Got less done on this one, only two chapters, so blah. Not as regular. Ah well. Rated mature for gang activity, drugs, alcohol, guns, violence, character death, foul language, and future sexual content. Pairing is Frans, aka SansxFrisk, in MobTale. Don't like it, don't read it. If you decide to venture on, please enjoy.
"So I said to him, I said, 'If you're gonna be so obtuse about it, why dontcha try another angle?!'"
The crocodile monster laughed uproariously at his own joke, smacking the steering wheel he sat in front of and making a few droplets of coffee fly from the thermos sitting precariously on the dashboard, and Frisk, chuckling forcedly (Reggie had been practicing his stand-up routine for near on half an hour, most of his jokes pun related and poorly executed), hid her grimace behind her own coffee cup, turning to look out the minutely rolled down cruiser window at the slowly moving traffic beyond.
God, she wished something would happen.
She'd shown up to the station over an hour early that morning, jumping up and down in her squeaky rolling chair next to Reggie's desk (she didn't have her own desk yet; budget and floor concerns, she had been told) while she waited impatiently for her new partner to show up.
She had been waiting months for the chance to hit the streets, to be a real cop, putting up with filing duty and doing her time as a meter maid while waiting for a junior partner slot on the force to open up, and that weekend, it finally had.
Reggie's old partner Greg, a grizzled man with a graying handlebar mustache and a large bald patch at the back of his head (he wore a large cowboy hat to cover it, and dodged questions about it with preternatural talent) had retired, ending a career on the force of nearly forty-four years.
Frisk had been invited to the party, but had passed on it in favor of spending the whole weekend studying her manuals, the coding compendium, and the new law ledger for the year, double checking her Miranda Rights and pressing her uniform three times.
She couldn't have been more ready for today.
She'd been working her entire life for the opportunity, had moved from the rural city she grew up in to attend the Ebott Academy, had left everything she had ever known behind to fulfill her dream.
The move had come with its share of downfalls, of course; she knew no one in the metropolis, had gotten stuck in a tiny, filthy apartment in one of the seedier parts of town (but hey, she'd only been broken into once, and all they'd taken had been two pairs of her underwear and her toothbrush), and she missed her dad terribly, the first time she'd been away from him since her mother's untimely death.
However, she had done extremely well at the Academy, first in her class, in fact, and had gotten the partner spot relatively quickly; sleeping with one eye open and her gun under her pillow was well worth the reward of her ambition.
Frisk had been nervous beyond reason the night before, barely sleeping despite her best efforts and knowing she would need her rest (she had been allotted to the city center, a district rife with crime, organized and otherwise, and it was known to be very dangerous assignment), but her energy had been high despite her entirely coffee fueled wakefulness, and her spirits had been soaring since the moment she had done up her seatbelt in the passenger seat of the cruiser, making small talk with her new partner, Reggie Waterson.
Things… were not going as she had imagined.
They'd been sitting in the car on the same corner for almost four hours now, watching the downtown crush inch its way further down the road; the sun had fully risen long ago, shining mutedly from beyond the mist of fog that clung to the tall buildings of the city and the sloping hills and dales of Mt. Ebott.
They'd only had a few traffic stops, nothing unorthodox or exciting, to break the monotony; her caffeine high had worn off around nine, leaving her lethargic and bored and overly warm in the summer sunlight and the languishing, unsatisfactory relief of the faulty car air conditioner.
Sweat had been dripping from the loose hank of hair that drooped from behind her ear, gathering under the brim of her hat, and trickling down her neck (she had undone the top two buttons of her uniform shirt covertly, hopeful of catching a breath of a breeze through the crack in the window), and she was looking forward to lunch, where she would be able to dry off, more than she was the rest of the work day like she had been intending.
Frisk had been looking forward to working with Reggie, the reptilian monster she had been assigned to, as well; he stood over ten feet tall from his bumpy head to his forest green, swishing tail, and was both intimidating and vast, fond of his morning pastry and armed not only with twelve years of experience with handguns (and even more with water magic; he claimed to be almost two centuries old), but also razor sharp teeth and claws, armored scales, and incredibly quick reflexes.
He was loath to use them, however, being one of the gentlest crocodiles she had ever met (she was pretty sure the term was an oxymoron in itself), and far preferred telling jokes and reading the funny pages in his newspaper than intimidating anything; he was easygoing, sociable, and rather chatty, especially when it came to celebrity gossip.
She had never heard so much about Kim Kardashian in her life.
She did like Reggie, at the end of the day, sweet and caring and fiercely loyal… he was just, among many other things, not what she had been anticipating.
The way the day was progressing, Frisk wasn't sure she had really had any idea what she was getting into.
She was still hopeful, though, of seeing some action today, her spirit indomitable; she hadn't been working towards this opportunity for years to give up the as soon as she got a little bored.
That didn't stop her from being moody about it.
She let out a sigh, plopping her now empty coffee cup in her cupholder, and scratched under the brim of her cap, wiping the sweat onto her trousers.
Reggie, flipping his pocket notepad of jokes and stories to a new page and licking the end of his pencil, paused in his movement, looking over at the young human curiously.
"What's the matter, kid? Aww, it was all the puns, wasn't it? I knew I was dropping too many, Sally always tells me not to use so much satire, makes me sound like Sans…" he moaned, slapping his notebook on his knee and the back of his hand to his forehead (which was sweat free, being a reptile; he was perfectly comfortable, energized even, from being out in the sun), but Frisk was quick to correct him, shaking her head and smiling feebly.
"Oh, Reggie, no, it wasn't the jokes. You've gotten quite good with your wordplay. I was just… I'm a little disappointed by my first day, is all. Being in Central, I had been expecting car chases and drug busts and breaking up fights. All we've done are issue a few speeding tickets," she admitted mournfully, wiping at the back of her neck with her hand (again), and Reggie let out a sigh as well, rolling his eyes and tucking the notebook into his front breast pocket.
"Frisk, don't you worry about the action. We'll be getting those calls all too soon; I'm honestly surprised we haven't gotten anything yet. The city is fast, and the streets are tough. You'll be dying for days like these soon enough, believe me," he assured her, reaching over to clap a taloned hand to her shoulder, and Frisk looked back at him skeptically before nodding slowly, a real smile pulling at her lips.
Naturally, she was just being impatient… she should have thought as much. She should enjoy the downtime while she could.
"Alright, thanks. Sorry, I can get a little ahead of myself," she excused, pulling at her collar to waft some slightly less warm air under her shirt, and Reggie shrugged in response, giving her shoulder a final pat before reaching for his coffee thermos.
"Don't worry about it, I get it. It is a bit hot today, too, isn't it?" he observed, fanning himself while flicking the top of his cup, then very nearly dropped it when the radio, poised between their two seats, squawked into life suddenly, static breaking over the intercom in lieu of the voice of the control operator.
It had been blaring all morning, announcing traffic accidents and jaywalkers, but this was different; this was loud, urgent, and insistent.
It was an alarm.
"Patrol in sector 7, Ebott Central, please respond. Code purple in progress, repeat, code purple."
Reggie scrambled to put his thermos in his cup holder so he could snatch up the receiver, Frisk having to catch and straighten it to prevent it from tipping over onto the floor, then held the small handset to his snout, looking mildly panicked.
"Ah, 10-4, control, Officer Reginald Waterson, badge number 67292. What's going on?" he replied tersely, eyes flicking blankly over the passing traffic as he awaited a response; Frisk sat rigid in her seat, doing the same, while the operator read back the details of the call.
"10-68 from Grillby's Bar, 1861 Main, 415/417 reported. Repeat, 10-68 from Grillby's Bar, 415/417 reported. Respond immediately."
Reggie gritted his needle sharp teeth, clawed hand clenching around the handset, before responding, a hardness filtering into his voice that Frisk had never heard personally.
"10-4, control, on our way," he answered, resolve and drive in his gaze, then slammed the set back into its holder, flicked the siren on, and put the cruiser into drive, speeding out into the thoroughfare (three cars had to hit their brakes suddenly to avoid crashing into them, their horns blaring, but Reggie paid them no mind, set on his path and the need to reach the scene of the emergency as soon as possible).
As he drove, Reggie looked sideways at Frisk, who had paled considerably since the call had come in and was clenching the handle of her door and the side of her seat in a vicelike grip, her knuckles white and pronounced.
"What did I tell you, huh? Only a matter of time," he joked halfheartedly, spinning the wheel hard to speed through a left turn on a yellow light, weaving around cars that were too slow to pull to the right.
Frisk made a bland noise of agreement, seemingly unable to speak at the moment as even more color left her face, but Reggie, paying close attention to the road (he was completely ignoring the GPS system, clearly familiar with the location of the crime scene), nodded as though she had answered.
"Alright, so, to business. I know you're new, so I'll give you some time on learning codes. Control called in…" he began, ready as always to be of the most use he could be even in his clear worry and distraction, but Frisk interrupted him numbly, eyes straight ahead but unseeing.
"I know what they said, Reggie. Telephone call from Grillby's Bar, a disturbance from a person or persons with a gun… and gang activity," she supplied vacantly, swallowing hard and trying extremely hard to suppress her lower lip trembling (she needed to get a grip… she couldn't lose her head like this…), but if Reggie noticed the emptiness of her tone, he didn't say anything, instead looking extremely impressed at the same moment as he ran a stop sign, forcing an SUV and a pickup truck to screech to a halt.
"Wow, look at you! You must be real smart, it took me forever to learn the codes... but! Since you understood, let's go over some safety, okay?" he pressed, raising his brows and reaching out an elbow to jostle the nearly comatose human in the seat next to him, then launched into a clearly practiced spiel.
"Stay close to me, keep your sidearm at the ready, and stay alert. There are some really dangerous gangs around here, and most of them don't like seeing the police. Things might get hairy. Just keep to the law, stay smart, and we'll get out of this just fine," he reassured at the end of his instructions, smiling tremulously but widely, and Frisk nodded torpidly, her hands shaking even as they clenched at the cruiser for support.
"Yeah… just fine," she echoed hollowly, her lips clenching together following her statement, and reached unsteadily to feel the handgun strapped to her side, suddenly realizing just how small it was.
The last thing she was going to be was just fine.
Frisk had been expecting that it would be much longer before she had a run in with a gang, though she knew that it was part of her job, in the crime-riddled city, to deal with the mob and their lesser affiliates on a regular basis, sometimes to do war, and sometimes to make peace.
She had thought she would have more time, though, to acclimate, to fit into the shoes of her new job more fully; she had hoped that she would have more of a chance to brace herself for reliving the worst moment of her life.
In truth, she had been dealing with the mafia for years, long before today… she had only been sixteen upon her first run-in, long before the night her resolve to resist crime and bring those responsible to justice had surfaced.
Consequentially, that had the same night she had watched her adoptive mother fall to dust, executed in misunderstanding and brutality.
The same gun that had ended her mother's life had been held to her forehead, too, had threatened her existence just for witnessing the criminal's mistake, but she had been saved by benevolence, by the appearance of the local police force, who had rescued her from her captor's clutches and had taken her home to grieve with her desolated father.
She had overcome her sorrow… she had overcome the worst of her fear, though memory could be harsh in the cruelest of her dreams.
She had never overcome her desire to revenge herself on her mother's murderer, though, to find the monster hidden in the shadows that had killed just because he could, that had enjoyed the fear in both her and her mother's eyes.
They had never found him, the beast that had so wronged her family, and she had sworn to do so herself, years after the case had been closed and stone cold.
Were her reasons for becoming an officer entirely virtuous? No.
She did want to serve the law, to ensure that no sons and daughters ever had to miss their parents without justice, that no husbands or wives had to lose their partner without vengeance…
Most of all, though, she wanted the spilled blood of her faultless mother to be repaid.
The moment that Frisk had heard the repeatedly studied codes read out, though, the moment she had realized that she may be facing down her demon today, she had quailed, her habitually suffered fear rising to choke the breath from her body.
She wasn't ready, and she knew it.
The spectral terror grinned at her through the pages of her history, threatening everything she had ever known to satisfy its bloodlust, and Frisk, helpless to its influence (gods, she hated feeling like this), quavered, sinking into herself and flinching away from her sworn duty.
She was such a coward…
Something inside her, though, that same something that always buoyed her in her lowest times (her dad had always called it gumption, her teachers grit, and her one boyfriend sheer stubbornness), rose at that moment to push her onward, reminding her of her faithful partner, her training, and her resolve to see this through to whatever end.
She could do this. They were just thugs… she could do this.
Frisk breathed in heavily through her nose, steadying her nerves and centering her mind, before nodding minutely to herself, set on her course, and came back to reality in time to see Reggie round one last corner, coming to a stop at the crowded curb in front of a tall, bricked building that bore the moniker, in bright, flashy, purple and teal neon, Grillby's Bar and Grill.
Several very showy cars were parked in front of the establishment, which stood out like a beacon beside its crumbling counterparts, picture windows shining in the late morning sun and sidewalk weed free and swept; through the largest of the windows, in which hung a large "Open" sign, could be seen several monsters seated in booths along the wall, looking with interest and slight disdain out at the police car that had just pulled up, sirens blaring.
The scene looked… quiet, not anything like she had been expecting.
Reggie sent Frisk a sideways glance as he unbuckled his seatbelt and kicked his door open, his tail uncurling from beneath the car seat; he didn't bother to turn the car off, only flipping the switch on the siren to silence it.
"Alright, Frisk, stay close. Let's go in," he muttered tensely, undoing the button on his gun holster before surging from the car fluidly, his instincts kicking in, and Frisk struggled from her own seat, forgetting to hit the buckle on her seatbelt in her rush.
She caught up with the crocodile monster on the sidewalk, though, fumbling with the clasp on her own gun but waiting to pull it until they had assessed the situation, and followed in his footsteps up to the heavy wooden door that lead into the bar, swallowing at the well of panic that threatened her calm.
She could do this, she would be fine… maybe they should have called for backup… no, no it would be okay, Reggie knew what he was doing…
Reggie paused with one hand on the wrought iron handle, his other on his gun, glanced back at Frisk one more time (she gave him an assured nod and a grim smile), before pulling the door open completely, washing sunlight into the darkened, smoky business.
Again, Frisk was surprised by the lack of action; none of the monsters seated at the tables visible from her viewpoint behind Reggie (he blocked most of the doorway, both tall and wide) even moved beyond pausing in their conversations to look at who was coming inside.
Reggie, catching the door with his shoulder and motioning over his shoulder for Frisk to follow, slowly entered the restaurant, eyeing the patrons carefully while assessing the situation; she followed cautiously, edging in behind her partner and coming to his side so she could take in the scene for herself.
The bar was clean and open, paneled in wood and littered with tables, booths, and crowned by a long, shining bar, all filled with lunchtime customers; the air was clouded with the smells of hickory, cooking meat, and nicotine smoke, and was charged with what she knew to be magic, universe energy crackling against her skin like instinct and agitation.
There was no mystery to why that was… every occupant of the establishment, besides herself, were monsters, and there had clearly been a fight, if the two tied up, heavily beaten, and fitfully struggling monsters laid out on top of the bar were any indication.
The atmosphere plummeted drastically, once she and Reggie stepped into the bar, from casual joviality to measured contempt; every conversation halted and every eye turned to them (chairs squeaked as some of the patrons rotated in their chairs), perusing them with obvious dislike.
The fact that every one of them were members of the mob was overkill.
Of course, not every monster was a gang member, or were even familiar with the monster gangs that had cropped up after they had been released from the Underground; that was blatant racism, and something she knew not to be true from personal experience (her father was a monster, and had refused dealings with the mafia on numerous occasions).
Most monsters weren't, in fact, and respected the law of the land as well as, and often better than, the humans that had created those laws in the first place.
Some, though, like the twenty or so monsters lounging in the restaurant before her, were of a different ilk than their law-abiding counterparts; profiling aside, most members of the mob had fairly telling appearances.
Of the monsters present, 90% wore button down shirts and suits in varying degrees of wear, though most were clean, pressed, and clearly expensive, bore defined and blatant expressions of sarcastic condescension at the appearance of the police, and, if she wasn't mistaken, were to a one packing heat (some weren't even bothering to hide their firearms, their suit coats thrown over the handles unabashedly).
Some of the monsters were nursing tumblers of alcohol despite the early hour, swirling the ice in them and tracing the lips of the cups; still others were exhaling smoke from cigarettes and cigars into the already smoky air in complete disregard of the illegality of the activity.
One thug, a skeleton monster wearing a fine suit, a low-brimmed hat, and a permanent grin, caught her eye, lounging against the bar between two enormous, gilled, fish-like monsters; he looked directly at her, took a deep draw of his cigar, and blew a slow, lofty stream of smoke out through his nasal cavity, defying logic completely (did skeleton monsters have lungs?).
Looking away from the monster's magically lit sockets, strangely unnerved by his stare, Frisk instead turned to follow Reggie, who had loosened up considerably and was currently edging his way towards the bar at the front of the establishment, weaving between the tables as well as his girth would allow.
Registering that he had gone ahead without her, Frisk scuttled in his wake, releasing her death grip on her sidearm and trying to avoid her partner's swinging tail as he squeezed between the customers; a lump of nervousness at being so close to the dangerous monsters, their gazes following the police duo across the room, rose up her throat, tasting like bile and inevitability (she really wasn't ready for this, this was too much, there were so many… no, no, it was fine, no one had made a move…), but she pressed on despite her fear, focusing on not tripping on her own feet.
There was a clamor as they crossed the room, a patron knocked out of their chair by Reggie's bulk and scrambling to right themselves (Frisk rushed to help them to their feet, but got shrugged off for her trouble while Reggie picked up their chair), and when the pair had turned back to continue making their way to the bar of the restaurant, they found their path blocked, the stout, grinning skeleton monster she had noticed only a moment ago standing between the tables ahead with his hands inserted in his pockets, his cigar sending a twisting plume of ashen smoke wafting towards the ceiling.
Shocked by his sudden appearance and glancing over Reggie's shoulder to where he had been reclining seconds before (the stool he had been sitting in, halfway across the room, was now vacant; it was definitely the same monster), Frisk stumbled to a halt to avoid bumping into her partner, awkward in her surprise; she flushed angrily, mortified, when a few of the monsters in the establishment snickered at her clumsiness.
The skeleton himself, removing the cigar from between his teeth and tapping cinders from it into an ashtray on a table nearby, gave her only a passing glance, a dismissive up and down that managed to convey both disdain and apathy (Frisk went beet red from her cheeks to the collar of her uniform, humiliated and wanting nothing more than to leave), before turning to the tall crocodile monster she stood behind, his grin ratcheting up a notch in acknowledgement and affability.
"reg. long time no see… haven't been around these parts in awhile. howya been?" he queried sociably, his voice deep and mixed with smooth contours, like an old wine; he replaced the cigar in his mouth to extend his hand (bones too… how was he being held together? Magic?) towards the reptilian police officer, his movements managing to be both suave and measured at once.
Reggie ignored his extended hand, though, and instead caught the skeleton into a bone breaking hug (Frisk snickered to herself, hearing an uncomfortable sounding crack come from the other monster; she needed to be careful, puns like that could rot your brain), lifting the shorter male into the air as he did before setting him back on the ground and patting his back roughly, laughing boisterously all the while.
"Sans, you old bag of bones! I've been great; busy as a bee, but you know how it is, my friend! What about you, eh? All the noise I'm hearing from the news tells me you've been busy too… ah, but that's the business for you. How's that brother of yours?" he crowed, peppy in his restored good humor (at least he could relax… Frisk felt like every muscle in her body was tensed) and clearly familiar with the other monster, and the skeleton, named Sans, apparently, let out a dry chuckle, straightening his suit coat officiously.
"y'know paps… can never get him to stay in the same spot for more than five minutes. he's always been like that, though; dunno where he gets all the energy from. he started cookin' again… we oughta have ya over sometime, though it doesn't look like you need much feedin' up, huh?" he jibed good-naturedly, jabbing an elbow at the crocodile monster's gut (yep, definitely knew each other well), and while Reggie responded with another ostentatious laugh, unperturbed by the mention of his weight, Frisk glanced around the bar, noticing the tension in the air lessening radically.
The mobsters, seeming to settle after the appearance of the police, had mostly turned back to attend to their own business, talking and laughing amongst themselves, where they had looked prepared to attack before the skeleton monster had approached Reggie.
A few, however, namely the large amphibian monsters that had been flanking Sans earlier (accompanied by a number of the others in the crowd, though to a lesser degree and extent), were avidly watching the skeleton now leaning one arm comfortably on one of the round tables, his highly polished shoes crossed at the ankles; they seemed edgy, poised to rise from their chairs at a moment's notice, as though to defend the much smaller monster.
Sans must be a pretty high ranking member of his organization, to be such an influence on the other monsters… were the heavily muscled, scaled monsters his bodyguards?
Huffing out a shaky breath (being in a bar full of gangsters, peaceful for the moment notwithstanding, was putting her on edge, painful memory nudging at her busily), Frisk swallowed heavily and turned back to observe the conversation before her, wishing they could just get the job done and leave but knowing how sociable Reggie was, especially with what appeared to be an old friend.
"…plus, Sally has been in a baking frenzy lately. They tell me the cravings are normal, but watching her put an entire cake away is pretty intimidating. I can't help but wanna help her out, you know?" Reggie was enumerating, most likely bragging about his wife and soon-to-be child again (he very rarely wasn't, incredibly proud to have ensnared the love of the petite, fiery, redheaded human), and Sans nodded in accord, reaching over to extinguish the stub of his cigar in the ashtray beside him.
"i get ya. she's been good to you, no mistake. let me know the date, hmm? i'll send over some things for the baby," he insisted, snapping his fingers at one of the monsters sitting at a nearby table (the icicle-draped crony stood up, scurried over to his side, and deposited a pad of paper and a pen into his waiting hand), and Reggie, clasping a hand to his broad chest, looked tearful, rattling off the date and patting the skeleton on the shoulder with happy tears clinging to his beady eyes.
Sans, scribbling the numbers onto the paper he held, ripped the top page off, slid it into his front pants pocket, and tossed the notepad and pen to the waiting monster, grinning up at Reggie, before sparing Frisk another short look, contemplative and calculating (she had never felt so judged in her life, suddenly painfully aware of her sweaty, untidy hair and self-consciously trying to finger comb the loose strands into order).
"nice as it is to catch up, reg… i couldn't help but notice you don't have greg with you today. old codger finally give up the ghost?" the stocky skeleton observed, sliding his hands into his pockets again as he looked away from Frisk flippantly, her existence ceasing in his attentions.
Frisk, instant dislike surging in her chest at the treatment she was receiving, bit down on her tongue, glaring at the glossy buttons on the monster's fancy suit coat resentfully; she knew this tactic, used to make sure you knew you were unimportant, had had it used on her before in her mother's dealings with the mafia (honestly, it was better to be ignored than to be noticed by a mobster… once they made note of you, knew who you were, they very rarely forgot, and that could mean trouble), and as such kept her silence, though it grated on her personally.
If she weren't surrounded by gangsters, and staring down a clearly powerful one, she would have ripped him another breathing hole (not that he needed one).
Reggie, blithely oblivious to Sans' behavior, let out a small gasp, snatching up a napkin from the table next to him to dab at his teary eyes.
"Oh damn, that's right! Yeah, Greg retired on Saturday; hemorrhoids couldn't take the walking anymore. This is Officer Dreemurr, my new partner! She's a new recruit, fresh out of the academy! Man, I remember when I was new on the force… so long ago," he reminisced, his eyes far away and his fist clenching around the damp napkin in his palm as he backed himself out of the way of Frisk and the boorish skeleton monster, making room for them to acquaint themselves, but neither of them moved, Frisk staring warily at the mobster and Sans, one brow crooked impassively, showing absolutely zero interest in ingratiating himself, doing no more than glancing at her name tag lazily from under the brim of his hat.
Dick.
"hmm. they send 'em in younger and younger these days, eh, reg? think she'll make it in this town?" he commented idly, shrugging his shoulders to settle his coat more evenly; he smirked crookedly, as though sharing a joke with the reptile between them, before looking straight at Frisk, staring into her eyes with hard, callous menace that put at odds his languid grin.
"i don't. she looks… weak."
Frisk flushed even darker in humiliation and anger, trembling in place in the wake of the skeleton monster's assessment, her fists balled and her back ramrod straight.
It hurt, to be described as such by someone she had never met before; the uncouth skeleton clearly had a keen eye, knew how to demoralize his prey by hitting hard and fast, and had struck her where she was hurting most.
She had always feared being weak, being dismissed for her failings and assumed to be inconsequential.
She had worked her whole life to never be weak like she had been when she was young, when she had cowered in front of bullies like him, when she hadn't been able to save her mother… she had thought that she wasn't anymore.
She had done so well, in school and the academy and at the Embassy, keeping her dad's paperwork and playing guard; she had thought she would do just as well in the city, at her dream job.
And then this monster, who didn't know her from Eve, had stomped all over her progress, had destroyed her hope for no reason she could understand; probably to show off in front of his gang, or to put her in her place.
It had worked. She had never felt so small.
Frisk, destitute tears pushing at her eyes, breathed heavily through her nose, staring down the smug and victorious looking mobster.
She wanted to run, to make some excuse and duck out of the bar, to never face him again, but knew that she couldn't, could already feel her shame being burned away by anger and vengeance.
She knew that she needed to let this moment pass, to keep herself free of trouble and unwanted attention… she needed to bow out, keep her head down, and let the gangster have his poignant insult.
She needed to let him think he had won, to not make her father's worries about her being safe in the city a reality.
Her fury disagreed, and overpowered her better senses before she could stop it.
"It's rude to talk about people like they're not there. Did you learn your manners in the same place you got your suit? It's about as cheap as your insults," she retorted, face calm but heart pumping like she had just run a marathon (what was she doing?! She was going to get shot…), and Sans, surprise overtaking his arrogance, pulled his head back in disbelief, brows rising over his magically lit sockets.
He studied her in silence, new consideration in his gaze, before taking a step forward, challenge and interest pulling at his renewed smirk; he waved a hand over his shoulder idly as he did, and behind him, several members of his gang that had stood halfway from their tables, hands drifting under their jackets, sat back down, petulant scowls on their faces.
Holy shit…
"you're right about my manners, officer… i do forget myself sometimes. but i'll have to take exception to the suit jibe. insulting a monster's clothes… that's just downright crass," he commented, straightening his cobalt blue tie (a silver ring glinted on his forefinger, catching her eye for a moment); he gave her another up and down look, much longer and introspective.
"'specially comin' from a woman in a tacky uniform."
Frisk's heart was still pounding in her ears, her adrenaline surging and her fight-or-flight senses begging her to see sense (flight was, at least… fight demanded she punch the jerk right in the teeth), but she knew she couldn't back down now; he was testing her, and while she didn't need his respect, she certainly couldn't lose her backbone now that she had shown she had one.
They would take advantage of her, if she showed weakness.
As such, she looked down at her uniform, brushed some imaginary lint from her shoulder, and popped her collar with false bravado (oh god damn, her top buttons were still undone, she needed to fix that…), glancing back at the carefully observant skeleton monster.
"I guess it isn't exactly stylish… but it suits me better than Armani any day," she snarked timidly, hopeful of hitting his funny bone (gods, she needed to cut it out with the puns… Reggie was having a bad influence on her), and Sans, his sockets widening in further amazement, stared at her blankly for a moment before letting out a chest rattling chortle, one hand raising to press to his sternum as he chuckled.
He laughed for a good, hearty ten seconds, head thrown back and all, before looking back at her with a new light in his gaze; he looked much more friendly, his smile hiding nothing but humor in its lilt.
"ah… good one, kid. you've got spunk… i admire that," he allowed, amusement still tinting his voice into a mellow tenor; he stepped up to her until they were only two feet apart (he wasn't as short as he had looked from across the room, standing a few solid inches over her at the very least), looking down at her with a raised brow, then extended his hand casually, secrets clinging to the edges of his welcoming grin.
"nice to meetcha. name's sans. sans the skeleton, though the feds prefer i go by the surname snowdin. taxes and such," he explained with a shrug, disregard for the government's control on him clear in his tone, and though Frisk instinctually pulled away from his gesture of peace, flinching and distrustful, she still returned the motion, sliding her hand into his and grasping his palm, intending to shake it and be done.
Rather than sharing the common greeting that she was accustomed to, however, Sans turned her hand in his grasp, bent over it, and pressed his teeth to her knuckles (or so she assumed; he didn't exactly have lips, but his hat brim blocked her view of his mouth when he "kissed" her hand, so…), lingering before releasing her and standing back up to his full height.
She tried not to be rude by pulling her hand back too quickly, slowly lowering it back to her side as nonchalantly as she possibly could, but couldn't hide the bright red blush that rose to her cheeks, face burning and eyes averting from the skeleton monster (who was quietly observing her flushed demeanor with curiosity and intrigue, plucking idly at one of his jacket buttons and tilting his head) so she could, nervously, pull a notepad from her back pocket, her fingers shaking so badly that she failed the first two times in trying to get her pen's cap off.
"It's… nice to meet you too. So… so, what happened here? Why are these monsters tied up?" she questioned rapidly, stumbling over her words in her edginess and discomfort (why had he kissed her hand? Was that something his… type of people did?) and pointing the end of her pen at the hog-tied monsters laid out on the counter of the bar, and Sans, blinking, turned to look over his shoulder before making a sound of realization, his free hand sinking back into his pocket and smugness pulling at his smile.
"oh, them. well, my friends and i took exception to them coming in and thinkin' they could rob the place. kinda under our protection and all… decided to put 'em on ice for you nice folks, once ya showed up to get 'em," he replied flippantly, strolling over to the bar and flopping himself into a free seat at the head of one of the captured criminals (both had their guns stuffed muzzle first into their mouths, secured in place with duct tape and effectively silencing them), and Frisk hummed in understanding, scanning the form she was holding for the proper place to begin filling out.
No wonder the building looked so well taken care of in such a decrepit part of the town… it was under the protection of, and, potentially, owned by, the mob.
"That is… unorthodox, but appreciated. I'll need to… to fill out a report, and ask a few questions…" she began, straining to remember the protocols for the situation through her confusion and panic (so many things were happening at once… she really should have gotten more sleep last night), and though Sans began to reply, leaning back in his stool comfortably, Reggie, who had been watching their interaction with nervous hope, suddenly slapped a taloned hand to his forehead, rolling his gaze up to the ceiling.
"Oh, crap! I forgot my pad in the car… hold the fort, will you? Sans will watch your back. I'll be right back!" he called frantically, apologizing to Frisk with his eyes (she used hers to plead with him not to leave her alone here, but to no avail), then turned on the spot and pushed himself back out through the tables, scurrying out of the front door and back over to the cruiser.
Leaving Frisk by herself, extremely nervous and hyper aware of all the eyes on her, standing in a bar full of gangsters.
She stood trembling on the spot for a moment, gaze trained to her notepad but mind empty of all but pessimistic worries (what if they killed her before Reggie came back? What if Sans didn't have her back?), before her attention was caught by Sans himself, waving his hand in her peripheral vision.
She glanced up at him, and he smirked at her tolerantly, patting the stool next to his.
"he'll be a few, toots; reg always was one to forget where he put his stuff. would lose his head if it wasn't stuck on. sit down… take a load off," he offered, tone cordial and sedative; it was hard to believe, if it wasn't so fresh in her mind, that only a moment before he had been belittling and disparaging her.
He was a snake, two faced and clearly cunning… she couldn't afford to trust him.
So she remained where she was, as much as she would like to sit down (her knees were trembling and weak, her adrenaline leaking from her and leaving her feeble); Sans seemed to notice her hesitance, though, and patted the seat again more firmly, something both commanding and charming oozing into his rumbling voice.
"c'mon, sweetheart, i ain't gonna bite ya... unless you're into that," he insisted, allure layering his demand into playfulness (she wasn't fooled, she knew that it was no longer a request, if it ever had been), and so Frisk, surrounded by carefully watching gangsters, crossed the space between herself and the imperious skeleton monster, settling onto the edge of the proffered stool and resigning herself to waiting for Reggie to come save her.
No… not how she had imagined her first day going, at all.
Thank you so much for reading, I do hope you enjoyed it, and please leave a comment if you did! Swing by my Tumblr, thebananafrappe, if you get a chance, and seeya next time!