interstellar5555 | Dance, Dance, REVOLUTION

Entry tags:

Dance, Dance, REVOLUTION

Who: Frisk and OPEN
What: Come bother Frisk at work!
When: Saturday afternoon
Where: Pizza Planet

[A]

Pizza Planet is a big, kid-themed pizza chain, popular for birthday parties. The Vista City location where Frisk works is attached to the mall, and as such is particularly large and extravagant. There's singing animatronics, sure, but the main attraction is the games.

Frisk's job, today, is to restock all the machines with tickets. They're pretty small for a worker. If not for their employee uniform, complete with a little hat, they could easily blend in with the children shouting joyfully and running from game to game. But for the most part they ignore them, focusing on their work. As fun as that would be, making good friends with any kids from here would cause too many problems. They're not sure they could contain themself, if the topic of music ever came up...

They go quietly from machine to machine, opening up a panel on each with a key and loading in a new roll of tickets. Out on the game floor like this, it's not unusual to get approached by customers.

Honestly, it's not entirely unusual for Frisk to just hand some kids a few tickets here and there either. It's against the rules, but it's not like anyone notices. And it makes people so happy!

[B]

They get a break for lunch, but Frisk doesn't really need the full time. They're used to scarfing down their meals fast, and it's a habit that's never fully faded. So they can be found in their street clothes for part of the afternoon, playing Dance Dance Revolution alone in the corner.

As it happens, they are utterly killing it.

The easier songs have long since ceased to be fun, so now they're working their way down from the hardest options. Some kids stop to watch from time to time, but they're largely heedless of any silent onlookers. Their mind is elsewhere.

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In the past he might have been. Now, of course, he has his own reasons to not be all that concerned with the possibility of Frisk turning on him. That sense of security feels very natural. Sometimes, it's hard to remember how he lived without it.

"Lead the way," he prompts, nodding Frisk ahead. He's not that worried about getting caught by their boss, or whatever. He's got his excuses prepared. The idea of talking to this person in genuine privacy is enthralling, though. There is so much they could know about what's happening that he doesn't.

Sans will follow Frisk into the employee only area without any complaint. Once they are inside, he takes a moment to give himself the tour of the area before turning to face them.

"Hey, maybe this is a crass way to start, but..." he trails off for a moment, and then sighs helplessly. "Kid, I gotta know what you're doing here. I got practically no idea."

The employee-only hall isn't much to look at. This one isn't near the kitchens; it's just got a few storage areas, and occasionally some costumed performers without their heads. They're supposed to keep the kids from seeing them like that. Now, though, it's empty except for Frisk and Sans.

After a quick check around, Frisk turns back to Sans, angling themself to watch the door as well. If anyone comes in, they can duck into one of the storage closets. For once, that seems like the more worrying aspect of this conversation; Sans's first question has an easy answer. "I came for you," they reply easily. "And Toriel. I know - " They chew at their lip for a second. "I know she's not with you guys anymore. But she's somewhere."

Did Sans know that? Well, he does now.

This is nerve wracking. Sans doesn't show his stress easily, but it manifests in small ways - like a certain manic glint to his eyes, for example. Being active is not something he excels at.

"You're from...wherever I came from," he says. It's not a question - this must is obvious at this point, even though his mind is still uneasy with the solution. How could he be from somewhere else? The distractions still left in his mind try to convince him this information is false, even when that's obviously not the case. It's sort of maddening.

"Do you happen to know why I'm here, then?" He casts an uneasy glance off to the side. Is he really facing the reality of his entire life here being a sham? He thinks he is. This is awful.

Frisk frowns in concern, tilting their head slightly. He's so much easier to read with skin and muscles and things; still, they think most people might not be able to see how freaked out he is.

That doesn't mean they're going to lie though. They've all had enough of that here. "You were kidnapped," they reply. Their tone is soft; they're trying not to be too blunt about it. But that's what happened. "Not just you."

He already knew full well that he was being kept against his will, but it had always seemed more like the result of making a stupid business deal. Tricked into entering the trap with honey, not literally captured. Ever since he ended up with bones for arms, he's been operating under the assumption that its some kind of spiritual resonance - crazy macroscopic past life regression.

But if some is here for him, someone he remembers...it can't be in the past like that. It must be all linear.

Sans is silent for a moment, and the thoughts buzzing through his head are clearly visible to someone like Frisk, who knows what to look for. Is he dead or something? He's never felt dead, but maybe he is.

"Kidnapped from where? The graveyard?" His tone is hard, despite himself. He has no reason to be upset at Frisk, but the stress manifests as a kind of bitterness that Frisk wouldn't have seen much of in the past.

Frisk raises an eyebrow and shakes their head.

"Probably your house." Does being a skeleton bother him that much? The sense of frantic thought, trying to piece things together - that's to be expected. But the anger? They don't feel like they'd be very upset, if they found out that they were some rare type of monster and not a human after all. But they've known about monsters already. They're also not brainwashed.

"Skeleton monsters aren't the same as human skeletons," they try to explain. It's not that they're an expert in monster biology either; they just know more than most humans. "Human skeletons are dead people. Monsters are alive whatever they're made of." There's monsters made out of metal and rock and fire, after all. They don't need to have humanish bodies to live.

Does this mean Sans remembers being a skeleton now? That's good, right?

The strange thing is that he hadn't been angry about it at all until recently. He'd reacted to the idea of being nothing but bone very casually, when it came down to it. Why is it that only now the idea has him frustrated? Maybe it's the stress taking its toll on him. Maybe it seems worse upon realizing that his life as a skeleton doesn't accentuate, but replaces his entire identity here.

Frisk's explanation seems to calm him though, at least in part. It's enough to distract him - fascinate him. He wouldn't have expected something like a skeleton to be a living creature, but then again, he wouldn't expect something dead to be able to heal like his arm had. Not that he hadn't had some help.

"Right...so what was the deal with that ice cream? It was kind of, uh...an experience." A good one, generally, but an experience all the same.

"That's Nice Cream. My friend sells it." Did Sans notice the nice thing written on the wrapper? "It's not because of it, it's just 'cause all monster food does that. It's made with magic, so it just goes straight into energy. Not like human food." They scrunch up their face a little and gesture vaguely towards the area of their stomach. You know how human food works by now, right?

"It's good for healing," they conclude, though they had wondered how effective it would be on a monster. Maybe it's because he's part-human now? Or maybe that's why they never really see injured monsters. "But some food's better, so tell me if you need more." Nice Cream's good for most things, but when they get in the worst fights it's good to have some backup cinnabuns.

"Huh. So the healing properties are normal? I was wondering. I tried to examine a sample but there was nothing for it." He glances down at his right elbow. It's been feeling a little sore, but it's been a lot better since he ate the ice cream. "Probably a good thing. I had no idea bones were so fragile."

He wiggles his gloved fingers in way of example. It's a moment of good humor in his otherwise frustrated mood. He's starting to trust this kid, whether he ought to our not.

Frisk frowns deeply. "You have to be careful. Monsters get hurt easier than humans. You're made of more magic than stuff." They don't really know what stuff is different, but they pat their own chest demonstratively. It's not that monsters are weak. They've gotten killed by monsters a bunch of times - but they know that they did far more than their fair share of damage in turn. It was too easy.

Of course, they don't think it's the same if a monster just stubs their toe or something. It's about wanting it. That'll just make it so much easier for the bosses.

"I don't know about...that," they say, gesturing generally to the fleshy parts of Sans. "I don't know what they did. But if someone hits your bones and they wanna hurt you, they will. 'Cause the magic feels it."

Sans can't help it. The words cause him to hesitantly reach to his upper forearm, clasping the bones beneath his jacked between his gloved fingers. The way his bone had just shattered when Artolo had dug his teeth into them, how much it had hurt when Rarity slapped him, like something that dug deep beneath the skin. Even Shen's careful push had rattled him right down to the bones.

What kind of bullshit is this? All someone has to do to hurt him is just want to badly enough? The idea feels him with irritation, and with a sense of impotency. When he first discovered his arms had returned to a skeleton state, it had been almost comforting, in a way.

Now the idea is terrifying and infuriating. He clenches his fist hard enough that, for a moment, he entertains the idea of cracking his own digits just from stress. Wouldn't that be hilarious?

It take him a moment to calm down, and Frisk can probably see it. In the end, resignation manages to overpower his panic, and he carefully moves to tug the glove off of his right hand. There's nothing but bone underneath. He spreads his fingers in Frisk's direction.

"Oh, yeah. I felt it, alright."

Frisk winds their own fingers together, chewing uneasily on their bottom lip as Sans takes the news. Should they say something? The way his hand curls into a fist scares them a little, and they know full well that monsters can hurt themselves just the same, if they want it. And they remember the way he talked when they were inside Asriel. Everybody else said things they expected, things that made sense to them, but Sans...

Whatever it is, he pushes it down again. Is that new? Or just something they never saw?

They make a short gesture towards his hand as it's uncovered - if Sans doesn't move, they'll take it carefully in both their own to examine it. It looks the same as normal. Feels the same. This is good. They can't quite get up to feeling happy again right now, but it is progress.

"It's not very fair," they acknowledge. Humans can easily outclass monsters in a fight; they never had a chance in war, without getting any souls. "But monsters can use magic, and we can't." Except for ancient barrier-making wizards, apparently? Frisk doesn't know much about all that. They do know that whatever magic Sans may have now won't be enough to beat the bosses. Toriel couldn't fight them off.

"Who hurt you?" they ask quietly.

He's been remembering a lot about magic, lately. It's probably one of the things he remembers about his real life most completely. Various arcane concepts, miscellaneous formula...he does't think he could recreate a lot of it in this environment, because it's like learning to walk all over again. Back home, though, he knew his shit. He's only just managed to figure out teleporting again, and a little bit of questionable summoning.

Something about still having that, at least, is comforting. He lets Frisk look over his hand as much as they see fit.

"Just got into a bit of a disagreement with someone from over at Pride," he says, discussing it much more casually than it probably warrants. "It wasn't any of the bosses...except maybe in a really roundabout kinda way."

Technically it had been Blanche's call to mind control everyone into fighting people, which is where the rage had come from, so it was sort of his fault.

Another musician? Well, that's...Frisk isn't sure how angry you can really get at someone whose mind isn't working right anyway. They've forgiven Flowey a lot more than a hurt arm.

"It all is." None of them would have to be here, if it weren't for those two. They're not human or monster; whatever they are, they seem more like a monster with human souls. Gods. "They're not human either," Frisk says, with the air of someone acknowledging something entirely obvious. "You can't fight them. And you can't run away right now. They put chips in everybody's brains."

Apparently satisfied with his hand, they curl their fingers around his once more before letting it drop. "But if your skull turns back and it comes out, you need to leave before they see."

Sans isn't exactly holding a grudge either - not against Artolo, anyway. He did stab the guy, after all. Against the system that caused it, though? Yeah. A grudge is probably a thing.

As Frisk releases his hand, he can't help but immediately reach upwards, feeling the back of his neck gingerly. In his brain? In his brain. Another surge of panic hits him, which he has to fight to keep at bay. He's always guessed something like this might be the case, but the confirmation brings it to the front of his mind - have they already noticed him using his abilities? Are they only hiding their awareness for the sake of fooling him?

His teeth clench, grinding ever so subtly with the fear inside of him. So, he has a chip in his brain until the day that his face melts off and then...well what else is he supposed to do, but run? If he can even survive that long.

"You gotta fess up with me. What kind of infrastructure have you got around here? It's...it's not good, kid. Maybe worse than you've seen, from the outside." His gaze settles on them - he can't believe he's putting so much dependence into a child. "I've got people I need to get out of there, but I don't even know where home is from here. I have ways of making it happen but they need somewhere to go."

Frisk was expecting some panic at that one, honestly. Brain surgery's never good.

"Not much." It's a lot of weight, but they're used to standing up under heavy expectations. They can handle it. "We just got here a little before that concert. There were more of us, but some disappeared." A faint frown creases their brow; they're trying not to worry too much about that, but it's hard. At least none of the others have shown up onstage.

"Silver's going to make a machine to get the chips. If you get out with them, the bosses will just teleport to you and get you again. But he says after it's done we can start trying to get you all out." Should they be telling him this much? Well, they're doing it. They should at least take a few precautions though. "Some of you are getting music magic, and that makes the brainwashing worse. He's afraid of spies. But I guess once we can get the chips, you can get on the spaceship and go back home."

They think that's a good idea, at least. The musicians are too recognizable around here - they'd be safer if they just got out. Frisk intends to stay until they're all out, though, and presumably until the bosses are dealt with. Just rescuing their friends and leaving won't help the real problem.

Music magic. Greg.

Sans's eyes widen in clear sight. Has it really been making his situation worse this whole time? Sans had no idea. This whole time he'd thought it was something that would be a boon to them, and advantage, and now...how far along is he? Has Greg already been compromised in ways he didn't expect?

Greg, the person that he's been showing all his exciting new deformities and taking on late night roadtrips to Pride? He can't believe that. It can't be that simple.

His breath comes uneasily. In moments like this it's almost like he can't remember how, like it's not something that's really a priority. He breathes in deep and exhales, trying to get himself together.

"So, what's the ETA on the machine?" he asks. The panic is mostly kept from his voice, in ever sense besides a subtle cutting edge of intensity. His left eye itches for some reason.

"Dunno. We've gotta rob a hospital or...someplace." What are the places that take people's kidneys, exactly?

Whatever they're going to rob, Frisk isn't sure if they have concrete plans about that yet. They got more into the talks about the robots. "Some people are gonna take one of the managers soon. I dunno if it'll be yours. They're all robots, so it's not..." Well, they hope it's not an ethical nightmare. "We'll see what they know."

They fall silent, tilting their head slightly as they look Sans over. There's no reason anyone in the world would take any of this news well, really. Still. "We don't know there's spies. Silver and Gold just say there might be. They worry." About things like, say, making contact with the musicians this early. Oooooops?

Maybe they need a little added urgency. Frisk would go take care of it themself, but...honestly, there's only so much high-end medical equipment they can even carry in one go. "What's happening inside?"

Now people are robots? Oh god. Sans thinks about his own manager, how she constantly told him about her cats...were the cats even real? If so, why did she have them? Did a soulless robot even need something like that? Were they just for show?

Way too many things feel like they are melting down around him, right now. His entire conception of reality has been officially blown. Yet, for the purpose of this conversation, he soldiers on. He doesn't want to let the degree this is shaking him up show. He swallows, trying to smooth his dry throat.

"A bunch of people...staged some kind of subvertive action against the labels. A group on both sides. I don't know what they did, exactly...it mighta involved freeing someone or something. But they got caught, and the hammer came down hard.

"They all got tortured, and...I guess more brainwashed than before. Some of 'em are just kids." Like you, he thinks, with an unexpected swell of fondness that he wasn't expecting, nor can he find a place for. For a moment...Frisk felt like they must be something important to him, but he doesn't know how, beyond a few rare memories. He shakes his head to himself, trying to ignore the feeling for now. He just had to keep going.

"In December, a bunch of us in Virgo got mind controlled into trying to murder Pride members at a party. Revenge for that mighta been the source of the 'disagreement' I mentioned earlier."

He hadn't actually accomplished anything, but the merciless sensation of it still haunted him sometimes - as well as the memory he has of what he did to Frisk. He still doesn't understand, and he finds himself momentarily incapable of keeping eye contact. He stares at his feet, his hands tucked in his pockets.

Honestly, Frisk doesn't know what to say to that. Their instinct is always to fix things - but sometimes, you just can't. Even if they pulled out all the stops, they just weren't here in December.

They unconsciously imitate Sans's posture, slipping their own hands into their pockets. "I'll tell them." It's vague, but that might be best. Some of the rescuers might be angry at the ones who sorta accidentally tried to kill their friends. Of course, it might not be new information to everybody. They wonder if Silver and Gold know exactly how bad things are.

Their first priority has to be the machine. Maybe they can help get the stuff somehow after all.

"We're not leaving anyone here," they say carefully, because they are and they want Sans to know that. "We're going to get everybody out."

It is a comfort, deep down, even if Sans doesn't know if he's going to make it that far. This conversation makes getting taken out seem less acceptable - he'd kind of hate to disappoint in that regard, especially when they came all this way to try to help him.

He just feels like everything is starting to slip through his fingers. It's helplessness to a depth that he's not really comfortable discussing.

Hopeful assurances aside, though his thoughts about that night at Naomi's still linger. The memories of Frisk that he still can't place or explain, from everything he's witnessed. He resolutely stares at the floor.

"...Say, kid," he says, without ever directly acknowledging that promise. "...How to put this. Did I ever...when you knew me, did I..." Kill. Repeatedly. Without remorse. "...Hurt you?"

And did they ever do the same?

"No." It can't be entirely comforting how easily they respond, though. Not at all shocked, as one might react to an outlandish idea. Frisk sounds like that's a natural question among friends.

They dealt with that possibility a long time ago, after their very first dinner with Sans. It was scary then; it had all seemed so strange and awful, right when they were starting to feel really comfortable with monsters. They called Papyrus afterwards, just to hear him speak normally to them, and never told him why.

But of everybody, Sans is the only one who's never hurt them at all. Even Alphys set up that whole thing with Mettaton, but him? All he's ever done is be creepy sometimes. Deep down, they do believe that he'd have killed them without Toriel's promise. He's always seemed more than just simply lazy to them. But why worry about something that never happened anyway? Whatever lies have been put into his mind, they know it never did.

"It was your job to help capture me, but you didn't." They smile, thinking of convenient lamps. "You helped me instead."

Sans isn't entirely against the idea of it being some kind of fabrication - something made up to mess with him. Yet, at the same time...those memories had been some of the earliest he ever remembered, before the labels had ever clued in to how much any of them new. How could he kill someone like Frisk?

How could someone like Frisk kill so many other?

The answer doesn't seem to console him, regardless of how easy the answer comes. He still doesn't look at them.

"Don't know why, but...that's not how I remember it."

If it had been his job to capture them, he'd sure done a shitty job.

Edited 2016-02-25 05:47 (UTC)

"I don't know either." Obviously they've got some theories. They know it must have been the bosses. But Frisk can't really explain why they'd bother to put fake memories like that in if they were just going to erase everything anyway. Maybe it's for the same reason they took Sans instead of Mettaton, whatever that is.

Will it help if they tell him stories? It's easy to talk about their first meeting. That was more or less the same every time. They weren't always the same, but what happened was.

"You were a sentry in Snowdin, outside the door to the Ruins. There's nothing else out there. It's just a big dark forest and a door. When I came through, you snuck up behind me and did your creepy voice." Hopefully Sans is aware of his creepy voice.

Creepy voice? He has to think about that for a minute. Does he have a creepy voice? Not just a creepy voice that he uses all the time, but the creepy voice from the way Frisk is describing it. How creepy are they talking?

He thinks about this for longer than it probably warrants.

"How creepy are we talkin'?" he asks. "Seems important to set up the scene right."

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