[The sun crackles and wails, music of irregular percussion and constantly shifting sounds. The stars beyond add a chorus of varying thinner energy, weakened by distance and the thick matter (roofing tiles, and insulation, and ceiling) between them. This is confusing, for there to be anything between them and the stars, for him to have words for it all - for matter to matter like that.
Also, the software and machinery of the metal body continue their resets and loading cycles. Eyes close and open, apertures widen and narrow to focus on the scene in front of the face. Floor, speckled with dirt and stains, but reasonably free of fallen bolts or other supplies - some of the little cleaning drones keep on top of gathering them. For him? For him. He exists. Papyrus is a name that means him. But doesn't that name mean brother, light, inspiring star? Why does it mean caring about condensed matter in the shape of bolts on a floor?]
...Ow. [The body - his body? - sits up again, slowly. The motions are awkward, no automated smoothness online yet, as he moves like he's not used to it. It's heavy, and entirely metal. Wasn't it partly bone before, with the metal rusting? Now it's even more prone to rusting than before, though it doesn't seem to be at the same accelerated rate as the last time Sans helped him remember.
Oh, that's right. He can't seem to remember everything, because this restrictive heavy body still isn't capable of that... But he understands again why Sans really couldn't get his help, remembering this. He rolls his eyes, remembering and dismissing the body's stress earlier, and chides with amusement:] That was not the smoothest help, Sans. Was it harder this time, or something??
[Relief fills the room like a tangible object. It worked. He's not alone. He doesn't want to be alone. (And that's real, that's a real feeling hanging in the air, beyond all the thoughts of godliness that have been stuffed into Sans's head. He doesn't want to be alone. He wants Papyrus with him. Papyrus is the only one who's ever stayed with him.)]
This place makes everything hard. [It's the worst, but he feels less sick to his nonexistent stomach now. He doesn't want to have to do that again.] If I did it some other way I figured you'd fight me off. [Papyrus is stronger; Sans mostly just has volume and surprise on his side.] You're okay?
I'm... cramped. [He frowns, considering the idea and its feelings, considers a hand as he clenches and unclenches it experimentally. Now he's starting to remember the time since he last remembered, too. All the worries and distractions of these bodies and lives, the changes to this body.] Even with all the extra processing power 'I've' installed lately, I can't... remember everything, in here.
[It's disconcerting, this haze of lost past... yet that loud relief feels like it's partly his own relief too. At least he remembers what he's supposed to be again, in a somewhat removed way. But Sans sounds concerned, and his recent memories of trying to struggle away out of, confused fear? They're pretty fragmented. He glances up Sans's way.]
What might not be okay? I'm still... figuring out what to check for. Briefly disoriented! [The body's still finishing coming online, slower than after a nap due to the abrupt hard reset, but there's no hard feelings. Or not many, not compared to the relief and determination to be as much himself as he can. Of course he can ask his brother for help figuring this out. Sans is trying to make the best of a bad situation, and the last thing Papyrus wants to do is make that harder.]
[Papyrus's memory issues aren't surprising; he's made of even more matter than last time. It's disappointing, maybe, but Sans is too relieved that things worked out even this much for that to bother him as much as it might under other circumstances.]
'S better if nothing's not okay. [Philosophical, but not really.] Wasn't sure how your body would react to your actual memories, that's all. Figured it was better than not doing it, but I can rework some more stuff if you can't from inside there. [It would be better if Papyrus does it himself, though, now. Sans doesn't actually want to mess with Papyrus's head, even if he still will if he needs to. At least Papyrus is stuck in a kind of body that lends itself well to self-reprogramming.]
Hmmm... [Another too-heavy shift of the body, as he settles shoulders and back against the desk. The better to stay somewhat upright with minimal attention paid to it, while he assesses. (Couldn't he automate that? (Remembering how takes time - later.))
His actual memories... They seem vague and distant, still. Existing in the void, the light perceivable only in the contrast with true dark, yet not alone - never alone. The stars burning... and then, later, somehow mortal. Driven by a need to help, to fix, yet feeling incapable of all that they needed to do, a depression that filled the mind with the minutiae of life as skeletons until all those little things seemed essential... And later, with rust breaking just enough cracks into the body to let him remember again. Needing to help, to fix, restored - doing what he could with this body, researching to help Sans better see how to nudge people to better emotions and thoughts and so improve their lives... It feels real, and incomplete.]
It's not... rejecting it. [This is a surprise and a relief, somehow - had he expected it to? Maybe because the body's so material now, its only magic in the charge and soul. At least all the extra processing power is helping him think more clearly, encompassing multiple thoughts simultaneously. Whether it's up to proper quantum... He pokes at one of the recent glowing texts, trying to make sense of it. It sings, and something in the torso whirrs with air in harmony, but...] Hey, send me another glowing text. I don't... I'm not sure how to do that back.
[Sans pulls his phone out, again with one of his extra arms. His control over his abilities is much better than it was last night. Really, he'd rather not do anything with his phone, but if it's in the name of helping out Papyrus, then he can do it. Papyrus is stuck with so much more matter--Sans can put up with touching a phone for a few moments.
The text he sends is less entangled than his usual ones. Just a couple of layers to it, to see if that makes things easier.]
The way this place is messing with me is more compatible with how things are supposed to be than how it's messing with you. That might be why. [At least now they know it's not some sort of weird thunder god. It's actually something worse, but they know that it's something.]
[Papyrus sits back and stares vacantly ahead, focusing most of his attention on this matter. Less of a tangle, that's helpful. The electrical magic his soul is expressing through is... it's not the same, but it's similar, he can feel the energy and something of the layers. He pries at it again, fans going louder as he tries to imitate it.
A text arrives back to Sans, but... there's no tangle of light. Instead, it's a block of unbroken text that fills the character limit, mostly a mix of numbers and letters, several other characters in the mix. As though trying to open a file with the wrong program. As soon as he sends it, Papyrus reviews what was sent, and slouches with an irritated grumble.]
...Yeah, that must be why. Papyrus isn't clumsy! I'm precise and meticulous with my magic! But...
[He can feel it, sort of. But he's too large, too dense, too material like this. Is there any way to fix that, with Ozpaka's presence down there twisting them, practicing for eating stars and galaxies by starting with the canyon..?]
[That sure is a bunch of letters and numbers and maybe a smiley face or weather symbol thrown in, too. That Papyrus could even make the attempt is probably a good sign, though.]
Well, we know who's messing it up. [It's stupid, but even with full knowledge of who he is back, Sans is hesitant to say the name out loud. Well, it did try to eat him. That's not any more pleasant a memory now.]
Yeah. [This begrudging agreement is punctuated by the thud of metal skull on metal desk (also decoratively skeletal). He winces a little at the feeling of the impact, then instructs the body to tone down the pain receptors. No need to be feeling that, especially when he's so freshly complete - and easily annoyed.] Maybe I should write it a sternly worded email.
[It's a joke, profoundly a joke - he doesn't want to put even this robot casing near it, let alone the software trying to express his soul. But right now, it seems like something like an email is all he could do. That, or try talking at a horrific entity and get killed or worse again.
[The idea of what Papyrus might send in an email like that is funny. Okpaza probably wouldn't agree, though. Well, it's not as if Papyrus was actually going to do it. Sans shifts; his body flows like water through a grate, breaking itself up. Less solid, back to that suggestion of a self. Holding onto that solid form to not startle Papyrus had been stifling, and this is a lot better.]
Maybe if we help enough people, we can get a better foothold. [It follows logically, at least to the way Sans is thinking right now. Increase their sphere of influence until they can get more of what they were back.]
[Papyrus goes briefly still with contemplation, then looks up with widening eyes.]
Help people with their lives... Help them resist what it's doing. [He likes this idea immediately - it would fill those urges (mandates) to help and fix, and in a way he can currently work at and succeed at. Something to resolve the lingering feeling of helplessness, which is surely just frustration from the clumsy attempt at quantum communication, and nothing to do with Sans's help.]
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spaghettimonster) wrote2021-07-31 02:32 am
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Also, the software and machinery of the metal body continue their resets and loading cycles. Eyes close and open, apertures widen and narrow to focus on the scene in front of the face. Floor, speckled with dirt and stains, but reasonably free of fallen bolts or other supplies - some of the little cleaning drones keep on top of gathering them. For him? For him. He exists. Papyrus is a name that means him. But doesn't that name mean brother, light, inspiring star? Why does it mean caring about condensed matter in the shape of bolts on a floor?]
...Ow. [The body - his body? - sits up again, slowly. The motions are awkward, no automated smoothness online yet, as he moves like he's not used to it. It's heavy, and entirely metal. Wasn't it partly bone before, with the metal rusting? Now it's even more prone to rusting than before, though it doesn't seem to be at the same accelerated rate as the last time Sans helped him remember.
Oh, that's right. He can't seem to remember everything, because this restrictive heavy body still isn't capable of that... But he understands again why Sans really couldn't get his help, remembering this. He rolls his eyes, remembering and dismissing the body's stress earlier, and chides with amusement:] That was not the smoothest help, Sans. Was it harder this time, or something??
no subject
This place makes everything hard. [It's the worst, but he feels less sick to his nonexistent stomach now. He doesn't want to have to do that again.] If I did it some other way I figured you'd fight me off. [Papyrus is stronger; Sans mostly just has volume and surprise on his side.] You're okay?
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[It's disconcerting, this haze of lost past... yet that loud relief feels like it's partly his own relief too. At least he remembers what he's supposed to be again, in a somewhat removed way. But Sans sounds concerned, and his recent memories of trying to struggle away out of, confused fear? They're pretty fragmented. He glances up Sans's way.]
What might not be okay? I'm still... figuring out what to check for. Briefly disoriented! [The body's still finishing coming online, slower than after a nap due to the abrupt hard reset, but there's no hard feelings. Or not many, not compared to the relief and determination to be as much himself as he can. Of course he can ask his brother for help figuring this out. Sans is trying to make the best of a bad situation, and the last thing Papyrus wants to do is make that harder.]
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'S better if nothing's not okay. [Philosophical, but not really.] Wasn't sure how your body would react to your actual memories, that's all. Figured it was better than not doing it, but I can rework some more stuff if you can't from inside there. [It would be better if Papyrus does it himself, though, now. Sans doesn't actually want to mess with Papyrus's head, even if he still will if he needs to. At least Papyrus is stuck in a kind of body that lends itself well to self-reprogramming.]
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His actual memories... They seem vague and distant, still. Existing in the void, the light perceivable only in the contrast with true dark, yet not alone - never alone. The stars burning... and then, later, somehow mortal. Driven by a need to help, to fix, yet feeling incapable of all that they needed to do, a depression that filled the mind with the minutiae of life as skeletons until all those little things seemed essential... And later, with rust breaking just enough cracks into the body to let him remember again. Needing to help, to fix, restored - doing what he could with this body, researching to help Sans better see how to nudge people to better emotions and thoughts and so improve their lives... It feels real, and incomplete.]
It's not... rejecting it. [This is a surprise and a relief, somehow - had he expected it to? Maybe because the body's so material now, its only magic in the charge and soul. At least all the extra processing power is helping him think more clearly, encompassing multiple thoughts simultaneously. Whether it's up to proper quantum... He pokes at one of the recent glowing texts, trying to make sense of it. It sings, and something in the torso whirrs with air in harmony, but...] Hey, send me another glowing text. I don't... I'm not sure how to do that back.
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The text he sends is less entangled than his usual ones. Just a couple of layers to it, to see if that makes things easier.]
The way this place is messing with me is more compatible with how things are supposed to be than how it's messing with you. That might be why. [At least now they know it's not some sort of weird thunder god. It's actually something worse, but they know that it's something.]
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A text arrives back to Sans, but... there's no tangle of light. Instead, it's a block of unbroken text that fills the character limit, mostly a mix of numbers and letters, several other characters in the mix. As though trying to open a file with the wrong program. As soon as he sends it, Papyrus reviews what was sent, and slouches with an irritated grumble.]
...Yeah, that must be why. Papyrus isn't clumsy! I'm precise and meticulous with my magic! But...
[He can feel it, sort of. But he's too large, too dense, too material like this. Is there any way to fix that, with Ozpaka's presence down there twisting them, practicing for eating stars and galaxies by starting with the canyon..?]
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Well, we know who's messing it up. [It's stupid, but even with full knowledge of who he is back, Sans is hesitant to say the name out loud. Well, it did try to eat him. That's not any more pleasant a memory now.]
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[It's a joke, profoundly a joke - he doesn't want to put even this robot casing near it, let alone the software trying to express his soul. But right now, it seems like something like an email is all he could do. That, or try talking at a horrific entity and get killed or worse again.
...At least he can still hear the sun.]
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Maybe if we help enough people, we can get a better foothold. [It follows logically, at least to the way Sans is thinking right now. Increase their sphere of influence until they can get more of what they were back.]
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Help people with their lives... Help them resist what it's doing. [He likes this idea immediately - it would fill those urges (mandates) to help and fix, and in a way he can currently work at and succeed at. Something to resolve the lingering feeling of helplessness, which is surely just frustration from the clumsy attempt at quantum communication, and nothing to do with Sans's help.]