Meating Monsters: Chapter 1
Sans placed a new addition into the pantry and he stepped back to admire his collection. Countless jars lined the shelves, each glimmering to the brim with dust. His smile grew tense as he noticed his reflection on the glass surfaces—things had changed.
Sans did everything he could in his power to keep reminders of the past out of his mind.
He took up new hobbies, met new people, and even found a new house!
Specifically, a house he found inside the Ruins. It had been empty, yet was oddly well maintained. The original occupant had been a mystery, until Sans found a journal full of puns—it had belonged to an old lady—a friend since reduced to dust—perhaps having fallen down.
That's when he knew, the old lady behind the door wouldn't mind if he settled in.
Sans was sad sure, having a friend alive would've been nice but…only dust was on the menu.
He seriously doubted the old lady would have agreed to eating dust. Sans himself could barely stomach the stuff.
Sans opened the fridge and it was empty save for a few pints of spider cider. The stuff was black and tar-like, either from pulped bodies of spiders, or perhaps it was mold—maybe both. It tasted good enough anyways.
Carefully Sans poured a conservative glass, not even filling it half way before putting the rest back. He took his rationing seriously and Sans was optimistic that he would survive long enough to drink all the cider anyway.
To add to the meal, a jar of dust slide onto the counter—a special one. The jar was what was left of the old lady. Sans had taken the habit of talking to the jar of dust and tended to fondly recall the puns they'd shared whenever he glanced at it.
The memories hurt some however and Sans knew it wasn't wise to keep up such an unhealthy attachment. The old lady was something he needed to let go. It wasn't good to live in the past.
Slowly, and with some reluctance Sans poured the last of the dust into the cup of cider. It wasn't much as the jar had been freely used before.
Carefully, the dust was stirred in and Sans chuckled as it was the closest thing he got to cooking—perfect for the lazy lifestyle he so coveted.
Briefly, his single left eyelight flickered red around the grimy kitchen—reflecting on the times he actually had the fortune to cook.
It had been when he first moved in. The kitchen had been stocked with ingredients—still fresh with magic. Flour, eggs, sugar, and an array of snail products had been stocked.
The old lady had left a legacy of recipes throughout the house and it was fun working out a new hobby. Sans had taken to making a pie once every week-partly to honor the old lady and of course to earn the reward of a delicious meal. Of course, he'd rationed out the slices, never helping himself to more than one daily. Eventually it was only half a slice a day and then later dwindled down into a single bite. Sadly, despite the rationing, the ingredients all run dry and couldn't be stored inevitably anyway.
Magic in the Underground was practically gone and food simply didn't keep like before. The magic stored inside leaked out like the rest.
The only thing that didn't was dust—it was magic condensed into a solid form and wasn't able to leak out of the barrier. Shame it tasted like garbage.
Giving one last glance to the now empty jar Sans took the cider cup into the living room. He sipped slowly, savoring the taste of the old lady and let himself remember her. There was a fire place and inside was the old lady's dusty robe—colored various shades of purple and stamped with the symbol of the Underground kingdom. Sans suspected she had been the previous Queen, or at least a royal disciple—though any answer he'd found had long been forgotten.
Sans made the habit of not remembering details about people that didn't matter anymore.
It kept the flickers of his conscience at bay.
He crouched down at the fireplace and with drink still in hand, carefully caressed the robe—a final good bye.
With a flick of his finger, a tiny magic flame popped into existence and ignited a fire. The blaze at first burned a jarring red, but slowly dwindled into a calming blue.
Sans's magic took on a deep red ever since he gained the nasty hole in the left side of his skull.
The giant hole in his skull gave Sans a constant headache and using magic always caused a degree of pain.
Honestly, he didn't remember how he got the injury and the memory was long buried. If he eventually remembered, great. If he didn't, even better! Sans knew he'd obsess over the incident if he did.
While the past no longer interested Sans, his magic sure did. Magic came in different colors, but never did he hear of it changing mid-use. He leaned back, sipping the cider. It took some effort to remember but he managed to theorize that the red was determination. The blue no doubt was his original magic.
Determination, huh? He scratched at his damage socket nervously as he recalled. He'd undergone experiments in his youth that gradually pumped his bones with the substance. It was how Sans remembered the resets…
Crack.
Suddenly, the cider cup was clutched violently. A sharp pain had shot through Sans's skull as he willed himself not to remember. Sans shook and snarled as he held in a scream.
Nothing was wrong!
No! No. Nope. Don't think. Forget the past. Don't think. Forget the past. Forget. Forget. Forget.
The cup being glass, had shattered and was leaking. Quickly Sans drank the dripping dust down.
Shards of glass fell apart in his hands and he began to eat the pieces—in part due to having no flesh to cut. The glass was like eating ice, save for the lack of a cold, melting experience. His teeth chipped a bit, however. Glass was glass.
Of course, dental problems were the least of Sans's issues.
His teeth had undergone a transformation ever since Sans's magic grew feral with bad intent and dusty meals. The canines had grown sharp and saber-like, molars had twisted into jagged shapes, with the grin overall was webbed in cracks.
Sans had taken up the nasty habit of biting with excessive force whenever something found its way inside his mouth.
On occasion, he found himself chewing nothing, imagining long lost tastes and textures when he dared to peruse the old lady's vast collection of cookbooks. Sometimes he would rip out pages and eat books whole, but nothing ever satisfied.
His teeth would be ground flat during such fantasies—though the feral magic never failed to regrow the sharp enamel.
Sans clawed at his teeth to remove bits of glass.
He hoped to forget the taste of the old lady soon.
Sans sat, admiring the fire—hypnotized as the flames drew him into illusions. The fire had shifted from blue to orange—the magic now gone. The fire became the default of nature.
At the color orange, he couldn't help but think of Grillby.
The bartender had been another friend. Sans glanced at the kitchen. Was Grillby in one of the jars in his pantry?
Sans hissed, almost whimpered as he curled in on himself—he didn't remember who was in those jars!
Of course, it was for the best. He didn't want to talk to jars for company. It was silly.
Perhaps Grillby was alive? The fellow had been a fire elemental, so finding food should have been easy in theory. Plenty of trees and wood in the Underground for Grillby to eat, but Sans had his doubts…
He continued watching. Cruelly, remembering the delicious scent of a greasy burger and fries—oh, and ketchup.
Black drool seeped from Sans's teeth, glimmering with dust and glass. Oh, ketchup. Just the idea sent Sans's mind reeling…
Suddenly, he stood up. The fire was only bringing unwanted memories and his bones rattled as if startled. Sans would have smothered the flames, but then he remembered the old lady's robe—he'd let it burn in peace. Time for a walk then.