TWO OPEN, ONE CLOSED

[skelepun]

CHARACTERS: Sans, Papyrus, and anyone else! Everyone else? Get in here, ya crazy kids!
DATE: Prompts spanning from March 5th to March 9th
WARNINGS: None! Unless flagrantly ignoring ALASTAIR's request for subtlety counts.
SUMMARY: Sans finds himself in a new timeline (again). He's not sure what he thinks yet, but the pizza's pretty good.


It really wasn’t kind, putting him through inter-dimensional time futzing so early in the morning. One moment he was in bed -- not his bed, of course, the sheets were still on -- staring at the dusty trappings of a child’s room. He drifted off most nights with a host of private reminders of who might’ve stayed here, and what kind of person they were when they did. A better one, probably. Toriel’s wistful looks now and again whenever she talked about them was proof enough of that; she was sharp enough to see through bullshit.

Well, except for his, but he was a grand master.

Sleep didn’t bring darkness this time; instead, it brought an entirely different bedroom. Dreams weren’t Sans’ favorites -- they kinda got in the way of the whole sleep part -- but he played along. A couple info dumps, spider rings, and transport instructions later, Sans was now standing with a human body, in the middle of a human street, under a human dawn, in a time very apart from his own. The dream theory was getting increasingly unlikely. His imagination just wasn’t up to crafting something this thorough.

Except for Papyrus, of course. His inclusion was the one part of this that did feel dreamlike. A frequent player in his subconscious, that guy, and one Sans felt a little nerves probing too closely.

The greasy, appealing smells of the diner next door pleasantly truncated that line of thought. He could use some time to think anyway, not to mention ducking away from the worst sound in the world: early morning birdsong. What french fries couldn’t chase away, a veritable cornucopia of bureaucratic minutia certainly could. What was Wylan Van Eck’s life story? No better time to find out.

Maybe Sans could suss out who the heck named him Wylan, anyway.

march 5th (slightly less early morning) | can i offer you a brother in these trying times (CLOSED)

The files prove a little more interesting than the fries, which sit mostly untouched (save a few that on top that looked glossy with saliva and ketchup residue. Gross). He’d made it through most of them, making a point to memorize faces. Those would be more useful than facts. He could probably creep a few people out too, which was always a fun bonus.

Of course, it figures that the one face he’d been trying to avoid looking at passes right by the large plate glass window he was seated beside. All full of pep and vigor like it wasn’t ass-o’clock in the morning.

That was him, alright.

Sans doesn’t hear the plate break when gets up, or notice the smoosh of soggy fries under his feet, to say nothing of the sweaty man yelling about his tab. Those are all background; bits of black nothing zeroing in on the vastly important something walking down the street without a care in the world. He does notice the aforementioned large man grabbing a broom (or a gun? It’s humans, who knows), and that’s his cue to exit, which he accomplishes with his usual flare. Sure, ALASTAIR might frown on disappearing in front of locals, but Sans prefers to think of it as giving a very angry man one hell of a story.

“Uh” Sans says, intelligently, suddenly behind his brother. “Hold up.”

The surprise is enough to make Sans forget for a just exactly who he resembles. Whoops.

march 6th (afternoon) | can you spare some change, pal? (OPEN)

His cover story isn’t the most sophisticated, but it is definitely easy. With no actual flesh to feast on, or freeze off, sitting on the cold streets for hours on end watching the world (and infected) roll by was one hell of a way to spend an afternoon. Sans intends to take full advantage. He already managed about six naps so far. Talk about a personal best.

Still, curiosity is a hell of a motivator, and in those rare wakeful moments he has his eye sockets peeled. The cloaked form he’d taken is still in effect, and for all he knew most others’ were as well. All that time spent memorizing faces could be for nothing.

Fortunately, much like with the bewildered broom-and-or-gun wielding man, Sans figures a few more locals could use a story. Nothing more fun at parties than the time a crazy stranger asked if I was part of a secret time society. Classic.

“Hey, pal.” He grins, rattling a small styrofoam cup in the direction of a passerby. “Can you spare some gold? I’m saving up to fix my time machine.”

march 9th (noon-ish) | rolling’s all i know holmes (OPEN)

They don’t tell you this when you’re coming up, but the definition of success isn’t the house, the car, or the family. It’s cold roller rink pizza. At 11AM. On a Thursday. Finest his begging profits could buy.

The cheese on his latest slice broke off in one large flat pane when he bit into it, falling back to his paper plate with an audible click. Luxury.

Sans isn’t expecting to see anyone else, but his cloaking was off to fellow Audentes just in case. He had quite a bit of pizza to share, and quite a lot of work to avoid. If somebody desperately needed to talk to him, well… nothing says probably not a local like a skeleton chowing down on crappy pizza.

Comments

march 9th

[paintjobs]

[ If Knock Out had his way, he'd never set food inside a restaurant again. Now that he's finally figured out how to get himself back into his proper body again — his proper, beautiful body, the one that consumes energon and not human food, taking pizza off the menu forever — he'd fully intended to leave this all behind. Goodbye, greasy pizza chains.

But, unfortunately, there's a guy that works here who deals in exactly the right kind of oil Knock Out is looking for, and Knock Out will be damned if he leaves his job here again without selling it to him. He stalks across the floor headed for the kitchens like a man on a mission...

...Right up until his wide sunglasses pass over Sans. That takes a second look. Then a third. Then he just stops and outright stares, the bewilderment apparent even through sunglasses that hide his (not quite human) eyes completely.

Finally he starts over, and a little tentatively: ] Audentes, right?

[ God, he hopes so. That, or his sensors in this hardlight hologram are completely glitching. Because that's a fucking skeleton sitting at that table. ]

[skelepun]

[These little run-ins were getting more and more common, lately. Sans winks, holding up a slice of pizza as if in greeting.]

Guilty. [It comes out more like gorphy with his mouth full, but tomato to-mah-to.] If you came for the pepperoni, they're out. Some jerk came through and cleaned them out.

[Pointedly, Sans picks a spare 'roni up from his plate and tosses it in his mouth.]

march 6th

[scrap_metal]

Genos' cloaking simply gets rids of all his obviously mechanical parts, replacing the robotic limbs with regular flesh ones. His eyes are still gold, though without the black sclera. It almost would be unnerving seeing himself how would he look now as a human. But with all the chaos going on... no real time to ponder on that possibility.

Being suddenly asked a question makes him stop in his track

"Gold?" he repasts flatly. Being asked for money would make sense, but hey 'gold' followed by 'time machine' clearly indicates it's not just begging for money. Because in current circumstances, even time machine could make sense, nevertheless Genos remains a skeptic.

"The most electrically conductive element is silver, it's also a cheaper option of the two" Sounding like a smart-ass right there, even if his lacking knowledge of electronics is entirely based on what he heard from his doctor.

[skelepun]

"Not a charitably minded soul, are ya?" Sans asks, still grinning, though his cup stops his rattling. "Unless you count that pearl of wisdom."

It's not exactly a hospitable place to sit, the dirty street corner, but Sans pats the spot beside him as if it were a silk cushion.

"Take a load off, pal. We can talk time." His grin crooks slightly, taking a turn for the implicit. Even with the changes, it's impossible to forget the face of someone from a file he'd read over that morning. "I got a feeling that's a vested interest for both of us."

March 6th

[beginanew]

[Sasuke hadn't even noticed the person sitting there until he spoke. He got slightly spooked, because his left eye seemed to be picking up some sort of... Different body than the one his right eye could see, and it was getting confusing really, so he closed his left eye and approached the boy.

Who asks for gold anyway?]

A time machine?

[skelepun]

A time machine.

[Sans repeats, nodding sagely, with a smile that seems to imply something else entirely.]

It's a very ambitious project. Interested in becoming an investor? The dividends'll be well worth it, believe me.

adds another to march 6th

[twinkle_toes]

[The words 'gold' and 'time machine' aren't exactly ones Aang hears in Woodhurst all the time - except for in movies and books - so they stick out like sore thumbs, enough for him to come to a pause, eyes peering wide at Sans. (His own cloak's in full effect, though there's little difference: black hair instead of a bald head, smooth clear skin in place of his airbending tattoos.)]

A time machine?

[Old him would have been clueless as to what a time machine was, and current Woodhurst him is only marginally better.]

Like those big things with lots of buttons and curtain you hop into to go back into the past or future?

[skelepun]

[The kid's immediate interest (and startlingly accurate description, right down to the curtain) actually gives Sans a moment of pause. Of course, that's enough time to recognize his face from ALASTAIR files, tattoos and hair aside.]

Something like that. [He's no longer rattling his cup, instead leaning forward, arms balanced on his knees, chin balanced in his hand. It's an impressively lazy position.] You sound like a kid who's got a lot of experience.

march 6

[fateality]

Well, ain't that a curious request.

[The words time machine don't seem to faze him much, and Twisted Fate looks down at the shorter man, raising a curious brow.

He grins.]

Let's say I somehow got a gold coin on my person. Any chance I could see this time machine of yours if I donated to your cause?

[skelepun]

[Sans rattles the cup again, more as an annoyance rather than invitation to donate.]

What kinda business man would I be if I didn't let my investors get their eyes on the operation?

a short time after Papyrus brings Sans back to Monsterhaus

[aspearation]

As she has for the past month they've been in Woodhurst, Undyne comes home, unlocking the door and pushing it open in front of her, standing to the side so Dogberry can go in first. He tends to make a bee line to his food and water bowl, hoping something new will be there, and the whole process usually gives Undyne enough time to hang up her keys and take off her jacket before he starts demanding kibble.

Today, though, Dogberry stops in his tracks as soon as he gets through door, and his head goes down; he starts tracking through the foyer. This is an immediate cause for concern for Undyne, who instead pockets her keys and slowly closes the door behind her (as if she wasn't loud enough when opening it). Two spears appear in each hand with the soft hum of water magic, and she follows Dogberry as his makes his way down the hall. She doesn't really know what to expect-- he doesn't usually start tracking without her command, but he's picked up some kind of interesting scent and she's not going to take any chances if there's some kind of intruder.

When Dogberry turns the corner into the next room, he stops and barks and bolts inside. Undyne books it after him, coming to stop in the doorway with both spears raised and ready to attack whoever might be there.

"Alright, stop right-- there?!"

Dogberry appears to already have taken a liking to the 'intruder'...

Monsterhaus: rated PG for comic mischief

[skelepun]

What Undyne sees isn't an intruder. It isn't even recognizably a person at first blush. The mound of blankets and the occasional protruding limbs wouldn't necessarily read as alive if it weren't for the noises coming from it as Dogberry wags and paws for attention.

"Easy, easy." The lump groans, clearly still in the process of waking up. "My shift's not for another hour, Dog...." Something seems to twig, and a familiar skull appears, blinking at the white, eager dog. "Huh."

He turns glibly, looking at Undyne with tired, unsurprised eye sockets.

"... Right. 'Sup, Cap'n."

march 6th

[respired]

[ Koltira's not doing great right now. The frenzied infected are multiplying by the day, and their hunger stokes his own; their violence presses on him, their hearts wild and burning and beating so so fast beneath their aching ribs. The panic in the city has reached intolerable heights--the healthy survivors are terrified, and that fear goads him too, entices him in the most deplorable way. He grimly thinks it would be better if this truly were a plague of undeath--then, at least, he would not be tormented by so much horrible, throbbing life.

But the first thing he notices about this beggar is not the curious phrasing--gold, a currency more common to his own world than this one--but the fact that Koltira cannot perceive a heartbeat. No rushing blood; no warm flesh. The illusion is there, of course, but beneath it there is no strange skin. But he does sense magic. A tremendous amount of magic--as though this stranger were entirely comprised of it.

He pauses. He looks human, himself, and he's dressed as a police officer besides. ]

I do have a great deal of gold.

[ He leans over, eyebrow arched. ]

I'm afraid it's not the preferred currency here, however.

[skelepun]

[Sans takes mental note of the man's keen interest. It could mean a few very different things, given the context. He was loitering, making a disturbance, soliciting -- all of potential interest to a police officer with a chip on his shoulder.

Then again, he's pretty sure humans don't pay out police pensions in ingots.

Probability's one hell of a science. Here's hoping he had his odds right.]

Silly me. [He shrugs, his affability unchanged.] Guess I forgot to exchange my money before catching the fast train to this timeline.

March 5th

[boneafide]

Usually, most people have left him alone. Which is good! But also boring. He wanted to try out his new human-sona out! But he couldn't, if not a lot of humans talked to him, as if he were a regular human such as themselves.

But suddenly! Opportunity arises, in the form of this weird, balding man.

Sure, he'll take what he can get.

"Hello there! Wonderful weather we're having, isn't it?" That's what humans talk about, when they don't know what to do. Since, you know, they have changing weather, and they can talk about how it changes. "Even though it's cold. And snowy. Brrr!" You know, since he can feel it... on his skin. Totally human behavior, he's so proud of himself.

[skelepun]

The effect of seeing his brother playact very, very earnestly at having skin would've made Sans double over on a good day. Here and now, after a year of Papyrus being dust to him and nothing more, the display merely sprinkled a bizarre layer of absurdity on an already absurd situation. It added texture if nothing else, but all Sans (or rather, Sans' far more expressive cloaked form) could do was stare incredulously.

"You..."

Then it clicked.

"You don't recognize me."

That part's muttered, not necessarily meant for Papyrus, but audible nonetheless. Sans' tone is caught between realization and something a little lighter. Eager, even.

march 9th gomen homie i can't prose

[feytality]

[So, Maya's pretty exhausted. It's been hard to sleep even when she wasn't spending every waking moment trying to help the infected or wrack her brain to do something about this mission. So, tired as she is, she walks by a skeleton eating a pizza, thinks nothing of it, and gives a little 'huh']

Wow, it's a really good thing you're eating that pizza. You're not even skin and bones, you're just bones!

[Aaaaand a few seconds go by before Maya realizes what she's seeing, freezes, rubs her eyes, still sees a skeleton there, and--]

[Screams. Not even quietly]

[Sorry about the noise during pizza time, Sans]

I-I-IS THIS PHASE THREE?!

that is AOK w/me my bracketed friend!

[skelepun]

[The joke earns a dedicated "Ha!" from Sans, before turning back to his pizza. He expects the ALASTAIR girl to go back to her business, as so many of them often did, only to jump when her scream rips through the roller rink's muted 90s jams.]

Huh, where? [He turns his head around, still chewing his pizza. The only thing he sees are an elderly couple skating with their grandson. ... Was that phase three? He turns back to the girl, brow bones creased together in confusion. What are you talking about, implied rather than said.]

march 9th

[headlining]

[Well, this is a surreal image. A skeleton eating pizza. It rather reminds him of the time that Ellen told him of how Charlie, a skeleton back home, attempted to play his beloved saxophone and yet couldn't because, as he admitted in embarrassment, he had no lungs to do so.]

[That is, to say, Keats is attempting to put two and two together to try to find some logical reason why a skeleton would even attempt to eat in the first place. He's never bothered to ask Papyrus about it, which is a shame, but now that he's thinking about Papyrus, he has to hazard a guess that this skeleton is the brother he's talked about, the one who left a while ago. Keats vaguely remembers meeting him. Something about trickery and puns.]

[Keats approaches, hands buried in the pockets of his tweed coat, looking much like a professor who has nothing better to do with his life than hang around town and ogle people eating pizza.]

Are you just eating that for fun? I can't quite understand how you get any sustenance out of it.

[skelepun]

[Sans notices the man's approach before he speaks -- pretty hard not to, with how sparsely populated the rink is this time of day -- but doesn't bother turning until well after. Chewing, swallowing, he leans against the table with the half eaten slice held up as if in toast.]

You're a real pizza work, aren't ya? [Sentiment aside, he's smiling and doesn't appear to (quite) mean it. Sans gestures lazily towards the half eaten pie, as if in offering.] You always so forward or are you anglin' to get a slice?

march 9th pizza pizza

[mutemail]

[ He'd had it mentioned to him that there were skeletons around. It had been early on, before he'd entirely accepted that this wasn't a fever dream. Miles Upshur had thrown it around as a joke before the two of them had figured out just how much they'd each, mutually, destroyed one another's lives in the world before Audentes. Due to the overwhelming stimuli, Waylon hadn't paid much attention to the jibe about the skeleton, but now that he's out and about... and sees one. Well.

He feels like he's hallucinating when he goes in and asks the pizza eating skeleton: ]

Which one are you, Sans or Papyrus?

[skelepun]

[There was nothing quite like being approached by an inquisitive stranger, and Sans couldn't help indulging a little as he slowly chewed and swallowed his latest bite. A few things of note: the guy must not have known him or Papyrus, if he was going to get them confused. Family resemblance didn't extend much past the whole bones thing. Secondly, he must've known of them though, again, not much. Not if he thought Papyrus would ever have this much pizza sauce on his shirt.

Reaching out a bony hand to shake, Sans grins wider.]

Papyrus. Nice to meetcha, slick.

march 6 (weeps she doesn't recognize him ;;)

[winces]

[ it has been several weeks since their arrival in woodhurst, but each day still brings about something new to marvel over. the dedicated dog-walker here, a coke bottle vending machine there. why, the other day, she spent a full fifteen minutes awestruck by the very existence of a record store. let alone the records inside!

of course, posing as a street musician (and the occasional lab assistant in the hospital) didn't really fill up one's coffers. so such luxuries were more to be ogled than possessed. but even when money is tight, and the infected grow steadily, olivia cannot really pass up an opportunity to let her curiosity roam. ]

A time machine? What happened to it?

[ her hand hovers over his cup, fingers pinched around a shiny silver coin. ]

(SOB... SOON...)

[skelepun]

Oh, y'know. A lotta things. I'd tell you more, but it's a pretty time consuming story.

[He winks, rattling the cup.]

Donations are always appreciated, o'course.

CLOSED TO GIOVANNI (March 14th)

[skelepun]

Like with most plans Sans made, the actually specifics part was never really a priority. He would show up when he showed up. Not really a call first kinda guy, in most things.

This time though, he wishes he had at least bothered to get Sonia's address. Not impossible to find, but it made him late. Not that it was anything new, him being late.

Knocking on the door, Sans ignores the dissonance of hearing bone against wood and seeing a fleshy hand. It's getting easier to do that, ignore it. Something about that fact makes Sans increasingly eager to get the cloak off.

"Yo, anybody home?" He asks, knocking a second time. "Special delivery."

[ofobedience]

The knocking at the door surprises him, just a little. Catches him almost off-guard because they've had fewer visitors of late, Sonia already sequestering herself in her room, working long hard hours on the cure that everyone's hopes are strung up on. There's the vague pulling together of his brows as he lithely gets up from the bed where he'd been reading, straightens his clothes. An annoyance, this, though it's better he deals with it than interrupt his 'sibling''-- she has too much to think about already.

And so he'll cross the apartment, head towards the door, stands there a moment with eyes vaguely narrowed behind the bright orange lenses of his glasses, before finally he reaches to open it, just a crack. The person on the other side is no-one he recognises, no-one he knows, and as such they receive a long, hard look, something impassive and implacable in his face.

His greeting-- it isn't particularly friendly.

"What do you want?"

CLOSED TO SONIA (March 14th)

[skelepun]

His brush with The Roommate aside, Sans didn't forget why he came here. His understanding of organics and their functions were limited the academic. Squinting at human medical texts and diagrams through waterstains and congealed sauce of discarded Chinese food. The dump may not have been the most glamorous library, but to a young skeleton with a thirst for learning how everything and everyone worked, it was the finest place he could imagine.

Unfortunately, it certainly didn't compare to actual knowledge or, honestly, owning the organs yourself. Theory, that's what Sans had to offer.

But a helping hand in a crisis was still a hand. Even if it didn't have the flesh to back it up.

"Ey, Sonia?" He asks through the door. His voice will be familiar, of course, even if the lack of cloak leaves his face considerably different. "It's the guy from the lab. The one with the cousin. Can I come in?"

i'm just sorry in advance cries

[assent]

Really she wasn't quite expecting him to just show up. Yes, she had given her address to Sieglinde to put on the network and yes she has met him before at the hospital, but this makes the irritation rise a little. Her bedroom isn't actually wear she works, the living room has been set up for that.

Her bedroom is where she takes out all the anger that builds up with the infection passing. It's where she takes oxytocin to calm herself, and she's pretty much only just finished up with that when she hears him speak up.

"No." The response is firm, harsh almost. She does follow it up though. "I shall be out in a moment. Please feel free to make yourself comfortable on the couch."

Whether he does or not is another thing, but she does at least try and brush through her hair once (a challenge in itself) and dab on a bit of make-up before going out. The signs are still there though, even with that on. She's on week 4 by now, so of course she isn't going to look great.

"You may have been better visiting Sieglinde, you are aware?"

She closes her bedroom door before he has the chance to look inside though, just because the state of it is enough to make anyone cringe.