Don't throw you into the wall or the floor, the ceiling. Doesn't matter where, plenty of places to throw.

It comes when people listen to you sing stupid songs and actually listen to you sing stupid songs. In stupid songs being sung back. Who hear two hundred and six and nothing has changed spat at them like red hot pokers and go reeling from the contact and still don't ask a single question when you come to their room days later caked in blood and a hand split open like overripe fruit. When a bandage is changed, and bandages are changed, and words go unsaid and knives aren't taken. Just a hair ruffle, just a question.

Ever heard of Pranksgiving?

And the stupidest part of all is that they'd-]

Nothing. He didn't do anything.

[Their voice comes out hoarse, but their eyes are steel. Nobody likes a crybaby. Why cry over spilt milk.]

Guess that's my mistake. But I have a better question for you.

Why don't you ask him how many times he watched Frisk die and never lifted a finger to help them?

[ There's a touch to his skull that he identifies as a hand because he can feel the warmth beginning to seep through the blanket.

An answering rasp under that unmoving lump of blanket: ]

Two hundred and seven.

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Leaps the fuck in here yolo

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