cherry boy ( underfell )

Grim & Golden

your past-times,
consisted of the strange
and twisted and deranged
ーcrying lightning, arctic monkeys

The day Gaster fell and disappeared into the VOID was the best turn point in his life for as long as he could remember. The death of the first Royal Scientist changed all aspects of not only the Underground, but him personally. No longer did he have to spend perpetual nights completing unnecessary equations for an experiment that would only blow fuses and kill bystander scientists. There was no more working under a man that'd never appreciate anything but his own power consuming instruments. The only thing left after the incident was forgotten blueprints and an abandoned hope for monster kind.
Not that there was any in the first place. Sans was sure that whatever funds Asgore provided W.D. was all spent on some mad plan that could've only been fueled by unconventional eccentricities. Whether it was the creation of the Blasters, or a honing SOUL extractor, all of the inventions and machinery were near to useless. Regardless of the help Gaster was offered, his cynical infatuation with the VOID overrode suggestions that could've been a benefit to their under-earth society.  The brains spent holed up in the Lab could've easily found an actual way out of this hellhole.

It wasn't any myth that only two souls were needed to surpass the Barrier. Most officials and lab advisors knew it as a fact and were supposed to use the information as an advantage. No one was ever selfless enough to try and go alone. Not even the King.

The first year he began working with his father was the best. They often stressed over incomplete formulas and missing factors to their experiments, but it was always of a healthy sort. The end of the day was relieving, and the start of a new one was rousing. Sans quickly realized that those were the types of good things that never lasted. Of course, progress made over the course of just twelve months was impressive, the discoveries made were too well distracting. Gaster was the one to come to understanding that he could harness his feating creation of the CORE's electrical byproduct to unleash another gateway. The mysteries he yearned to unlock were terminally his downfall, along with his final project.

After the malfunction, Sans laid away his lab coat and all the theories he had scraped up without the supervision of Gaster. Somehow, he knew there would always be some sort of end to their turmoils. They were never getting out of there. Humanity was disgusting and had intentions for the monsters that they meant to keep. How it took him so long to realize such foul statement was beyond him.

The only reminder he had left of such an infallible fact remains buried in his basement; a place only visited whenever the power fails, or when he's had one too many drinks in the company of a violet flame. Other than that, it all remains in a darkness that might as well be identical to the sorts of what W.D. yielded to.

don't forget.

Sans' lungless breath was hot as he stumbled down the tiled steps of a dim room. The taste of cheap gin was still early in his mouth and he struggled to find the switch on the wall, in which he only ended up sinking to the floor in the pitch shadows. The skeleton in all his stupor couldn't even remember where he managed to find the key that unlocked the place. After so long, he'd imagine that he would've had enough sense to toss the thing into the Underground dumps and just allow Alphys to turn it into the newest addition to robotic toaster revival. But no, of course he'd allow his vapid self to instead reopen painful wounds and evoke his mind of abandoned questions. It was dark, but his sockets could still make out every outline of the small room. In one corner would've held a broken prize, a musty tarp draped over it to add just another layer of protection from ever greeting the light of the Underground. Drawers line a dip in the wall, each one holding memories he could only ever find elsewhere in his mind. Blueprints. There's those damned blueprints that get harder to read each time he mulls over the symbols in his mind. Perhaps one day he'll be lucky enough to forget them all together. Despite the silence, endless voices called to him from the past and faces swam across his vision. He doesn't see them anywhere else anymore. All except for one. In the corner of his eye does he occasionally catch the drift of a jagged smile and absent palms. The echo flowers in watery caves murmur of a presence drifting in purgatory between two realms. Just before he drifts into a sleep, something too often jolts him awake, leaving a muddled thought as to why a nothing had the ability to stir him. Even then, when he sat pathetically in his remnants did he spot a pale amalgam, ghosting menacingly over a machine that asked harshly to be mended. Maybe it was the booze. Sans was tired too, but either way, the shattered pieces of glass from his thrown bottle sent it away. He'll come back, though. He always did have a tendency to try.