Open RP Post for November

[truebluespark]

⚙ Scan through the top-level comments to see which of my characters I'm up for playing right now.
⚙ Pick whatever character you want to play and tag me!
⚙ I'm open to informal/formal/comment spam/crosscanon/game canon/AU/whatever you like!
⚙ Feel free to make up a scenario at the start, or ask me to pick one out, or poke me on Plurk/PMs/etc and we can hash it out together.
⚙ Once everything's all set, play roles!

Comments

YEAAAAaaahhhh wow this got depressing fast

[boneidle]

[Sans has memorized the texture on the ceiling of his new bedroom. Papyrus and the others think he's taking a nap while they go out to see a movie, and that had been the original plan, but he couldn't get to sleep. So he's just staring up at the ceiling, listening to the swirling winds of his new trash vortex. It's coming along nicely, considering he's only had a few months to build it up.

What is the matter with him? Monsterkind has finally escaped the underground, is finally enjoying their freedom on the surface. Why can't he bring himself to be happy about it? Oh, right, because he can't shake the feeling that he's done all this before, and he'll do it all again. He doesn't even know how many times this has happened before; what few instruments he still has are responding strangely, and he's no closer to fixing the machine than he ever was.

Sans's cyclical train of thought is interrupted by the chime of his phone, although it sounds... strange. Like the sound file was corrupted slightly? He sits up and reaches for his phone, brow furrowed.

And when he sees the text fill the screen, he nearly drops it again.

He knows that font. He may not know how he knows it, but he does. The machine, those blueprints, faint memories of a monster that never existed... They're all connected, somehow. But how? And the message itself... fills him with hope and dread. He can't trust it to be true, because it will hurt that much more when it proves false.

Shakily, his fingers tap out a series of half-formed responses.]

who the hell are [Backspace.]

i don't underst [Delete delete.]

what's going on? [He finally settles on this one, pressing Send and watching as his message... vanishes.

That isn't creepy or anything.]

I figured out wingdings; let me know if this is too obnoxious. Hovertext ahoy!

[islistening]

[Deleting responses before sending them? Sure. But that doesn't mean he isn't listening still.]

AN OLD FRIEND

THAT'S ALL RIGHT. I WILL EXPLAIN.

SOMETHING I PERHAPS SHOULD HAVE TRIED EARLIER. BUT I DO NOT HAVE MUCH TIME NOW. HERE IS WHAT YOU NEED.

[After that last message, a file automatically downloads itself. It's... a little corrupted, but readable. An image, seemingly computer generated, of blueprints for the machine.

Corrected blueprints, with the differences between it and the version Sans has highlighted. It should now be much easier to see what was wrong.

And, written at the bottom, is several long strings of data. Sans should recognize them as space-time coordinates, several of them. They're all over the place, some even referencing points that are supposedly only theoretical, or shouldn't exist at all. Some are points in space and time that are more familiar - somewhere near Waterfall, several closer to Hotland, a few by the Core itself.

Some... fixed at a certain day that Sans may or may not remember.

The machine can make use of data like this... and yep, this isn't creepy at ALL.]