Chapter 7: Humans Are a Stick

Toriel and Macie talk magic.

Macie tugged at the reddened leaves clinging to her clothes. She plucked at several more that latched onto the dark hair curling out from underneath her cap. She let her fingers skim across the orange, fraying fabric fondly. It was silly to wear the hat indoors. Underground. There was a considerable lack of… sunlight it needed to keep out of her eyes down here. But wearing the hat brought her some comfort in this unfamiliar place. She kept it on.

Macie opened the front door to Toriel's home and hurled her small collection of leaves outside. They caught the air and fluttered delicately down onto the doorstep, not quite ready to see Macie off. All the clinging plant-life was starting to get on her nerves. She latched the door closed once more and drifted toward the kitchen.

Her stomach grumbled and she stuffed a hand into her sweatshirt-pocket, retrieving a piece of "monster" candy. She had found it in an odd little room while snail-hunting with Toriel.

There had been two little creeks running along the east and west walls. A marble column stood proudly in the center of the room. On the floor beside that column, an upturned bowl rested atop a pile of spilled candies. Toriel had tutted something about greedy children before cleaning up the mess. Of course Macie had helped. Helped herself to more than the allocated "one candy per person" that nearby signage demanded. She hadn't followed the signs atop Mount Ebott. Why start following the ones inside? Consistency was a virtue, after all. Probably.

Macie unwrapped the pilfered treat from its crinkling paper and popped it into her mouth.

Mmm. Licorice.

Macie leaned against the kitchen threshold, poked her head into the room, and stared curiously at her hostess. Toriel sliced deftly through ingredients with her claws and charred them expertly with fire magic. Those poor snails didn't stand a chance. Someone's stomach churned unhappily at the thought of those slimy, little garden-gremlins going into the evening's dinner. Someone not Toriel.

"Sooo... uh, snails, huh. Never thought to eat the little guys."

"Ah, snail pie is my favorite! I hope you will like it."

"Sounds… awful… fancy. I'll make sure to stay out of the way while you prep. "I'm a bit of a wreck in the kitchen. But I can do dishes. Unless you'll blast those away with your fancy-fire-magic. That'd be pretty cool."

Macie thought it'd be pretty cool if Toriel set flame to her designated plate with the pie still on it.

"Ah." Toriel let out a tittering laugh. "That would be something! But no, my dear. We can wash them together. But if you have any other de-light-ful ideas, fire away." At this, the woman gave Macie an impish wink.

Macie froze, jaw dropping slightly, almost losing the licorice-flavored candy tucked inside. Her lips curled into a playful grin. One eyebrow raised, ever so slightly: "Was that a…?" Toriel giggled, turning towards her human companion.

"Now, now." She motioned to usher Macie out of the kitchen, "As much as I lava good conversation, I should focus on preparing dinner. If you have any other burning questions, you'll have to wait until we eat."

Macie snorted, nearly inhaling that monster candy into her lungs before fleeing the area. The kitchen, and it's host's humorous quips, were just too hot to handle.

Macie nestled deeper into the plush cushions of an overstuffed sofa chair. Several books about monster-history had been plucked from Toriel's shelves and rehomed on each armrest of Macie's seat. A pair of large-framed glasses slipped down her nose as she leafed through the text currently in her lap. Beside her a fire crackled softly, providing just enough light for one to read comfortably.

The text in front of her illustrated the great war between monsters and humans. Humanity had come out victorious when their mages sealed the retreating monsters beneath the earth, behind an (almost) impenetrable barrier.

Mages. Monsters. Magic. On the Surface, they were just parts of fairy-tales or bedtime stories you read to kids at night... It wasn't supposed to be real. They were supposed to be caricatures and cautionary tales. Nothing more. But it was real: this history of the losing race, the monsters. Humanity - it seemed - had deemed it all as not a history worth remembering.

Macie huffed in frustration.

She knew nothing of this world. She was so overwhelmingly unprepared down here. The Underground had swallowed her whole and was preparing to crunch her bones into dust before she ever even got close to finding Frisk.

But.

If she could learn just a little more… maybe just maybe… she could survive among this society that seemed so ready to extract that precious soul secreted within her body. Maybe.

A part of her knew the little fortress of books splayed around her was nothing more than a distraction from her own fear. She was scared. She was so very scared. Macie wanted nothing more than to crawl under the oversized couch cushion she was sitting on. Hide under it until all her problems miraculously solved themselves. But… waiting around wouldn't help Frisk. They were counting on her.

She had to keep going.

Macie flipped through several more pages trying to absorb as much as she could in the dance of firelight. A hot, gusty breeze swept in from the kitchen, tousled the pages out of her fingers, and ruffled at the text in her lap. For a moment, everything smelled like cinnamon.

There was a monster cooking her dinner in the kitchen.

The thought made her want to laugh but she choked it down. The laughter - she feared - came from a hysteria born of panic. Panic about what would happen. Panic about what she needed to do. If she laughed that hysterical laugh, she might devolve into tears. And if those tears began she didn't know if she could stop until they drowned her.

It was all too much. Everything was all too much.

Toriel glided from the kitchen toward the living-room fireplace. She crouched beside it and flicked pie crumbs from her paws into the flickering flames. The fire crackled hungrily at the crumbs; the nutty smell of browned butter blanketed the room. Macie felt her mouth water. Her stomach bubbled - this time - with hunger.

"Doing some light reading, my dear Macie?" Toriel gave her a fond smile as she eyed the wall of books surrounding her human companion.

"Oh yeah. Light-" Macie closed the heavy text in her lap with a hefty thump, "-reading." She jammed her elbow into the hard cover and stuffed her chin into the palm of her hand.

"This stuff is… well. I almost don't want to believe it. Monsters." She gestured a free hand toward Toriel. "Magic." She waved at the dancing fire, tendrils of warmth licking at the tips of her fingers. "It's all... stories... up there. Not history. Not real."

Toriel tilted her head back, pursed her lips and stared down her snout at the frazzled human. She blinked slowly, thinking:

"Sometimes," she began tentatively, mulling over the right words. "It is easier to forget or pretend... harsher… realities never happened. That they are just… unpleasant... stories." Macie shifted towards the monster who sit on her ankles by the fire. The hem of her dress fluttered gently against the heat. Toriel stared quietly at something only she could see - a memory, a harsher reality, some unpleasant story she wished had never happened. A bitter light flickered through those amber eyes. That soft, furred smile curved ever-so-slightly downward.

Macie swallowed, sensing the unexpectedly solemn change in atmosphere. She pondered letting the conversation dissipate in the air, like the small floating embers floating off that warm warm fire.

But her curiosity outweighed this sense and she pressed on.

"O- okay… Humans forget about monsters to absolve themselves from the guilt of… well, forcing an entire race into living in an underground purgatory. That-" Macie paused, frowning, shook her head. "That sounds like a very human thing to do. Actually." And unfortunately. "But magic. Mages. Those don't exist outside of stories above-ground. Why would we ever give up on those?"

The question pulled Toriel from her haze. Her eyes focussed on the human, glittering with sudden delight. "Ah- that is an easy one." She was suddenly eager, excited to deliver an impromptu lesson. "Monsters have an innate talent for magic. Humans... do not. You see, monsters are beings made of magic. This magic lives in our soul and creates who we are. When our soul fades, a monster's body returns to dust and we are no more." Toriel seemed to pause at the word 'dust'. That glazed look threatened to overtake her once more. But she gave a quick shake of her head, and looked towards Macie to see if she was following. Macie's wide, curious eyes were a satisfying image. "Humans are more… physical beings. When a human soul fades, the body remains because it is made of matter, rather than magic. Do you have any questions?"

Macie's face twisted in confusion. "So if humans don't have magic- why were there mages?"

The monster's face was perplexed, her ears twitched in thought. "I did not say that humans do not have magic."

Macie squinted, her question the same.

Toriel reached into the blazing fireplace and pulled out a thin stick. The tip of it had caught alight, a tiny ember crackling with life. "Fire naturally creates this light, yes?" Macie gave a hesitant nod, uncertain on the direction of the narrative. Toriel carefully shifted the lighted, pointed end of the stick towards Macie. "A stick does not create light. But it can, if it comes into contact with something like fire." Macie leaned forward, digging both elbows into the hard-covered text resting on her legs. "So Monsters are like the fire. As easily as fire creates light, we create our magic. Now. Humans are a stick."

Macie gasped- the lightbulb blinking on in her mind. "Oh! We have- had magic because Monsters were there to what- conduct- magical energy from?"

Toriel laughed.

"Oh, ha ha hoo. No. Yes. Almost. We are not batteries." There was a bemused expression on her face. "We do not funnel magic into humans. The light should be thought of as… knowledge. Unlike humans, monsters are born with an innate understanding of magic, how to connect with it, and how to use it. Magic is what we are made of, after all. Humans, being made of matter, have less of a connection to this knowledge. They must be taught. And while humans do have an innate-power of their own, a sort-of... strength-of-will that allows them to learn and connect with their soul's power, I have never met- ah! Um… read of a human who successfully taught another how to connect with their magic."

Macie leaned back and mulled over the words. She shook her head in disbelief, smiling, scoffing. "You're saying the mages used the magic that monsters taught them to…", Macie squeezed her eyes shut and dug the heel of her palm into one. A guilty look washed over Torie at the sight of Macie loathing her relation to humanity.

"You are not to blame for the choices of your ancestors."

Macie huffed, stood, gathered her collection of pilfered titles, and shuffled them back into the shelf behind Toriel. She leaned her head against the wall, stared at it hard. "You know, we - humans - tell stories about monsters who eat little kids? Geez, I wouldn't blame them either after hearing that. I should be in that pie, not those snails."

An uncomfortable beat of silence passed.

Toriel grimaced at the thought of people-pie.

She stood from her position and plopped a hand onto Macie's shoulder and offered a playful, devious little smile that willed Macie's melancholy out of existence. "On rare occasions, I do enjoy a human for dinner. I find they make for such lovely... conversation. Unlike snails. That is why we are having snail pie."

"That's one way to keep me talking."

A/N: Another world-building chapter. My attempts at writing humor are... not the best. Thanks to all who suffer through it. Hope you're having fun in the Ruins :)

~Tumbling