Contributing factors include the weather, and the weather, and, of course, the weather. When the day begins at thirty-eight degrees and climbs quickly to peak around four pm at just above seventy, there is little reason to bother with climate control in a twenty-thousand square foot building. You just leave it go and maybe open the doors, turn on a fan or two. The end result is a never ending very thin layer of condensation on the floor in the corners of the building. Slick-like.
The weather being as described in the middle of February has all kinds of additional consequences. People are tired of being inside all winter. They spent the day outside soaking up sunshine and energy. When night falls, way too early to darkness for their soaring hearts and cold-stinky bodies, they are looking for something wild to keep the mood rolling. Heh, literally, rolling.
So, again it’s the weather that puts the head count at well beyond capacity. The regulations in that part of town were relaxed last month and the number has risen to account for the fact that not everyone can be on the skate floor at once. During the five-minute birthday skate, I counted three-hundred-seventy four bodies and I wasn’t near finished when I quit to get back on the floor for the next all-skate.
It’s all the weather’s fault and what it amounts to are some of the most dangerous conditions you’ll encounter in the noncompetitive roller skating world. In addition to the damp slick conditions, I personally picked up more than a dozen candy wrappers. I also chased the same small child - who was eating a jello shot on the skate floor!!!!! - off the rink twice. No human is allowed to eat jello and roller skate at the same time. Not on my watch.
I’ve gotten so much practice at skating on one leg all the way around the rink in one push, i can do it on either leg, inside curve or out - twice around in a row switching legs in turn. On the outside leg I can open my whole body and chest in a warrior stance toward the ceiling. But none of that is what matters, the best part is that I’ve done it so often now that I can do it without thinking at all. Which means I can make eye contact and smile while I do it. There happens to be no better way to make friends with folks than smiling directly at them while you skate on one leg. It tickles them where they giggle, almost without fail every time.
It is definitely the weather’s fault; it was dangerous; and i’m so glad to have survived it.
They had been coming home from a movie, one Sans had been excited about for months and had talked animatedly about on the way home
“Did you see that one guys’ sword, human? It was huge! He was so powerful, it truly baffled me as to why he was not the main character. He would have fit the role perfectly!” He rambled on and on, discussing the plot and theorizing about what would happen in the sequel.
Frisk wasn’t really paying attention to the smaller monster, but still sending a small smile his way every once in a while to show she was listening.
Each time she smiled, it sent such sweet tremors through his body and soul; it was a wonder he hadn’t fallen over due to how weak he’d gotten in the knees.
She was always such a quiet human, Sans thought. She rarely spoke unless spoken to, and even then her voice was so soft you had to strain to hear it.
But when he could hear it, he considered himself blessed.
Besides, she didn’t need to talk.
Her actions spoke louder than words, and, as she would (rarely) tell him, he talked enough for the both of them.
That was okay with him.
Both monster and human were so focused on their own musings that they didn’t hear the extra sets of footsteps that seemed to be following them home.
And they hadn’t had time to react before being grabbed from behind and dragged, struggling, down the darkened space between two buildings.
The thugs who’d captured them had thrown him against the ground; one of them crouching down and tying his hands together, then standing and stomping a steel-toed boot into Sans’ back.
The punk smirked down at him with a cigarette hanging out of the side of his mouth.
"Ain’t so tough, are ya, skelly-boy?“
That cocky expression was making Sans just a teensy bit angry.
But that was nothing compared to the unbridled rage he felt when he saw what they were doing to Frisk.
The biggest thug had her pressed against the bricks of one of the buildings. He’d wrenched her arms behind her back, and pressed himself against her, trapping her between his body and the wall.
Sans could just make out what he was saying to her.
And he really wished he couldn’t
“Heya sweetheart, how’s it goin’? You having fun with yer lil date, here?” The man asked, gesturing with his head at Sans.
Frisk struggled in his grip, resulting in getting pressed harder to the rough brick.
"Now listen–I’m ‘bout to give ya a lil suggestion; you should dump this freak,“ the leader sneered at Sans, "And come be with yer own kind, yeah?”
Frisks’ eyes were wide and welling with tears, and she was trembling violently.
"Let her go!“ Sans shouted.
The man laughed spitefully, his goons joining in with cackles of their own.
The punks’ boot stomped against his shoulder blade, causing him to groan in pain.
At his angle he was forced to watch as the leader slid his leg between Frisks’; Sans had never felt such hatred.
He wrapped a dirty hand around Frisks’ breast and Sans felt such an urge to murder.
The bastards’ tongue slid out of his mouth and onto her cheek and Sans snapped.
Suddenly the weight on his back was gone, the punk holding him down now hovering ten feet up in the air.
He broke his restraints with little trouble.
Sans stood up, brushing the dust and trash off his clothes.
He straitened his blue bandanna and patted down his black cargo pants.
His face betrayed nothing but calm, cool collectiveness.
The gang members let out small screams and yelps as he lifted them into the air with his magic.
He summoned a host of bones, a serene smile on his face.
There was a total of five goons in the alleyway including the filthy leader, he concluded.
Nothing he couldn’t handle.
"Excuse me, sir?” Sans said in a falsely pleasant tone. “Do you mind letting her go? I don’t think she appreciates the…attention you’re giving her."
The lead thug turned to him, temporarily distracted from his violation of Frisk.
He scowled at Sans, then looked around to find his goons floating around him, surrounded in a blue aura with terror on their faces.
He wasn’t swayed so easily, however.
"What, you think your magic scares me? All it is is cheap parlor tricks monster freakshows like you use to intimidate humans and get your own way,” the man sneered. “Well guess what, bub? I ain’t fallin’ for it.”
Sans ran out of patience.
He tore the man away from Frisk with a flick of his glove clad wrist, the girl slumping down the wall and hugging her knees to her chest.
He saw that her crying had only gotten worse; his soul wrenched at the sight of tears running down her cheeks and the sound of the small sobs that escaped her.
Sans would comfort her in a minute.
First he had some garbage to take out.
He slammed the lead thug against the opposing wall, a smile coming onto his face at the sound of the mans’ back cracking against the brick.
"Now,“ Sans started. "I don’t like using telekinesis…”
He slammed the man against the ground.
"Because, in my opinion, it’s such an unfair tactic,“ Sans said conversationally, cyan flames sparking in his right socket. "Papy uses it a lot, but I believe in an approach that levels the playing field, so to speak. "
He threw the man against the end of the alleyway.
Sans started to walk slowly towards the man, putting one rubber boot-clad foot in front of the other in a leisurely fashion.
He summoned more bones, all glowing electric blue in the dim lighting, and casting him in an intimidating light.
"But, then again,” Sans flicked a cluster of bones to lodge themselves in the bricks on either side of the thugs’ head.
The man was sweating now, droplets running down his greasy face as the skeleton approached.
Sans stooped down so he was face to face with him, and spoke in the friendliest tone he could muster.
"You wouldn’t know about being unfair, would you, mister?“
Sans stood straight and turned away, pulling a cluster of bones up from the ground, tearing up concrete and dirt.
The smile he wore could send even the bravest men scurrying for cover.
One by one he threw the thugs down onto the bones; he reveled in the screams of the men and the tearing of cloth and flesh as they were skewered.
He was laughing, loud and psychotic, his eyes were wide and burning with unrestrained magic.
Blood was getting everywhere, covering the walls, the trash cans, his clothes.
For the finale, Sans tossed the lead thug screaming up into the air, and let him fall.
His body impaled on the field of bones, his bloodshot eyes staring into the night sky, never to truly see again.
Despite the fact that all the men were dead, Sans still heard screaming.
It was Frisk, he realized.
Her eyes (they were so lovely, he could get lost in them if he wasn’t careful), normally closed, were wide with terror, tears streaming down her face.
She was staring at the carnage he’d caused with a look of pure terror on her beautiful features.
Through his haze of bloodlust, he didn’t notice how his human shrunk away from him when he walked up to her.
Sans’ eyes were lidded, a soft and loving smile on his face.
He sat between her knees and put his hands to her face.
She shakily raised her own hands and grabbed a hold of his wrists.
He stroked his thumb across her cheek, trying to get rid of that bastards’ spit; he didn’t notice the red smear his thumb left.
"Hey, human,” Sans said softly, pulling her closer. He nuzzled his nose against hers.
"It’s okay now, see?“
He gestured to the bodies and gore that littered the alleyway.
Frisk sobbed, more tears spilling down her face.
She struggled weakly, causing Sans to tighten his grip on her.
He stared into her eyes, the blazing magic of his irises casting a pretty blue glow on her face.
"Oh, don’t be scared! I’m not going to hurt you. I love you…” He kissed her cheek. “…so much.”
When she stopped moving, going limp in his arms (but still trembling, was she cold?), a big smile stretched across his face.
“Good girl,” he murmured.
One of his hands wandered from her face to tangle into her hair. He sort of wished he wasn’t wearing his gloves; he absolutely loved the feeling of her soft hair on his bare phalanges.
After staring into her eyes, which were still dripping tears, he pressed his bony lips to her soft ones.
She tried to pull back, but he only gripped her harder. He pressed himself closer, pushing his ribcage against the softness of her breasts.
When she whimpered, a rare sound coming from her, Sans’ temperature spiked.
The blue blush on his face intensified.
"Frisk,“ Sans moaned.
He summoned his tongue, the appendage glowing in the near pitch black of the alleyway.
Frisk shivered when he ran it over her lips.
He pushed harder against her mouth, trying to gain entry.
She held her lips shut tight, her breathing erratic.
Sans was getting impatient. He pulled away, pouting at the scared girl in front of him.
"Friiiiisk! Come on, let me in!“ he whined, his voice surprisingly quiet. His mouth was inches from hers.
Every breath ran hot against Frisks’ face, her own coming out short and panicked.
Now she struggled, kicking and trying to scream.
Sans would have none of it, however.
He clapped a hand over her mouth.
His brows furrowed, and he shook his head in a chastising manner.
"We can’t have any of that, my angel. We wouldn’t want anyone to stumble upon this mess, would we?”
As if suddenly realizing they were still out in plain view of the world, albeit in the relative cover of the shadowy alleyway, Sans glanced out at the street.
If he wanted this to…continue any further, they’d have to go back to the house.
Sans turned back to Frisk. Her eyes were red from crying, her cheeks still flushed from his ministrations.
He smiled kindly at her, the blood spattered on his clothes only serving to make the expression horrific.
"I think it’s about time to go home, don’t you, Frisky?“ Sans said in the sweetest tone he could manage.
Frisk didn’t reply.
Sans’ smile fell for a split second.
Only for a second.
He flashed them away in a small burst of blue, leaving the wake of his rage for someone else to find.
(let it be known that theses drabbles were written months ago. i do not write that fast)