[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!!!!
[A problem: Sans has to move to look at his phone. Not a lot, but a little. As such, he hesitates a moment longer than he really should before he checks. His movements are, ironically, incredibly mechanical.]
'Course it's easy, you're the one fixing it. [He has no idea if Papyrus actually means what he said, though. It's what Papyrus would say either way, unless his head was literally--no. Stop thinking about that.
The glowing, dim as it is compared to how bright he could get earlier, is helping, but it's also making his soul ache. He ignores that. It's nothing compared to when he got his chest sliced open, and he'd managed to walk across half the judgment hall after that. He can deal with this.]
[The delay is fine. Sans is tired, obviously so. Surely lethargic and disinclined to movement. The stiffness of his movements... a little bit less fine! The helicopter remains motionless as Papyrus divides his focus between watching his brother's condition, and continuing to clean without pause - the better to get this over with.]
E2THAT TOO!!^1!&MAKING THE EASE,&TRULY IMMENSE.
[Watching Sans's stiff behavior, being (presumably) nervous about this or antsy about being alone on the floor... It's not helping his own nerves any. (And he's over-compensating by being especially confident, which might be reassuring or might be inspiring more nerves? But it's easy to remember how badly he wanted to sleep problems off, when they melted.) Maybe with an excuse to look away...]
E3UH. BUT. MAYBE..^1.&AVERT YOUR EYES,&FOR A MINUTE./I NEED TO WELD&SOMETHING ON.
You've gotta build a 360-degree welding helmet sometime. [Which would be silly, because Sans wouldn't need coverage at the back of his halo where he couldn't see the welding anyway, but he's saying it specifically because it's ridiculous.
Sans closes all his eyes. Ever since he got used to having the halo eyes open all the time, it's felt a little strange to close all of them if he's not planning on going to sleep. He focuses on the eyes scattered around the rest of the house just for some sort of sensory input. Everything looks normal enough. His eye amount is receding rapidly, already almost back to how it was before he started spreading them everywhere. Thinking about it, he's not sure how he managed that trick. Too bad; it might have been useful.]
Okay, go for it. [Sans keeps a hand on his phone, so he'll feel it vibrate if Papyrus texts him again.]
[Okay, that helps him to better focus. What he's doing isn't a proper repair, but a jury-rigged placeholder for until he swaps out the arm(s) and goes into other extensive adjustments. But it should keep his neck from developing any structural instability in the meantime, if the scar continues to rust somehow. Two spots to weld in place.
It's not a quiet process, with the welding torch lit up and sending sparks around the area he's moved to work in. But it's only really two spots that need the welding, and he's gotten significantly more practice with this over the last several months. A couple minutes later, Sans's phone buzzes with another text.]
E4I THINK YOU MEAN,&360 SUNGLASSES./WHICH I STILL&OWE YOU!!
[He's putting the deactivated welding torch to the side, and testing his neck's range of movement. A little stiff, since the scar led to two vertebrae fusing and this welded section is sending pain signals that he's doing his best to mute. But functional enough to turn on a fan and get things cooling down, before he gets the casing back on.]
[Without being able to see it, Sans's wings twitch minutely in response to the sounds of welding. Still, he ultimately does better with his eyes closed, even if it nags at the part of him that likes keeping an eye on things.
He opens one eye when Papyrus texts to check it before opening the rest, just in case Papyrus was texting him about having to do more welding than expected or something. But since that's not it, his eyelights immediately focus on Papyrus to check how things are going.]
Summer's coming up, isn't it? [Like... Eventually? They're still going through their first set of seasonal experiences, but Sans knows how it should theoretically work.] Just make 'em by then.
[There's a couple dimming spots of glow on his neck, and a tension to his face that hints at pain he's smiling through. But the smile's partly relief too, as he finishes testing the range of motion in his neck and finds it good to work with.]
That's... true. [There's still something electronic to his voice, but it's audibly his, spoken aloud with tone and emphasis as usual. He makes a throat-clearing sound and the static clears up with it.] Yeah, okay! Expect summer sunglasses... Before summer.
[Sans's eyes focus on those cooling spots on Papyrus's neck before moving to watch his expression. Sans is still keeping his own face entirely locked down, but he at least keeps whatever conclusions he might be coming to about how Papyrus is feeling behind his teeth.]
I'll make sure to wear 'em to the dig site once I get 'em. [A good place to show them off.] Any more repairs you gotta do?
[Papyrus had implied that he was almost done, but sometimes repairs have a way of revealing more broken things, and Sans doesn't want Papyrus to put it off just because Sans is here.]
[He'd been putting off inspecting his neck too long as it was, since he hadn't found any good way of avoiding acknowledging it save hiding it under the helmet. Taking off all his outer casings to look for more bits of rust... Too time-intensive for letting Sans be a floor lump during it, and he's not about to exile his brother somewhere else when weird distressing things just happened. Instead, Papyrus shrugs.]
Sometime later! We'll want, to retrieve the stuff you put aside. But. I need to do some more prep work first, like drafting. [No sense putting on the cool arm, only to injure his shoulder because it's not braced for the strain.]
[Sans gets that look on his face like he's trying to make sure whoever he's talking to is telling the truth just via staring hard enough at them. It's never worked as well on Papyrus, though.]
I guess you can probably draft wherever. [His phone has that drafting app, after all.] But if you've got stuff to finish up in here, it's not like I mind sitting on the floor.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spaghettimonster) wrote2021-07-31 02:32 am
no subject
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.]
no subject
no subject
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.]
no subject
no subject
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.
no subject
[Ha. But really, he'll shut up.]
no subject
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?]
no subject
no subject
[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.]
no subject
no subject
[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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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!!!!
no subject
'Course it's easy, you're the one fixing it. [He has no idea if Papyrus actually means what he said, though. It's what Papyrus would say either way, unless his head was literally--no. Stop thinking about that.
The glowing, dim as it is compared to how bright he could get earlier, is helping, but it's also making his soul ache. He ignores that. It's nothing compared to when he got his chest sliced open, and he'd managed to walk across half the judgment hall after that. He can deal with this.]
no subject
E2THAT TOO!!^1!&MAKING THE EASE,&TRULY IMMENSE.
[Watching Sans's stiff behavior, being (presumably) nervous about this or antsy about being alone on the floor... It's not helping his own nerves any. (And he's over-compensating by being especially confident, which might be reassuring or might be inspiring more nerves? But it's easy to remember how badly he wanted to sleep problems off, when they melted.) Maybe with an excuse to look away...]
E3UH. BUT. MAYBE..^1.&AVERT YOUR EYES,&FOR A MINUTE./I NEED TO WELD&SOMETHING ON.
no subject
Sans closes all his eyes. Ever since he got used to having the halo eyes open all the time, it's felt a little strange to close all of them if he's not planning on going to sleep. He focuses on the eyes scattered around the rest of the house just for some sort of sensory input. Everything looks normal enough. His eye amount is receding rapidly, already almost back to how it was before he started spreading them everywhere. Thinking about it, he's not sure how he managed that trick. Too bad; it might have been useful.]
Okay, go for it. [Sans keeps a hand on his phone, so he'll feel it vibrate if Papyrus texts him again.]
no subject
It's not a quiet process, with the welding torch lit up and sending sparks around the area he's moved to work in. But it's only really two spots that need the welding, and he's gotten significantly more practice with this over the last several months. A couple minutes later, Sans's phone buzzes with another text.]
E4I THINK YOU MEAN,&360 SUNGLASSES./WHICH I STILL&OWE YOU!!
[He's putting the deactivated welding torch to the side, and testing his neck's range of movement. A little stiff, since the scar led to two vertebrae fusing and this welded section is sending pain signals that he's doing his best to mute. But functional enough to turn on a fan and get things cooling down, before he gets the casing back on.]
no subject
He opens one eye when Papyrus texts to check it before opening the rest, just in case Papyrus was texting him about having to do more welding than expected or something. But since that's not it, his eyelights immediately focus on Papyrus to check how things are going.]
Summer's coming up, isn't it? [Like... Eventually? They're still going through their first set of seasonal experiences, but Sans knows how it should theoretically work.] Just make 'em by then.
no subject
That's... true. [There's still something electronic to his voice, but it's audibly his, spoken aloud with tone and emphasis as usual. He makes a throat-clearing sound and the static clears up with it.] Yeah, okay! Expect summer sunglasses... Before summer.
no subject
I'll make sure to wear 'em to the dig site once I get 'em. [A good place to show them off.] Any more repairs you gotta do?
[Papyrus had implied that he was almost done, but sometimes repairs have a way of revealing more broken things, and Sans doesn't want Papyrus to put it off just because Sans is here.]
no subject
[He'd been putting off inspecting his neck too long as it was, since he hadn't found any good way of avoiding acknowledging it save hiding it under the helmet. Taking off all his outer casings to look for more bits of rust... Too time-intensive for letting Sans be a floor lump during it, and he's not about to exile his brother somewhere else when weird distressing things just happened. Instead, Papyrus shrugs.]
Sometime later! We'll want, to retrieve the stuff you put aside. But. I need to do some more prep work first, like drafting. [No sense putting on the cool arm, only to injure his shoulder because it's not braced for the strain.]
no subject
I guess you can probably draft wherever. [His phone has that drafting app, after all.] But if you've got stuff to finish up in here, it's not like I mind sitting on the floor.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)