interstellar5555 | [closed prompts] at the big finale i would tear my face away

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[closed prompts] at the big finale i would tear my face away

Who: Sans and a whole shwack of people.
What: Sans’s skin falls off and so he decides it’s time to leave. If you want in, then hit me up OOC!
When: April 13th, 2055
Where: Various places, Virgo HQ
Warnings: Body horror and feelings.

Sans has been laying low the past few days - after another appointment with Silver, he has to be on his guard. Nothing manifested immediately, which means he is going to be in suspense until something does. A couple times that’s meant entire parts of his body melting off, and he has to be prepared for the idea that it might happen again.

He doesn’t have much flesh left, at this point. There can’t be much left to go.

He’s hoping for more of his magic back instead, but he’s never had much choice before. When he abruptly starts feeling ill early one evening, he instinctually goes straight for the bathroom. Instead of throwing up, he coughs up nothing but dust. And then it gets way, way worse.

The process would be nightmarish for anyone less prepared, and for him it still scores a solid ‘horrifying.’ Like his arms and his legs before, everything that made him humans seems to fall apart into dust all at once, except for this time there is just so much of it. It gets all over the floor and trails into the shower, where he feverishly attempts to wash the rest of it off.

When he’s done, he’s washed himself quite literally down to the bone. He doesn’t have much time to get used to what he catches sight of in the mirror, either. It’s done. He can’t stay here anymore. Not like this.

He has to act now.

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I can't.

It sits in his mind, like a wall. No reason he can come up with budges it. Nothing he throws against it will wear it down. No amount of want or desire will get him past it. It offers no reasoning, no rationale, no assurances.

I can't.

Sans can probably guess from the silence, from the avoided gaze and withdrawn posture. His friend had little hope for him from the start, and Greg can't blame him. Greg takes a deep breath. He can't. It's solid, unmutable fact. But there are things he can do.

"Let me help you."

Despite its good intentions, the offer only serves to frustrate Sans. It's clearly dodging his intention of getting Greg out too - trying to turn the tables so the focus is on Sans instead. He steps forward, his stance becoming less cautious.

"I don't need it. Greg." He gestures with his hand demonstratively. "I've got this one. All you gotta do is give me the word and we're out of here." His increasing stress is clear in his voice. Part of him is starting to consider that he could just do it, even without Greg's permission. Maybe he should just try to take him, whether he wants it or not.

"You know I can't." Greg's hands curl into fists, frustrated with himself. "Blanche has my number. Wherever I go, he's gonna find me. That'll put you in danger, too."

He pulls his eyes from the floor, to try and find Sans' eyes under that hood. "Let me do this for you. If this is goodbye... I want to make sure I did what I could."

For a moment he's inclined to tell Greg that that's bullshit, that he's no different from the rest of them. But what the hell does he know? He honestly doesn't know a damn thing about how the execs work when it comes down to it, and can he really afford to put the kid and the others at risk by introducing that kind of chaotic element to an already dangerous situation?

He raises his hand, a soft glow around his finger tips, and for a moment he's convinced that he's going to do it anyway. But he loses his nerve. Shoulders sinking, he lowers his hand. He can't do it. Not like this.

He shakes his head and looks away - until what Greg says has him looking back with a suddenness that forsakes his attempts to hide himself. The eyes Greg will find in the shade of Sans hood bear seemingly no resemblance to the Sans he is familiar with, besides perhaps some intangible inner spark. Boney white circles two dark voids, with nothing but two glowing lights within them.

Yet somehow, they emote just the same as any human. Sans's hurt is obvious - at least to someone like Greg.

"What are you even talking about?" he asks, looking down again and pushing up his scarf again, realizing that he's probably let his disguise slip.

Knowing what's under the hood is a good deal different from seeing it. Yet despite his uncertainty, Greg doesn't flinch at the sight. It's still Sans in there--the real Sans, if Greg trusts his word. And he does.

His mouth dry and heart racing, Greg scrambles over to his guitar. "I've never done this before, but..." He can do this. He can heal a gem, he can give life to plants, and he can surely grant power to a friend. This is why he bore this torment until now. "...But you have."

With an effort of will, he plays a chord--it's light, but forceful, and more melodic than one stroke at the strings should be--and a trombone appears between them.

"Play with me, Sans. One last song."

Okay, well...that's weird. Sans is taken back a little by the sudden offer. Sure, he's done this with Silver more than enough times, but...it doesn't feel right, here, like it isn't the time or place.

"...You really don't get how stealth operations work, do ya?"

It's a legitimate criticism but its also sort of a joke. He chuckles uncomfortably, relenting a little.

"...You're talking about doing your magic, right? For what?"

Edited 2016-04-12 23:10 (UTC)

Greg grins back, weakly. "You'd be surprised how sneaky musical numbers can be." ....okay, so he had gotten caught, but it got him a lot further than he expected. If they're quick, Sans will be fine. Right?

"I haven't tested it out or anything yet, but I'm pretty sure I can give some of what I learned to you. Name it, man, whatever I can manage, I'll pass to you."

He glances around the room. "I'll make it quick. But I need you to play with me to make sure you get what you need."

This is so fucking absurd, how could he say no? Part of him is yelling that he needs to get going and that this is a stupid waste of time, but as a parting gesture...hell, maybe that added boost is something he'll need. He doesn't know.

Part of it is just that he doesn't have the heart to turn Greg down. Not when he's spent so much time feeling shit about what happened between them.

He sighs, and takes the trombone. Tugging down the scarf is obviously necessary for this, though he isn't sure how it's going to work, anyway. His mouth doesn't really move, even while he speaks, like a voice is just being magically projected.

"I have some logistical concerns regarding the mouth piece," he comments lightly. Then again, Frisk told him he'd played the trombone before, so...maybe not?

...huh. It's sort of strange. He's undeniably looking at a skull, yet still it somehow manages to look just like Sans all the same. Greg laughs, faint and without much humor.

"Hey, we're magic. I bet it'll work out."

He taps his finger against his guitar, drumming out a beat, before starting out a song altogether too bright, upbeat, and too friendly. A song that doesn't sound like a goodbye, or convey all his fear. Not at first listen, anyway.

" Have you ever been close to tragedy,
Or close to folks to have?
Have you ever felt a pain so powerful,
So heavy you collapse? "

Greg plays, and fills it with everything he hopes Sans can do. Sans, and the people outside, and people who haven't fallen as far as him yet. He trusts Sans will play along, just for now.

" No...? Well... "

Sans doesn't actually know this song intellectually speaking, or at least he didn't think he did. It must be something to do with the way Greg is playing it, though, because as soon as he gets his hand on the slide of the trombone he knows what he's supposed to do - so much like the duets he's done before, like this.

He's not sure how you're supposed to buzz when you have no lips, but he just focuses on somehow willing himself to do so, and... it works? The sound comes from the trombone as clear as ever, despite the fact all he's really doing is rattled his teeth again it.

Alright then.

He closes his eyes and tries not to think too hard about what they're doing. Just like every time before.

Not thinking too much about it has generally proven to be the best method, in Greg's experience. The more he feels the music, the easier the magic becomes. That's always been the way, hasn't it?

"I never had to knock on wood
But I know someone who has
Which makes me wonder if I could
It makes me wonder if I...
Never had to knock on wood
And I'm glad I haven't yet
Because I'm sure it isn't good
That's the impression that I get"

Sans probably can't feel it, but Greg can sense the energy being gathered around them. He really did get used to this whole Musical Power thing pretty quickly, all things considered.

It occurs to Sans that despite spending a lot of time with Greg during his time here, he's very rarely actually played music with him. Hell, he rarely played music except when he had to for particular band work. Even in his false memories, did he ever care that much about this?

He feels more strange about it now than he ever has before. In his own body, on the verge of leaving. The further this goes the harder it is to tell what's real from what's fake.

"Have you ever had the odds go up so high
You need a strength most don't possess?
Or has it ever come down to do or die
You've got to rise above the rest?
No? Well..."

Greg still has to peer through the haze and recall that their old plans of starting a band together never truly happened. When, exactly, did they first meet, greeting each other like old friends?

It's confusing, but he considers it one small advantage that Virgo didn't know it gave. Sans has always been a mess, but he's been a helpful mess. Greg's glad to have known him. He just hopes this will give a little of that back.

"I never had to knock on wood
But I know someone who has
Which makes me wonder if I could
It makes me wonder if I...
Never had to knock on wood
And I'm glad I haven't yet
Because I'm sure it isn't good
That's the impression that I get"

Sans can feel the same kind of magical power settle in around him, the same as it's been with Silver, though...somehow different, somehow clearly belonging to another person. Greg. It feels like him in a way he can't quite put a finger on. He wonders if Silver's magic has unique qualities like that as well?

The tension has almost faded by the time they reach what feels like the song's conclusion. The fear that's been lingering in his ribs since he found himself changed has been pushed aside, if only for a moment - but it isn't meant to last. Because just as the magic has done its work, Sans feels another force attempt to pull on him. It acts fast, and its only thanks to his naturally fast reflexes that he manages to summon up his own counter teleportation spell before it can close in.

He drops the trombone, sidestepping across the room and reappearing with a startled expression on his face. He knows what that was, it was-

"Greg!" he snaps, trying to get his attention, before any of it really has the chance to process. He feels the same pull coming on again but stronger this time, and when he wrenches himself away its like something has a hold of him - that he just barely breaks away from, and sends himself sprawling across the room and face down onto the floor.

They are not alone.

In the same moment that Sans falls, Blanche appears between him and Greg with little introduction. His sights are immediately set on Sans, preparing about spacial manipulation in an attempt to snare the little mage, even as he speaks. Dealing with other people’s time-space distortions is so annoying.

“You made yourself useful after all, Universe,” he says coldly, belying a deep inner fury.

No.

No no no no this can't be happening he can't let this happen this is his fault he has to--

"Sans, go! "

Greg snarls, a noise unfamiliar with his voice, and vines lash out from a potted plant at Blanche. He can't beat the man, but hell if he won't put everything into distracting him.

Blanche wasn't actually expecting that.

Normally he would have been so ready to shut an attack like that right down, but Greg has historically shown nothing but non-violent passivity. With his sights set on Sans, he didn't even consider that Greg would do anything but mewl about it.

The vines strike with his attention very much distracted. The places along Blanche's shoulder where they connect flicker and shred like small tears have formed in the fabric of space in place of his flesh - they glitter with something like starlight before flashing closed again.

Blanche turns and gives Greg what can only be described as a look.

Sans wasn’t expecting it either – but instead of being confused and infuriated, he finds himself bolstered. For a moment, he had been honestly convinced that Blanche was here because Greg had intentionally tricked Sans into sticking around, more far gone than Sans had convinced himself to believe –

But he didn’t. Not if that reaction means anything.

What Sans does next is running purely on instinct, something that feels reflexive and natural despite it having been taken away from him months ago. He wasn’t even aware it was something he’d regained until this moment. When he reactively summons his blasters, he almost expects that they are going to appear in their mini version, cute but totally useless in a real fight.

Instead, a hovering dog skull twice the size of his own body is summoned, and proceeds to breathe laser right through Blanche and burning a sizeable crater in the wall. A moment later, the exec is gone...but Sans is pretty damn sure he didn’t just vaporize him. He probably just teleported again.

Greg's a little shocked by his own actions too, and for all his defiance in that moment he still flinches under Blanche's look.

He doesn't have a whole lot of time to spend being cowed, as suddenly there's yet another thing appearing out of nowhere in his room. Greg had seen the Blasters before, tiny little things that held stuff for you and burned as bright as a candle. They'd grown up. Had he done that--?

There's only a second to react, before the laser rips through his room. The force of it leaves Greg's ears ringing, spots of lights clouding his vision even after he'd shielded his eyes. He blinks at his green-tinted room--the maids had never kept it from being a cluttered mess, and what wasn't incinerated was strewn about the floor as debris.

Wait, green-tinted...? Greg presses his hands against the walls of the bubble he'd sealed himself inside. It doesn't yield under his touch. Oh god, there's no time to figure this thing out.

"Sans!" His voice is muffled through the bubble. "Hurry!"

The hell did Greg just do? Sans takes a moment to balk at Greg's second magic trick - some of the most overt stuff he's ever seen Greg do. A shield bubble, huh? Seems useful.

But he doesn't have any time. Any goodbyes seem fated to be even more truncated than expected, and instead of being able to think of anything to say Sans just immediately attempts to teleport again. He gets as far as actually disappearing, before being pulled out of the shortcut far too soon and plowing into the wall in the hallway outside of Greg's room. The one bright side is that when he sees Blanche appear again, he's already got his blaster summoned with him.

Another laser streaks down the hall, lighting up the space behind Greg's door. Sans tries to teleport again, but each time its like something reaches out and snares him each time, dragging him out before he can get where he's intending.

But that can't stop him from shooting up the HQ.

The sounds are more than enough to tell Greg that it's not working. Even with Greg's help and the jumbo-sized blasters, it's not enough to do any more than hold Blanche off. There's only so long that'll work.

For a second, Greg can't move. The bubble that's protecting him keeps him in this room, unable to work any knobs or even fit through doors. Blanche is going to kill him for getting in his way, it's better for him to stay here, stay safe, minimize the damage he's done. Outside, the roar of laser blasting rattles his door on its hinges and makes him shudder.

The bubble pops, suddenly.

Greg sucks in a breath, and runs for the door. They're going to wreck this place and wind up dead if he can't protect Sans.

Sometimes the sounds stop completely, like the two of them have momentarily disappeared to a different part of the building, and then returning a minute later, mid strike. It doesn't take long for Sans to have a change in priorities. It's so obvious now - he's not making it out of this one after all.

But he's still going to be as big of a pain in the possible, biting Blanche's ankles until he can't anymore, because he realizes now that every second Blanche is here is a second he can't be searching for Rarity and the others. He's not going to be a winner here but maybe he can achieve being a distraction.

He fights for every moment in a way that feels both familiar and distant. He'll probably die, but...since when has that ever mattered?

But he's already so tired. He returns to the penthouse with all three blasters firing, and every attack feels like its draining the marrow from his bones. His exhaustion is obvious in his eyes and in the way his stance is increasingly lowered and unbalanced. This is what this fight is. Wearing him down until he breaks under the pressure, and he knows he will until the one moment he isn't quite fast enough.

Whatever grabbed him in the shortcut finally keeps hold - black like the void of space. It grabs him and pulls him to the ground as his bones shake and the light in his and his blaster's eyes flicker. His bone is drenched in sweat against all reason.

He tugs against the spacial rift locked into his legs and then collapses down onto his knees. His sockets are wide and terrified with inevitability of what's about to come next.

It's only then that Blanche actually reappears, ostensibly capable of causing rifts from even a completely different location. His expression is stone-like he as he approaches, his hands crossed behind his back as if making it clear that he doesn't even really need to move to give the death blow.

Whatever he's going to do, he easily could have done it near instantaneously. The fact that he is letting this moment linger is quite likely purely out of sadism.

Tendrils of void-space latch onto Sans's arms and pull him down more completely, the rift lazily creeping along his clothing and body as he's held there. Whether or not Blanche is expecting an interruption in this moment is unclear.

Greg never had any desire to learn teleportation after seeing it in action, but boy it would be useful just to keep up right now. He races over to them, but can't quite will himself to put his body between his boss and his friend. The most he can manage is putting out a hand.

"Wait! Blanche--Sir--w...wait..."

Some invisible, perhaps imaginary force is pushing against him. It weighs against him, trying to push him down and away from the power of the man in front of him. It's all Greg can do to keep his feet and not step back, ears ringing and head pounding from effort. His expression is tense, but confused; is he demanding and defiant, or desperate and pleading from his better? Everything hurts.

If Blanche wanted this to be over already, it would be. Greg's that convinced of the CEO's power. Which means Greg has some small, infinitesimal chance of... not fixing this, but at least saving Sans' life, right?

His bones rattle with how much he's shaking, from a combination of exhaustion and a deep, overwhelming fear. It's not like him to be this scared. He's never cared enough. But something about Blanche and the idea of the thing he could do to him chills Sans right down to his core.

Whatever Blanche is holding onto him with here feels like it's ready to pull him in completely at any moment, and the idea of what's on the other side of it fills him with dread. When Greg speaks up, all he can do is lift his head, shoulders heaving with exhaustion, and offer a frail and defeated grin.

This is his own fault for being an idiot.

"Heh... Not the goodbye I was hoping for, but..."

He doesn't know what else to say. He looks away from Greg again, and lowers his head with a flinch, his eyes going dark as the blasters dissipate from sight. He tried. Not that it really counts for anything.

[closed prompts] at the big finale i would tear my face away

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