Kageroutale

Artificial Enemy

"Al. Get. Out."

The words come out as a snarl, a threat laced behind them, but Al is unfazed, leaning against Sans's computer monitor and smiling the widest grin she can manage. The sun's low enough that it doesn't leak through the thick curtains blocking out the windows, dusk evident from the three-days' worth of bags under the skeleton's eye sockets, and yet he continues to give her that pissy little glare of his that tries to come off as stern, but does nothing. It never has, not even when they'd first met two years ago.

She hums, feigning a pout. "Oh, but I like it here!" she giggles, rising to her feet. She gestures to his browser, which reveals snippets of news articles and photos that he's bookmarked over the years. They detail various things, like petty theft and assault charges, but most of them revert to the same topics:

The King, who to this day has never been found;

The Royal Children, still recovering from unimaginable loss;

The Royal Scientist and his assistant, who, when spoken of and read about, gives Al the strangest déjà vu she can never quite place;

And, the one that shows up far more than any of the others, Papyrus.

She tries to come off as teasing—"Especially with all this reading material you've left me!"—but her chest settles with unease.

Sans, however, shows no unease nor does he show any anger. He sighs and leans back in his chair, narrowing his eyes, a frown firmly set in place. "Y'know," he tells her, "if you really want me to stop bein' a 'lazy slob,' as you put it, you should really stop distracting me when I'm trying to work."

"Oh, come on, we both know you're not going to stop being lazy anytime soon! In fact, I'm pretty sure there's not an ambitious bone in your body."

"Oh, you'd be surprised. Now, shoo—or, whatever." He makes a motion with his hands, gesturing off into space. Al's smile grows smug. "Go to wherever you live, or somethin'."

"...You mean your computer?"

Sans groans, "Get the fuck off the screen, Al."

She laughs, but she does as he asks, but not because she wants to. She sits on his tabs, watching as he leans forward and clicks away, pulling up videos, folders. The works. She has to admit, when he gets focused like this, she can almost imagine him being some kind of detective.

That's surely what it feels like, she thinks. Poor guy—wasting his life like this. Doesn't he realize this is all so pointless?

There are many things Al likes about Sans, after all. He's interested in science (particularly stars, she guesses, judging from the picture taped to his ceiling), he's smart, rational (when he wants to be). Respectful, shockingly, and he's not the kind to be a pushover; the kind of guy she'd date if he wasn't a complete jackass. Maybe that's because Papyrus is gone, though...

Chin in her hands, she wonders if that's partially why he's locked himself up in his room. Wouldn't surprise me any...doesn't excuse the fact that if he wasn't in here, he could actually be making something of himself right now. Hell, he could probably get a girlf—

"Al, quit kicking! You're deleting shit!"

Al snaps back to reality, looking down. She sits on his desktop now, Sans's arms crossed on the desk as if to say, "what the hell's gotten into you?"

She stops swinging her legs, standing. "A-ha...whoops! I, ah, meant to do that?"

Sans narrows his eyes. It's the best he can do with suspicion, considering he doesn't have eyebrows. "Uh-huh."