XOqNI

[tongueamok]

Hello, this is Carlisle. I mean, it's not Carlisle as in I'm actually answering you right now, so if you're trying to reply to me at the second, you should probably save your breath because I'm not really here. This is some kind of a recording of my voice, but this is my communicator. I'm going to assume these devices are as common here as they are in other places — not my world, but others, ones more technologically advanced than where I come from— so if you'd like to leave me a message, then you may do so here, or er... Right. Here is fine. So just leave yo— [beep]

Comments

[voice]

[tongueamok]

You're not exactly inspiring confidence that you should learn the art of healing, lad.

[He lets out a long-suffering sigh. NOT CAVING.]

Why is it you're suddenly interested in this? Because if you're looking to accommodate for your own frailties, I can tell you now it won't help. You'd be better off picking up some of those trinkets from the clinic.

[voice]

[skelebro]

Thanks, pal, but that ain't why I'm askin'.

[Like he said, it's non-divisible. The only thing that'll up that pitiful allocation of HP is LOVE, and he ain't goin' that route if he can help it.]

I'm not much of a fighter, but plenty of people I know are. My bro gets himself in a scrape, and I can't do a thing to help him out.

[Not that he's really a confrontational sort, but he sure as hell wants somethin' outta this conversation.]

I'd kinda like to fix that.

[voice]

[tongueamok]

[Oh, it's... a family issue. There's another kind of quiet sigh on his end, one more timid, as though he's a little embarrassed he asked at all. As someone who has lost everyone in his family line, he can't help that Sans' reasoning stirs him.

Well, assuming he actually has a brother. Sans has mentioned him once before, as well.]

Is... is he a skeleton too?

[voice]

[skelebro]

Papyrus? Yeah.

[His tone lightens marginally. His brother tends to bring out the only good parts of him, and even with the gravity of the situation and his own recent history - can't help but soften his smile a bit.]

Best brother ever. Way better than me.

[voice]

[tongueamok]

I believed you mentioned that before, as well. That he's the nice one of the two of you.

[He's not soft, he reminds himself. He's not caving. He just... doesn't feel like watching someone deal with the crippling despair that is losing one's family.]

I suppose we could at least see if you're even capable of learning such a craft. Test it with a glyph or something and see if that wears you out.

[... Okay, so maybe he's caving a little.]

You said you're made of it, but do you have any experience with using magic yourself?

[voice]

[skelebro]

[Sans, for his part, chuckles. Still, interesting that the mention of family is what causes Carlisle to hear him out. He files that one away.

Always good to know.]

'Course. Monsters use magic for just about everything. Cooking, for one.

[voice]

[tongueamok]

I do not want to know what kind of horrible things magical skeletons eat.

[Probably the magical flesh of magical living people. This is a terrible idea.]

Would you rather I bring a glyph by now to see how well this might go, or do it later? I'd rather not prepare for a lesson only to find that this will absolutely kill you in the process.

[Which he is still sure is a thing that can happen.]

[voice]

[skelebro]

Hot dogs. We eat hot dogs. Spaghetti, if my bro ever figures out how to make it edible.

[Sans has the good grace to sound reasonably offended at the idea. Why, what'd Carlisle think they eat?

He probably don't wanna know.]

Suppose I could scrape a little time outta my daily nap to scope things out now.

[voice]

[tongueamok]

[He said he didn't want to know. WHY DOES NO ONE LISTEN TO HIM.]

Fine. I'll bring something by the, er.

[No, not the library. The aforementioned green fellow is usually there, and he seems like a pest.]

The bar, if that's convenient.

[He's going to need a drink.]

[voice]

[skelebro]

[Library's probably not the best bet, no. Sometimes kids end up in there. But, uh, speakin' of which...

Maybe some kids would like to know a thing or two about healing magic.

He'll keep it in mind.]

Sure thing. I can even bring you a hot dog.

[voice]

[tongueamok]

[He has no idea what a "hot dog" is or why anyone would want to consume it, and that hesitant, disgusted noise he makes says as much.]

I'll pass.

[Hanging up now. He's positive he's gonna have a bad time.]

[action]

[skelebro]

[Magic and grease, mostly. But what's not to like? Even Papyrus enjoyed 'em, and he detests most things grease-based purely on principle.

True to Sans's word, he's at the bar in a few minutes. Blips himself right on over, perched on a stool and swigging what appears to be mustard right outta the bottle.

There's even a hot dog on a plate. It's completely unobjectionable, Carlisle, really.]

[tongueamok]

[For a tiny skeleton with short legs, Sans does certainly move fast. Carlisle wasn't even far from the bar, and he already had a few easy glyphs made up, and yet he wasn't the first to arrive.

No matter. He smooths his hair, straightens his tabard, and makes his way over, his eyes flicking to the plate only once before they're back on his proposed pupil. Despite him jokes and relatively harmless appearance, Carlisle is still clearly riddled with his own nerves.]

Good. You're here. You did, ah. Show up after all.

[Yep. This is a thing he agreed to.]

[skelebro]

[Well, he did wanna know about that whole magic deal, didn't he? Shortcuts ain't exactly the most conventional magic out there, but they'll do in a pinch.]

Sure I did. We made a date, remember?

[He takes a sip from his bottle of mustard - somehow without opening his mouth - and offers the bottle to Carlisle with a grin.]

You wanna sip? Stuff's Dijon.

[tongueamok]

[Carlisle may come from a world without things like Dijon mustard, but he knows enough about it to recognize it's a condiment, not a drink. His nose wrinkles as he is indeed reassured that he does not want to know any more about what magical skeletons eat.]

Right, [just going to move right along and pretend that that's not happening a few inches from him,] glyphs. I've brought brought a few of varying strengths, but seeing how you at least know a thing or two about magic, I assume you will know what it feels like when you use it. Energies tugging and such.

[He reaches into his satchel and retrieves a few pieces of paper with some odd circles and crude symbols. His handwriting leaves something to be desired.]

Do you have healing magic where you're from? Or any kind of mending, really?

[skelebro]

[Well, hey, willful denial is just as valid a reaction to Sans as anything. He's lightening the mood somewhat, but if Carlisle prefers to stick to business, that's fine too.

Glyph-based stuff is entirely outside his wheelhouse, but that don't mean he can't learn. Somethin' to be said for imaging and the like, but most monsters produce the kind stuff they have natural. Energies tugging sounds a pretty obscure way to describe it.]

Sure. We got green magic - good for healing and defense and the like. Just never learned much about it myself. For monsters, magic's about as natural as breathing. [Or, uh, whatever the equivalent is for a monster lacking lungs. But, y'know. Details.]

[tongueamok]

[He's never heard of "green magic," unless that's an odd, otherworldly way of speaking of the earthen element, but he supposes that if he's going to teach this magical skeleton how to heal, there are going to be a lot of discrepancies.]

The natural acquisition of magic does not necessarily translate into control, but I suppose that comes next.

[After setting one of his pieces of paper atop the counter, he rounds it to the other side and grabs a glass. After a second of hesitation, he hits it on the countertop, leaving a sharp crack all the way down it and a huge chunk shattered from its side. He uses one of his other sheets to sweep the pieces onto the glyph on the paper.]

Can you control how much magic you expel, Sans? Or does it constantly flow through you like blood?

[skelebro]

Yes.

[A flatly, decidedly unhelpful response as he watches Carlisle mete out some misplaced sense of justice upon a poor, defenseless glass. A second later, he inclines his skull faintly as he elaborates.]

Both, essentially.

[He opens his phalanges, and a small collection of knucklebones form in the air, hovering there harmlessly before they dissipate.]

[tongueamok]

[Carlisle just narrows his eyes at Sans' display, as nothing he's doing is making him feel any better about this, nor is it providing him with the answers he's looking for.]

... Right. At least if this glyph goes horribly wrong, neither of us will end up dead. Probably.

[He gestures to one of the little arches on the paper that leads off the main circle.]

What you'll do is just put your hand here, and the glyph will do the rest. Ideally, the glass fixes itself. Not-so-ideally, it either doesn't do anything or it explodes from too much energy being drawn into it all at once.

[Hence the 'probably.']

[skelebro]

So it ain't just healing. It's...fixing. Puttin' back together what's been undone.

[For the first time, Sans sounds interested rather than simply lazily amused. It's an intriguing aspect. He'd been figuring it was something rooted in the organic or the magical - something utterly dependent on the knitting together of fibers or blood vessels or the magical fabric that comprises a monster's whole being.

A glyph drawn, and then you channel your energy. Makes sense.

Sans complies, reaching to place his hand on the location designated. He pauses, phalanges hovering an inch or so above the paper.]

Is it somethin' that feeds off my energy naturally, or am I channeling something?

[tongueamok]

With glyphcrafting, it happens automatically once you put your hands on the contact point.

[He trails his finger along the minuscule symbols drawn between the two main circles.]

Normally, a glyph will only pull how much energy is required to activate and complete its task, but as this is a test, I have inscribed it to pull from you until the glass is fixed. If your magic is compatible with that of my world, it should take only a minimal amount, at best, to mend it. And if nothing happens, then I guess at least I didn't waste any time writing a lesson plan.

And if you're very compatible, or you don't know how to cut off the flow of your own energy, I'm expecting the glass will be too fixed. If it starts glowing white hot, I recommend you pull your hands off the glyph and duck.

[skelebro]

[He doubts bein' too compatible will be an issue, frankly. 1 HP don't give you a lotta room for buffer. He's got a bit of a buffer thanks to all the naps he takes, but that don't last forever, and he has to "recharge," so to speak, frequently.

If it goes all pear-shaped and he dissolves into dust on the spot, well - Carlisle did warn him and all. Decent of him.

Sans closes the gap, settling his hand down on the paper. For a moment, there's only stillness. Then there's a minute shiver and - hey now, it feels kinda like throwin' up a line of bones. Only instead of thrusting out an attack fully materialized, it's like watchin' it build itself up piece by piece. It's the same way green magic works, in principle, but simply released via another mechanism.

Like opening a door.

His HP goes untouched. He's got plenty of magic to accommodate the fixing required, and it don't hurt. It hums the way magic does when it's being actively used, but that's something he can well tolerate.

The glass starts to piece itself together.]

I thought I hit this back! My bad!

[tongueamok]

[And together it goes after a moment, melding back together as though it'd never been broken at all. Carlisle nods, seeming pleased.]

Good. Good good good. And you're not dead after all, so I suppose we can call that a, ah.

[And then the glass starts glowing along the cracks that had just been fixed, extraneous magic starting to seep through them. That's likely what he meant by it being 'too fixed.']

no problem!

[skelebro]

[Whoop. He withdraws his phalanges from the glyph. Won't do to come across as somebody with an excess of magic - ain't very true, for one, and for another, it completely screws over the picture of a lazy, profoundly unmotivated skeleton that he works very hard to maintain.]

All right-y. Guess now we know to cut that flow off before it gets to be too much of a pane.

[tongueamok]

[He would laugh at that wordplay, but for the moment, he just gives Sans a This is serious, lad look.]

Probably comes from being made of magic. These kinds of glyphs aren't really written for beings who are made entirely of the stuff.

[The ink on the paper starts to bubble, evaporating away with the excess energy. Carlisle doesn't seem terribly concerned -- that part must be normal.]