sans (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
punful) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entrancelogs2017-08-04 02:08 pm
punful) wrote in entrancelogs2017-08-04 02:08 pm
[OPEN] had a big hunch that the world was a big lie
Who: Sans and YOU
Where: The Republican National Convention
When: August 4 - 8
Rating: PG, PG-13
Summary: Sans T. Bones is a street food salesman, a dying breed in this Post-Rising world. He's here at the convention hoping to prove that street food can still be a safe, legitimate business, even when run by a sickly guy like him. If you want some vegetarian hotdogs instead of whatever crap the convention is providing, he's your guy.
The Story:
A - Day One - a tune on my lips and my quest in reach
He's genuinely happy to be here. Sure, it's the Republican Convention, and crowds make him nervous--they make everyone nervous--but everything's going so well. He was certainly leery of it all when a Republican senator invited him to the convention to sell hotdogs, of all things, but the need for business and recognition had won out. If more of these high-falutin' types can see that your old-fashioned street corner hotdog stand is safe and sterile--and tasty--then maybe things will get a little easier for him. Hell, maybe they'll get easier for all the street food salesmen.
And it's going ridiculously well so far. He's been getting customers, he's been getting legitimate questions, he's been getting short interviews from interested bloggers. He's even had one or two fans of his comedic video game streams come up to say hi--despite the fact that he hasn't updated his channel in like two months now. Prepping for the convention had taken priority. Had to make sure he had every single necessary permit, and some that weren't strictly necessary, just to be safe.
The hotdog stand looks kind of out of place in a corner of the cafeteria, but it certainly smells good. And the guy running it might look sickly, what with the facemask and the occasional cough, but he also looks pretty cheerful. The vibe at the convention might be tense, but it's clearly not getting to Sans T. Bones. He'll gladly sell you a hotdog or talk to you about how ridiculously clean his business is.
B - Day Two - wake up to show me what i could not find
On the second day, his customers have vanished. At first he thinks maybe people are just sick of hotdogs, but then one of his game stream fans comes up to give him the bad news: a senator, in fact the same senator who invited him here and was so nice and polite, has said she's going to introduce a bill to outlaw street food. Too unsafe, she says.
Well, that explains it. He understands now. He wasn't brought here to showcase his talents and hard work--he was brought here to be an example.
It's further cemented later in the day, when the senator herself shows up, followed by a few other senators and constituents. She positions herself just in earshot of his stand so he can overhear what she says to them. It's the usual fare, about how street food is dangerous, about how people like him operate under a different standard of cleanliness, about how there's no telling where those hotdogs even came from, are they even vegetarian at all? And so on and so forth.
The real clincher is why in the world is a guy like him, who's sick as a dog, a reservoir condition in his bronchial tubes, a guy who could amplify at any moment--why is a guy like him allowed anywhere near food handling?
Sans tries to ignore the whole thing, and spends the rest of the day trying not to let any of it get to him. With minimal success.
C - Day Three-Four - shoulda been sleeping the day away
When they find the needle, Sans knows it's only a matter of time.
The vibe at the convention was tense already, now it's all but panicked. A lot of people are staying locked up in their rooms where they know they'll be safe from any further needles. Meanwhile, the security forces make the rounds, searching for more needles, searching for anyone suspicious, and generally trying to hold several hundred corks underwater. The whole thing is about to boil over, and he can feel it.
He waits patiently at his stand for them to come to him. He doesn't fight or protest or argue when they ask him to come along, that he needs to be quarantined. For safety's sake. Sure. It's not like this is the first time this has happened to him. No one trusts the sick guy.
He spends the rest of the convention locked in a sterile room, wondering what's going on outside. They treat him fairly well at least, answering his questions and keeping him fed, but he can tell they're practically just waiting for him to amplify.
Later, someone deigns to tell him that his hotdog stand has been dismantled and destroyed. For safety's sake.
Looks like it's time to start investing in the streaming business. If he makes it out of here without a bullet in his head.
Where: The Republican National Convention
When: August 4 - 8
Rating: PG, PG-13
Summary: Sans T. Bones is a street food salesman, a dying breed in this Post-Rising world. He's here at the convention hoping to prove that street food can still be a safe, legitimate business, even when run by a sickly guy like him. If you want some vegetarian hotdogs instead of whatever crap the convention is providing, he's your guy.
The Story:
A - Day One - a tune on my lips and my quest in reach
He's genuinely happy to be here. Sure, it's the Republican Convention, and crowds make him nervous--they make everyone nervous--but everything's going so well. He was certainly leery of it all when a Republican senator invited him to the convention to sell hotdogs, of all things, but the need for business and recognition had won out. If more of these high-falutin' types can see that your old-fashioned street corner hotdog stand is safe and sterile--and tasty--then maybe things will get a little easier for him. Hell, maybe they'll get easier for all the street food salesmen.
And it's going ridiculously well so far. He's been getting customers, he's been getting legitimate questions, he's been getting short interviews from interested bloggers. He's even had one or two fans of his comedic video game streams come up to say hi--despite the fact that he hasn't updated his channel in like two months now. Prepping for the convention had taken priority. Had to make sure he had every single necessary permit, and some that weren't strictly necessary, just to be safe.
The hotdog stand looks kind of out of place in a corner of the cafeteria, but it certainly smells good. And the guy running it might look sickly, what with the facemask and the occasional cough, but he also looks pretty cheerful. The vibe at the convention might be tense, but it's clearly not getting to Sans T. Bones. He'll gladly sell you a hotdog or talk to you about how ridiculously clean his business is.
B - Day Two - wake up to show me what i could not find
On the second day, his customers have vanished. At first he thinks maybe people are just sick of hotdogs, but then one of his game stream fans comes up to give him the bad news: a senator, in fact the same senator who invited him here and was so nice and polite, has said she's going to introduce a bill to outlaw street food. Too unsafe, she says.
Well, that explains it. He understands now. He wasn't brought here to showcase his talents and hard work--he was brought here to be an example.
It's further cemented later in the day, when the senator herself shows up, followed by a few other senators and constituents. She positions herself just in earshot of his stand so he can overhear what she says to them. It's the usual fare, about how street food is dangerous, about how people like him operate under a different standard of cleanliness, about how there's no telling where those hotdogs even came from, are they even vegetarian at all? And so on and so forth.
The real clincher is why in the world is a guy like him, who's sick as a dog, a reservoir condition in his bronchial tubes, a guy who could amplify at any moment--why is a guy like him allowed anywhere near food handling?
Sans tries to ignore the whole thing, and spends the rest of the day trying not to let any of it get to him. With minimal success.
C - Day Three-Four - shoulda been sleeping the day away
When they find the needle, Sans knows it's only a matter of time.
The vibe at the convention was tense already, now it's all but panicked. A lot of people are staying locked up in their rooms where they know they'll be safe from any further needles. Meanwhile, the security forces make the rounds, searching for more needles, searching for anyone suspicious, and generally trying to hold several hundred corks underwater. The whole thing is about to boil over, and he can feel it.
He waits patiently at his stand for them to come to him. He doesn't fight or protest or argue when they ask him to come along, that he needs to be quarantined. For safety's sake. Sure. It's not like this is the first time this has happened to him. No one trusts the sick guy.
He spends the rest of the convention locked in a sterile room, wondering what's going on outside. They treat him fairly well at least, answering his questions and keeping him fed, but he can tell they're practically just waiting for him to amplify.
Later, someone deigns to tell him that his hotdog stand has been dismantled and destroyed. For safety's sake.
Looks like it's time to start investing in the streaming business. If he makes it out of here without a bullet in his head.