Sans the Skeleton (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
exhumerus) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
interstellar55552016-03-28 12:02 am
exhumerus) wrote in interstellar55552016-03-28 12:02 am
Entry tags:
[OPEN]
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.
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.
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"The actual reasons? They don't make you feel any better."
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"So you're trying to... forget, again?" There's no judgment in the question, just an attempt to understand. Greg can't say he'd handle it any better if home sounded just as messy and terrifying as here.
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"It never fucking ends."
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"I'm sorry." It feels so paltry. He wanted Sans to share, just to release some of that pressure that's built up, but Greg doesn't even know what to say now.
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"I can't believe...no, I can believe it... That after all that mess...after everything..." He sounds especially hollowed out, now, like there's an emptiness that goes deep down. "That someone just takes everything. That somehow...my life becomes more pointless. It's incredible."
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"You know... we're not alone, right?" he ventures, haltingly. "There are people trying to get us our lives back."
Though Greg doesn't say it, the question hangs: does Sans want it back? He knows Sans doesn't want to be stuck here, but does he have anything he wants to return to?