spaghettimonster | Canyon: Inbox

Huh? [Right, Papyrus is still getting all his thoughts and feelings. Can't shortcut out of that.] Oh, yeah, at the party when I was gettin' used to these eyes. [He indicates his halo with a twist of one of the wings on his head. Rather than teleporting again, Sans takes slow, cautious steps across the room to try to get back to the bed. Back to where Papyrus is, because even the distance of just across the room makes him itchy. This reminds him of the party, too. He hadn't been doing very well in the movement department at that party.]

[Oh, that party, and the disorientation and pain back then. Does Sans remember how it feels, to have one's bones dissolve into dust around them? Papyrus, having gone through it twice now, remembers more vividly than he cares to. At least it's not super vividly, too early for that accidental thorough memorization.

He shifts his position, partly to offer Sans a hand for help balancing sitting down, or for a hand up if he wants to leave the room, or... just a hand, just to be in contact. While he does, he shifts his feet within his shoes, feeling them move to his will. Reminding himself they're there,, very much present, if machine.]

I guess you did. Look at that! You have practice now. [He doesn't start cackling or anything, but with all those eyes Sans will definitely see the signs of Papyrus being pleased with his turn of phrase.]

[Sans is thinking about dissolving, suddenly, and his own memories of that echo back--Sans dissolved from the chest outward. An absolutely hopeless feeling. He pushes it away like he's been scalded, and not just because he's worried Papyrus will feel it too. He grabs onto Papyrus's offered hand, and the relief is a much safer feeling.]

Eye'll have to see about getting used to it again. [Simple entertainment has always been the best antidote for Sans's moods. Maybe Papyrus will roll his eyes extra hard at having Sans's bad jokes in his skull too.]

[Papyrus does, indeed, obligingly roll his eyes. It's obvious in the dim light, with the slight shadows cast by his glowing eyes shifting with it.] I'm sure you will!

[But this time he isn't actively annoyed by the ongoing presence of puns in his mind, with his thoughts forcibly fixated on home renovations or cheerful demands. If anything, Sans might pick up on the fact that jokes like those are rattling around inside Papyrus's skull a lot more than he tends to let on about. He thinks about them, even if he only shares some. And even some of Sans's jokes come back to memory, from days or weeks ago. He frowns at them, too, but with that ongoing current of affection.]

[Sans sits back on the bed, not letting go of Papyrus. There's significantly less coordination involved in sitting, even if he tips a little from the extra weight of his metal wing before catching himself. At least Sans still has his wings in place; Papyrus got stuck with sharing the weird soul thing, which is definitely worse.]

Aw, you remember my old jokes. [Teasing is easier. And of course Sans would be able to pick up on that clearly, if nothing else. But Sans's delight is genuine; jokes are a way of showing affection, after all. They're important.]

Remember... Haunted by... Same difference, I'm sure. [His tone and expression are long-suffering, but inside is mostly amusement. Sans's preferred joke style needs someone to complain, and he's usually happy to play along. And when he's not happy, it's because his complaints are more sincere, so... it works out??? He guesses???

Some flicker of thought about the weird soul situation brings the image back to mind, the saved screenshots of the camera's view. White heart, fizzing with static and crackling with electricity. Electricity like the power keeping his limbs and everything moving...? Somehow that makes it all feel more real, more permanent. The robot stuff is up in him even further than his skull. Did his brother feel like that, after the angel stuff - when the wings, he means, when his soul and skull sprouted wings?]

'Course it is. [And of course the complaining is a vital part of telling the jokes. Sans isn't married to routines, but there are some things he relies on to keep himself going, and Papyrus is at the heart of a lot of them. Almost all of them, now that they're here. But it was never a secret, how much Sans relies on Papyrus, even if Sans tries not to talk about it in anything approaching a serious way.

Sans thinks of the image of Papyrus's soul crackling with electricity--or maybe Papyrus is thinking about it, but right now that's very nearly the same thing. Sans wishes again that Alphys was here--she's familiar with electricity magic and with robots. Alphys is a close friend, but the nature of her situation and how it intersects with his various situations means he doesn't talk about her much, so the friendly familiarity in the way Sans thinks about her is likely to come as a surprise.

Sans's own soul--he'd say it feels foreign to him. He wants to believe that, is working his deception skills on himself, but at the heart (ha) of it, well--there's some resignation there. It's fitting, and he doesn't like that it is.]

[Papyrus doesn't immediately offer more jokes or banter. It seems like they're both feeling haunted, with thoughts of the past, and people they knew, and resignation. He catches impressions of Alphys, of all people, and does indeed shoot Sans a baffled expression. Why so much familiarity?

But the darkly amused resignation catches and grates in a way that's concerning, and clearly not his own emotions, and distracts a little. He shifts his phone for a live feed of his own soul again, comparing his feelings of surprise with that resignation. The way the static of it seems to duplicate and copy outside in brief flickers, like his multitasking is so all-encompassing that it's even showing up in his soul... The flickers of lightning, reminding him a little more of monster electronics back home.]

...Why do you think I'm all mechanical, anyway? I had dreams, before that earthquake... But they were all, of melting? Nothing like this.

[Into water, or some kind of shadow puddle monster. Dissolving onto the ground, not the same as death but not unlike it. The solidity of metal had been a tremendous comfort, in comparison. But it still weighed him down, made him clumsy until he adapted. Maybe it's just as well it's just the one wing.]

[Sans considers it--he's fine with skimming over how he knows Alphys, of course, in favor of this. It's certainly not the first time he's tried to figure out why people here turn into what they end up as.]

Maybe 'cause you build stuff. [At home it was mostly traps, of course, but Papyrus is undeniably good at it.] And maybe 'cause you think Mettaton's cool, but probably that first one, if it isn't just random.

[There aren't a lot of spirituals at the dig site. Not a lot of scientific spirituals at all. In fact, Sans only knows of one science-related spiritual, and that's himself. So it might not be random, considering how humans approach that sort of thing. For a monster, magic is involved in everything, even science. Sometimes especially science. Human science doesn't really work as well with that sort of thing, probably because none of them have magic.]

My dreams were all about growing wings. [Which did turn out correct, he guesses, even if the exact method of growing wings was different. Of course, Sans dreamed about his scar opening up and bleeding out magic, too. That happened, but that's not why Sans is thinking about it right now. Papyrus dreamed of melting and dissolving, and besides the wings Sans's had to do with the way the anomaly slashed through his chest. So it might also be connected to their deaths somehow.]

[Papyrus's cheekbones go pink at the idea. That maybe his admiration of Mettaton had been the deciding factor, between having a liquid body he struggled to move around with, or a metal body (that needs just as much cleaning, in all honesty, with how grit accumulates in parts) that he can customize and make cooler and more handsome...!

He's the most flustered about their thoughts and feelings leaking he's been yet, and it's just as well Sans's thoughts shift and give him something besides his crush to think about. Growing wings and bleeding from scars, and other things relevant to death... He makes the sound of clearing one's throat, and nods very seriously.]

My skull lasted the longest... Both times.

[Probably not a coincidence, any more than his brother's scar is. So if it's a mix of remnants from death, and things they admire...]

Wings... not very space-like. But good for getting to space, in other circumstances...?

[Obviously, they don't know how high Sans could fly, if it weren't for the weirdness in the air. And he doesn't know how high birds normally can fly. But there's plenty of science literature indicating that a few humans have been in space, and they need things like breathing, and keeping various body parts in a narrow safe pressure range, and all.]

[Oh of course, this is a very serious conversation that Sans definitely does not spare a moment in to do the mental equivalent of grinning in that obnoxious way only siblings can at their siblings' crushes.

But anyway.]

Hey, I don't need to breathe. Maybe I could break through the atmosphere. [Sans doesn't really believe that, and there's plenty of other reasons Sans wouldn't survive in space without equipment, but the idea of him just shooting up and up and up into space like that is funny. He wouldn't object if it did work like that.] Wings get me in the right direction, at least.

[You know. Up.]

[There's a particular kind flustered frustration that sometimes leads to Papyrus stomping a foot, and while he doesn't actually risk banging a foot on any of the eyes, the feeling rings out after Sans's annoying older sibling energy. But it's shoved aside with the rest when he focuses on the Very Seriousness, and space, and whatnot.]

Yes, exactly! You've caught on to my thoughts. Why put effort into rocket science, as entertaining, and explosive, as it is... When you can go to space, and get exercise out of it!

[You know, hypothetically. In this imagined scenario where they figure out some way to clear the tunnel without people or machines having problems, or get airbound without having problems, or... something, to get out.]

Well if it's gonna take exercise then I want a rocket ship. [Sans refuses to exercise. Exercise is illegal. Maybe he'll just teleport to the moon.]

Not even for space??? [Hyperbolically, this is killing Papyrus. All this enthusiasm for space over the years, which has mutated into obsession and occasional lapses from reality in the form of thinking he's a god of the void... But the idea of a little flying under his own power, and that's it, Sans isn't interested? The outrage is mostly performative, over-the-top for a laugh, with bones of indignation and concern at its core.] Fine, fine, I guess I'll work on a rocket, too. Between all my many other projects.

[...That said, it wouldn't hurt to explore rocket design as a potential for flight himself. He flags the notion for further contemplation, and there's a difference between it and a normal mental note - more like the idea is floating above Papyrus's head, able to be grabbed in full detail at any time.]

Okay, maybe for space. But if you build a rocket, you can go too. [Void god or not, Sans is obviously going to take Papyrus to space with him.

There's some curiosity about the way the idea floats in Papyrus's mind, though Sans is reluctant to draw more attention to the curiosity than just having the thought brings, between it being focusing on one of Papyrus's thoughts and it being possible that this is related to how Papyrus has changed since becoming more robotic. It's not like he spends a lot of time asking about how Papyrus thinks. Thoughtfully, Sans moves his normal wing and then his metal one. It doesn't seem like there's a difference in how he controls them, so that probably means it's just his wing that's changed and nothing internal. Maybe. He's still not sure how Papyrus's magic and robotics connect.]

[Avoidant curiosity about something as intangible as an unfamiliar thought is a harder train of thought and emotion to accidentally follow than some of the others. Mostly what he gets is that Sans is curious, and comparing his wings, and something to do with Papyrus's transformation. The same-feel between the wings, besides the weight... It reminds him of early in his own transformation, when his limbs had been more like physical prosthetics, and his torso had been bones encased in metal. By now... If they removed all the circuitry, how much of the last few months would he remember?]

...Well, when you put it like that. Maybe a rocket's not a bad idea! You'll be on standby, for going outside for repairs.

[Solar-powered skeleton with wings and teleportation would surely have an easier time maneuvering in space than the cybone, solar panels or no. He gets enough grit and debris up in him as is, and he's heard a bit about the trash apparently orbiting the planet. Zero-gravity trash... Like tossing him in the old trash tornado, no thanks.]

[Sans gets vague thoughts of Papyrus being taken apart and forgetting things, and that's--well, not the greatest thought. (He's also suddenly wondering if the places on his metal wing that used to be bone have bone underneath.) He's sitting close enough to touch Papyrus already, but he spares a hand to pat Papyrus's arm reassuringly. Papyrus has backups, and it's not like they know he'd forget things. Emotional moments leave an impression on magic. Sans is absolutely sure of that, even if he's not thinking about the reason he's so sure. (It's very important he doesn't think about that. He's trying to be careful.)]

Am I goin' out like this, or are you gonna build me a suit? [Sans is imagining a pretty ridiculous-looking suit, taking into account the wings and the halo.]

[Being in proximity, in contact, it keeps being a comfort. At a time it's really helpful, for reasons Sans obviously knows nothing about, by his very careful not thinking about it. Which is itself another comfort, and if Papyrus's voice is a little choked up as he continues speaking, neither of them needs to comment on it.]

I, hadn't thought about it that far! It would be, way more professional, having a suit. But designing it, fashion out of this world... [Nyeh heh heh.] It would be a challenge to reach! Which makes it a great project for occupying my time, before we have the chance to put it into use for real.

I'm not really into fashion, but I'm sure you'll make something cool. [Saying Sans isn't into fashion is like saying Sans isn't into exercise, or like saying he is into union-mandated breaks. It should really go without saying.

With time and Papyrus's buoying, Sans is feeling less constantly overwhelmed by all his new eyes. He chances giving them a little bit of focus, looking more deliberately through them at himself and Papyrus and all the rest of the room at once. He's still looking out of his own eyes, of course, and the eyes in his halo. While Sans is starting to adjust, this may be a lot for Papyrus.]

[Well, Papyrus doesn't stagger or recoil the way he did when Sans teleported, partly because he's already sitting down. It's the difference between background electromagnet radiation, and trying to watch a few dozen streams at once. Maybe not overwhelming... but definitely whelming.

He lifts a hand slowly into the air, taking in the impressions of seeing it from nearly every angle at once. Trying to move or do anything with it like this, that starts pushing the edge on overwhelming, and he lowers it to better brace himself upright.]

...Okay, I think, I have... decided. [For one, that he won't complain about hearing microwaves and breakup calls as much from now on. But also...] That! You should have. Some nice decor, in here. To have good things to look at. Maybe some plants.

[Okay, maybe Sans will hold off on figuring out these new eyes until he's not connected to Papyrus anymore. He'll just let them return to being background noise. The thoughts about electromagnetic radiation and microwaves is interesting--Sans can, of course, imagine some entertainment and pranking opportunities to be gotten from hearing a bunch of people's phone calls. Plants, though...]

Like ones I have to water? [Imagine the effort required!]

[As the whelming pressure of sensory input fades, Papyrus finds himself feeling a disappointed curiosity, and unsure which of them it's coming from. There's something to be said for playing war games with every possible vantage point continuously ongoing, no need to move around the table - or have blind spots.

But the image of pranking people with, what, secret knowledge of private things? If he wants that, there's always that ghostly gift, that gives uncanny insight into some random person's thoughts... Not that it's turned up anyone he knew he recognized yet, but it might someday. And it's a more consistent feed than radio waves and whatnot, since there aren't thousands flickering in and out of strongest signal at any given point...]

Siiigh. Maybe some that barely need any. Or a sculpture. [Or a robot plant, though he's not sure what one would do that stands out from being a robot. Provide a light? That's a lamp. Point a laser at intruders? It'd be just their luck for something weird to make it shoot lasers at them instead.]

[Feelings are really starting to get blurry in Sans's head, though he can still separate things out by what he knows and what Papyrus knows. Still, that might be a bad thing... But he's comfortable like this. And he's curious about that ghost gift. He hasn't really seen Papyrus use it, but it's not like he's been keeping watch or anything. Sans teases Papyrus with the idea of putting all his electronics in a Faraday cage, but he (and therefore Papyrus) knows he's not going to do that. Too lazy. He'd forget. Anyway, it's not like Papyrus is putting trackers in his phone or anything.]

One plant. [Compromise.] A small one. Dunno what I'd do with a tree.

[Don't say "sit in it".]

Sleep under it, probably.

[Under isn't in, nyeh heh heh. The idea of a Faraday cage... is a little distressing to think about, like going to the edges of the Canyon can be. But maybe it'd be easier if it were no signal at all, instead of a few signals really sticking out...? (They probably shouldn't test it.)]

...But a tree, would be silly! Entirely too big for your room. Unless we did a lot of roof renovations... and figured out some way to keep rain from rotting the wood, because I guess rain does that.

[Some days, it's almost enough for a skeleton to miss living underground, where there's a constant slow trickle of snow and yet the ground is frozen enough not to make water damage a thing.]

No, something small. And that doesn't take watering much. There's plants like that. "Succulents..."

Big umbrella. [Sans would sleep under a tree, if it was placed in his room. Sometimes he takes naps under trees outside, too, though never too deeply when anyone could just wander right up to him.

Sans's thoughts of living underground exaggerate the darkness and the way they were enclosed. It matters more to him now than it ever did when he was actually underground, now that he's transformed, and the idea of being stuck without sunlight is--well, Sans doesn't want to call it frightening, because that's embarrassing. (But it is. It's frightening for him to think about, and he can't actually lie about that when Papyrus is in his head.)]

Aren't there succulents that look like butts?

[Sans is referring to lithops, not that he has any idea what they're actually called.]

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