Summary: Nightmare marvels at Horror beast taming skills.


The soles of Killer's sneakers squeaked against the polished stone floor as he strolled through the halls, minding his own business. Path set to the destination of his epic, wholely exciting quest for- a snack. He got so graciously reminded by his rumbling stomach.

Frowning, the murderous Sans pondered, What should I eat?

Lunch wouldn't be ready for another few hours, and he certainly didn't want to spoil his appetite before it came time to ravage whatever culinary masterpiece Horror planned to whip up. Meaning whatever he ate needed to be something light, not too filling. Something like - stars, he loathed to think it - a salad. (Because he and the others needed to set a good example for Nightmare after the whole "junk food" incident.)

Wiping a streak of black gunk from his eye socket, he gave an imaginary solute and a moment of silence for his old, lazy eating habits- that probably took several years off his life, considering how unhealthy they were.

Then the target-souled skeleton continued on his way. He navigated the mansion's twisting and turning corridors until he spotted the turn leading to the main kitchen hallway. As the corner grew closer and closer with each step, the loud airy drone of a machine increased volume.

A vacuum, Killer passively acknowledged.

A clear indication Horror was in the middle of cleaning. A fairly common occurrence since the broken-skulled Sans took keeping the cooking space spotless quite seriously, especially if Nightmare had passed through recently. Killer hardly had half a mind to blame him for that. After all, he (and likely everyone else in the mansion) wasn't convinced the out-of-touch guardian understood how to work, let alone use, the showers/bathtubs present in nearly every bathroom. Even after having the simple procedure explained more than once.

In detail.

Very needless, overly thorough detail.

Killer sighed and gave a disappointed shake of his skull. At this point, we can only pray he washed off in the last rainstorm with those disgusting soap roots.

Just the mere thought of their pungent earthy scent was enough to cause his nasal cavity to wrinkle in disgust.

I know he's a nature spirit or something, but that does not mean he needs to smell like one...

Shooing away the phantom memory of the odor, he rounded the corner and stepped into the kitchen hallway- and who happened to be waiting there? The little forest gremlin of a skeleton he'd just been thinking about. The very one that single-handedly thwarted his overzealous consumption of ketchup, cookies, and anything Papyrus would never let him have (when the lanky health fanatic was alive) by being an impressionable menace.

Though, his slight bitterness at that fact barely seemed relevant when he found himself far more intrigued by what the guardian was currently up to. An inquisitiveness only enhanced by the other's curious position.

Nightmare, in all his goopy glory, crouched next to the kitchen doorway, peering inside with an almost child-like attempt at stealth. It looked hilarious- and certainly didn't line up with what one would expect to see from someone who always tried (and, more often than not, failed) to be the most intimidating monster in the room.

Holding back his snickers, the murderous Sans strolled forward and halted beside him. From his new vantage point, he could see a phone (Dust's, if he recalled the device's purple/blue pattern correctly) clutched in the negativity-laden skeleton's gooey hands. The screen had the camera function open, set to record. However, instead of recording the object of his interest, the only Nightmare seemed to be capturing was his thumb.

Not that he knew (or noticed) that.

Smirking, Killer leaned closer and asked, "Hey, 'mare. What're you up to?"

"Silence, Killer!" The dark lord hushed, shooting a brief scowl in his direction before turning back to the scene in the kitchen, completely enamored. "I am making a visual log on this 'fohn' of Horror's mastery over the mighty, little ground dragon."

The target-souled Sans raised a brow and peeked around the corner.

Horror stood in plain view by the counters while maneuvering the long handle of the vacuum cleaner, sucking up more dirt (which Nightmare undoubtedly tracked through) and crumbs off the tile floor.

The negativity-laden skeleton's eyelight sparkled in adoration as he excitedly murmured, "The beast follows his orders so easily with very few cues, almost like its moving along with him; Truly a well-trained creature if any. Horror has a promising future as a tamer." He then added quietly to himself, "I wonder how he would fare when challenged with a larger species of dragon?"

Killer frowned. The soul hovering in front of his chest wavered as it soon fell victim to the increasingly more common feelings of worry and disbelief he'd been subjected to since coming to live at the mansion. Something that seemed to plague everyone in the household when Nightmare was involved.

"Seriously? Has no one in this house taken the time to explain to you what a vacuum cleaner is?"

The dark lord slowly turned his skull and blinked, staring up at him in wide-eyed curiosity. "The beast has a name? You must tell me everything about it; I command you to!"