(Notes: It's always interesting to get to know a new character. I hope you enjoy getting to know him too. Thank you for all the comments last chapter. You could always leave some more *winkwonk*)
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Chapter 4: Flash Point
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Grillby slowly turned the glass round and round in his hand, a white cloth, worn thin over the years; polished the outside of the already spotless glass. His hands moved rhythmically in a practiced circle, just marking time until the next order or table to clean. But that was before.
He looked up at the closed door.
Frisk had left to have a 'date' with Papyrus. He couldn't complain. They had been feeling better and Sans' younger brother was too kind for his own good, he wouldn't hurt them.
And in the end, Grillby was not their guardian.
He looked back down at his hands and half-heartedly wiped the cloth over the tumbler.
He sighed.
He looked back up at the closed door.
Without really looking, he put the glass away on the shelf, tossed the cloth on the bar top and braced his hands on the heavy wood. He hadn't eaten lunch yet. He usually didn't. There was still the potato peels, tomato scraps, and other leftovers. It was what he normally ate, scraps and half finished meals. He had never bothered with cooking for himself. A fire consumed, it didn't have to be palatable. But... a sandwich might be nice.
He watched the door.
With fries. Maybe garlic fries.
His fingers drummed on the dark surface.
He didn't know how Frisk felt about garlic.
He wondered... if he should have let them stay another night, wondered if he should he have let them stay the first night, wondered if he should he have burned the water from their lungs.
He sighed.
Flame wasn't meant to heal. Flame consumed. Flame destroyed. He was never meant to be a healer.
The bell over the door chimed. Papyrus stepping in from the cold with Frisk sitting atop his shoulders, looking tired and a little pale but otherwise fine.
Grillby's shoulders relaxed.
Papyrus crossed the floor, lifting Frisk from his shoulders when he reached the end of the bar and setting them on their feet.
They looked up at Grillby with a smile, happy to see him.
He smiled back, walking to their side and kneeling down beside them. He put his hand against their forehead and noted it was a little warmer than it should be but not as bad as it had been the day before. He offered to pick them up.
Their face lit up and they held their arms up.
He scooped them up, frowning that they were so light. He didn't know what weight they should have been but they seemed too light to him.
Grillby wondered if they had eaten. He hoped not. He had heard... rumors about Papyrus' cooking.
"...hungrrry...?" he asked faintly, struggling to shape words out his native fire.
They nodded.
It was remarkable they always seemed to understand him, even without words. But they spoke with their own silence.
Frisk hugged his neck tightly and leaned their head against his and he felt the gentle, peculiar warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with fire.
Grillby wondered if he should have taken their hands the first time.
He pressed his hand to their back.
Frisk waved to Papyrus.
Grillby had not noticed the tall skeleton was still around. He did take note that Papyrus was nervous and fidgeting.
Grillby stared at Papyrus until anxiety provoked him to speak.
"U-UNDYNE WILL PROBABLY BE- SHE WAS-" His face fell, "UNDYNE WAITED FOR THE HUMAN IN WATERFALL YESTERDAY. SHE'LL BE SEARCHING SNOWDIN TODAY." Papyrus played with is gloves, his eyes growing teary, "I APOLOGIZE, I CAN'T DO MORE!"
Grillby patted his shoulder. He went back to the bar and pulled out a cup and a bottle of milk from bar refrigerator, setting them on the bar in front of an empty stool.
Grillby gestured to the small offering.
Papyrus cautiously sat down, "FOR ME? THANK YOU!"
Grillby gave him a kind nod.
He pressed his hand to Frisk's back again, focusing on their lungs and the moisture that had spread there, both inside the lungs and in the lining around the lungs, which was the most worrisome. He carefully burned off as much moisture as he dared. Humans were filled with water, depended on it in a most unpleasant way, but Frisk had too much. They were dangerously unbalanced.
Finished, he sat Frisk on a stool behind the counter across from Papyrus who happily began chatting with them as he drank his milk.
Grillby went to the back and made two sandwiches. He decided on turkey and couldn't help thinking that the monsters that created this food had never seen a turkey, much less knew what one tasted like. Despite that, the 'meat' they created down here was fairly good, especially if it was prepared well.
As he was making the fries, he impulsively made half of them garlic fries, and carefully separating them on the plate with a pickle spear. He brought out Frisk's sandwich first and the fries. They always seemed pleased, no matter what he made them, but he watched in trepidation as they looked at the fries, and then carefully tried one of each.
They frowned at the garlic fries, cautiously tried another one and then shook their head, eating a few of the regular ones before picking up their sandwich.
Grillby nodded to himself as he went back and got his own sandwich, no garlic then, or at least not that much. He ate with them and listened as Papyrus happily waxed lyrical about puzzles and being a future royal guard.
Frisk waved goodbye as Papyrus left and Grillby granted him a slight nod.
He cleaned up and did rounds around the bar to collect all the dirty dishes and glasses, taking new orders as he went. He did his best to continue work as normal as the day went on but felt the tension creeping up in his neck and found himself hypersensitive to any sounds he wasn't expecting.
Frisk seemed content to stay behind the bar. By some sort of unspoken, mass agreement, all the patrons paid their bill to Frisk. Frisk would take the gold and gravely count it out on the little shelf under the bar and then give the patron a big smile and a thumbs up, two thumbs up if they left a tip. They seemed to leave a lot more tips when they were paying Frisk.
Frisk seemed very pleased to be able to help.
Grillby wiped a cloth across the bar, his mind drifting through various tasks as he tried to think what other little things Frisk could do.
The door slammed open, cracking back against the back wall so hard the handle embedded in the wall and still rebounded.
Grillby braced one hand on the center of the bar and smoothly vaulted over it, feeling a little slower than he had been a couple hundred years ago.
The guard captain stepped inside a blue spear of magical energy already in her hand.
Grillby wondered if he was getting old.
He kept one eye on the spear. Pure magic could do some damage to him if he wasn't careful. He stepped across the floor in a few long strides, hardly noticing the bar patrons scrambling out of his way.
She began to raise the spear, too high, too slow, he noted; and she had failed to step away from the doorway, good for retreating, but would limit her movement in a fight.
He ducked slightly and stepped around her upraised arm, grabbing it and pushing it up so she would either be holding it too high or be forced to bend her elbow.
She bent her elbow.
He gripped her forearm, rushed back with the bend and slamming her into the doorframe with a crash.
Full metal armor. Good for fighting humans. Bad for fighting elementals.
Quite possibly the worst for fighting fire elementals.
Her eye flashed inside her helmet and he felt her soul magic swell.
He twisted her arm back and around. The pain caused her magic to falter.
Grillby took the opportunity and pressed his free hand to her breastplate, the flames of his fingers blazing a deep red then blue-white as he flooded the heavy metal with heat.
He could hear her gasping. Her magic flickering in panic like a new recruit.
Hands grabbed the back of his vest, "Please don't!" Frisk said in a panic, trying to pull him back, shaking their head frantically.
He let go; his fire pulled back so suddenly the flames in the sconces around the bar guttered and went out, sinking the room into darkness.
"...please..." Frisk whispered, tears streaking down their cheeks.
Grillby nodded gravely, clenching his jaw.
He pulled the guard captain's helmet off. She was young, her face red beneath blue scales and passed out from the heat. Grillby gripped the front of her armor and dragged her outside, flinching as the cold hit him. A light snow was falling; the snowflakes stung, hissing and melting as they landed.
He laid her down in the middle of the road, quickly and carefully burning through the straps that held her armor on, pulling her out of it, and sliding her into the cold snow.
Frisk ran to her side, picking up handfuls of snow and pressing it to her cheeks and forehead.
Grillby stood back. He couldn't do much else. If she failed to revive within the next few minutes he supposed he could dunk her in the river.
He crossed his arms and did his best to ignore the unpleasant sting of snow.
He could hold her by her feet and just drop her in. He glanced at Frisk's tear streaked face and revised the idea. He could hold her by her feet and nicely dip her in and then nicely pull her out, nicely set her on the ground and nicely resist the urge to break her legs.
The bar patrons were starting to trickle outside to watch. Without him in the bar, all the fires would have all gone out and soon the small building would be as cold as the rest of Snowdin. He did not look forward to warming it again.
The guard's eyes fluttered and slowly pulled open. Her head snapped around to Frisk, the snow they had been holding to her forehead slid into her hair as Frisk dropped it and tried to scramble backward. A cough stopped them, shaking their whole body as their lungs fought to clear themselves. They looked paler as the coughing stopped and yet, a flush of fever was building in their cheeks.
Grillby frowned, Frisk would likely need to stay in bed the rest of the day now, even though they had been feeling much better.
He dropped down, squatting in front of the guard. The movement caught her eye and she froze when she saw him, fear flashing through her eye before she managed to hide it behind defiance and pride. She had far too much pride for a whelp with so many openings.
He did not like speaking. It was not easy, but it felt necessary here.
He pointed at Frisk, "...Thhhey... saaavved... you." He narrowed his eyes. The unspoken, 'I wouldn't have', hanging in the air between them like an unfulfilled threat. He would quite happily, nicely, break her legs if she tried anything.
Grillby stepped over to Frisk and lowered himself down with great care. He reached out and dried the tears from their face with easy flicks of his fingers, taking care not to flinch at the sting but Frisk caught his hand and pulled it down anyway. They were so worried about getting water anywhere near him, even as it hissed as it fell on his head and covered the ground he stood on.
Grillby offered Frisk his hand and carefully pulled to their feet as he stood himself. With a sudden surge of anxiety that might have been there the whole time, he pulled Frisk into a hug, squeezing them tightly and let out a breath he might have been holding without realizing. Frisk hugged him back, their hands gripping the fabric of his shirt tightly. They were shaking. He held on until they were calmer and then smoothed their hair, resting a hand on their shoulder as he begrudgingly held his hand out to the guard captain.
She glared at him and clenched her jaw but, much to his surprise, she grabbed his hand and let him pull her to her feet.
He paused as he gripped her hand. Young, but strong. If she had good sense she might be able to make something of herself as a fighter.
He glanced behind him. There was the bar. Everything had to be re-lit. He had to drive out the cold lurking in the corners and along the floor. Everyone was going to track snow inside. It was like the mat was for decoration. He swore he'd seen patrons step over it on their way inside.
...But...
He regarded the guard captain critically and she stiffened under his scrutiny, instantly shifting her weight to be prepared for a fight.
He nodded to himself.
Without much thought to why, Grillby took her arm and pulled it up, she only resisted slightly, to mimic how she had attacked him in the bar. He grabbed her arm and replayed the scene, twisting and pushing her arm as he stepped forward, but slowly. Then he lead her back into the original pose, and as he began to push her arm up and back, he took her other hand and guided it to show where she could have punched him in the abdomen when he grabbed. Then he demonstrated a leg sweep. He gestured impatiently for her to try them both herself as he mimed the fight again.
She did, a little hesitantly at first, but with growing interest and a sharp toothy smile.
He made her do it three more times then nodded, letting go of her arm and stepping back, satisfied. If they fought again, at least it would be slightly more interesting.
That would be enough for today, she was tired and needed to regain her health. Like all young monsters, she relied on her magic too much. Magic was designed to keep foes at a distance, and if someone got inside your reach, it was nearly useless. Not that he couldn't teach her how to use it in close quarters.
He heard Papyrus before he saw him, as was often the case. He was running over to them, looking weepy.
Grillby glanced over to Frisk who lifted up their cellphone in explanation. He nodded in approval.
He crossed his arms over his chest, ignoring whatever it was Papyrus and the guard were yelling at one another. Both of them were far too loud for his liking but Papyrus was worrying and doting over the captain and helping her gather up her armor with the intention of helping her home despite her protests. It seemed like this particular trial was over.
He offered his hand. Frisk took it and squeezed two of his fingers tightly in their small hand. He squeezed back and walked with them back into the bar.
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(Next Update: Thursday, 10/20/2016. :)