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)
interstellar55552016-04-12 02:10 pm
exhumerus) wrote in interstellar55552016-04-12 02:10 pm
Entry tags:
[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.
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.
no subject
How the fuck is she supposed to respond to that.
"Why me?"
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"Because I know you and I'm not a total asshole, mostly. I'm just grabbing whoever I can."
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"Even if I wasn't sure this was gonna go sideways, which it will...
I got people to look out for, Sans."
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"Same. So if you aren't coming...then don't get in my way."
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"Wasn't planning on it.
This plan of yours is at least somewhat safe, right? Like you're not gonna get shot at or anything, right?"
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"...So, I can't hang around talking about this, either. ...You sure you wanna stay here?"
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Besides, trust Bill and Shen to run this without us? No thanks." It's jokes. Remember when they used jokes to deal with this bullshit? Good times.
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"...Your sister...she's from Americana, right?"
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"Yeah. You know, like me.
Because we grew up together.
Because we're siblings."
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How to put this gently, though? From everything he's ever heard about this, her story sounds fishy. Is she still really this in the dark about what's happened to them? He seems apprehensive upon speaking.
"Have you ever considered she, uh...might not...be real?"
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"What."
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"Skeletons aren't from Americana, Celty," he says, slowly. "An' you probably aren't either. So unless she's one of us..."
He trails off. He doesn't really want to push this, but it's clearly holding Celty back.
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"Skeletons without skin aren't supposed to be real at all. But what, you need to cope with that by claiming everything else is fake? Some "it was all a dream" bullshit? Is that what you're trying to say?"
She finds herself advancing toward Sans without even thinking about it.
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"You're not thinking about this logically," he says. Because, yes, perfect, telling someone they are being irrational is the best way to defuse any situation.
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The weird shadowy smoke she's been trying to keep restrained starts escaping from beneath her gloves and helmet, flaring up more and more as she gets closer and closer to the shorty skeleton.
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"H-Heh...I...I gotta go." He tucks his hands in his pockets "...Good luck."
Then he's gone.
no subject
She barely stops herself from screaming in rage, instead favoring a subdued temper tantrum of flipping tables and throwing a glass or two. That rat bastard. Can't deal with his own shit so he pushes it on her. Make fucking bullshit insinuations. So what, she has to hide her face behind a mask for the rest of her life for thefuck of it? She's ingesting four to five painkillers a day for the fun? Fuck him. Fuck his stupid face and his controlling, insulting bullshit.
She hopes he gets caught and his neck wrung.