[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

[losingherhead]

The fact you said wrap seriously without it being a burrito pun tells me something's wrong.

Do I need to call a doctor? [Only now is she noticing that something's wrong with his eyes.]

[exhumerus]

It was a burrito pun.

[He insists without energy, which is probably why it didn't come across as a joke in the first place. A pun just isn't a pun without a smart ass grin - something that is completely absent here.]

And not unless its a burrito doctor, because my lunch has got a bad case of the chills.

[He turns the microwave on again. Please don't ruin this for him, Celty.]

[losingherhead]

[She's gonna let the burrito do its thing in case he needs like, food or something.]

If you vomit that out, I'm calling an ambulance.

[exhumerus]

[He barely looks at the phone long enough to read it, this time.]

Don't get your helmet all askew. A doctor wouldn't know what the hell to do with any of this.

[losingherhead]

[Celty throws her hands up in the air sometimes, saying less "eeeeyyyyoooo" and more "for fuck's sake Sans".]

How exactly do you plan to get better then? Or is that not even on the radar for you?

[exhumerus]

Nah. I don't really see that happening.

[He leans down onto the counter, crossing his arms and resting his head on them. This works on account of how short he is.]

[losingherhead]

So laziness is taking a personally harmful route now.

[exhumerus]

Is that really new?

[He doesn't lift his head from his arms. He wonders if she actually cares or if she's just mad that he's slowing the band down.]

[losingherhead]

[She doesn't know the answer to that herself.]

I had assumed you had enough common sense not to self-destruct.

[exhumerus]

[At least that gets a reaction out of him, in that it makes him angry. He scowls at her.]

The hell does common sense have to do with anything?

[losingherhead]

[Good. Anger implies something she can work with, rather than a brick wall of apathy.]

Since the both of us were keeping our heads down during this whole mess, I assumed you had some modicum or it.

[exhumerus]

[He reads that and then scoffs, looking away.]

Yeah. Well. Maybe I just decided I don't care anymore.

[losingherhead]

[If Sans keep looking away, she's gonna switch it to text-to-speech mode just to make him listen.]

So you don't care so much that you've been pissing of Shen. Is that it.

[Yeah, she pays attention.]

[exhumerus]

[It gets him to look up, anyway. He waves that off with a hand.]

Pissing off Shen is its own reason.

[losingherhead]

[A sharp growl escapes before she represses it.]

So just piss everyone off and then die of whatever, that's the game plan here

[exhumerus]

[Oh boy, here we go. He brings up his hands, wiggling his fingers sarcastically.]

Sure, why not. It's not like there's much further down to go, is there?

[losingherhead]

Which means the skies the limit in terms of things getting better.

[exhumerus]

It doesn't get better.

[He snaps out the words with uncharacteristic impatience. He's got so much boiling inside of him right now, it feels impossible to hold back when he lets it latch onto him.]

You've got no clue what I'm even talking about.

[losingherhead]

Yes it does. [She grimaces at the last part.] Don't patronize me

[exhumerus]

Patronizing? I'm not. You factually do not know the experiences I am referring to or basically anything about me, so as far as I'm concerned I'm just stating facts.

[losingherhead]

And you're assuming other people haven't been through enough of their own shit to know what the duck they're talking about.

[That's an embarrassing time to be so angry as to not fix an autocorrect.]

[exhumerus]

[He doesn't even laugh at it. A grim sign of the state of things, indeed.]

I wouldn't worry about it. If something happens, I'll get replaced. Just like everything else.

[losingherhead]

Maybe I don't want that, dumbass.

[exhumerus]

[He stares at that message for a moment, flinching ever so slightly. He can't really see where that's coming from, but it makes him feel ever so slightly accountable, regardless. When he speaks again, it's with an overt hopelessness.]

It doesn't really matter what we want.

[losingherhead]

[There's a long pause before she drags a head down the helmet, sighing in frustration.]

I know its not fair and its hard.

But it'd be great if you could try to work with people.