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
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.