Prompt: Someone hurts Psycho and Mafia Sans and Karma and Striker get triggered.
Prompt Extension: Psycho gets hurt, Mafia Sans defends him, takes the hit and Karma gets triggered.
The day had started like any other, a fluffy-tailed white Neko annoying the werewolf of the group with said fluffy tail. It was a beautiful thing, but it was too easy to tickle passersby with as the cat lay across a shelf he had been forbade to go on. It wasn't the best thing to wake up to in the morning, a face full of white fur as you walked down the steps.
"Leo! Get off the shelf!"
Giggling with barely repressed glee, the cat slipped down from the shelf, prancing away from the ruffled skeleton who's face had been bombarded by fur. Said skeleton, brushing the long threads of fur from his black cloak with a frustrated grimace on his face. Why did he agree to join them in the house?
As the Neko terrorised (oh, so scared) the house with his bushy tail, the werewolf of the house was wisely sat outside on a smooth log, stripped of its protective bark. There had been bark upon the trunk, until Striker came along and rubbed it all off with his insistent side itches.
Striker was no normal creature, like Karma was no normal lizard thing. Thirteen feet tall with twenty two feet of length and weighing around 1800 pounds, you did not want him to decide your legs needed snapping. As it was, the head of the monstrosity was next to the werewolf, two pairs out of the four closed in contentment. The remaining two stared wherever they stared. Psycho was nor close enough to determine exactly where the gaze settled.
White irises and pupils meant that it was extremely hard to tell if you had the beast's attention, but, lucky for Psycho (or unlucky if Striker tries to lay on him), he almost always had his attention.
Idly musing about the large growth the male had forced his body to go through, he faintly remembered that it was Psycho's disappearance which had caused it. And, if Gaster was to be believed, Striker was a Paladin Netik. A guard to a Queen, if you will.
Slime dripped and pulled the man from his thoughts, coating his shoulder with the viscous, black fluid. Glancing at the creature, he saw that its green tinted - in certain lights - head was watching many of their house mates leave via teleportation. Work, play, companionship. Psycho had neither at this moment in time.
As if sensing his abysmal thoughts, the giant beside him carefully butted a slimy head against his back, throat rumbling with the purr of an engine. Grudgingly, Psycho stroked the muzzle of the Paladin. Maybe he had one.
Some time passed, the werewolf and his devoted Netik settled in the shade of the trees, a natural bench their place of rest. During this time, the great lump of muscle had moved away from the log and slipped into the sea nearby. Graceful and beautiful, the creature glided beneath the water while it's small audience watched.
A twig snapped, the only thing preceding sudden pain and burning to twist the flesh on Psycho's right shoulder, a blast of sound from a sniper echoing into the house via an open window.
Karma, as much as a little devil he was, could tell that the sound did not bode well and promptly jumped onto the nearest and only living thing in the house. A sleeping, content Mafia Sans.
Shrieking into where his ear should be was a surefire way to jump start the skeleton, especially just after pouncing urgently upon his ribcage.
"Urg! K. Wha' tha hell?"
The skeleton grunted, annoyed by the very rude awakening. Karma squeaked apologetically before making mewing sounds and trying to get Mafia to follow. Unfortunately, he could be dense at times, and now was one of them.
Right on cue, a second gun shot rang out, closely followed by angered, demonic, powerful screeches from the largest occupant of the house and the island the house had been built upon. Spending just a second to marvel at the pulsing tones of the piercing cry, Mafia Sans unholstered his trusted Colt 1908 Pocket Hammerless and leaped up from the sofa, barging through impolitely closed doors and bursting out onto the small concrete pathway, leading to the adjacent beach.
The scene which greeted the monster clad in a crisp, dapper, brown suit straight from the wardrobe of a 1930s mob boss took shape like this.
Blood splattered across the small grains of eroded rocks, no pattern nor owner. There was too much to be just the werewolf's, and some of it was dark blue clumped with the black slime only found on the local Netik, who was tearing into a human with large teeth and taloned hands. His secondary pair of arms twitched with the urge to disembowel his prey. Common sense told the beast to think better, for a sniper flopped within one twitching hand.
The second thing to become apparent was that Bulldog was nestled against a tree trunk, holding his hand to his right shoulder, where red stained his long sleeved shirt. On the ground nearby, a soiled silver bullet sparkled with fake innocence.
And the last thing to be noticed was the flash of a scope in the sun before pain stunned Mafia Sans and blinded him with the physical feeling of obliterated bones around his fragile monster soul. A second, agonizing bullet crushed his firing hand, leaving the skeleton vulnerable.
Or so the remaining human thought.
"K..."
Mustering up the last of his energy, the short monster clicked his middle finger and index finger together, commanding the small but deadly organism to attack with all of his vast might.
He did not see his companion valiantly defend his unconscious body, at the cost of getting shot himself. Either way, he would have been proud.
A few days later, Mafia Sans awoke on his couch, Karma dozing protectively over his soul, his front leg covered by a cast. On that cast were the words:
'Thank you.'
Two initials scrawled after the words made Mafia Sans cock and eye ridge in disbelief and appreciation.
'PV'