Kaesa Aurelia (kaesa) wrote,
Kaesa Aurelia

I won't say I have heat, because that will jinx it. But it's currently 82 degrees in my apartment for mysterious, unexplained reasons. This is incredibly wasteful and way too hot for me in the winter, but I figure that way if it cools down again in here, it won't be like walking on blocks of ice when I leave the warmth and safety of my bedroom. I guess the neighbors are having issues with their heat too, but more in terms of the ventilation not reaching their living room.

I have groceries! I should be putting those away. This time I remembered to get Nutella. I figure I deserve a treat.

Might see my parents this weekend. Don't really want to because I don't really want to go to their house which now only has one dog in it. I probably should, though; it would make them feel better and they have a gift from my grandmother to give to me.

The highlight of my day lately has been taking pictures of new cats in Neko Atsume. It's very soothing and unlike real cats it doesn't make me sneeze. Just met St. Purrtrick. Tubbs keeps eating all the food but he also leaves lots of fish, so okay, I guess you do you, dude.

Wrote a kind of depressing part of the Mob AU today. I should really do my chores before I keep writing but I don't want to leave Sans in such pain! Anyway, here's more of that -- nothing I wrote today, though; it's all Sans and Toriel scheming.

(Also, I have no idea why the LJ cut now turns apostrophes into quotes. WTF.)

"Sans, are you aware that 'giastcltebrehber' is not a word?" she says. She's maybe trying not to laugh, and she's having trouble sounding out the non-word.

Before I knew her as the boss of the Dreemurr family, she was just a nice lady who worried too much, and she was my best audience. That hasn't changed, exactly, but the laughs are rarer now. Maybe I'm getting less funny. Maybe the world's getting darker. Either way, I don't wanna change the subject, so I lean into the joke. "Of course it is. Means 'someone who giastcltebrehbs.' You think a smart guy like me would stoop to making up words?"

"Also," she adds, "I cannot help but notice that this word is nowhere in the word search."

"You think a smart guy like me would stoop to cheating?" I ask.

"Would you not?" she asks, amused.

"Heh. Guess I don't have to stoop that far to do it," I admit. She laughs, but then she opens her mouth to say something reassuring, and I gotta ask. "So, you got a special job for me, sounds like?"

Her face falls. "Yes. I. You know how I dislike asking you to --"

"Don't worry about it," I say. "A guy's gotta do what's best for his family." She doesn't have to know I mostly mean my family and not the family. But she probably does anyway. "Tell me who you need distracted, when, and where. I got a trombone, a hundred whoopee cushions, and ten gallons of rubber cement, and I'm not afraid to use 'em."

"Ten gallons of rubber cement?" she asks.

"Well, since the cops can never make the charges stick I figured I'd give 'em a little help," I say.

She snorts. "Where did you get ten gallons of rubber cement?"

"Eh. Around. What can I say, I've got sticky fingers."

She smiles again, but her heart's not in it. "Sans, I will need you to lead the police on a chase next Friday night. This might get very complex, as I think they must be working with the Flower Boys. Fortunately, I doubt if the police know about the child. The Flower Boys would never share the full details of their plans."

"Who is this kid?" I ask.

"I am not sure," she says. She looks sad. Tori always looks sad around kids, even when she looks happy, too. "But whoever they are, we must not let the Flower Boys keep them against their will. ...Sans, how much do you know about Determination?"

I pause. Tori knows more about my past than most people, so it's not like I can shrug the question off completely, but I never worked with the stuff myself, even back in my egghead days, and there's a lot I don't tell anybody on account of not wanting to wake up in a padded cell one of these days. Or worse. "That's Alphys' area, isn't it?"

"She's looked into it," says Tori. "Asgore asked her to. While I was away."

That's a sore spot if ever there was one. I decide not to press her for details about what went down. Maybe the good doctor herself will be more forthcoming. "All I know about DT is that everyone wants it."

"You don't know why?"

"I have an inkling," I admit. "To be honest I'm a lot more comfortable with bathtub gin. Stuff's cleaner."

That earns me a little smile. "Very true. At any rate, we believe the Flower Boys plan to use this human child to produce immense amounts of Determination." Something of my true feelings must show in my expression, because she pats my hand reassuringly. "Do not worry, Sans! This is exactly why we are extracting the child. We have good information that the Flower Boys won't be able to cobble their extractor together for a month. They had to order the parts from a Swiss firm and thanks to your… adventure at the Customs office they're behind schedule."

"Oh, so that's what that was all about." I did wonder at the time. Not that I mind causing a little chaos every now and then.

"I am sorry for not explaining it earlier."

"Don't worry about it," I tell her.

She turns over the menu and starts to draw a map on it. "We think the child is being held here, at their warehouse on the corner of Wilder and Camponella." Surprisingly, it's not very deep in Flower territory; they gave up on using the warehouse for other goods recently, and I thought it was because Aaron and Wosh cleaned 'em out a couple times (literally) so we could resell the booze that was good enough to drink and trash the stuff that was making people go blind. But apparently they're keeping a kid there now. Great. "We will need you to distract as many of the police as you can; the nearest station is here" -- she marks it in red crayon -- "and these three here are likely to send assistance if something important was to happen. I believe you're familiar with most of the officers likely to be on patrol Friday nights?"

"Oh yeah, I know 'em," I say, gritting my teeth. It's a smile. I gotta keep smiling.

She pauses. "Sans, please. If you cannot do this, we can always --"

"I'm happy to do it," I say, firmly. "You gotta get that kid outta there, Tori. A warehouse full of cheap gin is no place to raise a kid." A beat. "At least we can get 'em some cheap champagne."

She smiles, the kind of dangerous smile that makes the newshawks clam up and the cops step out for donuts. "I assume you mean grape juice."

"Yeah, yeah," I say, waving it off.


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