First of all, his bed is a bed and not a mattress. It's also a lot smaller, so he rolled right off it and onto the floor. Wait, no, first of all falling off the bed meant he's up way earlier than he wants to be. But third of all-- Third... Of... All...
Wait. This has happened before. The familiarity slams into him and he sits bolt upright on the ground. His hands are covered in flesh, he fell off an actual bed and not his mattress, he's not at home and he's not at Toriel's--Santa Rosita. Why can he remember that? This has to be... A reset, or a reload, and so he shouldn't--well, it's not all coming back to him, but--
It doesn't occur to him to check if anyone else is in the room. Nobody had been there last time, and he's stuck in his thoughts, so he just stands up and starts talking to himself.]
Well--this is weird.
B; Aluminum Chirstmas Trees [Sans has some money--October is a haze, but he guesses he got a job, at some point? Well, if he was there a month... Ugh. The point is that he has enough for one of these hilarious aluminum trees. Christmas trees, not Gyftmas. He has to remember that.
But, see, there is a problem: it's a very big tree. And Sans is very lazy. So as soon as he sees anyone who looks like they're strong enough to carry the tree, Sans starts putting on a show. He tugs at the fake trunk, he skids along the ground (in slippers, so should he really be carrying anything at all?), he groans dramatically from the bottom of his newly-formed, very useful lungs as he flops on the ground.]
Little help over here? [Carry his tree for him.]
C; Christmas Village [You know, when Sans teleports, it's typically because he wanted to. Sans stumbles out of his bedroom and skids through the snow, catching himself with enough ease in spite of his bafflement that he must be pretty used to this kind of weather.
Well, guess the only thing to do is set up a snow cone shop. Sans can be found lounging not too far from the bar, sipping mulled wine and. Well.]
Hey, want a wine snowcone? Don't worry, totally alcohol-free, which is good, 'cause I dunno the drinking age around here. Only five--cents. [Not G. C? Hm, he'll have to figure that out later.]
D; Christmas Gala [So, between the subtle hints of his friendly new neighbors, the not at all subtle hints from Papyrus, and the way that guy up at the front of the line goes all glassy? Yeah, Sans takes a blazer. The green one, because he's way too old for stripes. But he's wearing his formalware a little... Lazily. At least he's opted for real shoes today.
Sans spends most of the party mingling and eating. Okay, he spends the whole party with all his weird human senses tuned to the slightest hint of anything he can latch onto about this place, especially when it comes to the people in charge. So far he has learned that the police chief definitely likes drinking and the mayor is like a weird Nega-Asgore. Actually, the whole Santa thing is a little depressing. Nobody's around back home to be Santa anymore.]
Ain't Santa the one who's supposed to be giving gifts? [Sans is trying to imagine Asgore accepting a whole pile of stuff like this and he really just can't at all. They'd have to force it on him. Well. He's dead now. It probably doesn't matter.]
no subject
[Sans is not having the greatest morning.
First of all, his bed is a bed and not a mattress. It's also a lot smaller, so he rolled right off it and onto the floor. Wait, no, first of all falling off the bed meant he's up way earlier than he wants to be. But third of all-- Third... Of... All...
Wait. This has happened before. The familiarity slams into him and he sits bolt upright on the ground. His hands are covered in flesh, he fell off an actual bed and not his mattress, he's not at home and he's not at Toriel's--Santa Rosita. Why can he remember that? This has to be... A reset, or a reload, and so he shouldn't--well, it's not all coming back to him, but--
It doesn't occur to him to check if anyone else is in the room. Nobody had been there last time, and he's stuck in his thoughts, so he just stands up and starts talking to himself.]
Well--this is weird.
B; Aluminum Chirstmas Trees
[Sans has some money--October is a haze, but he guesses he got a job, at some point? Well, if he was there a month... Ugh. The point is that he has enough for one of these hilarious aluminum trees. Christmas trees, not Gyftmas. He has to remember that.
But, see, there is a problem: it's a very big tree. And Sans is very lazy. So as soon as he sees anyone who looks like they're strong enough to carry the tree, Sans starts putting on a show. He tugs at the fake trunk, he skids along the ground (in slippers, so should he really be carrying anything at all?), he groans dramatically from the bottom of his newly-formed, very useful lungs as he flops on the ground.]
Little help over here? [Carry his tree for him.]
C; Christmas Village
[You know, when Sans teleports, it's typically because he wanted to. Sans stumbles out of his bedroom and skids through the snow, catching himself with enough ease in spite of his bafflement that he must be pretty used to this kind of weather.
Well, guess the only thing to do is set up a snow cone shop. Sans can be found lounging not too far from the bar, sipping mulled wine and. Well.]
Hey, want a wine snowcone? Don't worry, totally alcohol-free, which is good, 'cause I dunno the drinking age around here. Only five--cents. [Not G. C? Hm, he'll have to figure that out later.]
D; Christmas Gala
[So, between the subtle hints of his friendly new neighbors, the not at all subtle hints from Papyrus, and the way that guy up at the front of the line goes all glassy? Yeah, Sans takes a blazer. The green one, because he's way too old for stripes. But he's wearing his formalware a little... Lazily. At least he's opted for real shoes today.
Sans spends most of the party mingling and eating. Okay, he spends the whole party with all his weird human senses tuned to the slightest hint of anything he can latch onto about this place, especially when it comes to the people in charge. So far he has learned that the police chief definitely likes drinking and the mayor is like a weird Nega-Asgore. Actually, the whole Santa thing is a little depressing. Nobody's around back home to be Santa anymore.]
Ain't Santa the one who's supposed to be giving gifts? [Sans is trying to imagine Asgore accepting a whole pile of stuff like this and he really just can't at all. They'd have to force it on him. Well. He's dead now. It probably doesn't matter.]