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kingfallshistoricallibrary-blog · 6 years

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Episode Thirteen: Crop Circle Jerk

[intro]

Ben:

Good evening! You’re listening to King Falls AM – that’s 660 on the radio dial.

Sammy:

Folks, we are jumping right into it tonight. We got Deputy Troy on the line live from Libbydale Farms. Hey, Troy, can you hear us alright?

Troy:

Loud and clear, Sammy. Heard you real fine, too, Ben.

Ben:

Suck an egg.

Sammy:

Okay so, Troy tell the listeners what you just told us right before we went on air.

Troy:

Ladies and gents, in all my years – and I mean all – I ain’t never seen anything like this. Not even comparatively close to what I’m lookin’ at right this instant.

Ben:

POINT. GET TO IT.

Troy:

Gosh darnit, Ben. I’m trying to sell the magnitude of what I’m feasting my eyes on!

Ben:

Who even knew you could see Libbydale Farms from so far out in the Kiss Ass Sea of Worthy SS Backstabber.

Troy:

You know GD well I’m not on a ship nor would it be called the SS Backstabber if I were. Don’t be so damn sore, Ben. Everybody knows I’m sorry! Plus I reckon my ship be called the USS Super Badass.

Sammy:

[clears throat] Troy. Ben. Let’s put our differences aside and let’s get to the matter at hand. So, Troy, you’re live at?

Ben & Troy:

Libbydale Farms.

Ben & Troy:

I’m trying to talk!

Sammy:

Guys!

Troy:

As- as I was sayin, I’m out here at the farm and out past the barns just hours ago, Old man Libbydale called us in and acres upon acres, boys, have been de-stroyed.

Ben:

Where were you earlier this evening, Troy?

Troy:

Using my keen detective skills and ninja like mental agility, I can see you’re trying to place me at the scene of the crime, little buddy. However Ol’ Troy was sawing logs next to the Mrs before my shift.

Ben:

While crimes are being committed? Typical.

Troy: Now that’s a low blow. Just because –

Ben:

NO! NO! YOU-

Troy:

Ben come on –

Ben:

[sarcastic] Ohhh yeah ohhh just soooo good at –

Sammy:

GUYS! Guys! I understand there’s a new intensity between you two, but Ben, as co-host of this show and a respected journalist…put it away. Troy, you’re the first friend of The Sammy & Ben Show and a deputy sheriff. You guys don’t have to be best buddies, but let’s please report on the news story at hand.

Troy:

Couldn’t have said it better myself, Sammy.

Ben:

Jesus.

Sammy:

So, Troy – Oldman Libbydale called you out. Acres of his lands destroyed. How so?

Troy:

Y’all ain’t gonna believe it, but you know I always shoot you straight. Two words: Crop Circles.

Sammy:

Crop circles?

Troy:

It’s like a live action Led Zeppelin album cover as far as the eyes can see. Big ones, little ones…the craziest damn designs you ever could imagine.

Ben:

Troy, I assume you and the rest of Gunderson’s thugs – I mean deputies – inspected the circles and the surrounding areas for man made tools. There have been stories of men with boards tied to ropes that can replicate what people believe crop circles to look like. Bending the crops at the right angles, etcetera… did you find -

Troy:

Didn’t find anything, Ben. Not a board, not a footprint, nothing but hunched over crops.

Ben:

So you think…?

Troy:

Oh there isn’t a doubt in my mind it’s the UFO’s or those lights. I mean, whichever you wanna call it. No man made these. And in just a few hours to boot!

Sammy:

Okay, so has this ever happened here before, Ben?

Ben:

No. Nor abductions. Not even the lights being so close to town. The past few months have been a hotbed for extraterrestrial activity, it would seem.

Sammy:

It would seem? So you aren’t certain?

Ben:

[laughs] I only said it would seem so you wouldn’t get all defensive about it.

Sammy:

Okay, alright. Well as much as I hate to say it, I definitely feel there’s a lot more than meets the eye here in Kings Falls.

Ben:

I’m not one to say I told you so. But I did tell you so!

Troy:

Just so everybody out there knows, Libbydale Farm is private property. So, unless you’re doing the dairy farm tour in morning, this is not an attraction for looky-loos. There is an official investigation still on going here. Plus don’t nobody need another person gettin’ snatched up by the Martians either.

Ben:

Martians are from Mars, Troy. They aren’t representative of all extraterrestrials.

Troy:

Whatever, Ben Nye the Science Guy. I’m headed out to the field again. I may not be smart as Ben about the aliens and such, but I can definitely sniff out a spot where the Williams Boys will come lookin for mischief and mayhem. [hangs up]

Sammy:

Deputy Troy, folks. Now I didn’t realize you and Troy were still so angry at one another, Ben. You can’t let that hostility –

Ben:

Thanks Dad… we’re just gonna take a break to hear from one of our fine sponsors. Maybe Sammy here can talk to me about the birds and the bees after we get back.

Sammy:

Maybe…

[ad]

What if what you thought wasn’t really what you thought you thought? Ever think of that? Here at The Institute of Science we can help you become what you’ve always wanted to become. A better you, for a better mankind. Call us today for a free brochure and a c-meter reading. That’s C as in cat. We’re coming King Falls. Be well. And be ready.

[intro]

Sammy:

You’re listening to King Falls AM and we’re opening up the phone lines to you. 424-279-3858.

Ben:

We’ll be talking about the apparent crop circles situation at Libbydale Farms as well as if any of you out there have had any experience with this phenomenon.

Sammy:

So give us a call or tweet us @kingfallsam. So, you’ve heard our story, now let’s hear yours.

Ben:

Line 3.

Sammy:

Good evening you’re live with Sammy and Ben.

Cynthia:

Good evening? For who? Certainly not King Falls!

Sammy:

Hi, Cynthia. How about you tell us how you really feel tonight.

Cynthia:

Well, to be honest I’m a little rattled over these gang signs these aliens are leaving on our turf. Literally.

Ben:

Cynthia, there is no way to tell if those circles are angry or happy, even. They’re just symbols.

Cynthia:

So’s a swastika, Ben Arnold. Get your head out of your tuchus!

Sammy:

Okay, obviously, we aren’t trying to raise alarms here, Cynthia. It’s just, uh, an interesting story. Especially here in our own backyard. Would you not agree? Uh, you know, it’s not every day you can see this kind of handy work, man made or otherwise.

Cynthia:

You two sound so happy. We’re getting tagged in an intergalactic war and all us in the Falls are sitting around at ground zero.

Ben:

I don’t think that’s fair –

Cynthia:

That’s the problem! You just don’t think. It’s all Tim Jensen’s fault, I just know it. We didn’t have any flying saucers and land tattooing bedlam before he chased those lights.

Ben:

He didn’t chase anything! He was driving from work and called to report on a breaking news story.

Cynthia:

Watch your tone, Ben. I’ll buy one of those disease ridden sugar flyers and toss it in Lake Hatchenhaw just to spite you!

Sammy:

Goodnight, Cynthia.

Ben:

Sugar glider. And they’re illegal.

Cynthia:

So are illegal aliens, but you’re just getting ready to throw them a parade. I can’t! I just can’t! [hangs up]

Sammy:

Heh, alright, uh… Line 12 you’re live on King Falls AM.

Emily:

Hi, Sammy! Hi, Ben!

Ben:

Emily! I – I didn’t realize you were back in town!

Emily:

I just got back. I was listening on the way in. My mom and I actually drove by the farm and saw all the commotion over there. Police, reporters, big lawn mower thingies…

Ben:

Lawn mowers?

Sammy:

Uh, you know, if you don’t mind me asking, Emily, why were you out of town?

Emily:

Oh I flew out to Buford, Wyoming for the annual small town librarian expo, and I had my mom pick me up from the airport since Ben was on the air.

Sammy:

Wow, so you guys are in the taking and picking up from the airport stage of your –

Ben:

Friendship. Is that the word you’re searching for, Sammy?

Sammy:

That was exactly the one, Ben.

Emily:

[laughs] You guys are so silly. But I just wanted to say hi and tell Ben I’m back home now! Oh! And starting next week, I’ve got a whole bunch of fun activities I learned from the expo to start doing at the library. Hopefully we can get some of the scared kids back now.

Ben:

I’ll call you later, Emily.

Emily:

Goodnight, Ben. Night, Sammy.

Sammy:

Emily Potter, ladies and gents. King Falls librarian and Ben’s…friend.

Ben:

Yeah, yeah. Lucky Line 1, you’re on King Falls AM.

Caller:

Hi, guys! It’s Greg Frickard!

Sammy:

Hi, Greg! You know, we appreciate you running the ads on the show, sir. It’s so nice to meet you… uh, over the phone, of course.

Greg:

Thanks, Sammy! I think we’ve talked before and uh, glad to run the spots. Me and Granny Frickard love the show! You should hop on down to the Froggery and we’ll hook ya up!

Sammy:

I might have to take you up on that offer, Greg!

Greg:

We’d love to have you! You too, Ben…

Ben:

Greg, you’re a lifelong King Falls resident…we’ve been talking about the crop circles out at –

Greg:

Oh I know. I’ve been listening, but I was actually calling about something else if that’s okay.

Sammy:

Uh yeah, sure thing, Greg. What’s on your mind?

Greg:

Well, I heard Ben and Ms. Potter a second ago and they made a declaration of friendship? Is that correct?

Sammy:

Oh. Uh. Is this about Emily?

Ben:

Did you call before when Emily was in the studio, Greg?

Greg:

Uh, no… [nervously laughs] that must have been…somebody else. But is that true, Ben? Are you and Miss Potter just friends?

Ben:

Good friends. Close friends. Real close.

Greg:

Huh. Welp that’s all I needed to know. Thanks a million, buddy.

Sammy:

Hey uh, Greg – you didn’t have a comment or –

Greg:

Oh, no. I just - [laughs] I don’t know the first thing about crop circles and what have you. Uh, it’s real interesting and all, but Ms. Potter’s lovely voice just…speaks to me. I always just assumed that Ben and Emily were bf and gf respectively, but… if that’s not the case then…

Sammy:

Ben? You okay?

Ben:

I don’t like putting our personal lives out there in the public eye.

Greg:

Well, gee, Ben. I’m only asking because if you’re into friendship with the lovely Ms. Potter, I’m afraid I just might be into courtship. Granny wants to see me married before going into the great By-and-By

Ben:

Okay, bye bye to you too, Greg. Looks like we lost line –

Greg:

I’m still here, pals! Now about that thing-

Ben:

[hangs up] Line 7 you’re on King Falls AM?

Sammy:

Did you just hang up on –

Ben:

I would never. Line 7.

Herschel:

I’d like to voice a complaint, right this instant.

Sammy:

Herschel?

Ben:

Is everything okay, Mr. Baumgartner?

Herschel:

Would I call into you nincompoops if everything was honky-dory?

Ben:

I guess not…

Sammy:

So what seems to be the issue, Herschel?

Herschel:

All this yackin about GD UFO’s and crop circles, for starters. Makes my damn di[censor] itch.

Sammy:

Sir! This is –

Herschel:

Did you call me to tell me what to think, comrade? Or did I call you to talk about an issue?

Sammy:

Please continue, Mr. Baumgartner…

Herschel:

Thank you. So, I’m out on the lake tonight – got up bright and early so I could make sure I got my special spot.

Ben:

Got up early? It’s just now a little past 2…

Herschel:

You the sleep police?! Ya little bastard… I thought not.

Ben:

Sorry, Herschel.

Herschel:

So I’m trollin, out on the – well, that parts top secret, boys. But I’m trollin, so I don’t scare the biggins away and those [censored] damn sons of [censored] rainbow lights start blowing through the sky. Looked like Joseph’s Amazing Technicolored Dreamcoat was fightin that big Jap lizard!

Sammy:

Godzilla? Please don’t use derogatory –

Herschel:

McCarthy would’ve skinned your ass alive, you red sack of [censored]! Can I tell my story?!

Sammy:

Of course, I’m just asking you not to –

Ben:

I’m on the button, Sammy. Herschel’s gonna Herschel…

Sammy:

Okay, so you saw the lights tonight…

Herschel:

Saw? Hell, they scared the literal piss out of me. The trickle down my Carhartt looks like the state of Florida. I’m out here naked as a jaybird! Not a fish in sight.

Ben:

I’m sorry, did you just reference a musical, Mr. Baumgartner?

Herschel:

Oh just cause I like some colorful metaphors means I can’t be refined, Ben?!

Ben:

I wasn’t – I didn’t – imply- I um I’m just saying-

Herschel:

Oh Mrs. Baumgartner – god rest your sexy soul, Edna – used to love those hippy-dippy singing plays. And I’d do anything to keep in those pants, fellas.

Sammy:

Oh, god.

Ben:

Awww. Can we get back to the lights?

Herschel:

That Edna. Oh, lemme tell ya… oh, uh, yeah – the damn lights! Yeah, so, I saw ‘em. What the hell else am I supposed to tell ya about it?

Sammy:

Well, you were calling to complain about them, I’m sure.

Herschel:

That’s right! I’d like to report that no good drunkard! Cecil Sheffield! Called that cumbersome ass-wart damn near 15 times to come bring me a pair of skivvies to no avail! Avoiding my calls and his duties as a co-winner of this damn boat!

Ben:

It’s so late, Mr. Baumgartner. I’m sure he’s sleeping now.

Herschel:

You would take up with him!

Sammy:

Ben’s just sayin that he isn’t avoiding you so much as he’s, you know, probably asleep.

Herschel:

Sleeping one off! Soggy son of a [censor]ch. He knows if I ring the special line, it’s a damn emergency.

Ben:

So, you guys have made up?

Herschel:

Made up my ass! If he’s gonna be co-anything with Herschel F. Baumgartner, that tallywackers gonna have to keep up his end of the bargain.

Sammy:

To be at your beck and call in case you… soil yourself…

Herschel:

Don’t be crass!

Ben:

So, you guys are actually sharing the boat? That’s awesome! I figured you-

Herschel:

I ain’t sharin a damn thing with that son of a [censored]. Stop stirrin the pot or I’ll make what Charlie did to John McCain look like foreplay, Ben Arnold!

Sammy:

So, to the point, you’re calling to complain about Cecil because he’s sleeping through your time of need?

Ben:

But he is corroborating seeing the lights, Sammy! That’s a big deal.

Herschel:

Just have an intern or something bring me some britches and stop the fiddle fu[censored] fuss! 32 long! I’ll be at Begley’s. He’s probably peering out his window lookin for a damn show… I don’t like beige! [hangs up]

Sammy:

You’re on King Falls AM with Sammy and Ben.

Riley:

Please hold the line for Mayor Grisham.

Sammy:

This again?

Ben:

[groans]

Sammy:

You know, I wondered, do you wake him when we say special key words, or…?

Riley:

Mayor, you’re on with Sammy and Ben.

Grisham:

Sammy. Ben. I hate to rain on your topic of discussion tonight, but let’s shut it down. It would be much appreciated.

Ben:

What?

Sammy:

The always fair, Mayor Grisham, folks. Remember this come election time next year.

Grisham:

Do you think that a public servant should have to call the local Tom & Joe Chuckle Hut Show to ask them not to jeopardize a police investigation?

Sammy:

Do you ever call Channel 13 and tell them what to report and how? We are a topical late night talk show, Grisham.

Grisham:

Mayor.

Sammy:

I didn’t vote for you.

Grisham:

Fair enough. I don’t expect you to respect anything but your own pathetic grab for ratings. Now, regarding Channel 13 –

Ben:

Sorry, Mayor. Obviously, Sammy is flustered. He wouldn’t have used such a bad example if he was thinking straight -

Grisham:

The answer to your question, Sammy, is no. I wouldn’t call in and tell a reputable news agency how to do their job. BUT, amazingly enough, I continue to have to ask you to stop your rhetoric seemingly once a month or so. Interesting, don’t you think?

Ben:

You do realize the only people that watch Channel 13 are drunks that can’t find the remote and animals left alone with the TV on, right?

Grisham:

Whatever helps you sleep better, Ben. I can tell you for a fact that right now Storm Sander’s is probably not working a local yokel interview and digging up the muck. He’s reporting on city ordinance 29.44371.

Ben:

Storm is knee deep in a barrel of backyard bathtub hooch during commercial breaks.

Sammy:

So, Mayor, what is this ordinance? Ya know, since we aren’t reporting the news to your liking, give us a glimpse into what works for you.

Grisham:

The add on to the local YMCA. The new menu at Rose’s. I’m not paid a handsome salary to do your job.

Sammy:

Oh, right! I forget you think you can dictate what we report on, for free.

Ben:

Sammy… they’re destroying the crop circles! That’s the ordinance!

Grisham:

There’s hope for you yet, Ben. Don’t go down with this ship. I’ll put a good word in for elsewhere.

Sammy:

You son of a [censored]! You’re destroying the crop circles? That could be the only thing that brings Tim Jensen home!

Grisham:

Don’t bring Tim Jensen into this! The city is paying Libbydale Farms a fair share for their remaining crops! But it is in the public’s best interest to mow down this batch of mischief accordingly! Especially after this broadcast.

Sammy:

[laughs] You are despicable.

Grisham:

These affairs aren’t your business to ramble on about. Do the weather! Talk about traffic! I mean, I filled those potholes! Stop making trouble!

Sammy:

Freedom of the press. When your assistant isn’t typing out our every word, maybe have her look it up and tell you all about it.

Grisham:

I can’t wait to hear about it! And here’s a little phrase for you to look up too: obstruction of justice.

Sammy:

Uh-huh.

Grisham:

Do you think using your connections to officers of the law to report on breaking news is fine and dandy, Stevens? You are perverting the course of this case. Certain things, especially ongoing issues, aren’t mean to be talked about until all the facts are out there. And you idiots are prying on the scene reporting with your bagel eating buddy who happens to be a cop.

Ben:

Not my buddy…

Sammy:

Ben.

Ben:

I’m not throwing you under the bus, Sammy. I just hate Troy.

Grisham:

So, the moral of the story would be, gents, somethings require couth. Somethings require kid gloves when handling. And most things don’t need to be aired in the public for ratings and entertainment. A perfect example being how I’m sure Sheriff Gunderson handled Deputy Kriegshauser on his own for calling into this joke of a show with police business constantly. Doubt you’ll see that done during a press conference.

Ben:

Uh, is that really necessary, sir?

Grisham:

This show is a breeding ground for incompetence and you’re now dragging your pals down with you. Straighten up and fly right.

Sammy:

Troy doesn’t need to be punished for you to make your point, Grisham.

Grisham:

Out of my hands. I’ve already had Riley send my opinion on and over to the Sheriff. Now again, I ask you, pick a different topic of discussion. Maybe one that won’t lead to the continued pain and misery for all those around you. Night, night, fellas.

Sammy:

I’m gonna call Troy.

Ben:

Umm We’ll be back after this, King Falls. We’ll take some calls about uh… I guess we’ll see…

[outro]

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dragonasheswrites-blog · 6 years

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The Heaven We Didn’t Choose, Chapter 19: In Which Piracy is Encouraged

...But no one seems to mind.

First: Chapter 1: In Which a Child Makes a Friend

Previous: Chapter 18: In Which Sans Has a Heart

Next: Chapter 20: The Trouble With Paperwork

Click here for the story overview.

Sans came back to reality feeling disoriented and he automatically tensed. Pain was what woke him, and for a long moment that was all he could focus on. Taking a few deep breaths to calm down, he took stock of what was making his bones scream at him.

His injured arm felt like it had been shattered, which sent a pulse of fear through his soul. A quick glance down confirmed that it was still only fractured, but the sight of the injuries seemed to only increase the pain. He hissed, trying to find some way to release the tension that wouldn’t bring Boss to his door.

It helped - a little - and he fought to focus on something else instead. Why was he injured? Why was he so sore? Slowly, memories of the fight trickled back. The kids, the cops, Undyne. The damn dogs that ran off without a second thought. The alleyway…

The cat was mewling softly when he rolled over to examine it, looking a bit more wobbly than it had earlier. Abruptly, he realized that neither he nor the cat had eaten dinner. From its size, the cat was probably pretty young; babies needed to eat regularly, if he remembered correctly.

He pulled himself upright with a grunt and slipped his jacket on. It was still damp, and smelled awful, but it was a layer of protection.

The clock in the kitchen confirmed that he’d only been asleep for about two hours. He was feeling it in every bone of his body. He felt heavy and light at the same time, and he wondered idly what would happen if he just collapsed. Would he float, caught between the two odd sensations? Probably not, his logical mind concluded. He’d just tip over like an idiot and jostle his already-aching bones.

There was still some canned food in the cupboard, and Sans scanned the labels. Cats were carnivores, right? He thought back to the few times he’d encountered Mettaton’s torture assistant, a cynical and depressed cat monster. A hazy memory of the guy removing the bun and pickles from a burger tickled the back of his skull. It was unusual that any monster would turn his nose up at food, so the incident had stuck with him.

Hopefully surface cats acted on the same principle. There was a can of shredded chicken in the back of the cupboard; he grabbed it and, after a bit of quiet shuffling through the shelves, an old clamshell takeout container that Boss had insisted on washing. He filled one half with water, then carefully made his way back to his room.

The cat was extremely grateful for the water, which Sans found surprising considering it had nearly drowned just a few hours before. He let it do...whatever it was doing with its tongue (flicking water into its mouth? It looked inefficient) while he wrangled the canned chicken open one-handed.

Thankfully, the chicken didn’t have any weird flavorings. He was fairly certain that it wasn’t the healthiest thing to feed a cat anyways, but it was that or starve. He carefully dished out some smaller pieces onto the empty half of the container and set it beside the water.

Almost immediately, the food was gone. Sans reluctantly took a few more lumps and plopped them onto the lid.

“That’s all ya get,” he grumbled. “I’ve gotta eat too.”

The cat responded with a plaintive meow, indicating its displeasure at being cut off.

“What? I don’t even know how you’re eating all that. You actually have a real stomach, doncha? Isn’t it full by now?”

Another meow.

“Shhh. If ya wake up Boss, we’re both out on our asses. You feel me?”

He finished up his portion of the chicken quickly, not really tasting it. His arm was starting to heal as his body converted the food into magic, but it was a slow process. He considered asking if Tori had some time to look at it; he hadn’t properly talked to her in months, since before he’d started watching Att...her. The last time he came close to visiting was when he dropped off Frisk’s Christmas gift, and he’d just left that on her front porch. Who knew what she thought of that.

On second thought, he could probably power through it.

“‘Kay, then. I’m gonna head back to bed for a few hours. You good in the box?”

The cat blinked at him.

“...I’m gonna take that as a yes.”

He rolled over carefully, taking the pressure off his injured side, and tried to sleep.

“SANS”

“Whazzit?” Had he slept at all?

“WAKE UP THIS INSTANT AND TURN YOUR ALARM OFF! ALSO, DO NOT THINK I HAVE FORGOTTEN ABOUT LAST NIGHT! BE PREPARED FOR PUNISHMENT WHEN YOU RETURN THIS EVENING!”

Loud footsteps echoed down the hallway, and Sans’s soul sank. There went his plan of avoiding Boss.

He sat up carefully and turned his alarm off. He’d gotten so used to waking up at a certain time that he’d been getting up before his alarm even went off lately, which was useful but flat out annoying. Apparently the night before was enough to throw his sleep schedule off.

A soft cry from the corner of the room brought his attention back to the cat. Sure enough, it had made some kind of icky sticky mess on his shirts; just as well that they’d be tossed in the wash.

“Ya good in there, bud?”

The cries paused for a moment, then resumed.

“I, uh, don’t speak cat. ‘M not sure what ya want. Are ya hungry? Thristy? Throw me a bone here. Heh.”

The cat didn’t speak any language Sans knew, but it apparently recognized when his attention was on it. Its noises changed in pitch and frequency to the point where Sans half-expected Boss to come storming up the stairs to investigate the racket.

“Okay, okay. Shhh. Shhhhhhh.” He picked it up and ran his phalanges over the impossibly soft fur. This calmed the creature a little, enough that its noises weren’t quite so high-pitched and distressed.

“I tell ya what. If you can keep quiet 'til I get out the front door, we can raid the hot dog stand supplies for breakfast. How’s that sound?”

The cat made a few little mruph sounds that he took as agreement.

Boss had already headed out for the day by the time Sans made his way downstairs, which was helpful. He had to set the cat down to pull his shoes on, which prompted more crying, but it stopped when he settled it back into his jacket. He decided to leave the zipper alone; the little critter didn't like being restrained. The way it was sitting didn’t exactly look comfy to him, but the cat was purring again. It felt strangely nice against his bones.

The walk to the hot dog stand was worse than usual. The cold rain had turned to snow sometime in the night, and his usual path along the side of the road was obscured by a light dusting of white. He could feel the ache in his bones from the fight the night before with every step, and halfway there the cat decided it liked the cold even less than it liked being confined and had retreated further into the jacket.

It was a relief when his stand was set up and he could finally settle his bones onto his stool. The cat, interested by the fun smells, popped its head out to explore.

CLANK CLANG KA-CLANK CLANG CLANG

...And immediately retreated as far back inside his jacket as it could manage. Sans peered in the direction of the noise, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Heya, GD! Want some breakfast?”

Greater Dog bounded up, slobber flying everywhere as he panted excitedly. *YESYESYES,* he barked. *WANT WARM PUP TREAT FOR BREAKFAST PLEASE.*

“One hot dog for a cool dog, comin’ right up.” He dressed the ‘dog up the way he knew GD liked it: a few generous slices of cheese, some bacon crumbles, and a bit of steamed mustard greens. (He’d been testing new ‘healthy’ toppings a year or so back, and while most of them were total flops the dogs really liked the mustard greens. Since they couldn’t eat most of what he served, he kept it on the menu.) “There ya go, big guy. Bone appetite!”

Greater Dog barked a laugh and took the ‘dog with one large prosthetic hand. *THANKS, FAVORITE BONE BUDDY. LOOKS GOOD. GOOD FOOD. GOOD GOOD GOOD.*

“Glad it suits you. Hey, don’t forget to pay again, yeah? I’d give you all the ‘dogs you want for free, but I get in trouble when I don’t come home with cash.”

The dog whined an apology, then disappeared into his suit. A moment later, he re-emerged and spat a few gold coins onto the counter.

“Thanks, buddy.”

*BONE BUDDY HAPPY? GREATER DOG HAS BEEN GOOD BOY??*

Sans sighed. “Yeah, you’ve been a good boy. C’mere, big guy.”

Greater dog leaned forward, his metallic suit half-splayed across the counter of the hot dog stand. The wood creaked under his weight, and he adjusted so he wasn’t in danger of collapsing the poor booth.

“Yer a good boy, GD. A real good boy.” Skeletal fingers scratched behind the dog’s ears, past the scruff of his neck, and around the sides to that spot up under his chin where he could never seem to reach properly.

Finally, after a small eternity of petting, Greater Dog sat up. *PATROL, NOW,* he barked, ears drooping. *NO TIME FOR MORE PETS. SAD.*

“Hey, you’re filling in for Dogamy on patrol tonight, right?”

*YES. DOGAMY HOME WITH PUPS. PUPS GOOD. PUPS NEED PROTECTION.*

“Cool. I’ll see you then, ‘kay? I’ll be at my usual station.”

Greater Dog whined. *WILL MISS BONE BUDDY.*

“I’ll miss you too, GD.”

The dog licked the hand that had been petting him, then tensed. *WHAT? CAT? BONE FRIEND HAVE CAT?*

“Uh...yeah?”

*CAT GOOD! CAT FRIENDS FUN! CAN CHASE!* He leaned in closer.

The cat tucked inside Sans’s jacked hissed and made another rather poor escape attempt, thwarted by the fact that it didn’t quite know its way around. Sans huffed at the unusual feeling of something furry clinging to his spine with tiny claws. “Not this one. I found it last night. It’s just a baby, and I’m trying to figure out what to do with it. It’s, uh…” he looked up at Greater Dog. The dog’s eyes were bright with excitement, every muscle in his fluffy body tensed with the thrill of the hunt. None of this was getting through. “It’s...shy?”

*SHY NOT FUN,* he huffed. *IS SECRET?*

“...Yeah. Please don’t tell B...uh, Papyrus.”

*WILL KEEP BONE FRIEND’S SECRET.* He whined. *WILL MISS BONE FRIEND. WILL SEE BONE FRIEND SOON.* He barked a quick *HELLO, GOOD BYE, PATROL NOW* at something behind him and bounded off, enthusiasm barely waned. Which was odd; GD didn’t like many people, but Sans couldn’t be bothered to care.

He was about to put his head back down for a much-needed nap when his eye sockets caught the person who’d been standing behind Greater Dog. Someone he didn’t think he’d see again in...well, ever. “...Uh…”

“Hi, Mr. Sans!” Attie called, waving enthusiastically. “I was going to come get a breakfast hot dog and tell you hello, but I didn’t want to interrupt Mr. Greater Dog’s petting. He really likes petting, right?”

“Y-yeah, he sure does.”

“I know. He sometimes lets me pet him outside his armor, but only when he’s security for me and Mommy. If he has other jobs, he doesn’t let me.” She pouted a little.

“Hey, uh, where’s yer mom? Isn’t someone supposed to be watching you now?” That was the rumor, anyways. If Frisk had gotten sick again...

“Mmm-hmm. She’s coming in a minute. She’s prob’ly talking to somebody.”

Some part of Sans was screaming that he was being creepy, but he couldn’t stop looking at her. He hadn’t seen her in...gosh, over a month. 44 days, to be exact. It had been two weeks and five days since Frisk followed him home, and it had been three weeks and five days between that incident and Boss slipping Attie out in the middle of the night.

There was a strange sensation in his throat, a tightness he wasn’t used to. It didn’t feel like strangulation - like when Boss lifted him by his collar - but more like there was something stuck there, in his vertebrae. It was uncomfortable. The sensation distracted him from the prickling in the corners of his eye sockets that he was far too familiar with; he blinked rapidly to avoid embarrassing himself.

“Are you okay, Mr. Sans?”

“Y-yeah. ‘M fine.”

She bounced on her toes, making her shoes light up. Those were the ones she’d told him about on one of the first days he’d watched her, he realized. They did indeed have pink flowers on them, with little lights that flashed from their centers. He wondered if that was a human invention or if she’d somehow charmed the mad Royal Scientist into making her customized shoes. He thought about anything he could to distract himself from the fact that he’d remembered something, something small from almost two months ago, and that meant his mind wasn’t falling to pieces just yet.

Attie was dressed in a puffy white jacket with faux fur lining the hood. On her hands were mittens, knitted in a pattern he recognized; Tori must have been busy since he last saw her. The edges of her sleeves were stained in browns, greens, and reds.

She looked just like any other little girl. Nothing about her appearance indicated that she was the daughter of the Ambassador of Monsters, that she had any security presence at all.

He felt it, though. The glow of Frisk’s protective wards - much stronger now that she was recovered - was apparent in every bounce of her daughter’s feet. There were few weapons wielded by humans or monsters that could touch someone with that much protection, and anyone stupid enough to try would be in for more than one nasty surprise.

“I don’t think you’re okay,” Attie said. “You just keep looking at me funny and you haven’t even said ‘hello’ or ‘how are you.’ Are you gonna be a asshole again?”

“Not tryin’ to be. So, uh, hello, Attie. How are you?”

“I’m doing real good! Um, really well, I mean. How are you, Mr. Sans?”

“I’m, uh, okay.”

“Undie said you were in a big fight last night. Is that true?”

“Yeah…? I didn’t know she’d talk to you about that…?”

“She didn’t. She told my mommy when she stopped in for a quick meeting while she thought I was getting dressed. Mommy said we could come have breakfast hot dogs and make sure you’re okay, just in case.”

“Uh...cool? Yeah, I’m in one piece.”

She looked expectantly up at him.

“...Oh, right, hot dogs. So, uh, what do ya want on yours?”

Attie wanted bacon, cheese, onion, ketchup, mustard, and relish. Sans handed the ‘dog to her with its toppings balanced precariously, then gave her a small stack of napkins. “Don’t wanna get your nice jacket all messy.”

“It’s okay. I can wash it.”

“I’m sure ya can, but you wanna look nice, right?”

“The lessons are finally kicking in, then?” Asked Frisk from RIGHT behind him.

“Holy shit.”

“Language.”

“Uh...” He glanced at Attie, who was giggling, then twisted on his stool to get a good look at Frisk.

...A good look was an apt way to put it. She had a long tan coat on, red buttons in two neat rows down the front. Her waist was accented by a simple brown belt that twisted into a casual knot on one hip. The hat and gloves tucked under her arm were dark brown, matching her knee-high boots, but he could see the lines of a familiar pattern on them. Tori hadn’t waited until Christmas to deliver gifts, apparently.

Slowly, hesitantly, he met her eyes. She looked a lot better than he remembered, even from the last time he saw her in person. Maybe it was the light - even the dull, filtered light of the winter sun through the clouds did her more justice than the harsh yellow bulb that lit the dining room in his apartment - but she looked more than ready to take on the world.

It was a far cry from the helpless mess she’d been when he found her, so many weeks before. And she was completely focused on him in a way that she - or, frankly, anyone else - had never been. He felt his face starting to turn pink.

Say something, his mind begged. Come up with something - anything - to keep her from thinking you’re a complete fool.

“What-” No! Not that! “-do you want on your hot dog?”

He could feel his voice squeaking a little and resisted the urge to clear a throat he didn’t have.

Frisk smiled at him anyways, and he felt his soul stutter in a way that couldn’t possibly be healthy. “I haven’t had a hot dog in ages. Surprise me.”

The challenge in her voice was both clear and terrifying.

ABORT MISSION, ABORT MISSION!

He gulped and examined his options. With phalanges that were definitely not shaking, he dipped into the small stash of fresh bakery buns he kept for his best customers, then put a few slices of cheese on it. That went into the small, warm space behind the hot dog roller. While it was warming he grabbed a paper plate and a sharp knife and started chopping a pickle spear and some of the baby tomatoes he’d picked up on a whim. He pulled the bun out once the cheese was melted and put a ‘dog inside, then added bacon crumbles, onion, and his sliced pickles and tomatoes. A drizzle of yellow mustard completed the masterpiece, and he held it out to Frisk with a flourish that (probably) disguised the slight tremor of his hands.

Attie applauded uselessly through her mittens, her own hot dog mostly gone. “That looks really yummy! Mommy, can I have a bite?”

“May I have a bite,” Frisk corrected.

“Sure, but only if I can have a bite of yours!”

She rolled her eyes and took a tentative bite of her hot dog. Sans watched her chew and swallow, feeling as if quite a bit more than customer satisfaction rode on that simple action. Finally, she nodded. “It’s really good, Sans. Thanks!”

“Yer welcome.” Relief made him slouch against his counter.

“I never would’ve thought to put fresh tomatoes on a hot dog, but it’s not bad. What was the inspiration?”

He thought, for a moment, that she was mocking him, but her face showed only sincerity. It threw him for a loop, and he stuttered for a moment before he found his bearings. “I, uh, well, I was doin’ a bit of research. Gotta keep a femur upon the competition and all. See, ketchup is pretty salty, and a lot of what I have - cheese, bacon, even the hot dogs themselves - is pretty salty too. The tomatoes give you some flavor without the extra salt and give some texture, too. Can’t really take credit for the idea, but...well. Thought I’d give it a shot.”

“It’s brilliant. You should keep it up.”

His face was definitely turning colors. Thankfully, Frisk was distracted by Attie wanting a bit of the ‘super-special hot dog’ and he had a moment to compose himself.

Naturally, that was about when his little friend decided to make its presence known once again.

Attie squealed, nearly losing her grip on her hot dog. “KITTY!”

“No way!” Frisk said looked at Sans, then down at the cat that was clawing its way up his shirt, then back at him. “You have a kitten? Since when?”

He tried to pry it off, but the claws were deceptively strong and he didn't want to break anything. “Since, uh, last night? It was caught in the rainstorm. Found it when I was walkin’ home.”

“Can I hold it?” Attie asked, tugging Sans’s sleeve harshly. Her protective wards flared-

“Gah!” Sans pulled his arm away, clutching at his fractured bone, and accidentally banged his bad arm on the edge of the counter. He froze, cursing himself. He hadn’t meant to dodge away from her like that; it was just so unnerving that someone would try to touch him (and someone with that much magic on her besides) that he hadn’t tried to simply maneuver away from her. She hadn't registered as a threat, so she'd gotten closer to him than most people normally did. He shrunk in on himself, taking his bearings, then remembered that she’d asked a question. “S-sure. Just, uh, give me a sec.”

Frisk crouched down so she was eye level with him. “Sans, are you okay? Undyne said you’d been injured last night in the confrontation with those humans on the mountain, but she didn’t know the details. She thought it wasn’t serious since you shrugged it off. Are you okay?”

Sans checked his HP before responding. He was down to a single point. When had he gotten so low? He felt his breathing pick up, fear of his own mortality overpowering his pride. “I...I...uh, I…” He couldn’t seem to force the words out.

He felt the familiar chill of someone else’s magic invading his own, just enough to get a good read on his stats, but despite his embarrassment he allowed it. More than that, he took a chance and showed his real stats; she'd been sympathetic before, hadn't she? Across from him, Frisk took a sudden breath. “Sans. You need help immediately. What are you even doing out of the house like that?”

“W-wasn’t that bad e-earlier. Had somethin’ to eat...g-gosh, early this mornin’ and brought my HP up a f-few points. I-I’ll be fine. G-gimme a sec to grab a ‘d-dog.”

“Sans, I’m going to call my mother to take a look at you.”

“No...uh, n-need...”

“Yes, there is a need. You and her get along fine, right? She has some healing magic. Just...please, let me do this. I’m worried, and Attie’s worried too.”

They had a point. A ‘dog probably wouldn’t bring his HP up far enough for him to get through his shift, and sentry duty later that night, and whatever Boss had planned. He let out his breath in a solid woosh and nodded.

Frisk stepped away and started dialing. Sans deliberately didn’t listen in on her conversation, instead focusing on carefully extracting the cat from his person. Its nose was twitching but it allowed him to maneuver it into his lap without a whole lot of fuss.

It kept turning its head towards the counter, though. It definitely knew where the food was.

“Here,” he said, gesturing to Attie. “D-didn’t ya wanna hold it?”

“Can I?” she asked in a very small voice. “I’m really sorry, Mr. Sans. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t know your arm was hurt.”

He took a deep breath, willing his stutter away. He wasn’t a babybones anymore, he reminded himself. “Eh, ‘tsokay kid. No real harm done. If you’d meant to hurt me, well. I’d be dust right now. You didn’t, though, and ‘m fine, see? Now help me with this little cat.”

He used his good hand to cup the cat as she lifted it, making sure it wasn’t actively trying to claw her. It seemed a little upset at the movement, but its protests were more vocal than physical. After a moment of Attie’s tiny fingernails scratching behind its ears it settled down and started purring again.

“Huh. It likes you.”

The girl’s smile was smug. “Of course! Everybody likes me.”

For most kids, Sans thought, that would be a laughably arrogant statement, but...everyone did seem to like Attie. She’d survived Boss. She’d charmed the dogs. She’d even melted Undyne’s heart a little, and that was a feat worthy of some kind of medal.

Frisk stepped back into his field of vision. “Mom will be by within a few minutes. She’s finishing up some paperwork that needs to be done before lunchtime. Will you be okay until then?”

“Yeah. Of course.” It wasn’t like he hadn’t existed on one HP before. Much as he’d come to regret how he got his LV, he would’ve been dust years ago without it. He shuddered at the thought.

Frisk apparently mistook that gesture and hunched back down in front of him. She looked at him for a long moment before narrowing her eyes in DETERMINATION. “Attie, you can go play. I’m going to keep an eye on Mr. Sans for a bit.”

The girl looked at her mother, then down at the cat in her arms. “But...I’m holding his baby kitty! I can’t go play!”

“Alright. But no more grabbing, alright? We’ve talked about this. It’s one thing when you do it to me or your grandma and grandpa or Undyne, but you have to be careful.”

“Okay. I said I was sorry.”

“I heard. Good girl. Now, Sans, where did you find this kitten?”

Sans explained how he’d found the cat in the alley the night before. He deliberately ignored the small smile on Frisk’s face, as if she knew something he didn’t.

(He was sure she knew a lot of things he didn’t.)

Thankfully, her only remark was, “Are you even allowed to have pets in your apartment?”

“Eh, yer mom lets some of the dogs stay downstairs. Why wouldn’t a cat be okay?”

“Uh-huh. And how did Greater Dog react to your little friend there when we were walking up?”

“Heh, point taken.”

They both watched Attie play with the cat for a few minutes. When it's meows became too insistent, she handed it to her mother. “I don’t know what’s wrong,” she pouted. “I thought it liked me.”

Frisk turned the critter over with deft hands, poking it gently along its stomach. “He’s probably hungry. Sans, has he eaten anything since that chicken you gave him last night?”

“Nah. I was gonna give it - uh, him - something from the stand, but I didn’t get the chance. Think he’ll eat a ‘dog?”

“It’s worth a shot. Here - I’ll pay for it.”

“What? No-”

“Please. It’s the least I can do.” She handed him enough to cover three hot dogs with the fixings. He handed her back the change, but Attie scooped it up instead.

“Can I put the change in the tip jar?” she asked.

Frisk patted her on the cheek. “Go ahead. Don’t break anything.”

“Yay!”

Sans chopped up a ‘dog into tiny pieces and scooped it into a paper plate for Frisk, who tried to coax the starving cat to eat something. He made another for himself and choked it down against the rolling feeling of nausea.

“Did you set that up?” Frisk asked, gesturing to his tip jar.

“Uh, yeah. The old coin funnel on top is something I found years ago in the dump. Can’t remember why I bothered carting it home in the first place, but it’s come in handy now that we’re on the surface. I, uh, had to fix it up a little to get it to accept g as well as human coins, 'n it doesn't work quite right all the time, but the kids like it.”

They watched Attie drop a pair pennies into a slot at the top of the funnel, the coins passing each other several times before dropping into the clear jar below.

“It’s hard to believe that monsters are able to enjoy things like this now,” Frisk said. “I remember back in the Underground how, um, tense everyone was. They’re a lot more...whimsical, I guess, now.”

“Yeah, well, fighting for space and food kinda takes the fun outta ya. We didn’t really have time for things like this - not in public, anyways. Heck, I didn’t dare leave a tip jar out back then; someone would’ve come by and stolen it. Now look at me. Some days I make more in tips than I do selling ‘dogs.”

She hummed in agreement. Attie sent a few more coins down the chute, watching them intently. After a moment, she turned to Sans. “Why to they go around and around and around like that instead of dropping straight into the jar?”

“It has to do with gravity, angles, and the shape of the funnel.”

She held out a coin. “Can you show me?”

Frisk frowned and raised a hand to stop her daughter. “Attie, don’t bother-”

“Eh, it’s fine,” he said. “Kid’s not hurting anything, and I’ll still be right here if someone wants to buy ‘dogs.” He pushed himself up. “Uh, feel free to take a seat if you want. There’s just the one stool and it might be...a bit short for ya, but…” he gestured awkwardly and turned away.

Attie was a brilliant audience, holding onto every word as he explained the ins and outs of accelerated gravitational motion and centrifugal force. He was pretty sure most of it flew straight over the seven-year-old’s head, but she didn’t interrupt.

“...Sans?”

He looked up to see someone approaching from the direction of the park. “Oh. Hi, Tori. Thanks for, uh...y’know.” He shrugged.

“It’s no trouble. I heard that you were in a fight last night, but not that there were complications. What seems to be the trouble?”

Frisk sent Attie off to play on the slides (one of the few areas of the playground without a coat of snow) while Sans reluctantly explained his situation. Tori stood quietly through it all, her eyes occasionally flicking to her adopted daughter.

“I do not approve of healing every small hurt, but I also do not want to send a sentry out injured after what happened last night. Hold out your arm, please.”

Sans did so, bracing himself. Healing was an agonizing process at the best of times, and Tori was at least a little bit irritated with him. He could feel the bone shards grating against each other as the fractures knit. He hadn’t registered it through the general haze of pain, but there were even cracks in the small bones that comprised his wrist. Tori’s firm grip on the damaged bones made his vision waver, and he grabbed the counter of the hot dog stand to keep from embarrassing himself.

After what seemed like hours, the pain ebbed and he came to his senses. He didn’t realize until he extracted his hand from Tori’s that he was shaking from pain and exhaustion; the accelerated healing process was draining his reserves faster than the ‘dog he’d eaten earlier could replenish them.

“Frisk, let him sit,” Tori said, shooing her daughter off the stool.

With great effort, Sans managed to maneuver himself around the back of the hot dog stand and collapsed onto his stool. He could feel the strain on his spine and hips from the position, but at least he was less likely to tip over in front of his…

...friends?

He decided not to think too much about it.

“If that is all, I shall be off,” Tori said to Frisk. “Do you need me to watch Atlas this weekend?”

“That would be great, Mom. We can talk it over this afternoon at the Embassy.”

“Very well. I shall see you then.”

Tori walked off without saying goodbye to Sans, and he winced. It was only half because of the little twinges of pain that kept shooting down his spine. Shifting didn’t help much, either.

“I thought you and Mom got along?” Frisk asked, looking concerned again.

“We do. It’s just - ugh! - I haven’t seen her in a few months.” In hindsight, he probably should have at least called.

“Well, I hope you get back on speaking terms.”

“No kidding. Don’t want her to bleat me up.”

Frisk snorted. “That was terrible.”

“I notice your lack of surprise.”

She just smiled. “Oh, hey, your kitten’s back asleep. Want him back?”

“Nah, I think he’s comfy.” Both Frisk and the cat looked comfy, actually. Realization dawned slowly on him. (He blamed it on the lack of sleep.)

“Hey, uh, do you know anyone who wants a cat?”

“You’re not going to try to keep him?”

“Nah. You were right ‘bout the dogs. And, well, I don’t think Boss is gonna really go for ‘cute and fuzzy.’ He might, but it's 50/50.”

Frisk looked at him, then back to the cat, then back to him. “Attie...has been bugging me about getting a pet for a while, actually. She wanted a dog but, well, I’m sure you can see how that might get a tad awkward.”

“No kiddin’.”

“We also spend a lot of time at the Embassy, and when I travel Attie spends time with her grandparents. A cat on the other hand...well, you don’t have to walk them, for one. If you’d be willing to stop in every once in a while to feed him while I’m on trips, I don’t see why we couldn’t keep him. If you’re sure…”

“Yeah, that’d be great!” Attie had turned out... mostly alright, after all, short bouts of chaos and terror aside. A cat raised by Frisk would probably wind up ruling the world (or at least the neighborhood), but Sans could think of worse things.

“Okay. Um, do you want to keep him with you for a bit, or…”

“I, uh, don’t even have food for ‘im. I made a little bed out of old shirts, but that’s it. If you don’t mind takin’ ‘im now, go for it.”

She looked at the little cat, stroking gently behind his ears and smiling. His eyes were closed, and Sans could hear the faint rumbling of that purring thing cats did when they were happy. He grinned.

“I’d say he’s in good hands.”

“...Yes. Hopefully. We’ll see.” That smile got just a bit wider, though.

Attie stomped up a little while later, shivering. “It’s too cold to play much,” she said. “And one of the big kids kept trying to get me to stick my tongue to the monkey bars.”

It took Sans a moment to register why this was even a thing humans would want to do. That’s right; humans had drippy ‘saliva’ stuff inside their mouths. Putting her tongue on the unprotected metal of the monkey bars would have probably caused it to freeze and stick. “You tell that kid off?”

“Yeah. I told him that if he wanted to do science so bad then he should try it first, because a good scientist doesn’t use other people as test subjects.”

“Ooookay. I mean, you’re not wrong, but did he do it?”

“No. I guess he didn’t believe in his hyp...hypoth’s.”

“Hypothesis?”

“Yup!”

Frisk chuckled. “Fair enough. Now Attie, I have an important question for you.”

“Okay?”

“Mr. Sans lives in a building with some of the dogs.”

“I know. I heard them when I was having the long sleepover while you were sick.”

“...Right. Well, dogs and cats don’t always get along, so Mr. Sans said he’d let us take the kitty home with us. Would that be alright?”

Attie gasped and turned to Sans. “Do you really, really mean it? We can keep your kitty?”

“Sure, kid.”

“Thank you, Mr. Sans! Thank you a whole, whole, whole bunch!” She shuffled over and gave him a very soft, very careful hug.

He patted her on the back, feeling awkward under Frisk’s observation. “Uh, no problem. I’m sure he’s gonna be happy with you.”

“Does he have a name?”

“Nah. I guess you ‘n your mom get to name ‘im.”

At Frisk’s nod, Attie began petting the kitten, her brows furrowed. “You said you found him in water, right, Mr. Sans?”

“Yup.”

“And he’s got a bad eye, like Undie.”

“Sure does.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to name him...Terror Of the Seven Seas!!! Because he’s a pirate cat.”

Frisk snorted. “That’s a long name, honey. Want to come up with something shorter?”

“Nope! But he can have a nickname if you really want him to.”

“Terror Of the Seven Seas it is, then.”

“Guess you could call ‘im ‘TOSS,’” Sans piped up. “Short for Terror Of the Seven Seas. Pirate extraordinaire.”

The little girl hummed. “That sounds okay. He can be called TOSS for a nickname.”

Frisk was snickering behind her hand, he knew it.

Suddenly, a loud ringing noise interrupted the peaceful morning. Frisk dug through her pockets for a moment, then produced a familiar-looking phone. “Oh...Sans, I’m so sorry, but we’ve got to run.”

“Okay.” It was expected, he told himself. Frisk was an ambassador and a busy woman.

“Can we bring Terror of the Seven Seas with us to the embassy?” Attie asked.

Her mother glanced down nervously. “Well...just this once, I guess.”

She cheered. “See ya later, Mr. Sans!”

“See ya, kid,” he replied.

And then they were gone, and his morning seemed all too quiet.

#Dragonashes writes #Undertale #Underfell #The Heaven We Didn't Choose #Sans #Papyrus #Frisk #Attie #Greater Dog #Greater Dog is a good dog #TOSS #Surely this won't come back to bite anyone #Don't mess with pirate cat

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