Threadbare: An Errorberry Fanfic

*Anti-void, Aprx Day 160

One could do a surprisingly great deal with a single piece of string.

Loosened fibers could be later construed to its original form or substituted as a form of decor for any objects which lay in need of being darned, and it would only be by the barest of efforts that a tear in fabric could be mended should its wielder already retain the knowledge of how to go about attempting to resolve it and such. It was not without fail that these darning attempts would prove fruitless, leading to the string's possessor finding himself time and time at odds end with a needless predicament, but what was one to do when so little has been left by which to retain one's sanity? Sans had pondered over this inquiry for quite some time after his captor's departure, and had since absolved to be rid of such thoughts completely.

It wouldn't do, he knew, to allow the full faculties of his mind to continue to be engaged so heavily in such concerning discourse which he couldn't bear to even voice aloud, and so he soldered himself as best as one could in such a situation and set about to properly examine his disposition at once.

To his left lay the strewn puppets, lying haphazardly upon the blank space he deemed as a floor. Scattered almost mockingly among this merry gathering were the flowers which the small skeleton had so lovingly sewn- not necessarily through any means of actual fondness, but of a sense of obligation which accompanies one's duty- and paid little mind to now. Above him, hanging as they always were and have been for an interminable amount of time were the souls he knew that were held prisoner in the white void, his sight just barely managing to catch a glimpse of the ruby souls which he imagined yet retained their faint, pulsing glow.

Sans looked about himself, took into account these meager posessions before turning his head in what he believed was the direction that his counterpart's portal had been laid bare to both this static world and appearing as a threshold to another, and before he could register that he was moving, the small skeleton soon found himself striding over into the empty space, reaching for a window he knew well enough wouldn't exist. It had long since lost its formation, the panels with which it had once used as an unstable yet functioning hinge to an ephemeral doorway now no longer flickered with and folded back as it once had, yet Sans couldn't help but to try again anyhow, each attempt appearing more futile than the last.

At length, he turned his back to the lurid whiteness and returned to his odd assortment upon the floor, standing in pensive silence among the puppets and flowers before deciding on his next course of action.

"Well, this isn't so bad..." Sans mumbled as he settled amongst the sewn items, taking up one of the flowers. The bright hue of the rumpled petals constrasted sharply against the blank backdrop and the small skeleton sighed as he smoothed the fabric over. "It could be much worse than this, Papyrus could've been here instead." The flower was soon straightened, resting flat upon the palm of his hand as Sans turned it over, examining the creases. "... At least I'm used to it already- I know I can handle this place by now."

His words were soft, nearly an indiscernible whisper in the vast space and the silence which filled in the white void in the aftermath of his speech left him quiet, almost terrified in the aftermath. Sans forced a smile, plastering one on as he drew himself nearer to the puppets and reachef out blindly, groping the ground until one of his phalanges brushed against cloth which he automatically closed in his hand.

He had the puppet upon his lap within the next instant, pushing the sewn flower into its arms which he held together, as if the doll was being made to accept his offering. The small skeleton's smile faltered and he reached for another flower, ran it through the same procedure before producing another and another. Between the disquieting unease which settled over the blank space and his near methodical displacement of the flowers, it didn't take long before the puppets had been adorned entirely by the soft, colorful patches of fabric.

In the next instant, the flowers were scattered across the white flooring, their makeshift owners lying haphazardly round the small skeleton who sank back onto the ground, pressing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets before lying down, curling into a tight knit ball where he remained unmoving for what he believed was the course of a few hours- but were simply a few minutes.

"... It's becoming almost hopeless, isn't it..." Sans mumbled after a space, unfurling himself to sit up and halfheartedly push one of the flowers away. It came to mind again, then, the single thread which he had used to weave the colorful fabric together. The small skeleton pondered over this for a moment, gaze flickering over to the fallen dolls before he reached for the one nearest- Sans Classic- and clawed at its front in an attempt to loosen one of the strings. He managed to unravel a bit of thread from the puppet's left arm and he made short work of pulling it free.

The string was held aloft, poised, if one will, as if its wielder intended to examine it under a source of light. Held against the incandescent whiteness, it cast a thin, barely there shadow on his gloved palm and Sans graced it with a wan smile, stretching it out to its full length before setting it upon the floor. "Five inches..." The small skeleton rotated the string, taking the utmost care in ensuring that it wouldn't fold too far in on itself. "Now it's ten."

Sans paused for a moment before rising to his feet with the string in hand, starting about the Antivoid and distancing himself from the flowers and puppets which he used to designate as their point of origin as he resumed his counting, only stopping once he reached a distance of about six feet. He glanced back at the puppets, their bright colors an optimal marker of how far away he now was, and smiled to himself.

His captor may be the prime wielder of strings and may retain a substantial amount of knowledge as to how one could go about manipulating them, but Sans was certain that he too could use it at his own employ. It would simply take a fair bit of time- an asset which, undoubtedly, he clearly had at his disposal.