who have i become? i'm still old enough to die young [open]

[rosswood]

Who: Alex Kralie and you
Where: All over the mansion's interior
When: April 1st and April 2nd
Rating: PG-13 probs. there's some self-harm and thoughts of suicide in here, plus someone is getting murdered
Summary: Alex's inability to cope with his own emotions (or the lack thereof) causes problems
The Story:

kitchen; open; i'm static like a dead tv screen ( emotionless )

He opens the lighter with a quiet click and watches the stilling flame with complete disinterest. He shuts it again.

He has a purpose to fulfill. All's quiet in his head, at long goddamn last. No voice urging him on. No screams, no static, no tearing of stark white claws into the folds of his brain and carving them into jelly. It's quiet now.

It's his turn to burn.

He spends his flat moments gathering the requisite materials: a box of matches and a knife from the kitchen, lighter fluid from one of the closets. Whoever stands in his way will be dealt with accordingly. He has work to do.

[ooc: Evelyn has dibs on Taking Care of Alex but anyone else who wants to encounter him in his emotionless zombie state is welcome to!]

entrance hall; open; let this stranger have their death wish ( hyper-emotional )

He makes it as far as the entrance hall before panic creeps up on his chest and closes a tight fist around his throat, and he drops against the nearest wall and clenches his fists tight, jaw aching as he grits his teeth.

He killed them. He killed them. He killed them. Brian laughed, Sarah sighed, exasperated until he came up behind her with a chunk of rebar, Tim hadn't even wanted to be there, Seth was just trying to help when he left him to that thing underneath, Jay just wanted the goddamn tapes.

It doesn't matter. He did what he had to, like a hero. That's what he is. That's what he has to be, a hero, a hero, that's what he - what he -

A rage-filled sound tears its way out of his throat as he swings around and slams his fist into the wall. Then he does it again. And again. And again, until the skin of his knuckles is cracked and bleeding. Why didn't he end it right then, after? Who was he kidding, thinking he could escape when he should have slit his wrists and been done with it? Those are the rules, Kralie. You don't just get out and escape this shit forever and ever, you don't get to abscond with your sanity after getting touched with that blank-faced horror.

He deserves this.

third floor; closed to evelyn; if i pass on, then it's a mercy kill

He's compiled a list of potential threats, and cuts through the mansion with crisp, cold efficiency. The steps are cleanly outlined in his head, like something he's done a thousand times (has he? Maybe he has) - first step, kill the targets. A quick blade jabbing in and out of their neck should accomplish this nicely. Second step, burn the evidence. The jug of lighter fluid sloshes in one hand, the sharp tang of gasoline stinging his nostrils and causing his eyes to water.

But it doesn't matter. He has a list. He has a target. First, there's the kid that isn't a kid. Second, there's the one who somehow obtained knowledge of who he was and what he did (didn't they know he had to do it?), and third, there's Max. The thought should make him hesitate, but it doesn't. She knows about what hounds him, what haunts him, and there's only one solution to that. Kill her, kill the others, and then himself.

It's what's necessary.

He stops in front of one of the rooms and, without hesitation, uncaps the lighter fluid and begins to pour until it soaks through the carpet.

Comments

[punful]

He doesn't move or say anything, but his chest hitches a little. It's harder to keep things hidden like this. All these emotions pouring out, all the time. It's one thing to control what you say, it's another to control body language, all those tiny little tells that Sans used to be good at keeping an eye on.

Both. It's both.

And shame too, that's a big part of it.

"what are you doing, alex?" He narrows his eyesockets. "you're switched off, yeah? so. ignoring me would make more sense."

Alex isn't even looking for food anymore. Did he just lose interest, or did he even come here for food at all?

"well, unless you wanted to have something to keep in your back pocket. in case i turn out to be a threat."

Normally he'd laugh. Scoff at the very idea. Haha, he's just a ridiculous little skeleton, right? No threat at all. Only nothing is very funny right now.

They talked about this once before. At that party. Alex had been scared of him then. Sans had thought that it was because he was a talking skeleton, but Alex had said that he'd mistaken him for someone else.

"i'm not a threat." It doesn't come out right. It's supposed to sound reassuring.

It comes out...sad. And here it is again, the despair, the hopelessness. It really is a joke, because Sans isn't a threat, not really. He can kill people, but what does that even matter? Even here? People just come back. The human just always comes back. He's not a threat. He's just an obstacle. Just another stepping stone. Useless, pointless.

"i'm really not."

[rosswood]

He looks down and starts opening drawers. Matches. Matches. Where do they keep the matches?

Ah. There we are. He withdraws a book of matches, surveys them, and nods once as he slips them into his pocket. If Sans is already suspicious, there's no point in hiding it anymore, is there? He's not aware of Alex's propensity for burning things down as a problem solver. Matches are in and of themselves fairly innocent.

Or maybe they would be, if he weren't already so stark and empty. Feels familiar. Something hollowed him out like this once before, left him gaping. It felt better that way, cleaner.

He cut himself free, and that had been a mistake. A big goddamn mistake.

"The fact that you have to keep telling me says otherwise." He doesn't go for the knives. Not yet. Matches can mean a lot of things, but knives have a very singular purpose these days. He should know. He got one in the gut.

[punful]

Alex is going for the matches.

That's fine. That's normal. Right? People need matches for all kinds of things. Maybe Alex is going to light some candles.

Yeah.

Sans has had about enough of this.

"yeah. maybe."

He eases his way past Alex, heading for the door.

[rosswood]

Totally normal. He watches Sans go impassively.

"Not planning to hurt anyone, are you?" he says idly. If he's planning to hurt himself - well, he can do that all he likes. But if he's a potential danger, Alex has a way of dealing with dangers.

It's what he does.

He's the hero.

[punful]

He pauses at the doorway, sets a hand on the frame and looks back over his shoulder at Alex. He's just kind of...hovering there, as if waiting for Sans to go, as if waiting to finish whatever he started.

And what has he started?

"it's pretty far down on the agenda." Sarcasm isn't funny, and Sans isn't laughing.

"are you?"

Any other day and the question would be casual, neutral. Right now there's a dangerous note in his voice that is almost never there.

[rosswood]

Hmm. If he had nothing else to do, he might have tailed Sans for the rest of the day, pursued that line of thought further. But right now he has at least three separate people to track down and take care of individually, and he doesn't have time to keep eyes on a skeleton that seems all in all fairly harmless.

He might need to set up some cameras. Just in case.

Alex pulls up one corner of his mouth in a vague half-smile, an unquestionably false expression. Perhaps maybe one Sans might be familiar with. He's always grinning, isn't he?

"Of course not." He's just innocently searching for a knife, like a normal person. "You know me."

[punful]

Humans are so much more expressive than skeletons. Even with magic moving all that bone around in ways it shouldn't move, humans have all those muscles and tendons and all that flesh, stuff that lets them have all these complicated expressions, often such subtle differences between one and another.

You wouldn't think a human would be as good at a placid, meaningless smile as a skeleton.

It's eerie, to say the least. Sans would try to match it, but he doesn't have the energy to fake it anymore.

"seems i really don't."

Time to go. Time to go find Papyrus and make sure he stays away from a weird human with glasses and a thing for cameras.

He walks out. As soon as he's out of Alex's line of sight, he teleports, disappearing into thin air.

[rosswood]

He doesn't follow. He lets his expression dissolve back into nothing, and resumes his hunt for a decent knife.

He dismisses the encounter the moment Sans vanishes from sight.

It's hardly important.