Flowey watched the servants from a distance. They looked panicked in their tight gathering around the front door. He knew that those lousy parent-creatures would be back soon. The looks on the servants' faces told him that. And those same looks told him they were really worried. For one thing, they all had been trained not to show their emotions with their faces or magic, and all of them were radiating worry. Then there was their hands. Some were clenched. Others were wringing. A select few were fighting with the locks. It was those ones which Flowey was watching closest.
Flowey watched them through the lens of one of the telescopes that the smiley trash bag had left in the Underground. The servants didn't seem to have any clue what to do to break the epoxy. He rolled his eyes. Couldn't these idiots see enough to call a locksmith? Geez, what idiots.
He didn't bother to stick around to see how they solved the problem. He had chaos to report on, after all.
T.N. Roman stared with twitching brows at the devastation that was once his garden. It looked like a tornado had spun through a barnyard and dumped it all in a compost heap. There were battered foliage and flowers. There were piles of poop. There were hoofprints in the gravel and mud. It was absolute chaos, and Roman hated chaos.
He abruptly turned his back on the carnage and snapped his fingers. Instantly the gardening staff, who were arrayed behind him and disgustingly radiating apprehension, stood to attention. He glared at them. "YOU WILL CLEAN UP THIS… MESS. YOU WILL DO IT NOW. I EXPECT FOR THIS GARDEN TO BE BACK TO ITS FORMER GLORY IN LESS THAN A WEEK. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"
"Yes, sir!"
All of them said it in perfect unison, just like they were trained to do. Roman let an amused little smile come across his face. He had spent hours getting all his staff to the point where, when they responded, it was harmonious. Chaos could not be tolerated. At least here it hadn't encroached on his sanctuary.
"VERY GOOD. YOU ARE DISMISSED," He said with a wave. The only reason they didn't immediately get to work was because they knew they had to take the time to salute. After that they instantly started working.
Roman nodded and headed back into the house to deal with the rest of this mess. It was so much easier when he could solve his problems with murder. He'd gotten it down to an art form, avoiding being caught. Those pesky dogs back in Snowdin had been child's play for a monster as accomplished as him. He didn't bother keeping track of how many people he had killed after the war. At LV 15 it had to be a lot, but no one seemed to bother to check or keep track, least of all him. His wife might, but, then again… maybe not. She could be remarkably scatterbrained.
Coursiva stared at the shredded fabric with puzzlement hidden in her soul. She could have sworn that this was her closet and not the scraps room, but maybe she was mistaken. It certainly looked like the scraps room. She spun on her heel to face the nervous maid (a new hire who was still in training) and asked, "maid, is this the scraps room or my closet? i can't seem to remember these things."
"I-I-It's the closet, my lady," The Whimsum girl stuttered.
Coursiva frowned. That wouldn't do. She should be merciful, however. The stars knew her husband wouldn't be. "go downstairs to see the housekeeper and tell her you have been let go. also, tell her to send up another maid."
The girl swallowed and bowed in mid air. "Y-y-yes, my lady. Thank you, my lady." Then, in the space of a few seconds, she was gone.
Coursiva let her face relax into its usual diplomatic smile and inwardly fumed. Why was it so hard to find decent help these days? It seemed like no one knew how to school their countenances anymore, like a certain someone she had- No. She had promised her husband that she would never think of either of them again, and Coursiva hated to break a promise. She might be scatterbrained, but she could remember her promises. She made so few of them that it wasn't hard.
What would be hard would be cleaning up this mess. Coursiva took in the remnants of her clothes with perfectly concealed anguish. She loved her clothes. She loved to design them, she loved to wear them, she loved to make them, she loved them. Now all her prizes of hard work were absolutely irreparable. If she had been a lesser monster she would have cried. As it was she sniffed disdainfully at the carnage.
That was a mistake. A thread from some dress of hers that had been floating in the air was sucked up into her nasal cavity. She sneezed, and, if anyone had been there to see it, they would have said it was the sneeze of a kitten. Not any kitten, though. No, this was the sneeze of a kitten with an URI, because it sprayed snot all over the room.
Coursiva took the sight of the indigo snot that was glueing the shredded fabric together fast. Then she turned her back on her problems like she always did and headed into the bathroom to take a hot bath in the whirlpool tub.
The smell seemed to permeate everything they did, now. That haunting, rotten stench followed them like a curse. They threw out all the food in the house. It remained. They had the servants clean the house. It remained. They replaced the fridges and freezers. It remained. No matter what they did that smell remained.
It was only when, in a fit of private fury that even the servants weren't witness to, Roman shattered all the furniture in their bedroom, that they figured out what the cause of it was. Coursiva stared in disgust at the thing that had come out of their curtain rods. She had no idea what it once had been. Now it was a moldy, rotten chunk of grossness that she had no intention of touching.
Roman, too, was staring at it. His face and magic gave off no clue as to what he was feeling. Eventually he said, "WE MUST GET THE SERVANTS TO REPLACE ALL THE CURTAIN RODS IN THE HOUSE. OPENING THEM TO CHECK FOR THIS… SUBSTANCE… WOULD ONLY RELEASE THE SMELL MORE."
Coursiva nodded her agreement. "i've been wanting to replace those rods for a while now. the finial really is too old fashioned for the current design of our house. something more modern would be much more agreeable."
"THAT IS, OF COURSE, UP TO YOU. I WILL INSTRUCT THE CHIEF OF STAFF TO SEE TO IT. PLEASE PICK THE DESIGN YOU DESIRE AND HE WILL SEE TO IT," Roman said shortly.
The two of them then turned their back on the lump of dead shrimp and headed off in opposite directions; Coursiva headed to the garage to ask her chauffeur to take her to her favorite furniture design store and Roman walked into the bathroom to take a long, hot bath. He wanted to be rid of the feeling of anger and knew that relaxing would do it. Neither of them cared about the carnage they left behind. The servants would see to it. It would hardly be the first time.