text @PAPYRUS - New Years

[spaghettimonster]

HAPPY 1962!!!

IT'S HARD TO CALL THIS A NEW YEAR... SINCE THIS SEEMS LIKE THE PAST TO ME.

BUT DECEMBER IS OVER! AND IT DOESN'T LOOK LIKE IT'S SUDDENLY FEBRUARY.

HOW ABOUT.

HAPPY NEW OLD YEAR!!!

[But don't be fooled - it's the start of 1961! Despite Papyrus optimistically posting this at midnight on the dot, everything from the TV countdown to physical calendars to outstanding bills says otherwise.]

Comments

[ribticklers]

Yeah, as the sleep expert, you should wait 'til after you've done it to make decisions. [That's better. Not completely better, but it's in the right direction. Sans has his typical smile back on his face by the time Papyrus is upright again. He's gotten better at working this human body.

Actually, now that Papyrus is upright, Sans sprawls all the way across the couch and also his brother.] Think I'll crash here tonight.

[Really, he thinks maybe things would feel a little more normal with both of them in one house, even if it's just for the rest of tonight. Sure, Kiara lives here too, but what's important here is Papyrus.]

[spaghettimonster]

Well, if the expert says so. [Papyrus rolls his eyes, not at all doubting the claim of expertise, but critical that this is something to be an expert in.

He stretches his arms over his head and stands up, then considers Sans on the couch with a raised eyebrow.]

You're really sleeping here? Was my champagne too powerful...? [He doesn't mind, there's something comforting about Sans being in the same roof again, especially when time is being weird... again.] Won't Lorna wonder where you are?

[ribticklers]

[Honestly, Lorna hadn't occurred to him when he decided. Would she be worried? The idea is kind of weird; Sans may be getting used to this body, but getting used to having someone in his house who isn't Papyrus is taking more time.] Eh, I can text her. [Not that he moves to do so just yet. Right now he is remaining sprawled out on the couch.] If I wanted to go home I'd have to walk all the way next door. Too much effort.

[spaghettimonster]

Oh, of course. Laziness wins out. [If Sans is exaggerating his unwillingness to get up, to better highlight the differences between him and his brother, it's working. Papyrus is already feeling better about himself, remembering how a brief glum slump isn't the same as intentionally forgoing a bed for the couch.

He rolls his eyes again and starts for the stairs.] Well, you're too heavy to carry over, so I guess you can stay. But text her!!

[ribticklers]

[Sans has been exaggerating for effect, but honestly, now that he's lying down, he really does just want to stay right there and not move for a while. he could use a blanket, maybe, but not enough to actually get up. Except for Papyrus, maybe, things won't really be better in the morning, but there's something to be said for the power of sleep to provide the blank nothingness where he couldn't worry about things even if he wanted to.]

Mmph. [Yeah that is not exactly Sans moving to text anyone. That is barely a noise.]

[spaghettimonster]

...Sigh. [That sure doesn't sound like texting.

But Papyrus rallying to put up a good front for himself and his brother is one thing, while rallying to put up a good front for only himself... that takes energy, and he's tired. With any luck, Lorna is asleep and won't notice, and - if she minds, if she's invested in her fake husband enough to be concerned and upset - hopefully she and Sans can work it out between them.

He heads upstairs, past the small empty rooms of potential children, and to the bed he first woke in. Racecar slippers not quite squeaking all the way. Maybe tomorrow will make more sense. It won't.]