[With Sans walking over instead of teleporting, Papyrus really should have realized he wouldn't be appearing on the shelf. But they've barely stopped and hesitated, trying to figure out what to do instead, when Sans just sits down.]
Oh my god. [Papyrus shifts the towel of tools bundle to his clawed arm, the better to face palm with his remaining hand.] You... Sans. There's a chair?
[And at the very least, there's the pillow from the shelf that could be borrowed to be a softer, warmer seat for bones. He doesn't even wait for a reply before going over to retrieve it and offer it - locking his wheels up to be able to pick Sans up to drop it under him, if needed.]
I guess that'd work too. [The floor was closer, though. Sans reaches up for the pillow, at least, though he doesn't so much get up and reposition himself as he rolls lazily onto said pillow. The floor idea was maybe a quarter of a joke, but actually just walking across the house kind of tired him out. He's staying here.]
If you're sure, that you're... good like that...? [After the near tonelessness of his syllable splicing, the skepticism in his voice is practically dripping everywhere. But he only waits long enough to see Sans settling his wings in to better cocoon, without sign of wanting to get up, before he sighs and drops the matter.]
Just, don't be surprised, when this is loud. [Not that it will be right away, he has a bit more of the meticulous cleaning to do. But removing casing from his neck, to better check it for rust, will take a couple of power tools if he doesn't want to take twenty minutes of slow and careful unscrewing again. (And he really doesn't, unless Sans actually falls asleep again.)]
It'd be loud on the chair, too. [But actually Sans is trying to do his best to brace for it. He remembers getting a little jumpy about seeing the helicopter, so he's not sure how he's going to react to power tools. But he can't just tell Papyrus not to use them if he needs them for something; he's in Papyrus's workshop. Keeping himself tucked under his wings, he keeps an eye on what Papyrus is doing so he isn't surprised by it when the noise starts.]
Sure, but then you'd be... Never mind. [If Sans is comfortable on the floor, then as much as that's probably bad for his self esteem, Papyrus isn't going to argue it. Especially when his voice hurts a bit to use. Instead, he grabs for a can of pressurized air, the better to start blowing some of the debris out more quickly. Louder, but not power tool loud.
The helicopter, meanwhile, is still moving around through the house, occasionally coming in to drop things off. The hunt for flowers went on while Sans napped, and now it's more grabbing supplies like stray batteries, or a piece of candy, or so on. This time, it veers off course from where Papyrus is working, and carefully deposits a chocolate bar a foot away from Sans. After hovering for a few seconds, it heads up to land on the nearby table.]
[Sans's wings twitch just slightly at the sound of the pressurized air, but he feels like he handled that pretty well, considering. He doesn't pay too much attention to the helicopter until it drops some candy nearby. A hand emerges from his cocoon to take it.]
Thanks. [Give that helicopter a chocolate delivery award.]
[The helicopter lifts very slightly then resettles in place, facing Sans's direction. No one's runs over to update its commendation door, but Sans's phone receives a text from Papyrus's number.]
WELCOME
[He's apparently decided that texting while he works is easier than talking. Maybe because he's pulled out an electric screwdriver, and is testing it to be sure the battery's doing well.]
[Sans may be on a pillow on the floor, but he thinks he might be able to fall asleep like this. Not quite yet, when he knows loud noises are going to be happening, but maybe soon. It wouldn't be the first time he's fallen asleep on a floor. If he does, Papyrus will probably roll his eyes about it later, but that's okay, too. It's nice when Papyrus does that. Consistent. Reliable. It means he cares enough about Sans to call him on his habits, which not a lot of people do.
For now, he's going to eat this chocolate. Human food isn't so directly tied to healing as monster food, but it definitely helps.]
[As Sans starts eating the chocolate, the helicopter takes to the air again, settling at a charge station on Papyrus's work station. Not a minute later, Papyrus himself frowns and looks around, before glancing Sans's way.
Did you...? [He mutters the question in his usual stage whisper minimum, quietly enough it's as if to himself, not expecting a reply. And he doesn't, given he doesn't finish asking it before he trails off and shakes his head, the new wires shifting around on his skull.] No, that's fine. Enjoy it!
[He stretches the same wheeled leg as before, turning it this way and that, nodding to himself at the improvement. Better, certainly good enough to hold up while he focuses on other repairs and replacements. But does he want to check on his throat while Sans is awake enough to be distressed about it...?]
[Sans looks up when Papyrus says something, but when he doesn't continue whatever it was, he goes back to finishing the chocolate. He's still not used to Papyrus's new wires, though now that Papyrus is less concerned about organic things, Sans is hoping he can make some jokes about Papyrus finally having hair.
Papyrus seems to be examining his wheel repairs, though, so:] Looks wheel-y good, bro.
[Papyrus gives another part-static part-voiced laugh, and tests rolling it back and forth on the ground.]
Thanks! But if you're impressed now, just wait. For! I plan! To swap out for one of my cool and improved arms. [The more muscular ones, that he's been nitpicking the design of for months, reluctant to really detach things. Given that one of his original hands is too rusty to safely use again... No sense being precious about them, anymore.]
First you get hair, now you're getting muscles... You're really on a roll. [So maybe these dumb jokes make him feel better. That's not really new. The chocolate helped, too, so he will refrain from dropping the wrapper on the ground and instead stuff it into his hoodie pocket where it will... Probably sit around longer than it should because he'll forget about it. But the point is he's being a good brother and not littering Papyrus's workshop with anything except himself.]
[Papyrus snickers again at the pun, releasing his brakes to better roll back and forth on both legs. Feeling similar enough, smooth enough. But the notion that his new head decorations look like hair...]
You think so?? [He runs his hand (singular) through the cables, testing how well they bend or sway with the motion.] Still don't know why, wearing a helmet... made robot hair? [Maybe there's a pun about helmet hair and static electricity in there somewhere, but nothing that flows well enough to be a plausible explanation for the timing of this change.] Styling it... won't be like the movies. But! I'm sure I can figure... something out.
[They're more like braids or locs than strands of hair, so far. And that's not something he can easily change - they grew from his skull, or maybe through it, to connect to the helmet. He can try splicing them into smaller casings, but he's not about to go adding to the places they emerge from. Not while he's got some skull left.]
Can you get 'em to stand straight up? You could do a mohawk. [That isn't exactly the kind of hair you think about blowing in the wind in a convertible, but it's an entertaining thought. As Papyrus tests the cables, Sans has that urge he gets with his feathers or Papyrus's joint wirings to straighten them out. That's probably weird. Anyway, Papyrus is all the way over there.]
Hmmmm. With a little wiring, as support... [He can envision at least one way to get that aesthetic going, especially if he braids in a mix of stiffer supportive wires, and these connective cables to fill it out, making a particularly spiky mohawk.
It's not the same as blowing in the wind as he drives (speaking of, his driver's test is just around the corner), but it's an exciting thought just like that! Enough to be worth asking the experts. Are there any monster hairdressers, in the sense of hairdressers who specializing in figuring out style options for monsters...? He sets a low priority background search running, the better to check out the options once there's a list compiled.]
Thanks, for the great idea! And. As great a distraction, as this all is. [He makes a throat-clearing noise, one that's both grittier and more static than usual.] This is... distracting me, from some important repairs. So! Hair will have to wait.
Right. [Maybe he should have stayed in the living room and told Papyrus he'd be fine on his own so Papyrus could get work done. Even thinking about being alone, though, is kind of unsettling. (He needs to get over that.) If Sans says sorry that might start a whole second conversation. Instead, Sans resettles himself under his wings.] I'll get out of your hair.
[Papyrus flinches a little at the change in tone, even if it was delivering another pun. He's only now realizing what an improvement the egging on of fashion ideas is, over the pained horror that's been ongoing since the end of the drive.]
No, don't... Don't go anywhere! [Not that it actually looks like Sans is getting up to leave, given the way he's just huddling up into a floor lump. It's not much better, with its one benefit that Papyrus can see if anything gets worse. The helicopter takes to the air almost before he directs it to, the better to perch up somewhere to keep watch. For Papyrus's part, he grimaces with the discomfort of being earnest.]
I'm... I was using you, as an excuse. For dragging my feet. [What feet, one might ask, which makes it a pun with layers. Matching the hair pun, trying to pull things back to levity.] If I didn't need, to check my neck... [His voice is returning, but is it repairing correctly?]
[Sans really is off his game if he's being this obvious. He schools his expression into its usual casual look and locks it there as solidly as any robot might be able to lock their movements.] Hey, I'm not goin' anywhere. If you've gotta fix your neck, fix your neck. [Even though he knows exactly why Papyrus would hesitate on doing that with Sans here. Offering to leave isn't going to help when Papyrus has already told him not to go anywhere; Sans tries to radiate his usual calm, laid-back attitude. It falls a little short--he's just too tired to hide all of his exhaustion.]
Okay. [It sounds and feels a little too subdued and relieved, so he coughs another half-static cough and tries again.] Okay! You do that. Let me know, if you want more pillows. Or... a blanket, or something.
[Official Papyrus permission to continue napping, as best he an, is still one of those Not Everything Is Fine acknowledgements. But the smaller tools he'll use on his metallic vertebrae are quieter, and if his brother is as exhausted as he looks... Well, Sans has slept through louder things before. Or at least pretended to.]
I'm okay. [Sans is keeping a halo eye on Papyrus, though, since he doesn't want to be caught by surprise by any noises. He can deal with this. Papyrus has stuff to do, and Sans isn't going to get in the way.]
...Right. Okay. [Papyrus doesn't believe that, and he's not trying that hard to hide it, either, with the third 'okay' in 15 seconds.] I will only be so long, and then we can... Go make food, then get comfortable again.
[It's the first time Papyrus has mentioned food as something to seek out in about a week, so that's some kind of positive progress too. The smell seems fainter, so something with enough garlic just might overpower it. Still, for the moment he has repairs to do. (Repairs that the author doesn't really want to figure out the specifics of, so handwavium awaits.)
Small powered screwdriver, not quite as loud as the other but not quiet, to quickly remove some of the outer casings of his neck. Carefully craning it around in front of an external camera and the assistant arm, the better to get multiple viewpoints on - yes, some lingering rust in there despite all his cleaning. It's... uncannily, uncomfortably, imitating the shape of his old scar. He knew that the metal had formed over it and slowly subsumed the vertebrae there, but he hadn't expected it to be more vulnerable to rust than the surroundings. His neck isn't among what he's been building replacements for, but pressurized air should clear it out enough to see how much he actually needs to swap.]
I can always eat something. [Which is something Sans is saying just for the sake of replying, because replying is the normal thing for him to do.
He goes quiet when Papyrus works. Quiet and completely still, seeing the rust having taken on the shape of the scar. A half-remembered explanation someone at the dig site gave him of some disease, or injury, or something that could reopen every old wound someone had gotten flickers through his mind. His wings don't so much as twitch, because any movement might make Papyrus stop. Complete stillness isn't the ideal option, he knows, but it's the safest one right now. He's only watching with his halo, which is also safer, because he can hide any little expressions he might be unintentionally making better if he's not actually facing Papyrus.]
[That Sans can always eat something is a truism not worth arguing, and it's close enough to agreement to his plan to work with. (It's passivity even for Sans, which he and the tracker each flag. Good to see it's observing things like that.
Through the helicopter's view Papyrus notes the stillness as he works, and he almost wishes he'd faced another direction for this. But Sans being in a position to help, maybe - or just to panic, if he makes a dangerous mistake - seemed important. No turning back now. Literally. Heh.
The pressurized hair sets the rust dust to flying, leaving him to cough an uncomfortably rattling cough as it sets all up through his neck and mouth. But it clears a fair amount out, and brushing at it with a steel wire brush takes out more. It's not superficial, but it's not nearly as deep as he'd feared. He might be able to clean it and weld something supportive in place, and make a proper replacement part later.]
[Another good reason to have gone with holding still: the burst of pressurized air doesn't even make him flinch. Sans has never been as good at building things as Papyrus, but he's running through his own mental calculations as to how much damage has been done even so. It's hard to tell from a distance, but it's not as if Papyrus's head is falling off, and of course that's immediately what he starts thinking about. He can't think about that right now. He forces himself to stop, drags his train of thought to a screeching halt.
He can feel the urge to fix it again, hissing at him in the back of his mind. But he can't risk that when he doesn't know if it will still rebound pointlessly. Papyrus can fix it. Papyrus is better equipped to fix it, honestly.
Most of Sans's body is too drained of magic to start glowing, but his soul has enough to start getting brighter. It's not enough for Papyrus to see directly, but Sans's phone is certainly close enough to pick up on it.]
[Well, that's not a good sign. It's been clear enough the last couple weeks, that Sans glows more when he's distressed and trying to de-stress. Papyrus wastes half his focus for a couple of seconds on wishing he'd done this before their adventure, except he hadn't wanted to acknowledge his own (mechanical) vertebrae, so of course he hadn't!
Still, he needs to say something. But he doesn't want to talk, to risk finding out that the dust has made his voice worse, and extra-worry Sans with the sound of it. So he shoots off a text instead, with an uncomfortably apologetic half-smile, as he keeps brushing.]
E5IT ISN'T PRETTY,&BUT IT'S BETTER&THAN I THOUGHT./SHOULD BE AN&EASY FIX!!!!
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spaghettimonster) wrote2021-07-31 02:32 am
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Oh my god. [Papyrus shifts the towel of tools bundle to his clawed arm, the better to face palm with his remaining hand.] You... Sans. There's a chair?
[And at the very least, there's the pillow from the shelf that could be borrowed to be a softer, warmer seat for bones. He doesn't even wait for a reply before going over to retrieve it and offer it - locking his wheels up to be able to pick Sans up to drop it under him, if needed.]
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Just, don't be surprised, when this is loud. [Not that it will be right away, he has a bit more of the meticulous cleaning to do. But removing casing from his neck, to better check it for rust, will take a couple of power tools if he doesn't want to take twenty minutes of slow and careful unscrewing again. (And he really doesn't, unless Sans actually falls asleep again.)]
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The helicopter, meanwhile, is still moving around through the house, occasionally coming in to drop things off. The hunt for flowers went on while Sans napped, and now it's more grabbing supplies like stray batteries, or a piece of candy, or so on. This time, it veers off course from where Papyrus is working, and carefully deposits a chocolate bar a foot away from Sans. After hovering for a few seconds, it heads up to land on the nearby table.]
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Thanks. [Give that helicopter a chocolate delivery award.]
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WELCOME
[He's apparently decided that texting while he works is easier than talking. Maybe because he's pulled out an electric screwdriver, and is testing it to be sure the battery's doing well.]
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For now, he's going to eat this chocolate. Human food isn't so directly tied to healing as monster food, but it definitely helps.]
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Did you...? [He mutters the question in his usual stage whisper minimum, quietly enough it's as if to himself, not expecting a reply. And he doesn't, given he doesn't finish asking it before he trails off and shakes his head, the new wires shifting around on his skull.] No, that's fine. Enjoy it!
[He stretches the same wheeled leg as before, turning it this way and that, nodding to himself at the improvement. Better, certainly good enough to hold up while he focuses on other repairs and replacements. But does he want to check on his throat while Sans is awake enough to be distressed about it...?]
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Papyrus seems to be examining his wheel repairs, though, so:] Looks wheel-y good, bro.
small text, small voice, shhh
Thanks! But if you're impressed now, just wait. For! I plan! To swap out for one of my cool and improved arms. [The more muscular ones, that he's been nitpicking the design of for months, reluctant to really detach things. Given that one of his original hands is too rusty to safely use again... No sense being precious about them, anymore.]
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You think so?? [He runs his hand (singular) through the cables, testing how well they bend or sway with the motion.] Still don't know why, wearing a helmet... made robot hair? [Maybe there's a pun about helmet hair and static electricity in there somewhere, but nothing that flows well enough to be a plausible explanation for the timing of this change.] Styling it... won't be like the movies. But! I'm sure I can figure... something out.
[They're more like braids or locs than strands of hair, so far. And that's not something he can easily change - they grew from his skull, or maybe through it, to connect to the helmet. He can try splicing them into smaller casings, but he's not about to go adding to the places they emerge from. Not while he's got some skull left.]
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It's not the same as blowing in the wind as he drives (speaking of, his driver's test is just around the corner), but it's an exciting thought just like that! Enough to be worth asking the experts. Are there any monster hairdressers, in the sense of hairdressers who specializing in figuring out style options for monsters...? He sets a low priority background search running, the better to check out the options once there's a list compiled.]
Thanks, for the great idea! And. As great a distraction, as this all is. [He makes a throat-clearing noise, one that's both grittier and more static than usual.] This is... distracting me, from some important repairs. So! Hair will have to wait.
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[Ha. But really, he'll shut up.]
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No, don't... Don't go anywhere! [Not that it actually looks like Sans is getting up to leave, given the way he's just huddling up into a floor lump. It's not much better, with its one benefit that Papyrus can see if anything gets worse. The helicopter takes to the air almost before he directs it to, the better to perch up somewhere to keep watch. For Papyrus's part, he grimaces with the discomfort of being earnest.]
I'm... I was using you, as an excuse. For dragging my feet. [What feet, one might ask, which makes it a pun with layers. Matching the hair pun, trying to pull things back to levity.] If I didn't need, to check my neck... [His voice is returning, but is it repairing correctly?]
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[Official Papyrus permission to continue napping, as best he an, is still one of those Not Everything Is Fine acknowledgements. But the smaller tools he'll use on his metallic vertebrae are quieter, and if his brother is as exhausted as he looks... Well, Sans has slept through louder things before. Or at least pretended to.]
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[It's the first time Papyrus has mentioned food as something to seek out in about a week, so that's some kind of positive progress too. The smell seems fainter, so something with enough garlic just might overpower it. Still, for the moment he has repairs to do. (Repairs that the author doesn't really want to figure out the specifics of, so handwavium awaits.)
Small powered screwdriver, not quite as loud as the other but not quiet, to quickly remove some of the outer casings of his neck. Carefully craning it around in front of an external camera and the assistant arm, the better to get multiple viewpoints on - yes, some lingering rust in there despite all his cleaning. It's... uncannily, uncomfortably, imitating the shape of his old scar. He knew that the metal had formed over it and slowly subsumed the vertebrae there, but he hadn't expected it to be more vulnerable to rust than the surroundings. His neck isn't among what he's been building replacements for, but pressurized air should clear it out enough to see how much he actually needs to swap.]
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He goes quiet when Papyrus works. Quiet and completely still, seeing the rust having taken on the shape of the scar. A half-remembered explanation someone at the dig site gave him of some disease, or injury, or something that could reopen every old wound someone had gotten flickers through his mind. His wings don't so much as twitch, because any movement might make Papyrus stop. Complete stillness isn't the ideal option, he knows, but it's the safest one right now. He's only watching with his halo, which is also safer, because he can hide any little expressions he might be unintentionally making better if he's not actually facing Papyrus.]
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Through the helicopter's view Papyrus notes the stillness as he works, and he almost wishes he'd faced another direction for this. But Sans being in a position to help, maybe - or just to panic, if he makes a dangerous mistake - seemed important. No turning back now. Literally. Heh.
The pressurized hair sets the rust dust to flying, leaving him to cough an uncomfortably rattling cough as it sets all up through his neck and mouth. But it clears a fair amount out, and brushing at it with a steel wire brush takes out more. It's not superficial, but it's not nearly as deep as he'd feared. He might be able to clean it and weld something supportive in place, and make a proper replacement part later.]
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He can feel the urge to fix it again, hissing at him in the back of his mind. But he can't risk that when he doesn't know if it will still rebound pointlessly. Papyrus can fix it. Papyrus is better equipped to fix it, honestly.
Most of Sans's body is too drained of magic to start glowing, but his soul has enough to start getting brighter. It's not enough for Papyrus to see directly, but Sans's phone is certainly close enough to pick up on it.]
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Still, he needs to say something. But he doesn't want to talk, to risk finding out that the dust has made his voice worse, and extra-worry Sans with the sound of it. So he shoots off a text instead, with an uncomfortably apologetic half-smile, as he keeps brushing.]
E5IT ISN'T PRETTY,&BUT IT'S BETTER&THAN I THOUGHT./SHOULD BE AN&EASY FIX!!!!
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