spaghettimonster | Canyon: Inbox

[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.]

[The idea of living underground again... It's a little bad just because of dying underground, while unable to escape. He's said as much to Kassabian, very casually amidst other things. But plenty of other bad things have happened in the canyon, equally inescapable, and those events haven't made the idea of living in a canyon something to dread in the same way. Not the way where there's some fear-pain of lacking something needed, the way the limited signals had pulsed painfully and he'd had trouble focusing.

It's not the same as the dark being frightening, but... Well, he hadn't ever been scared of that while awake, but he's sure had nightmares about darkness, so it kind of makes sense.

While those thoughts pass through his/their minds, he sends a search to SBNet. >SEARCH:SUCCULENTS LOOK LIKE BUTTS >IMAGES >SEARCH:LITHOPS >ALL, a search that shows a few photos connected to the concept, then a list of online encyclopedia descriptions of them, care-taking instructions, commenters cheerfully pointing out the resemblance, and so on.]

...Yeah, seems like! And, apparently, that makes them popular... Humans are weird.

[The fear of losing something needed is shared, even if it's not the same thing. For all Sans continues to claim he doesn't need sunlight and starlight, something in him does regardless of what Sans says.

The way Papyrus looks up the plant Sans mentioned is interesting; it's a very literal kind of multitasking. Asking about that would be weird, though, he thinks, so he'll just have to satisfy his curiosity with what he can get a look at like this.]

Humans are hilarious. [Humans are complicated, or at least Sans's thoughts on them are. He's always tended toward liking people, but the circumstances of the canyon make him warier. He's always a little worried about someone attacking him. Some of that is from what happened underground, but maybe not as much as Papyrus might expect. (After all, the anomaly wasn't--well, Sans isn't thinking about that.)] Let's get a butt plant.

[Weird realizing they're feeling similarly about different things. The more things change...?

He catches the inklings of curiosity in the middle of his search, and he pauses in the middle of reviewing caretaking instructions with example images of healthy vs unhealthy lithops. His edge of self-consciousness - that's been ongoing since coming into sight of halo and eyes - sharpens for a moment, before releasing like a laugh and shrug. How much of this can Sans even process, considering...? Is this mystery link between them more like screen-sharing, or outright remote access? He focuses on one of the images, curious if Sans can see it if enough of his attention is on it.]

Like this one?

[It's a particularly yellow-green example, with multiple lithops in the pot, two of which have white flowers. Not exactly realistic. But he's noticed the inklings of wariness and worry with the thought of humans, beyond the curiosity. They're harder harder to follow, the way Sans shoves part of the thoughts aside. At least mocking them by having a butt plant is something.]

[It's not like seeing the image himself; rather, it's filtered through Papyrus's perception of the image. He gets an impression of yellow-green. Something white--flowers, which Sans's can't see but figures out from how Papyrus is thinking about it.]

I can't see it like if I was looking at it. [But Sans can answer the question of how much of this Sans can process even if Papyrus didn't technically ask it.] But yeah, I think so.

[But Sans is connected deeply enough to Papyrus's thoughts to make some deductions and conclusions based on these impressions, apparently.]

Weird! I can... sort of see us. [A few minutes ago he could see his hand, from far more directions than he knew what to do with, when he focused on doing so. But it hadn't been focused right, but a bit of strain to make sense of... Maybe because Sans wasn't focused on Papyrus's hand? The lack of attention - of intent - made a difference.

That, or:] I guess one mental image isn't as powerful, as hundreds of them??

[He prods at the sensation of seeing in all directions, expecting Sans to follow along with the idea. What if Sans tries looking again, with Papyrus braced and expectant for it? He wants to study his own reactions, make an experiment of it. (Is that normal for Papyrus?)]

I do have a lot of images to work with. [Sans is picking up on Papyrus's idea, though, so he shifts just a little so he can get as many eyelights on Papyrus as possible. It's good practice for his own new eyelights, anyway, to actually try to look at something. The new ones around Sans's room are less well-behaved, more interested in looking at whatever they want, but Sans can get most of them focused.

Whether or not this sort of multi-perspective of himself is useful, it does help Sans. He's had enough time getting multiple viewpoints of whatever thing he's focusing on that this is much easier to work with than looking at a whole room from wildly different angles.]

[Well, Papyrus's own face is a much cooler and agreeable target for staring at than his own hand. His cheekbones shift up in a surprised smile.]

Hey, good choice! Papyrus, natural model.

[Despite all his time in front of camera and mirror, he's aware of the proportions of his own face to an extent he's never mapped out before. Maybe he should make a sculpture! Or a cast model of it, the better to design possible replacement parts... like in case he ever figures out a safe way to attach a new lower jaw.]

You're the coolest thing in the room. [It just makes sense to use Papyrus. But it does seem like Papyrus is getting more vision information from Sans than vice versa. Maybe it really is because Sans has so many eyes. As far as attaching something to Papyrus's face... Idly, Sans suggests that icing they use to stick gingerbread houses together. (But not really.)]

It's a terrible burden I bear. [Papyrus says this laughingly, of course. There's undercurrents of sincerity to it, tinged with frustration and desperation. Needing to be admired and wanted, to fill some loneliness. Needing to be there as a role model, to prevent a different loneliness.

Fortunately, the stray thought of frosting on his face distracts him from that, and he grimaces.]

And you went that long without being gross! I'm resetting the timer. [There is an actual timer. He's actually resetting it. (It had only been about eight hours since the last thing Papyrus considered gross enough to count).]

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