chatsville | text @PAPYRUS

Could be worse--you've still got that car to drive around in. [Sans feels like he's--settled. Something is different from before, clearly, if they're here like this, but it's also just as clearly not that different. He takes the offered champagne and resists the urge to just down it in one go in favor of holding it up for that whole toast thing Papyrus wanted to do. As far as things Sans should do, wants to do, if he can get Papyrus past this unease, that's good enough.] Cheers, bro.

[Glases clink as Papyrus goes through with the gesture, but this time the reminder of the car is less reassuring than it had been, on the first of December. He brightens at the thought of it, sure, but a frown washes it away quickly enough, and he squints vaguely in the direction of the garage. Is it still there...? It had looked fresh off the shelf, when he first got his hands on the wheel.]

Y-Yeah, it's bound to still be here! It's a 1960, after all.

[At the very least, it should already exist. And going car shopping wouldn't be the worst thing.

[Now that the obligatory celebratory toasting is out of the way, Sans does drink the whole glass in one go. If it's just going to the garage to check on a car, Sans can manage that much. Papyrus deserves that car. He gets up again.]

Ain't like the houses they dropped us in disappeared, right? [He's heading to the garage while he says it.]

No, the couch feels too real to be disappeared. [He agrees, but pats the couch to confirm it, as if sitting on it weren't proof enough. Sans's reasoning is as good an argument as any, though. The houses look new, maybe even new enough to have been built this year... for them...?

The whole train of thought is exhausting, especially given how frustratingly tired he already is just from staying up to midnight. He yawns and presses his palms to closed eyes, rubbing at them in hopes it'll wake him up. Maybe he's already asleep, and the weirdness with the television is just a dream.]

[Sans opens the door to the garage and, finding the car where it should be, just calls back across the house from where he's standing.] Car's still here. [Good enough for Sans. He's good at not expecting much. But now that he has confirmed the car's existence he'll head back to the living room.]

[That's something. That's definitely something. Papyrus gives his eyes another wipe, then grabs the wrist radio to see what others have been saying so far. It almost feels like browsing the Undernet, people sharing congratulations and complaints through the semi-anonymous text feature...]

It looks like, it's not just this television. [In case that was in question, in any way shape or form.]

[Ah, Papyrus is still checking the watch. Sans could, but he doesn't feel like it. Instead, upon returning to the living room, he drops himself back onto the couch and grabs for those chips he left behind.] If it's more'n one of 'em on there tellin' you they see the same thing, they're probably not ribbing you. [Surely that will distract Papyrus from this time crisis.]

Ughhhh. Sans, not even an hour into the new year?? [Or the old year. The same year. Whatever year it is. He's suddenly deeply aware of the benefits of having a "wife," and that is meatshield - if Kiara was in this room, Sans wouldn't be suspiciously punning at him.]

[Kiara isn't in the room right now, though, and Sans latches onto this method of distracting Papyrus and keeps pulling at it.] What, you got a bone to pick with me?

[Papyrus drags his hands down his face, barely even flinching at the ways fingers dig and press into skin, the better to cover his mouth. Somewhat muffled, so that it's not as piercing and likely to draw attention as usual, he voices:] Oh my god. The one! upside! And you thwart it every chance you get!!

[He is being extremely hyperbolic, in an attempt to discourage his brother from punning more. There's plenty of other upsides to the situation. They're both here and okay, he has hair and a car, they can look at stars and maybe even escape by hiking into the mountains. So many up-sides.]

So you don't find this humerus? [Sans has used variations on that one enough that it's gone beyond a running gag for everyone except Sans himself, who delights in it more and more each time. Even more importantly, though, Sans is sure Papyrus is thoroughly distracted now.]

[He sure is distracted, between the exasperation and the battle to keep himself from complaining at full volume. If there are no other benefits to being human, it's lips - forcing his mouth closed, the annoyed growl he's making is muted. Instead he spreads his hands, repeating the gesture forcefully in something of a why shrug, before throwing his hands up in the air.]

[Sans shoves a handful of chips in his mouth.] You're real cranky for some reason, bro. Past your bedtime?

Edited 2021-01-09 19:44 (UTC)

Ughhhhh. [Papyrus's loud sigh is too powerful to contain with pursed lips, and he sinks his side into the couch. With the material squishing half of his face, the better to display his misery, he nods.] Yes, and I hate it. I'm so tired! All the time. I should go to bed... soon.

[Despite being another round of complaining, this at least is less loud than complaining at his brother would have been. No embellishing for the sake of trying to persuade Sans to change his ways, or anything - just earnest griping.]

[Sans sympathetically places a potato chip on the visible half of Papyrus's face.] You'll feel better in the morning. [Ideally, Papyrus will not be thinking about the existential crisis in the morning. But sleep can't hurt, as long as Papyrus is human.]

[Papyrus huffs another annoyed breath when the chip is placed, and grabs it to examine - then sticks it in his mouth to eat. Why not. He knows where his face has been. And some of the sorts of food Sans eats has been... tasty...? somehow?? Which is almost as distressing as the year thing. Not only does Papyrus not have his own cool face, or magic, but he's stuck needing to sleep, and Sans's food smells good.]

I think I want, to go to the bar in the morning. Eat one of your terrible burgers. [Sure, it's not morning drinking. But coming from Papyrus, if that food plan's not a sign of how bad this existential crisis could be, what is?]

You really want to complain about grease that early? [Sans doesn't like it, though he won't stop Papyrus from doing it, and will even go along. But Sans doesn't want Papyrus to get upset in the same ways Sans is, even if he also thinks they're different enough that it won't happen. But if it did... Sans's expression has dropped a bit on its own again, but he doesn't think Papyrus can see it right now anyway.]

No, not really... [Though he can complain about grease any time of day, complaining about grease that he's eaten is a whole different thing. And, the question reveals, he has the same fear to a degree - in some ways, he knows, he and Sans aren't that unalike. It's a question of what they choose to do with it, that makes their differences. Does he really want to sit here, melting into the couch and turning into a grease skeleton, just because the calendar is weird?

Papyrus grumbles again, pushes himself back to sitting upright and then some.] I will see how I feel, in the morning! And not make any bad decisions tonight.

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.]

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?

[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.

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!!

[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.]

...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.~~]

text @PAPYRUS - New Years

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I need an even more knifecat-y knifecat icon

i keep coming to this and wondering, how do you escalate knifecat?

more knives or more cats

a friend on discord suggested replace the knives with gun, but i thought more the expression

it would be the most smug expression possible

and knifecat is already very smug

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