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
[And insert here some lengthy babble about Sanji's notes and her theories for how he did it, as well as her own application of it. Which. Mostly follows that theory, other than some notes she couldn't puzzle out experimented with, utilizing magic-science theory to fill in the gaps.
Be glad you don't have ears, Sans, she'd talk them off.]
LMFAOOOO HOW ARE YOU SO PERFECT 1/??
Assembling his s'more, anyway, not to mention eating it, leaning back in his chair as he savors the warm glow of the fire and the way magically-imbued comfort food does just what it says. It's... comfortable.
What a nerd, Sans thinks, not without fondness. ]
2/3
Sans listens, gazing indolently at the fire, resting his phalanges over the impossible illusion of girth that layers of clothes offer. ]
3/3
/BOWS. I'M ONLY WORKING OFF YOUR PERFECT SETUPS. 1/2
...And then I realized the key ingredient was an infusion of uranium and nutmeg that I could only acquire by slaying an elder god, so I had to sacrifice my roommate in a ritual to summon him, of course.
[SNORE. Yup, that and the floating Z's over his head (what is this, a cartoon?) would be a no.]
2/2
She presses her palms to her mouth and blows, producing a juicy and particularly loud farting noise.]
1/2 LOSING MY SHIT
Zz-uh?
2/2
He holds up a shaky phalanx. Give him a sec.
Pretending to wipe away a nonexistent tear, he finally looks over at her. ]
Holy moly, I can't even take credit for that. You dropped the class act all on your own.
no subject
But if I did — and that's an if! — I'd say it was worth it. For a guy who's so into bad jokes, you don't laugh a lot. I think that's but the second time I've heard a good one like that out of you.
[Ew she got spit on her hand. Well. She's going to try to wipe that off on her sleeve discreetly and spear another pair of marshmallows onto her fork!]
no subject
Except Rin points out the infrequency of it, draws attention to it, and Sans reminds himself of how little he deserves this when he's let down his brother over, and over, and over, until the Queen's amassed her own collection. And, uh, he doesn't really want to disappoint Rin on top of it all, so he keeps all of that to himself, makes the weight pressing him into the chair look like he's just relaxing after a good laugh.
Sans sets his own marshmallow fork to the side, lacing his phalanges over his absence of a stomach in a show of contentedness. ]
Heh heh. You got me pretty good. Nice job, pal.
[ And for a want of changing the subject as quickly as possible: ] Guess I better step up my payback game for next time.
no subject
It's heart-wrenching in a way that pisses her off. After everything she's learned about Shirou, knowing Archer's life story, you'd think she'd be more sympathetic to this kind of tragedy now.
Maybe in some ways she is. She won't take the blame for how hollow that little heh heh sounds now, but that was stupid of her. She shouldn't have called attention to it.]
For what? [She tuts amiably, holding her marshmallows aloft over the flame. Two can play at this acting game.] That was my payback for you sleeping through my explanation, like a big old jerk. We're even now.
no subject
[ He tips his skull slightly to one side, lifting a few phalanges from where he's resting them across his absence of a stomach. Sans cracks open one eye socket to add: ]
But, y'know, a prank war sounds a helluva lot better than the one we're in.
[ They can both pretend. Maintain the comfortable atmosphere, bathed in the gold-red light of a warm fire, like good friends with some good food, some bad laughs.
It's better than being alone with their thoughts and the absence yawning around them in this place, the empty spaces they can't name. ]
I'll give you a hint. Y'know, a freebie. Better sleep with one eye open on Pranksgiving.
no subject
The corners of her mouth quirk up, instead of down. Anytime now. I'm getting rusty here.]
Pranksgiving?
[The word rolls on her tongue, like someone trying to determine the taste of an unfamiliar dish. She takes her eyes off the fire to glance over to him again, bright-eyed.]
That sounds made up.
no subject
[ He rolls his skull against his shoulder as he angles to look at Rin, grinning in lazy contentment. ]
Should'a seen all the pranks we set up last year. Practically spent all night on it, me and--
[ And.
And someone. Someone with sticky tape on their fingers. Someone who laughed at a table along with Zuko's baffled stare and music playing, again and again, locked on repeat. Someone he remembers sitting on the counter in the kitchen, both of them wrung out and silent. On a bridge bathed in golden light.
Static white noise where their face should be in his memory, strings of data unraveling into black. A smudge of soot where something used to be, no longer human again.
That sounds made up, Rin said.
He didn't make it up. He didn't make them up.
Did he? ]
...
[ He seems to have lost his train of thought, as he turns his skull away and sits there and doesn't think about this anymore. ]
Oof, guess I'm more tired than I thought. Thinkin' I might call it quits today.
1/2
It's not that he cuts off mid-sentence, but the way he freezes when the words stop tumbling out. Forgets those little mannerisms you'd expect from a flesh and blood body — fidgeting, breathing — that he doesn't have to do, but is so good at. In someone as lazy as him, it has to be habit, she's always thought.
She's grateful he does, actually, because it looks really creepy when he stops bothering for less than five seconds. Head twisted towards her like that, stuck at that canted angle; he looks like a marionette waiting for the puppeteer overhead to get back to moving his strings. Factor in blank sockets and a fixed grin, more than that he looks dead.]
H-Hey—
no subject
Fumbling for her lost composure, she latches back onto the conversation instead of the question that had been waiting in the wing: What's wrong?]
A-Already?
[She stutters instead, irritably tucking a rope of hair behind her ear. It's only then the words really register, though. Oh.]
We haven't been here long. [Rin tries, accepting even as she says it that it won't matter much.] ...But I guess it is getting late.
no subject
She gives him the out, though. Another kindness. ]
Thanks for doin' this.
[ There, that's... an attempt, that's gotta be enough, because that's all he's got right now. Slippered feet shuffle as he heaves himself up out of the chair, pauses to scratch at his hip, then passes his other hand over his skull as he attempts to wink at Rin sideways, grinning. He doesn't even have hair to smooth down, but hey, it's used to make... somebody he used to know smile. Somebody. He can't remember who. ]
I'll see ya around, maybe we can do this again sometime.
no subject
But it feels hollow where it shouldn't. A thanks not earned. Ever the perfectionist, Rin just can't be satisfied with this, even as she simultaneously acknowledges she can't pull off a better outcome. It's... It's frustrating. But she also has bigger things to think about.
And empty spaces she'll try to think about but can't recall.
So Rin nods. Recovering from her scare and the following disappointment, she snaps back to her usual impudent self. Straightening her posture, she pulls her marshmallows off the flame and props the fork to the side, so she can use her hands.]
Hold on. [She orders, turning to the side to gather up the food laid out, haphazardly shoving what was out back into the ziplock bags. When she's done, she thrusts them out to him.]
You're not going to help with the clean-up, so take these off my hands. Since you're sticking me with the mess, it's the minimum you ought to do.
no subject
Hold on, she says, and Sans humors her, watching her gather up the ziplocked bags of broken up chocolate, graham crackers, and marshmallows and seeing what she's probably intending to do with those before she's holding out the lot for him to take. Heh.
Yeah, she would. Gotta balance the books, right? Make them... even, or something. He doesn't recall exactly when he had that part of her pegged, but still feels the same way: the books aren't balanced, she's overcompensating. For what, he doesn't really know. Sans takes the bags by their ziplock strips in one hand, and then folds his other hand over hers. Does something a little different, for a change.
Tightens the cool, strange phalanges there for a moment and flicks another wink before he goes ducking around behind the armchair with the bags in one hand.
The fact he doesn't emerge from the other side just means he's gone. ]