spaghettimonster | Canyon: Inbox

...Thank you, Sans. [He offers this before Sans goes, unwittingly while the knife confiscation happens. Even if he's not feeling it, even if it's a formality and obligatory ritual phrase, he offers it again - making eye contact and everything to show the extra sincerity of it. It can't have been easy for sans to offer. That's important.

He's... less grateful, later on. It takes a while to notice, between wrapping up another set of uploads, switching to a new soundtrack, and deciding to finish the task. The cracks in his temples had healed in a rush, but incompletely, and the itching that plagued him for months had become throbbing in a way he'd recognized from some of his earlier transformations - bone dissolving, and giving way. The idea of scraping into his skull might have upset him ordinarily, but now it seemed the sensible thing to do - a preventative measure, before the budding circuitry could start breaking through it. So it's not a pleasant surprise, when he goes to continue, and the knife he'd concluded was the right size was missing.

No sign of it on the floor, nor sign he'd swept it anywhere else - the dust pile was unsmudged, nearly identical to before. It takes some investigating before catching the signs that the differences are from something pinching the pile, and presumably the knife. Only one likely culprit. He debates pounding on his brother's bedroom door to ask for it back, but if Sans was so sneaky in taking it, he'd probably deny having done so - and, possible, had some reason in doing so. Perhaps... wanting Papyrus to be back to normal, before making any more permanent modifications to his limited bone. It's the kind of thing he can imagine himself wanting.

...Ideally, he won't come to regret speeding the process up. But he can at least recognize that he might, and so make a point of gathering the dust into a bin to add to the rest he's collected. And wait until morning, at least, to let the annoyance over the missing knife be part of what Sans feels in him. A nice smokescreen negative feeling, to put up over his lingering unease at the whole idea. If remote emotion sensing works that way. If people don't notice, it at least suggests that all Sans is doing is sensing, and not manipulating... That's something.

A couple more projects fill the night, including another search through his programming for a self diagnostic that measures things like emotions. Plenty of things for identifying shorts, notifying him of damage, even something for - like Sans had started offering - compressing the various things saved. Nothing that gets into the relatively vague properties of emotions. Relatively vague, because the uploaded memories from post-transformation do have various forms of metadata describing emotions, cues that add up to experiencing it something like he had before. The most recent memories he backed up, from clothes shopping early in the switch, are even more packed with opinions and constantly shifting emotions. The older memories... differently formatted, with only the occasional tag. Maybe a diagnostic tool will start to form, now that he's aware of the need for one. Maybe Doctor Kassabian has one, or advice on writing one. But... As uncomfortable as revealing this stuff to Sans might be, far worse to open up that much to anyone else. No. Breakfast, and seeing what comes of it.

He's in the kitchen before dawn, working on a more complicated recipe than 'boil water, add to oatmeal.' Pancakes, but with the smallest size batteries in place of other additions. It's an oddly savory flavor combination, but a novelty that might be interesting for Sans to feel. More smokescreen options. If it works.]

[Sans doesn't sleep well. It's almost to the point that he considers hopping off to the graveyard to grab more fallen stones and statues, like the comforting feeling could ward off all his thoughts. But, well, if all those rocks could do that he'd have noticed by now. Eventually, curled under the heated blanket and with his wings tucked around him (sort of like those bats on that show he watched with Papyrus a few days ago) he manages to catch a few hours of sleep before the sunlight inevitably wakes him up. He's not sure if he'll find Papyrus in the kitchen or not--dodging by saying he'll wait until breakfast and then not making breakfast is more Sans's thing--but it turns out Papyrus has, as usual, beaten him to the kitchen. Looks like pancakes, but with empty battery packages nearby, not the kind Sans can steal. Too bad. Cereal and coffee it is.]

Morning, bro. [Sans keeps his greeting casual. He doesn't need to ratchet up the tension before they've even eaten anything. Still, he's keeping an eye on Papyrus. Multiple eyes.]

Morning back to you, brother. [He says it with a brief wave of the hand with the spatula, but without his usual energy or exuberant cheer. Just a greeting, with a half-smile. Now that they've talked, and it's clear that he's... not feeling it, not really, and they're planning to do something like this? No sense faking it that hard. He gets back to checking the pancakes, then glances Sans's way again.]

The... batter, in that bowl. It's just the box mix, nothing else added. I'm sprinkling these in, in the pan itself. [The batteries, which he gestures to the pile by the stovetop. If Sans wants to make himself pancakes - in a different pan, and maybe after he has a chance to check Papyrus for honesty. If it works like that.]

[Sans perks up a bit at the theoretical idea of pancakes.] Oh yeah? I'd have to make 'em, though... [He'd try to get Papyrus to do it except they're trying not to share food. Even if this is almost sharing food. It's hard to maintain that kind of mistrust in things Papyrus makes, though. Even if he's acting weird, it's not poison food weird. Probably.] Do we have syrup?

We should, I bought some the other day... [During that shopping trip, when concerned Sans might be starving for something unidentified. The better to ensure there were many food things available for the testing.

Of course, should isn't the same as yes, not when things go missing in the middle of the night. He strides to the fridge to check, even if Sans moves to do so, and confirms - there's the container.] Yes, we do.

Well, I guess you already mixed the batter, so... [Sans can bring himself to heat up a pan and put some of it in a pan to eat pancakes. He guesses. If there's any passive aggression in the way Papyrus checks to make sure no mysterious midnight syrup thefts have happened, Sans seems to be ignoring it entirely. There's plenty of things Sans feels guilty about doing and not doing, but taking the knife is nowhere on that list.]

If you don't... I can always store it for tomorrow. [Again, he suspects he'd be feeling more about this situation, if his emotions were like they used to be. The unexpected agreement to maybe use the batter, and how it implies trust in Papyrus's word - even with the distrust enough to go taking the knife. The erosion of one step closer to sharing food again, sometime.

As is, he doesn't know what to make of it all, so he doesn't. Instead he focuses on checking his pancake and flips it. Brushes the remaining batteries onto the plate with two pancakes already, to prepare for bringing to the table. Gets a glass of juice ready, while the pancake finishes its thing.]

Nah, I better take advantage of this pancake-making energy. [It could be gone tomorrow, who knows. Luckily, if Sans uses his invisible hands, he can make pancakes even while Papyrus is standing in front of the stove. Having all those hands is undeniably convenient. Sans's pancakes are extremely asymmetrical, though. They're barely ovals.]

[The pancakes, of all things, get the most reaction of anything this morning. Skepticism, traces of judgement and amusement, as Papyrus pauses to stare at them. He tilts his head in search of a direction from which they resemble something, but no - it's not an artistic decision. They're just... shapes. Lumpy shapes. Eventually he shakes his head and flips his remaining pancake onto his plate.] Well. Your pancake-making energy isn't making plaincakes. They have some character.

Someone should make a cartoon about 'em. [Just like those vitamin people. Sans proceeds to drown his shapecakes in syrup before teleporting off to the kitchen table--saving a precious five or six steps, maybe--to eat. It's kind of going to be a shame to ruin this whole breakfast thing with having to deal with emotions afterward. But Sans is still going to do it.]

A cartoon about pancake slimes... [That's about the closest shape that's coming to mind. Slimes, or maybe moldsmals, or something along those lines. Not like anybody or anything he's seen on the surface, so maybe the humans wouldn't see the appeal of the cartoon.

He lets the idea churn as yet another background process, rather than continuing to initiate conversation about it - or, really, anything else. He's feeling pensive, he thinks. Unnerved, but needing to proceed, without clear alternatives towards identifying what's going on. Doing nothing and keeping secrets hasn't worked. He pours the syrup in careful dots across the stack, cutting them into pieces roughly equally between the dots, and eats mechanically - moreso than usual.]

Edited 2021-12-19 22:50 (UTC)

[It's weird, watching Papyrus act so mechanical. Exactly how much of Papyrus's behavior lately has been acting for Sans's benefit? Of course, even Sans realizes that if he brought that up Papyrus would have a list a mile long of times Sans has done the same thing, so it's better not to say anything about it. Still, it's noted, and he has the strangest mixed feelings about it. He doesn't like Papyrus acting like this, but he doesn't like Papyrus not acting however he wants, either, even if it's like this.

If this is permanent, Sans is going to have to get used to it. It shouldn't be the other way around. But they have to figure out if it's permanent first.

Sans waits until after they eat, at least. He doesn't want to do this on an empty stomach, even if he isn't sure he even has to eat real food anymore. Real food is still great.]

So. You ready?

[The pancakes are serviceable, with enough milk in the recipe for some calcium - not that he needs much of it now, but it's good to include, especially with Sans borrowing some of the batter. The batteries add just enough charge to be more useful than a social food. Maybe he'll experiment with adjusting the recipe later, maybe he'll feel like things like that. He notes Sans's quiet, that it's lasting longer than usual... But it's early, but this is a plan full of potential discomfort, but many possibilities. When his brother finally speaks, shrugs at the question.]

I'm... Braced for it, at least. [It doesn't seem worth lying about his readiness, if Sans is about to feel it. Another flicker of uncertainty and discomfort crosses his face, which he doesn't rush to cover with anything more energetic. Instead he considers, then offers:] I think, I won't really know, until you do your thing. And see how it goes. So! Do you want me to do anything special...?

Nah, whatever's blocking things would be there no matter how you're feeling. [Or not feeling.] Unless you want to chill on the couch while we're doing this. [But Sans can do this wherever, so that's up to Papyrus.]

It... doesn't make a big difference to me. [Even if he gets uncomfortable on the kitchen chair, he can just temporarily disable the sensation of it. And the couch would carry the risk of leaning in a way that prevent healthy ventilation. But if Sans is suggesting it, then maybe he wants the excuse...?] But it is sturdier seating. Better if something surprising happens. Yeah, let's go.

Great, I love lounging. [And Sans vanishes, reappearing in his spot on the couch. Even though he talked about lounging, though, he's not actually going to do that. He's sitting up. Slouching, but that's about as close to sitting up straight as Sans gets.]

[Sans disappearing away gives Papyrus a moment to gather himself, then gather the dishes to the sink and give them a quick rinse, before grabbing the remains of his juice and following.]

Just remember, this isn't your turn to take a nap. [With a little delay he smiles to soften it, because he can see full well that Sans isn't lounging as much as advertised. A lingering unease, and wanting to make this as short as they can, prompts him to add:] Let me know when you start. And if it's helpful for me to, think about other things.

It's always my turn to take a nap. [Sans waits until Papyrus is settled on the couch before he focuses.] Okay, starting now. [When Sans does it intentionally, to him it feels a bit like using blue magic, where he extends the flow of magic to something at a distance from him. But he's right that Papyrus won't be able to feel anything as it happens. Sans, though, prepares for feeling whatever's going on with Papyrus. At least it's unlikely to be something really strong that'll knock him for a loop.]

[Very unlikely, unless Sans is somehow bowled over by the relative quiet and stillness of it all. The loud emotions Sans sensed before by accident, agitated self consciousness in the aftermath of battery experiments? Right now is like the molehills to those mountains.

There's a general sense of unease, as Papyrus looks Sans over to search for signs that the sensing is happening. Relief that Sans checked on him, a faint hope that they'll figure out something in this test. Some disappointment that he didn't keep up the ruse, that normalcy didn't trickle in before they had to have a conversation about it all. Annoyance over the missing x-acto knife, deliberation when to finish the project, whether to purchase another tool for the task. A distracted mild curiosity in the background, as he monitors patterns in the memories he uploaded to the PC in the workshop.

Emotions, to an extent. But reduced intensity, shorter-lived, and more reactions to immediate stimuli than overall moods that last for a while. Even his tendency towards anxiety is dimmed down, shifted to devising projections and models for what might come and how he 'should' behave. He grimaces after a bit of watching, fidgets with his hands, but there's only a little comfort in the motion - mostly, it's for the sake of appearances, of not staring motionlessly.]

[It's profoundly still, and there's part of Sans that finds that a relief as it smooths over all his own thoughts, different from the numbness inside him that aches. It's the kind of feeling he wouldn't mind borrowing for a while, except it shouldn't be coming from Papyrus. With everything so quiet, it's easy to notice the minimal ripples of brief, tiny emotions, flickering there and gone.]

It's like the volume's almost all the way down. [Not entirely, though. Sharing Papyrus's mood like this, at least it's very easy to push aside his concerns in favor of analysis.] Think of something that would've made you feel something stronger before. [Hopefully something happy, but Sans doesn't want to dictate that kind of thing. He has a baseline, so maybe if Papyrus pushes at the edges of it, Sans will be able to sense them.]

[Hearing Sans's voice with that relative calm is... strange to listen to. It's not the same calm as that intent focus, a few hours ago. Papyrus flags it to listen to again, to compare to the sound of his own voice these last few hours. Maybe identify a metric of changes to Sans's demeanor, that will help him identify if his brother is sensing him like this again. As for the instruction itself...]

Feel stronger, or feel stronger? [There's an inkling of teasing, poking at his brother for the ambiguity. But there's an obvious overlap for the two ideas, so he doesn't wait for an answer to focus on memories of Undyne. Sparring with her, her eye going wide as she sweated and expressed how impressed she was. He had been... delighted, back then. Triumphant with the close fight, brimming with a sense of acknowledgement, hope for hearing that sentiment echoed dozens of times over.

...But he doesn't feel the same things now, and not only because there's every chance she's dead, or any of that. It's a little too long ago to try directly re-experiencing the emotions, the memories fragmented and faded with time. Memories of triumph and hope, a more present lonely grief.]

[Sans can't tell what Papyrus is thinking about directly, but the dampened mix of former triumph and current loneliness give him some guesses. Still not very strong; it's easy to focus on that right now, with his own feelings muted too, and not to start traveling any well-worn paths of pessimism. (This is the longest he's synchronized before; he'll probably have some thoughts about that when he turns it off again. Right now it's all quiet.)]

Okay, now something more recent. Like from after you could record all your memories. [He might be able to feel if that recording is interfering. It's a third datapoint, regardless.]

...After that started, huh? [Unease again, and the strongest feeling yet in his discomfort of not knowing how much Sans can pick up on. There's also the conflicted impulse to shove it all away and never look at it again, but also not wanting to lose any of it. He considers, and concludes:] Something... from the second day, after things got weird.

[After he got weird. More than a day after 'discovering' he had a roommate he'd forgotten, but before he went on a deep dive of all his texts and receipts - and learned what wasn't being said. 3:47:28pm, in the middle of window browsing some clothes stores because of a general inclination to switch up his look to something more... professionally impressive. Disdain at the slobbishly dressed men in sports gear laughing and taking up the sidewalk, one snickering about monsters and too obviously glancing back at Papyrus. Contemplating whether to note that face and follow up with a listing of the man's character flaws, financial mistakes, and other things he might be unhappy to hear about... Ah, but that would distract him from this boutique's lovely options. One of the mannequins even features a wolf-like head and legs, to better advertise their invited customer base. Perhaps later.

If his normal emotions are mountains, and the current ones molehills, the emotions in this memory are a bed of nails. Not a coherent whole, but strong enough and pointed enough to imitate the overall shape of more normal emotions. And Sans might pick up - there's something ongoing about them, like the emotions of those memories are literally, actively tied up in them. Small fragments of Papyrus still existing in those moments, unable to react to or feel about the present.]

[These emotions are sharp and dangerous, but it's something new to work with. And while it's a memory of emotion, it doesn't feel entirely like a memory. The disdain sits uneasily on Sans, dragging his own memories back to the anomaly. Sans pulls back, disconnects from Papyrus and shakes his head like he's dislodging the feelings.]

Okay. I'm done. I got it. [That ache is creeping back in, now that the smoothed out calmness is gone. He does his best to ignore it. He does his best to ignore the current of unease that other people can just overwrite his emotions if he shifts his magic the wrong way, too. Focus on Papyrus's situation.] You're getting pieces of emotions stuck in your memories.

...Already? [Papyrus's eyes flare in brief surprise as he refocuses on the present, on the ongoing memorization of Sans's posture and expression through the experiment. It looks like he's no longer mirroring Papyrus, given he's not showing the same surprise that Papyrus is feeling - about the speed of the test, and the conclusion drawn, alike.]

Getting 'stuck' in my memories... I've been looking at them. [His voice goes slightly defensive as he frowns. Normally, he might be indignant enough to stand and stomp around the room, at the idea that the very thing he's been examining so closely has the problem, that he's been missing it all this time.] There's notation. Reminders what to feel. It's almost life-like... [Remarkably vivid, he thought. But if Sans thinks differently.] ...You could feel that?

narration essay to help me ground the future mood, then time skip

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papyrus doesn't care, but any sad couch icons would be more relevant there

vital roleplaying decisions

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