💥 VISCERAL. ⁽ᵃᵖ⁾

*[He’s never been a fan of rooms without windows; rooms with locked doors.]

*[Yet sometimes, sitting in front of the window is a fool’s pastime. Better to leave the curtains closed and mind your own damn business, in the end. The people who pass kick up snow in their wake, eyes forward and purposeful. They don’t smile, and their laughs don’t light anything but fires. The stories he dredges up for them in those times are not as entertaining, anymore; they feel like horror stories. War stories. They look like soldiers, all of them. Marching past, marching onward, marching the hell away from him if the brawler’s lucky. Those who bother to look glare right at him, and dare him to keep watching. He can see them mouth his name like a curse, and the glass has never felt this thin and thick at the same time.]

          ❛ it means GENIUS if I asked if you were hot in that jacket. We are in hotland. I was ssssiiiimply offering to take it for you. But you and your hot headed self got too angry to even think about that. Didn’t you.  ❜

The large robot scoffed glancing down at him, after putting up the little pity party. ❛ Don’t flatter yourself skeleton. I honestly couldn’t care if you died down here in this heat. ❜

*[An immediate, cherry red heat colors the shorty’s cheekbones; indeed, he had jumped to conclusions and gotten riled up over something that didn’t call for such a harsh reaction. Still, the tone the idol takes with him only serves to piss the sentry off more-- voice growls from within, and irritation is the bright, golden FIRE that lights his gaze.]

* “ ...an’ ya think i care whether ya’d shed a tear or not? heh, who’s flatterin’ themselves now? “

*[Glaring up at the taller, it seems Sans isn’t about to admit he may have overreacted. Especially not when it’s being shoved in his face like this.]

*[For most, looking Death in the eyes would be, at the very least, a profound moment. But for Sans, that face has no name attached; for every brush he’s had with his own fatality, as intimately as he knows the concept of it, never has the skeleton met the SOUL before him (or any others similar.) Another drag from the cigarette balanced between two phalanges, as if he can’t be bothered to address the undeniably ominous character in his presence.]

*[The piercing, golden brightness of those pupils betrays the scrapper, however; he never takes them off of this uninvited guest.]

* “ ...ya know, i really don’t suggest that ya just roam ‘round in the open. “

*[As he speaks, voice low and accentuated by slow steps-- deep tracks trail after that start from no destination, left by a creature born from thin air-- Sans approaches the child from behind; offering up a steady grin and a deceptively EVEN expression, the sentry stares this human down with hands nestled snugly in jacket pockets.]

*[Something lingers on the breeze, smelling faintly of sulfur; perhaps that’s simply the icy, stinging wind that BURNS for just a moment...but who’s to say for certain?]

* “ wh-- fuck! “

* “ d-don’t sneak up on me like that! “

*[Sockets wide, cheeks flush, and teeth bared in a humorless and razor sharp grin-- it isn’t often that Sans is caught off-guard like this, and for good reason. The shorty had come here to practice his dance moves in solitude, after all, and lost in the rhythm...]

*[...WAIT. Frenzied phalanges hurriedly swipe for the beaten and battered boombox at his feet, switching off the tunes that still carry on.]

* “ ...look, brat. “

* “ -- i dunno why y’here, an’ i don’t care. “

*[As Sans spits the words, carried beneath his breath like a curse, rough voice is one part venom and two parts DESOLATION. Skeletal sentry keeps his back turned to the human, and fists clench achingly at his sides.]

* “ ...i can’t help ya. “

*[GO AWAY.]

* “ ...’scuse me? “

*[Looking rather angry, or perhaps more accurately insulted, it seems the very fur lining the hood of the skeleton’s jacket starts to stand on end. Puffing his chest out a bit, squaring his shoulders and straightening his spine...Sans is following in the footsteps of an animal trying to make itself look BIGGER.]

* “ heh...hey there, pal. “

*[Of course, despite the greeting itself, the tone it is spoken in is gruff and unwelcoming; each word is punctuated with a sharp annoyance, just barely contained within the syllables and sounded past a TIGHT grin. The sentry has never really been one for niceties, especially when alternates come waltzing into his timeline unannounced.]

*[...Because Sans always ends up feeling obligated to PROTECT their asses when shit inevitably goes south.]