[Another little chuckle, because sometimes laughing is all you can do. If you look at it right almost anything is funny. (Almost.)] You got any suggestions?
[Sans's grip tightens minutely on his shirt. His feathers fluff up, wings flipping over and over to try to get them to lay right. Nervous behavior he's picked up and isn't aware of enough to stop yet.
Okay, on three.
He goes on two, even just in his head, of course, and pulls up his shirt. His ribcage ends at his sides, kind of. Kind of because it does continue, but the rest can be best described as a translucent ghost ribcage. It glows as red as his magic is glowing right now, and even though the bone itself is gone the scar that had formed across his torso shines a brighter red than the rest. Inside, easily seen through his almost transparent ribcage, is an orb of magic. It glows red like the rest of him is, but much like the scar, it glows brighter. There are two more wings, similarly made entirely of magic, on either side of the orb, though these are much more stylized than the physical ones.
Sans recognizes the shape immediately, of course: the delta rune has filled up his chest cavity. And in the center of that orb of magic, shining white even through all the red, is Sans's soul, visible to anyone who might want to see. Or anyone who might not want to.]
[There's a lot of things where Papyrus knows how to (try to) play it cool, casual, and confident. A door slammed in his face, when he sought opportunities on request. The sounds of laughter at instead of with, and choosing to lean into it. A human lashing out from some terrible worldview, experiences, fears.
This, is outside that realm. He's drawn aback from the sight, recoiling before he realizes. Magic doesn't work like that, replacing bones with light and pulling a soul into view outside fights.
...Not any more than it dissolves and replaces bones with machinery, anyway, and he shivers a metallic rattle at the realization. But what's the point in weird deja vu dreams, if they don't even show up before people start suddenly looking like... like... angels?]
Oh my god. Does... does that hurt? [He isn't sure yet what he could do if it does, but there must be something.]
No. [Sans can't stop staring at it.] Bones are kind of sore. [It's the kind of pain that indicates a fading injury, though, rather than one that's still in progress. Never mind his whole torso looks like some kind of gaping wound to him. He feels half disconnected from his body. This is happening to someone else. He reaches in, hand passing through his ghostly ribcage with no resistance, just faint warmth where it intersects his arm, and touches the edges of the orb. It's almost hot to the touch, but not uncomfortably so. He can feel the magic there, where his fingers brush over the surface, humming.] Can sort of feel that. [This is happening to someone else. But even with that disconnected feeling, he doesn't dare try to reach into the orb.]
All of them...? [It's not clear to Papyrus whether Sans means that he feels the orb, or his hand sticking through his ghostly ribs, or both. He kind of doesn't want to ask a clearer question, for fear of what the answer might be.]
Those... arms... looked a little like that. Red. See-through. [Like the ribs, again. The only thing looking like that winged orb is that whole angel prophecy business, which... He glances away to search for the ghost hands again, like maybe they're extending from the sides of this translucent horror show. The better to take his gaze off Sans's inexplicably visible soul.]
[The arms are still invisible, so exactly where they are at this moment is a mystery. Sans is still staring down at his chest. Or a chest that belongs to someone whose skull he's riding around in.]
Just this thing. [The weird magic orb, that is. He presses just a little harder on the orb, and his fingers dip into the magic, but he pulls back his hand like he got scalded.] I think the arms are made of the same thing this is.
[Just magic, Sans thinks, without the dust that usually holds a monster together. If Papyrus is gaining matter, Sans is losing it.]
That makes sense... Probably. Happening at the same time... Being the same thing... [The arms and soul orb seem to fit together, anyway.
They don't explain the shifting feathers on Sans's head, even if there's the slightest similarity between the winged orb and a winged skull. Papyrus scratches at the side of his own skull, to wipe off a little sweat and try to shake the sympathetic sense of itching there.]
I can't believe, there was just no warning? [He doesn't mean to accuse Sans of lying, or forgetting something, though there's something skeptical slipping into the concern of his voice. Mostly he doesn't want to think something this drastic will happen so suddenly to him (again). Being an onlooker to another mysterious metamorphosis, without any changes of his own to be preoccupied, it's a different kind of horror. But there's plenty of horror and dissonance on his end. If it weren't for how rarely he dreams, and the sorts of things he dreams about, he'd be sure this wasn't real.]
[Sans shrugs and drops his hands. His shirt drops back down to cover the mess this place has made of his chest. Sans is still looking down, but it's less that he's looking at his shirt and more that he has no reason to move his head from its current position. Even his wings go completely still, like he's a very strange-looking doll.] Sorry, bro, if there was a warning I missed it. [His tone is casual and calm, that wallpapered over tone he can put on in almost any situation. He's never actually been sure if Papyrus can tell when he's using that particular voice, but if Papyrus never brings it up then it doesn't matter. He doesn't look up at Papyrus, he instructs his body to move so its face is pointed at Papyrus.] Maybe I slept through the emergency broadcast.
Edited (warning doesn't need to be in there twice) 2021-08-12 03:54 (UTC)
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spaghettimonster) wrote2021-07-31 02:32 am
no subject
[Sans's grip tightens minutely on his shirt. His feathers fluff up, wings flipping over and over to try to get them to lay right. Nervous behavior he's picked up and isn't aware of enough to stop yet.
Okay, on three.
He goes on two, even just in his head, of course, and pulls up his shirt. His ribcage ends at his sides, kind of. Kind of because it does continue, but the rest can be best described as a translucent ghost ribcage. It glows as red as his magic is glowing right now, and even though the bone itself is gone the scar that had formed across his torso shines a brighter red than the rest. Inside, easily seen through his almost transparent ribcage, is an orb of magic. It glows red like the rest of him is, but much like the scar, it glows brighter. There are two more wings, similarly made entirely of magic, on either side of the orb, though these are much more stylized than the physical ones.
Sans recognizes the shape immediately, of course: the delta rune has filled up his chest cavity. And in the center of that orb of magic, shining white even through all the red, is Sans's soul, visible to anyone who might want to see. Or anyone who might not want to.]
no subject
This, is outside that realm. He's drawn aback from the sight, recoiling before he realizes. Magic doesn't work like that, replacing bones with light and pulling a soul into view outside fights.
...Not any more than it dissolves and replaces bones with machinery, anyway, and he shivers a metallic rattle at the realization. But what's the point in weird deja vu dreams, if they don't even show up before people start suddenly looking like... like... angels?]
Oh my god. Does... does that hurt? [He isn't sure yet what he could do if it does, but there must be something.]
cw: depersonalization
no subject
Those... arms... looked a little like that. Red. See-through. [Like the ribs, again. The only thing looking like that winged orb is that whole angel prophecy business, which... He glances away to search for the ghost hands again, like maybe they're extending from the sides of this translucent horror show. The better to take his gaze off Sans's inexplicably visible soul.]
no subject
Just this thing. [The weird magic orb, that is. He presses just a little harder on the orb, and his fingers dip into the magic, but he pulls back his hand like he got scalded.] I think the arms are made of the same thing this is.
[Just magic, Sans thinks, without the dust that usually holds a monster together. If Papyrus is gaining matter, Sans is losing it.]
no subject
They don't explain the shifting feathers on Sans's head, even if there's the slightest similarity between the winged orb and a winged skull. Papyrus scratches at the side of his own skull, to wipe off a little sweat and try to shake the sympathetic sense of itching there.]
I can't believe, there was just no warning? [He doesn't mean to accuse Sans of lying, or forgetting something, though there's something skeptical slipping into the concern of his voice. Mostly he doesn't want to think something this drastic will happen so suddenly to him (again). Being an onlooker to another mysterious metamorphosis, without any changes of his own to be preoccupied, it's a different kind of horror. But there's plenty of horror and dissonance on his end. If it weren't for how rarely he dreams, and the sorts of things he dreams about, he'd be sure this wasn't real.]
no subject