Sans the Skeleton (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
justribbing) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
solnet2016-12-19 12:31 am
justribbing) wrote in solnet2016-12-19 12:31 am
Entry tags:
[video] (It's long. Sorry.)
[ A handheld camera -- quite likely Wade’s smartphone -- ‘pans’ over the gleaming exterior of a convertible. How a car managed to get here is anyone’s guess, but anyone guessing a being like Ozuma may or may not have been involved would probably be close. With its bright red paint shining in the cold winter unlight, the sight of a convertible with its top down might be alien, surreal, or even nostalgic. ]
[ Either way, whoever’s holding the phone seems to understand that such a wondrous sight deserves a proper tribute-- namely, draping yourself seductively on the hood and taking a goofy pin-up video. Which apparently is exactly what Wade has decided to do. From his position on the hood, the viewers can spot someone tucked across the back seats of the car, an almost shapeless mass of voluminous galaxy-print hoodie, t-shirt (this one is blank, save for the faded and occasional condiment stain), track shorts and shabby once-pink slippers. ]
[ Sans appears to be reclining here, sprinkling ash from the end of a cigarette all over himself and the back seat. As he lifts his skull at Wade’s arrival, he quirks a supraorbital ridge at the phone in his hand but his grin doesn’t change. Somehow, being a skeleton with no respiratory system to speak of doesn’t stop him from seemingly exhaling a stream of smoke into the air.
Smoking in the back seat of a new car? Well, it ain’t like its intended recipient is ever gonna enjoy it. ]
sup, you tryin’ out for america’s funniest home videos?
Heh. More like Ripley’s Believe It or Not. You probably can’t tell from where you’re sittin’ but I’m makin’ the most righteous duck-face right now. Oh, yeah-- Cryptkeeper, eat yer heart out. What’s with the sudden wheels, bee-tee-dubs? You suddenly win the lottery or kill a hooker or somethin’?
or somethin’. ...you like it? [ Sans eases upright like it’s the hardest thing he’s had to do all day, but pats the seat with one skeletal hand as he tucks the filter of the cigarette against his grin again. How he does that is a mystery. And given the way he always smells like, uh, greasy burgers or hot dogs and usually ketchup, he ain’t a habitual smoker, either. ] took every last G i had. it’s for Papyrus.
Aww… no kiddin’? [Wade turns away from the phone screen to look at Sans directly. He recognizes that smile-- the smile of someone who would move mountains for his beloved family member. It’s pretty cute, the lengths Sans is willing to go for his brother. ] Quite the expensive Christmas present. I’m guessin’ he’s a huge car buff then, huh? Want me to videotape his reaction when he sees this thing? Could make for some entertaining cinema. I’m imaginin’ something like the Nintendo 64 kid. [A chuckle.]
yeah, ‘bout that… [ Rasping a hand over the crown of his skull, Sans swings his eye lights over the car itself. ] couldn’t wait ‘til christmas, so i went lookin’ for him.
but, hey-- [ The skeleton hunches up his shoulders in a shrug, grinning at Wade. Casually, he passes that partially-consumed cigarette to Wade, like it’s nothing, or normal, or something. ] --turns out there’s no place like home for the holidays. [ That’s when Sans glances again at the phone. That’s, uh, that’s not the setting for taking pictures. He might actually have to do something about that. ]
[Wade’s not a smoker either, barring a brief stint in his teenage years when he wanted to be more like James Dean. Still, when your best bro casually offers you a cigarette, you don’t really say no to that. It’s not like he could get cancer again, anyway. Wade’s in the midst of plucking the cigarette from Sans’s phalanges when the bombshell he’s dropped so nonchalantly registers in his brain. He stops, cigarette held expertly between two fingers as if he’d been smoking for thirty years rather than thirty days, and looks over the windshield at his companion.]
Dude… [He stops; runs a hand over his head and tries again.] I mean-- shit, man. You okay? [Wade lowers the phone, only just now realizing that the recording light is blinking, and hastily turns it off.]
[ Either way, whoever’s holding the phone seems to understand that such a wondrous sight deserves a proper tribute-- namely, draping yourself seductively on the hood and taking a goofy pin-up video. Which apparently is exactly what Wade has decided to do. From his position on the hood, the viewers can spot someone tucked across the back seats of the car, an almost shapeless mass of voluminous galaxy-print hoodie, t-shirt (this one is blank, save for the faded and occasional condiment stain), track shorts and shabby once-pink slippers. ]
[ Sans appears to be reclining here, sprinkling ash from the end of a cigarette all over himself and the back seat. As he lifts his skull at Wade’s arrival, he quirks a supraorbital ridge at the phone in his hand but his grin doesn’t change. Somehow, being a skeleton with no respiratory system to speak of doesn’t stop him from seemingly exhaling a stream of smoke into the air.
Smoking in the back seat of a new car? Well, it ain’t like its intended recipient is ever gonna enjoy it. ]
sup, you tryin’ out for america’s funniest home videos?
Heh. More like Ripley’s Believe It or Not. You probably can’t tell from where you’re sittin’ but I’m makin’ the most righteous duck-face right now. Oh, yeah-- Cryptkeeper, eat yer heart out. What’s with the sudden wheels, bee-tee-dubs? You suddenly win the lottery or kill a hooker or somethin’?
or somethin’. ...you like it? [ Sans eases upright like it’s the hardest thing he’s had to do all day, but pats the seat with one skeletal hand as he tucks the filter of the cigarette against his grin again. How he does that is a mystery. And given the way he always smells like, uh, greasy burgers or hot dogs and usually ketchup, he ain’t a habitual smoker, either. ] took every last G i had. it’s for Papyrus.
Aww… no kiddin’? [Wade turns away from the phone screen to look at Sans directly. He recognizes that smile-- the smile of someone who would move mountains for his beloved family member. It’s pretty cute, the lengths Sans is willing to go for his brother. ] Quite the expensive Christmas present. I’m guessin’ he’s a huge car buff then, huh? Want me to videotape his reaction when he sees this thing? Could make for some entertaining cinema. I’m imaginin’ something like the Nintendo 64 kid. [A chuckle.]
yeah, ‘bout that… [ Rasping a hand over the crown of his skull, Sans swings his eye lights over the car itself. ] couldn’t wait ‘til christmas, so i went lookin’ for him.
but, hey-- [ The skeleton hunches up his shoulders in a shrug, grinning at Wade. Casually, he passes that partially-consumed cigarette to Wade, like it’s nothing, or normal, or something. ] --turns out there’s no place like home for the holidays. [ That’s when Sans glances again at the phone. That’s, uh, that’s not the setting for taking pictures. He might actually have to do something about that. ]
[Wade’s not a smoker either, barring a brief stint in his teenage years when he wanted to be more like James Dean. Still, when your best bro casually offers you a cigarette, you don’t really say no to that. It’s not like he could get cancer again, anyway. Wade’s in the midst of plucking the cigarette from Sans’s phalanges when the bombshell he’s dropped so nonchalantly registers in his brain. He stops, cigarette held expertly between two fingers as if he’d been smoking for thirty years rather than thirty days, and looks over the windshield at his companion.]
Dude… [He stops; runs a hand over his head and tries again.] I mean-- shit, man. You okay? [Wade lowers the phone, only just now realizing that the recording light is blinking, and hastily turns it off.]
no subject
Lucky me, huh? Now instead of worryin' about whether or not I'm gonna die, I got enough room in the headspace to worry about other things.
[And he shouldn't have to make it any more obvious that one of those other things happens to be sitting right across from him.]
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Easy to just tilt himself sideways, slow as snowfall, until he finds something warmer than a cold car seat to lean his skull against. Someone, he tells himself, who can't get taken from him the way everyone else important to him has.
Wade can't replace Papyrus. Their, uh. Their relationship ain't anything like that, just for starters.
But he's here and as far as the Queen's tactics go, more or less untouchable. One last constant in an ever-changing shitshow that won't add up. Maybe it won't be enough for the long haul -- Sans never is, after all -- but for now?
This is enough now. He exhales another ribbon of smoke, nests a tip of one phalanx behind the butt trapped between thumb and phalanx and flicks it away. One spiralling arc of ember and smoke through the snow. ]
Well, knock this one off your list, pal. Queen's played too hard, now she's outta ways to stick it to this bag of bones. Guess that means I've won, heh heh.
no subject
A shield. Someone had called him that once-- had, in fact, called him the less appealing term of "meatshield" back in his home world. At the time, Wade had been offended, and the dismissive tone had strongly implied that he was meant to take offense. It had taken a few years and a long stint in Haven for him to realize that being a shield wasn't really so bad. Something strong that could be used to protect vital parts of a person. Something that could take the hit for you without causing lasting damage. Something that you could always count on.
Being a shield didn't seem like such a bad thing, in retrospect. There were worse things to be, and Wade had been some of them in his rather long life. Unconsciously, he tugs Sans closer, still puffing away at his cigarette. As predicted, the nicotine does nothing for him, but regardless he feels strangely calm.]
Heh. Don'cha know anything about me, bro? I never do what I'm told. Just gonna keep worryin' about you just to spite ya now. Whaddya think of that?
[This sucks. I'm sorry. I know exactly how it feels.]
no subject
[ The banter's gonna be no good today, but he thinks Wade's not gonna mind too much; his arm feels heavy over him, but that's okay. It pins him in place, keeps him from feeling like he's gonna dry up and drift off at the first stiff wind. Keeps him here, like the coins he used to keep in his pockets or the stonework he'd touch just to feel the grit against his phalanges whenever he finds himself a little too cast adrift.
He rests, not thinking about much, watching the grey sky start to darken.
His phone doesn't ring. It's quiet.
Sans doesn't really know what time it is when he finally needs to move, to escape the press of thoughts trying to topple down over his skull again. Damn shame, but the reprieve was nice. He rasps a hand over his face, huffing a chuckle. Man, what the hell's he doin'? ]
Ok. Heh heh. If I get any more comfortable, they're gonna have a couple'a snowmen to chip outta the back of this car.
no subject
Mmn. Izzat really so bad?
[A sleepy glance over in Sans's direction. Wade's feeling pretty good, all things considered-- as good as he can feel with a best friend whose brother has gone, anyway (and it still feels weird to think of himself as having a best friend even now)-- and it isn't as though he's all that affected by the cold anyway, having a body that's constantly feverish. He yawns and stretches his legs. These leather seats are quite comfy.]
You doin' okay there? Not feelin' cold or anything, are you?
[He isn't sure how Sans can even feel temperatures without skin, but it doesn't hurt to ask anyway.]
no subject
His phalanges rasp over his skull as they pass from the crown to the base at the back, grasping for his hood to pull it up. ]
It ain't the same. Sure, I feel it. [ Sans jokes, not even half-heartedly, just automatically, out of habit: ] Doesn't get under my skin like it does for you guys.
[ Except that sort of kills his excuse to go, huh? ]
no subject
Pfft. Not much does get under your skin, does it?
[He shifts once again where he's been reclining as if attempting to shake himself out of the somnolence he's fallen under.]
Hey. If you want I can, like... bodyslide us somewhere warmer. Wouldn't take much effort.
[He's already touching him, after all-- all it would take is the trigger phrase.]
no subject
[ Saves Sans the trouble and the effort, and he feels just off his game enough to think maybe taking a shortcut's a little risky right now. Might get the calculation wrong and send them both flying sideways off the bridge.
Wouldn't that be a shame. ]
So, uh.
[ He swivels his eye lights over to Wade, closing one eye socket at him as he offers, half-joking: ]
Your place or mine?
[ C'mon, they nap at each other's rooms with a startling regularity at this point. ]
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It's not like Wade has any interest nowadays either. Too much effort. Too much potential for heartbreak. Besides, Sans isn't the only one who's been out of the game too long.]
Depends on you, dude. I could crash on a picket fence at this point.
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Well, it isn't like Papyrus is here to feel insulted his brother's laughing at his... what, how many times has the Queen got him?
Yeah, stifling this with some hopefully dreamless sleep is exactly what the doctor ordered. He thinks about the state his room is in for a moment, and nudges the point of his bony elbow into Wade's side. ]
Yours.
[ It's, uh, cleaner. ]
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He didn't see the point in trying to convince them otherwise, in trying to convince them that as trite as it might sound, sometimes laughter really was the best medicine. Sometimes the only way to take power away from a painful situation was to make fun of it.
Wade lets out a soft huff of laughter at Sans's decision; at his nudging.]
Heh. That'll make this, what? The fifth time you've crashed at my place now? Seriously, dude. If Pa-- I mean, people are gonna talk, y'know?
[Nice recovery there.]
no subject
[ He doesn't bring up what he considers an old cultural argument -- one that first erupted when Sans and Wade had been drinking, assuredly -- about how cramped living spaces for monsterkind meant things like crashing communally didn't have the same connotations it did with humans. Sans didn't bring up the other distinctions, because it doesn't occur to him to point out what seems obvious: only humans are as obsessed as they are with their weirdly physical, assuredly messy act of procreation.
Y'all are gross. ]
...
[ He knows what it was Wade was about to say, but Sans isn't prepared to talk further about his brother, or about anything else that might have prompted him to consider. Like whether they should keep this up, now that Pap's--
Yeah. ]
C'mon, before we freeze solid to the back seat of this thing.