[OPEN]

[exhumerus]

Who: Sans and YOU.
What: Sans regains some memories and loses some more skin. The result is pretty damn destabilizing.
When: After the REALITY SHOW.
Where: Virgo HQ and in (one of the) central parks.
Warnings: Body horror? Bare bones in places they shouldn't be. It's gross. Drugs. Drinking. A major depressive episode.

The dreams have been haunting him all month. The only thing that separates tonight from any other is the fact that, for once, the memories aren't leaving. There is no relief as he wakes, and as the reality of what he's he's faced sinks in, he's not sure there ever will be again.

He needs a drink, and desperately - water at first, maybe, but then ideally something stronger - and he fumbles out of bed. The fleshy parts of his body are soaked with perspiration, and he strips off his shirt in disgust. He doesn't fully notice what's happened until he steps out onto the stone flooring of the balcony.

Clack.

He looks down and, from his toes all the way up to the middle of his thighs, there is nothing but bone. The transition back to flesh is bloodless but incredibly disconcerting all the same - like the end of the meaty part on a chicken leg, except still alive and uncooked. That idea alone makes him want to throw up.

He needs to hide.

He teleports into the bathroom. It's still the middle of the night, and he can only hope that nobody will join him. His knees clack against the floor and he kneels to use the toilet to catch the physical manifestation of his disorientation of disgust. In that moment, he's not sure which part of himself he's more repulsed by - the part that is flesh, or the part that isn't.

The only thing that gets him to leave the toilet is the idea that someone might walk in on him like this. He staggers to his feet and heads over to the mirror, reluctant to see what's there. He's almost surprised to see a still human face looking back at him - albeit, short a few pounds.

Sans has been overweight for most of his life, but now that seems to be in a state of transition. His ribs and spine are weirdly pronounced, yet it's not like he's actually lost much of his round shape. It's almost like his bones have just become more pronounced, apropos of nothing. He sudden gauntness of his face makes him look like a meth addict.

He teleports back into his room, drags his comforter over his body, and just doesn't move for what feels like a very long time. What's the point?


a. The Park (OPEN)
It's an hour or two before sunrise when he finally leaves his room. He does what he can to hide that misfortune that is his body, wearing a few pairs of sweat pants under a pair of baggy jeans, and a few pairs of socks beneath a heavy pair of boots. He bundles up as much as a person reasonably can in such warm weather, and then some.

He grabs a couple flasks of liquor, a handful of pre-rolled weed, and then he's gone. He feels like he's going to freak out, and loudly, and he can't do that in the HQ.

Except...it never happens. Nothing really comes.

He spends at least an hour curled up in the corner of some kid of stone bench, drinking and smoking and whatever, but no emotional release finds its way to him. He doesn't get why. He just can't, and no amount of public intoxication seems to be doing the trick.

He leans over his folded knees, and can feel the harness of bone underneath. He can't fall asleep, either.


b. Back at Virgo (OPEN)
Later in the day, Sans has come out of his room in small amounts, mostly to grab food and use the toilet. Though he's wearing enough clothes to hide his bone situation, the gauntness of his face and hollowness of his eyes is still apparent. Getting through the day is proving to be a challenge - even more so than usual.

Comments

A

[panspermia]

It's been weeks since Greg and Sans last spoke. They've seen each other around, of course, but Greg always makes his best effort to avoid eye contact and make himself scarce as quickly as possible. It hurts--he hates it, every part of it. He knows this can't really be what Sans wants, either, but... he doesn't know what else they can do.

It's dark in the predawn park, and it would have been easy to slip by. He hasn't been sleeping well, and Greg doubts another strained, hurtful conversation would help either of them sleep any better. Before he can pull up his hood and slink away, however, something nags at Greg, and he looks back at the figure huddled on the bench.

Something's wrong. Really wrong. He'd been too caught up in himself to notice at first, but Sans has never indulged that much. Past that, the way his friend is huddled up... tentatively, Greg creeps forward, as though he might spook away an animal.

"Sans...?"

[exhumerus]

His first reaction is to go stiff - or as stiff as you can get when you're this intoxicated, anyway. He's not supposed to be here. He came out via teleportation instead of leaving like a normal person, for fear of attracting a body guard. It hadn't been the best decision, but then again, he'd been hardly rational when he made it. He couldn't stand having some asshole watch him do this like they weren't even there.

He forces himself to limber up again a moment later, and it's actually pretty hard to tell its him on a physical level, which is intentional. He mostly looks like a literal hobo clinging to their last bag of drugs and a flask.

But then he laughs, and that sound is familiar, even if it's sort of haggard and even rougher than usual. It's not a happy laugh.

"What d'ya want now?" he asks, very obviously drunk, amongst other things.

[panspermia]

The sound is familiar, but it puts Greg's hair on end. He's seen Sans in bad states before, sure, but never to this level. Something's gone way bad, and Sans' version of dealing with it has gone worse than ever. On top of that, there's a level of contempt in his voice that stings, even if it's lent by the alcohol. It's clear Sans didn't plan on being found like this. No one really does, while messing themselves up this badly.

"Christ, man... what happened?"

Greg steps in closer. Even if he's not wanted, he can't leave a friend in this state.

[exhumerus]

"Secret stuff," he says dismissively, burying his face behind one arm. "Nothin' all that interesting. Nothing anybody else needs to worry about, you know?"

Except Greg doesn't know. He doesn't know what he's talking about because nobody does, and nobody ever will because he's not going to tell them. It's not like it mattered anyway.

Or at least that's what he'd told himself.

[panspermia]

"You think whatever got you out here isn't going to make anyone worry?"

He rests a hand on one side of the bench--not blocking Sans in, but keeping him close. Damn it, Sans always does this. Or... does he? However long their friendship has been, he can't tell how true his impressions are, but... the times they actually spent together are still real.

"We're still friends, Sans. I want to help."

[exhumerus]

"Well you can't," he slurs, nestled forward into the excess padding of his clothing - which is most of it, at this point. He's on the edge of becoming sick from the crossfading he's been doing, and if he can refrain from puking directly on Greg he'll consider it a victory.

"It's just Sans being a piece of shit, am I right. Never did anything right no matter how many times I do it."

[panspermia]

"You know that's not true."

He knows Sans has trouble seeing it a lot of the time--a lot of people seem to--but Greg doesn't know where he'd be without Sans' support. Well, given the taste of these last few weeks, he has an idea. It's not a fun prospect, either way.

"Heck, even if it were, that doesn't mean you oughta deal with it alone. Let it out, man."

Perhaps literally. Greg's balancing on the balls of his feet, just in case he needs to jump out of the way.

B

[losingherhead]

[Celty didn't mean to run into Sans, she was just grabbing some things for practice. She can't help but raise an eyebrow at Sans beneath the helmet. He kept to himself, sure, but she was of the opinion that Sans probably wouldn't bother with too many layers. It sounded like a lot of effort for her mental image of the bandmate.]

Hey. Been keeping up your practicing?

[exhumerus]

[Sans is just microwaving a burrito or something inane at this point, handling food with his gloves on as has become his way. He looks like he's seen a ghost, and also possibly like he's swallowed it. If he notices her quiet judgement, he doesn't seem to pay much heed to it, just staring at the microwave with dead eyes.]

Fuck no.

[Sorry Celty, that's all he's got right now.]

[losingherhead]

[WELP.

She's going to casually press the off button on the microwave.

For kicks.]

[exhumerus]

[He stares at the microwave, and then stares at Celty.

Why did you do this to him, Celty? Why?

He turns it on again.]

[losingherhead]

[The ultimate betrayal, she's sure. It'd be a real dick move to turn it off again, huh.

WELL GUESS WHAT.]

[exhumerus]

[He's not mad, just disappointed.

He is so fucking tired.]

What...is this. What is happening here.

[losingherhead]

Just being pointlessly rude.

Looks like its a waste of everyone's time and has no purpose.

What are the odds.

A

[bass_instincts]

This probably isn't the best first impression to get from Sans, but it's who he finds as he wakes up early for a 'walk' in the part so that his manager doesn't start complaining at him to be more active.

He was planning on finding a decent place to sit to smoke some of his own hash when he smells Sans'. Usually it's better with some company so he follows the smell and asks, "Hey, can I join you?" He does notice how gaunt the man's face looks, and how heavily clothed he is, and honestly, a part of him is hoping that this guy has something stronger than weed to offer. Damn Squalo getting him to try coke.

[exhumerus]

Sans has definitely done stuff harder than weed as well, but keeping it to marijuana has been one of his few instances of self control. Maybe it's the scientist in him. It's a calculated choice - the lowest risk for the most effect. And hey, he's gotta have some dignity.

Not that he's keeping most of it right now.

"Not sure you're gunna enjoy that, kid," he slurs unhappily, wrapping an arm around himself a bit more tightly. Even companionable silence is going to be a bit much for him at the moment.

[bass_instincts]

"Looks like you could use it, even of you don't want it." He pulls out a joint anyway and lights up. "If you really wan't I won't force myself on you though."

A

[heroforfun]

[Oh hey, the second time he's met this little short guy. But there he is, drinking and smoking like crazy, looking really ill.]

Yo.

[The guy probably won't remember him at all, but he still wanders over from behind the bench, hands nonchalantly in his pockets.]

[exhumerus]

[He sort of does remember him - enough to make him turn to the stranger and squint, at least, like he's searching for details that are proving difficult to acquire. He coughs, abruptly, and then puts down the remains of a blunt, hiding his face.]

Buzz off.

[His voice shows how intoxicated he is, even with those few words.]

[heroforfun]

[Saitama just leans on the back of the bench, looking at him.]

You alright?

[He hasn't seen Frisk in a while, but he hasn't forgotten that she wants to save this guy.]

[exhumerus]

In a "gunna barf" kind of way, sure.

[He's obviously not that focused on making the guy leave, since he isn't persisting.]

[heroforfun]

Well, did you puke already?

[exhumerus]

Not recently or anything.

[Count your blessings.]

B

[hanginginthere]

The tension between them hasn't gotten any better, but even Shen can tell when someone he dislikes is under the weather. On the other hand, he's more apt to blame it on things like drugs or alcohol - and shoots a particularly dirty look at Sans as he enters the bathroom.

He may have to share, but that doesn't mean he has to be nice about it.

[exhumerus]

Sans doesn't even miss a beat before wearily flashing Shen the middle finger. He proceeds to wordlessly take the opportunity to go pee in the bathtub.

He may have to share, but that doesn't mean he can't be a gross asshole about it.