REMINDER: this fic(and AU) has an open discord server where you can ask ME any questions, lore or otherwise, alongside updates, teasers, sneak peeks for future scenes and events, and more.
Just write "Discord" without the quotation marks, then a dot, and lastly the following "gg/smnqqVTZyB" without quotation marks as well
(Writing it this way instead of a direct link because fanfictionnet is dumb with links, especially Discord links -_-)
The Marsh - BONUS
Lights blared from the manor, with the walls barely muffling the loud music. It was a manor so big and fanciful it is often said that they built it outside the capital's border walls for the sake of the envy of the populace.
It was like a second shining beacon in the darkness sitting next to the city and the castle of New Home.
The road towards said manor was even more bustling and filled at this time of day than the road towards the capital itself. It was more filled at most times of the day, in fact. Most monsters who could move to the capital would've already done so, and most living there didn't have many reasons to leave it.
This manor, at this hour of the night, or whatever constituted as "night" down here, was one of the few reasons to leave it.
And at this moment, the leader of The Royal Hunt was heading towards it.
He walked beside a long line filled with excited and anxious monsters. Some turned a glance towards him, then complained or sneered at him for "skipping the line". But they all quickly changed tune as soon as they saw who he was. Some even turned apologetic, while Mickey heard some begging him for forgiveness.
Others expressed love, and some tried to ask for autographs or a photo with him. Either way, fear or admiration, he ignored them all.
Just as the lord arrived at the manor, the bouncers were just finishing throwing out someone. Said someone was a strange, ugly orange cat-looking thing. One could mistake him for a short, skinny orange bear.
He dressed himself fancily, although, at an examined glance, one could see he was, in actuality, far from fancy. The suit was clumsily oversized, and to hide it, the man had "forcefully" shortened it, constituting mostly by just forcing the loose sleeves as far up the arms as he could, leaving a lot of visible wrinkles. He even looked dirty and "unshaved", with black hair spots around the fur on his mouth and some red bruises where a failed shave had taken place.
As Mickey came closer, he could smell the sweaty fur mixed with the suit and the stench of cheap alcohol. He could hear that orange bear cat angrily shout to the bouncer that he was an "employee" of the owner of this manor and "deserves compensation". He was so angry and energetic that he didn't even notice the lord closing nearby. Then just as this orange stranger turned around, Mickey was already up to his face. The lord simply pushed him to the side without care for him.
"Hey, buddy, what the-?!"
The orange cat bear, at long last, turned silent as he saw who pushed him. He glared at Mickey with astonishment, disbelief, and horror, all visible in a single expression.
And then he fainted.
The bouncer, a large brutish black wolf, gave Mickey a respectful nod and moved aside, welcoming him to enter.
Mickey stepped inside, and flashing lights and loud music blasted his senses immediately.
Deafening hardcore dance music. Various monsters of many types fill every crevice of the room, moving and dancing. Flashing lights come from seemingly every direction.
By rows of tables and couches, monsters were drinking, smoking, gambling, shouting, arguing, laughing, anything.
There was even all manner of lewd acts in every corner you looked.
In the centre, a group gathered to witness and bet on a fight club in a locked cage. Two massive monsters, a muscular oni lady and a brutish dragoness, fought like beasts with their fists. Blood and dust splattered the cage's floor, and the onlookers shouted with every punch, drowned out by the blasting music. Mickey wondered if either of the two fighters could be worthwhile members of his Royal Hunt. Maybe both.
But that was not why he was here. What he was looking for, he presumed to be on the upper booths where all the more "fancy" partygoers were.
He walked past a bar where a giant green fish monster bartender twice his size filled many shots in one go, and a group swarmed to have their drinks. He walked up the stairs where an incredibly drunk, blue skinny rabbit monster lay in the middle, muttering something about "nice cream".
He walked past the "fancier" bar on the upper booth, tended by a humanoid monster with a human hand for a head.
Past a little, fat green man dressed in a suit on the ground searching for something before the poor soul got trampled, and finally reached a door where several bouncers stood in front off.
"I'm looking for Mettaton!" Mickey shouted at them. "Where is that lovely twat?!"
"Mickey darling!" a flamboyant voice with a robotic tinge cried out nearby. "Oh, my, welcome!"
Mickey turned to see the exact person he was expecting in the crowd.
This figure, Mettaton, stood out very much, even among the many colourful monsters around. A metallic box on a wheel was an apt description for him.
He was a dark-grey, rectangular robotic structure with a giant screen on the front, consisting of many squares shifting between yellow or red into many patterns, similar to radio wavelengths, whenever he spoke. Protruding from the sides were long, silver mechanical arms ending in white, cartoon-looking gloves. Lastly, there was, of course, a singular wheel protruding downwards.
"Oh, it's so surprising yet delightful to see you, darling," the robot said.
"Yeah, it's been a while," Mickey said, smiling.
Mettaton placed one of his long, metallic arms around his shoulders and looked towards where the crowd was at its thickest.
"Ladies, gentlemen, and others!" he spoke into a microphone in his hand. "We have a wonderful surprise guest this evening! Give cheers to the amazing, gorgeous, and incredible: Mickey, Lord of The Hunt!"
Mickey sighed inside his mask as he heard the roars of applause and praises.
If this was any other moment, he thought.
"I'm here to talk," Mickey stated. "Anyplace that's not loud as hell?!"
"Is that so?" Mettaton inquired. "Well, then let's go somewhere "richer", darling. I know just the place!"
The VIP suite of the manor looked so rich and fancy that one could almost smell the glamour in the air. The floors and ceiling had swirling disco-like patterns in sparkling pink, indigo and purple. Several orange couches lined up the walls with fancy glass tables in front. The walls of white marble swirled and curved, putting the room into a swirly, unconventional measurement. If one were to look at the room from above, one could think it resembles an amoeba.
There was also a fancy bar with numerous varieties of drinks that many would've felt tipsy or even intoxicated just by looking at the selection.
And, of course, to finish it off, there was a marble statue in the centre of the room depicting who else but Mettaton.
If one were to ascertain the amount of wealth any object in the room was worth, you'd probably only get it right by one-tenth. Even one of the barstools in the room was worth more money than most people would see in their lifetimes.
"I see you've spared no expense with decoration," Mickey said, maskless, examining the statue across from him as he sat on one of the sofas, leaning back as if he owned the place.
"Of course not!" Mettaton said. "I'm rich!"
He rolled towards the lord and put his robotic hand with the cartoony-looking gloves forward. Mickey only looked at it, puffing an air of smoke.
Mettaton felt mildly insulted but chose not to act on it. For now.
Mettaton wheeled over to a nearby couch and "sat" on it. His way of sitting constituted of jumping on it and shifting his wheel to protrude forward.
"Now, if you don't mind my asking, how did you get in?" he inquired. "Without an invite?"
"I just walked in," Mickey explained. "That giant wolf at the door knows what's up."
"Ah, of course," Mettaton said. "Ice-Wolf really admires you."
"Ice-Wolf?"
"Long story. That wolf used to throw large chunks of ice into the great river so they'd float to The Core to cool it down. Or, at least until Gaster returned and created a more advanced cooling system. After that, he was out of a job. But I am a generous soul who saw a sad, lost, albeit humongous pup, and my kind heart offered him a job as a bouncer."
"Huh."
"He also really likes ice. Not Ice-Cream. Just ice. Either way, he may be simple and- erm, a bit soft personality-wise when you know him. But he looks and talks big, and that's enough."
"I can understand that. I've often thought that the image matters above all when it comes to first impressions."
"Good wording. You should be in showbiz, darling."
"Heh, fat chance. Maybe in another life."
The robot tried to visualise the concept of Mickey as a star like him. Of him in "showbiz". It proved to be very difficult. Maybe it was something for "another life", indeed.
"Either way, the vassals of The King are always welcome here," Mettaton said. "Anyway, what brings you to this fine party on this good evening."
"Evening?" Mickey inquired. "Last I recalled, it's early in the morning."
"Oh, it's always night here in The Capital, darling," Mettaton replied. "It's night here every day on every hour. We're underground. We have no sun!"
"Yeah, true," Mickey said. "But that will change. That is my promise-our promise. The King's promise."
"So they say," Mettaton said thoughtfully. "And I cannot wait."
He rolled over to the bar, looking over the colourful array of drinks.
"Do you know what my biggest dream has always been?" the robot asked. "Before I even got this body? Want something to drink?"
"Eh, just something flavourful," Mickey responded. "And do tell! As long as it isn't long."
"Well, then I have something I think you'd like," Mettaton said and threw Mickey a bottle, which he grabbed mid-air. "And don't worry, this isn't a long story. Ever since I was a young spectre and before I had this body, I've dreamt of going to the surface. Sure, many, if not most, monsters do. But I had a particular idea in mind. Oh, did I pick a good one for you?"
"It's a good choice," Mickey said, reading the label on the bottle.
"I know you so well, darling," Mettaton said gleefully.
"Heh, trust me. You really don't."
Mettaton didn't like how he said it but chose not to pry further.
"Now, as I was saying," he continued. "It all started when I first desired to be a celebrity. While my cousins and family worked on the farm, I often stayed up late reading about humans in my room. I loved to collect any artefact, any relic or paper related to humans that flew down here. I never understood why we were supposed to hate them so. And still don't! Sure, they locked us down here thousands of years ago, but that was ages ago. I wasn't even born then! My parent's parents weren't even born then, and not even their parent's parents. Tell me, darling, why should I care about what some species I've never seen did ages ago? If I didn't know any better, the little ghosty me would've assumed they didn't even exist but rather mere boogymen invented by our parents to scare us into being good little kids."
"So you want to be free to see humans, is that it?" Mickey asked, not even trying to feign interest.
"Oh, not just that!" Mettaton said with excitement. "I want to be a celebrity up there!"
Mickey gave him a deadpan stare.
"Amongst the humans?" he asked. "You?!"
He gave out a loud chuckle. If Mettaton's screen could reflect his emotions, there would be a visible unamused frown in yellow and red.
"I've never pictured you as a critic, darling," the robot said disapprovingly. "What do you know about being an entertainer?"
"It's not about skill or talent," Mickey countered. "Which, I do admit, you have in spades. It's just that you're-"
He paused as if the answer didn't need to be said. Then he took a casual sip of his drink.
"I'm what?!" Mettaton inquired with a hint of annoyance.
The Lord of the Hunt put down his glass and then opened his palms, arms wide open, as if to show the robot's entire body to some invisible audience, then swallowed his drink.
"You get me?" he asked.
It appeared to take a while for Mettaton to comprehend. Then gave out what sounded like an amused chuckle as he realised it.
"Oh, I'm not worried about that," he said. "I'll manage. Trust in me."
"You'll manage?" Mickey said with doubt.
"I'm an actor, darling. Blending in is in my soul and spirit."
"Is that so? Explain how a giant, rectangular robot on wheels will blend in amongst humans made of flesh, blood, and skin, and half your body mass?"
"Humans have machines, darling. Robots and servants."
"True, true. Just none like you. As in celebrity robot."
"I'll just say I'm a "prototype" of a new design, which wouldn't technically be a lie. That is indeed what dear old Alphys did when she made me."
"She put a ghost in a machine shell, is all," Mickey pointed out. "Wouldn't call that a pinnacle of robotic science. No offence."
Mettaton didn't feel like he had a proper counter to that.
"I sorely miss the days when that was a secret between dear Alphys and me," he said.
"On the other hand, you surely must've known it couldn't have lasted forever," Mickey replied.
"Eh, it was enjoyable when it lasted. A very enjoyable lie."
"Surprised Alphys only got demoted for that shit."
"Ah, she only got demoted because old Gaster returned, and we realised she only got the title of Royal Scientist because we all forgot the old one existed. Or maybe used to exist, rather."
"Ah, yes. So, in other words, Alphys just escaped the consequences? Just like that?"
Mettaton looked thoughtful for a moment.
"I'm not sure I agree," he said. "From what I've heard, Gaster… he has been less than kind to her, let's say."
"To be honest, I'm not sure that thing even understands the "meaning" of the word kind," Mickey said.
"Oh dear, that's not a nice word to call him," Mettaton said with visible discomfort.
"Why not?" Mickey inquired with a straight face. "Honestly, I find it the clearest descriptor for that creature. I'm sure you agree, right?"
Mettaton remained nervously silent for a moment.
"Ey?"
"N-no…" the robot then said hesitantly. "Not at all, darling. We can all be beautiful in our own ways. Unfortunately, I am cursed not to know that, for I am ahead of the curve and more beautiful in all categories."
"...the fuck does that mean?"
"Whatever you think, darling?"
Mickey gave him a long stare.
"Your ego never ceases to surprise me," he simply said with a slight hint of amusement. "It is so dumb it circles around to being endearing instead of annoying. No wonder you want to be a celebrity to humans. You'll fit right in with their excuse of a celebrity "culture" up there."
While saying that, Mickey heavily emphasised the word "culture" and used his fingers to mark it in quotations.
"Too bad we'll quickly wipe them out," Mickey added. "Too bad for you, of course."
"Surely, you won't kill all humans?" Mettaton inquired.
Mickey's expression turned thoughtful.
"There might be one or two dozen stragglers who escape," he said. "Give or take. But I think we'll try our hardest. Each and every one of them."
"Oooh, mighty bold claim, darling," Mettaton said. "How many humans even are there?"
"Last I checked?" Mickey began. "4-5 billion. Give or take."
Mettaton gave his square's body's equivalent of an impressed nod.
"Well, that's still plenty of souls."
"It's all relative," Mickey continued. "About 90 or so years ago, there was a sum of 8 billion humans on the globe. Meaning that, in less than a century, they've reduced to nearly half of that. I estimate that if we leave them for another hundred years or two, the twats might finish the job themselves."
"But then there won't be any souls to let us out."
"Indeed. That would be a scary thought. Wouldn't it?"
"Oh, Gods, yes, indeed! And we wouldn't know any better!"
They both turned thoughtful. It was a silent moment, and only now was the echoing noise of the music downstairs noticeable.
"What if they have wiped each other out?" Mettaton asked.
"Impossible," Mickey said. "A human girl was spotted here the other day. Haven't you been watching the news? I thought you owned the news station on TV, at least."
"Oh, I do, and I have heard, darling," Mettaton replied. "I don't lock myself in here that much. No, I'm aware of the human girl and her gang of two delinquents. I was merely speaking in hypotheticals, which forget it."
"We'd be locked in here for a long time, that's for certain," Mickey pondered. "Maybe way too long. Till we're all dead."
"Oh, that is the precise reason I didn't want to think about that anymore," Mettaton quickly said. "Just thinking about it puts me in a bad mood. I can't have that! It affects my performances, darling."
"Don't blame me. You brought it up."
"Oh, please, darling. Let us not start a "who said who" debate."
"No, you… you literally did bring it up. Whatever, I don't care enough about this. That's not why I'm here."
"Ah, speaking off. Why are you here? You didn't come all this way just to meet me. I know I'm handsome, but I'm certainly not that handsome enough to make you disrupt your daily agenda just to come to have a chat. Psst. You do have agendas, don't you?"
Mickey appeared thoughtful for a moment. He put his bottle on a little side table as he seemed no more interested in drinking it.
He leaned back into his seat and took a Baron's Breath joint from his pocket while glancing at the "no smoking" sign on the wall nearby.
"Actually," he said as he lit the joint in his mouth. "You're right. I do have a reason for coming here. A work-related one, nonetheless. Sort of."
Mettaton gave out a tired sigh, feeling he was anticipating this.
"I told you so many times before, darling," he began. "I respect King Asgore, and I respect The Hunt. But I've no interest in becoming a weapon for The Royal Hunt. I'm content with just dissing out the propaganda-"
"Oh, no, no, no," Mickey said. "No, that idea is long buried. Besides, we already got a replacement. One of your cousins."
"Ah, yes, I've heard about that," Mettaton said. "I suppose it took dear Diablook some convincing. They've always been so quiet and shy."
"Surprisingly, no," Mickey said. "They, in fact, came to us."
"Oh? Well, I'll be. I'm happy for them! Getting out of your shell can be a bit of a discomfort for many, especially spectres. Although, I sort of expected… one of my other cousins to be the one to volunteer. I'm sure you know the one."
"Ah, yes. That cousin feels content with just being a dummy for now. Although I've heard rumours of them transitioning to an old, life-sized figurine owned by Alphys- whatever, I'm not here for that. No, no, no. I'm here for something long overdue."
The robot realised now that he was unconsciously tapping his fingers on the nearby counter. He feared this was a sign that his body wanted complete control and flee the scene, reminiscent of that dark night all those years ago when Gaster returned. That was, indeed, a dreadful event. So was his body trying to control him again? Why? In order to flee? From what?
Something about the wording of "long overdue" activated old instincts native to his previous vessel. The one he threw into a grinder after the seemingly near-death experience it forced on him. He felt like he was fighting his body just to stay still. But the consequence of running like this would be worse. Maybe he could make up an excuse? A lie? Just a small one, nothing too big, just enough to be away for a while. But Mickey would know. Oh, he always knows everything.
In desperation, he looked at the clock. All this thinking, this pondering, had only lasted a few seconds.
"Alright, darling," Mettaton said, forcing his usual flirty demeanour. "But be quick about it. I've got an interview scheduled in just a few minutes."
You idiot! Mettaton thought to himself. What happened to no excuses?!
"Ah, you do those all the time," Mickey said with dismissal. "I'm sure they won't miss it if one interview is behind. The fans know practically everything down to your favourite brand of fucking deodorant. Not that you have use for it. You have no more secrets to talk about, nothing except for this."
"Alright," Mettaton said, sitting back on the couch with unease. "I'm all ears. What is it that you want?"
Mickey looked at him silently for a bit. Then he chuckled and puffed a cloud of smoke. The Robot was glad his body didn't have working lungs. But even then, that would've been the least of his unease.
"You know that water fountain of yours?" Mickey asked.
Mettaton felt part of his unease quickly replaced with confusion. It was almost relieving.
"Water fountain?" he inquired. "What water fountain?"
"You know, the one at the entrance to your hotel," Mickey reiterated. "The with a statute of you standing all proud-like, like a king of the fucking castle. That one."
Mettaton tried to understand the slight bitterness in his voice just as much as he tried to recall which water fountain. He thought hard, hard about it.
"Hmmm," he audibly muttered. "Oh?"
He finally remembered! He really did have a water fountain at his hotel's entrance. He had wheeled by it so many times he had practically stopped thinking about it.
"Oh yeah, that one?" Mettaton said. "It's been around for ages. Did you really come to me for a boring old water fountain?"
"Yes," Mickey said simply and tossed his joint to the floor.
"You're… you're going to clean that, right?" Mettaton said, looking at the half-incinerated white roll on his floor. "I need the floor clean. It's part of the image."
"Oh, if I could freely have my way with you," Mickey began and walked towards him. "I'd clean the floor with your fucking vessel."
Mettaton knew he would've gulped if he had a neck.
"What is this, darling?" he inquired. "What about water fountains is so offensive to you and dear Asgore that you come here to threaten me on his behest?"
"It's not the fountain itself," Mickey said. "I don't give a crap about the fountain, no, no, no. As far as we're concerned, we don't give a damn about how many water fountains of your face you have. Hell, you may suck the entire underground dry of all its moisture to plaster it instead with as many graven idols of your look, tributes to satiate your bottomless ego. Nu-uh, this one is personal. The place you put this fountain is the issue. For The King, and you know it. Don't you?"
"Heh, w-whatever do you mean, darling?"
Mickey looked almost offended by that seemingly innocuous statement.
"You don't remember?" he inquired.
He looked to be on the verge of flipping the nearest table.
"I…" Mettaton muttered. "I-I don't-"
"Fuck me," Mickey began. "You care so little about other monsters, including The King himself, that you don't even think twice about what you're replacing? And then you just forget about it so easily?"
Mettaton leaned his upper body back against the wall and attempted to piece things together in his mind quickly.
The fact that it was probably obvious, judging from Mickey's reaction, gave him a tinge of nervousness. It was staring at him, but from where he couldn't tell.
Then, he finally saw it in his mind. He thought hard and remembered at last. His form, the look of his gracious body in the fountain as he remembered it, proved to distract his remembrance. Still, he managed to put aside his self-admiration to the side a bit, mainly helped by the unease put on him by his "interrogator". He remembered the statue that used to be there, one erected a long time ago.
And the one he later tore down.
But that realisation was only superseded by even more confusion.
"Wait, you can't be talking about that old statue, are you?" he asked.
Mickey grinned with satisfaction and a hint of annoyance.
"Ah, so you do remember," he asked.
"Darling, if I had to be frank, that old, hideous pile of stone was so unmemorable I had to put effort into remembering it," Mettaton countered.
Mickey glared at him with such a look that Mettaton felt a sting in his nonexistent stomach.
He was starting to fear that he was too careless with his words. And that now that carelessness had put him in genuine danger. But still, nothing he felt he couldn't handle or fix.
"Did that… that statue mean anything to you?" Mettaton inquired with unease.
Mickey opened his mouth to say something, only to stop for a second as if he couldn't answer that clearly or he changed his mind last minute.
"It mattered a lot to The King," he eventually said. "And thus, it matters a lot to me."
The King. That echoed across Mettaton's mind and only thus was he finally able to recall the content of the old statue.
And recalling the contents only made this moment worse than pure ignorance did.
"Ah," Mettaton said. "I remember now. That statue depicted Asgore's unfortunately deceased children. Prince Azzy and that adopted human kid, erm? I want to say the name was Karl. No, Karen? Kris? Something gender-neutral. Right?"
Mickey smirked.
"That wasn't that hard, was it?" he said and wandered around the room. "So, assuming you haven't figured it out, The King's pissed that someone desecrated such a precious and sacred thing."
Mettaton noticed a big emphasis on the word "someone", even Mickey glaring at him as he said it.
"I don't get it," the robot responded. "I put it down ages ago-"
"Where?" Mickey demanded.
"Erm," Mettaton began, thinking hard. "I-I put it somewhere in Waterfall. I don't know. I think it's still there if you look. I'm just confused as to why now? I got rid of it ages ago. Why bring this up now?"
"Because The King says so. And you don't want to insult The King, trust me. Especially not if he's in a foul mood, as he is today. This matter is personal to him, and he wants it fixed. Return the statue as soon as possible, tomorrow at the very least. Do we understand?"
Mettaton leaned his entire body, causally, at the nearest wall. If he had legs to sit with, he would.
He sensed relief. He had expected the worst and gotten a mild annoyance.
But not only was he relieved. He sensed an opportunity.
A grandiose opportunity.
"Fine," he simply said. "But only if I can get one thing."
Mickey audibly sighed.
"Just one thing," Mettaton reiterated. "That's all."
Mickey glared at him, appearing not to be in the mood to go through with all this.
"Ok?" he asked.
"I want a human soul," Mettaton answered.
Never had he sounded as confident of what he wanted before this moment, and Mickey noticed that. He chuckled.
"For what?" he inquired.
"Simple," Mettaton began. "I want to get out of here. See the world and enjoy the company of humans before you all break out of here and decide to wipe them out."
"And you're just going to abandon your already established fanbase here like that?" Mickey asked.
Mettaton shrugged.
"They'll find another entertainment celebrity," he answered. "Or Alphys will build another one. I don't care. I'll be gone and out of everyone's ears and hearing. So what do you say?"
"Heh, no," Mickey said.
Despite having no expressive face, Mettaton looked visibly disappointed.
"I'm sure it sounds like a big ask," he said. "But when you factor in all the humans that have a chance to fall here-"
"Oh, you misunderstand," Mickey replied. "There will be no bargain. It's an order. From The King."
"And if I refuse?" Mettaton inquired.
Mickey chuckled.
"You want to refuse The King?!" he asked. "May I remind you: this was a statue of Asgore's dead children?"
"Then he should have no problem paying any price," Mettaton countered. "Just give me one human soul, I don't care which, and you can do whatever you want to my image when I'm gone. You may destroy or melt all the water fountains of me, break into everyone's homes and take any merchandise in my name and burn them in one big, fabulous fire. Hell, you may do as humans once did to dissidents and make me a, as they called in one fancy term, persona non grata. Assuming you know what that is, right?"
Mickey's expression did not change. Then, as he lit another joint in his mouth, he suddenly formed a grin.
"Oh, I know what it is," he began. "No need to explain."
The lord walked closer to Mettaton, and he had to force his body to stay intact and not move. The robot was starting to feel, for the first time, that he had overstepped a boundary.
No, that was too soft a descriptor, Mettaton figured. He had leapfrogged over the boundary and was now in the middle of a realm of dialogue he couldn't control or comprehend.
As the lord stood over him, looking down with a lit joint over an uncomfortable grin, Mettaton wasn't sure if this was it for him.
"Bit, erm, close for comfort there, h-heh," he said, almost as a reflex. "A-aren't you going to offer me a drink first? Just right into first base, eh?"
Mickey scoffed.
"I swing both ways, but nah," he said, moving his gaze away. "Nah, I won't offer you anything. Other than mercy."
"T-then I won't do it!" Mettaton stated confidently.
Mickey quickly turned to him with surprise.
"Really?" he asked. "So prideful you won't back down? Not even for mercy?"
"Come now, darling, I've realised something just now," Mettaton countered with newfound smugness. "You see, you won't kill me. You can't. Ok, you can, but due to circumstances that even you are aware of, heh, you won't do it."
"Why not?" Mickey inquired.
"Because I'm a celebrity, darling!" Mettaton replied. "The people love me! Don't tell me you've forgotten that. Killing me would put a huge damper on your reputation. Oh, don't give me that look. I've heard the stories. I know all about the truths of your "quest", as you put it. I can't make propaganda without knowing a bit of the truth, you see? If they're not in direct line of sight, as soon as the people can afford not to hear about your less ideal methods, they can live without learning it and hail you as a hero. But as soon as someone they love, even someone like me, becomes a target? Well, won't there be a massive pushback then, eh? After that, the truth will come out in The Capital, sooner or later."
As soon as he put it out, he noticed a strange thing. Mickey's face did not, in actuality, change one bit throughout the speech, despite what Mettaton felt or imagined. He wasn't sure which was the cause of that "mirage". If anything, it was like Mickey had anticipated this. Only now did the robot notice it.
"You're a bigger wordsmith than I gave you credit," Mickey began and threw away his joint. "But there are worse fates than death, you know?"
At that moment, Mettaton felt his entire confidence fade just as quickly as it returned moments ago.
"L-like what?" he asked.
Out of the blue, a sound came from Mickey's pouch. It sounded like a dark, alternative rap song, something one would hear at an underground indie bar.
"S-shouldn't you get that?" Mettaton asked nervously.
Mickey shut his eyes in frustration and reached into his pocket.
"Way to kill the moment," he muttered and pulled out a mobile phone.
He quickly glanced at the screen and then rolled his eyes before returning the phone to his pouch.
"Just some bullshit from work," he said and resumed his grin towards Mettaton. "Anyway, you mentioned the ancient custom of persona non grata. No wonder you know about it. It is your style. In fact, why not try it on you either way?"
Mettaton chuckled with curiousness, worry and confusion.
"You think people will forget me?" he asked. "You think they want to forget me? While I'm still here? Seriously, darling, have you thought about this? You even just attempt to do that, to silence everything about me, and you'll just get the same results as killing me would."
"You're right," Mickey said, demeanour and grin not changing. "They don't want to forget you. What if I make it that they do?"
"And how will you do that?"
Mickey was about to open his mouth when his phone rang again.
He sighed and picked it up again. Mettaton half-expecting him to crush his phone in his hand from how the lord looked at it.
"And mute," Mickey said as he tapped something on his phone before returning it.
"Who is that?" Mettaton inquired as if to delay.
"Just one of my warriors, Vissie," Mickey said. "She does this every now and then. I have no idea what goes in that pudding of a brain of hers half the time."
"Erm, why did you have her then-"
"Do not change the subject," Mickey said sternly. "And if you're curious, her madness is more usable than it seems."
Mettaton was near failure in an attempt to keep his composure, but he fought a bit longer to keep it.
"So, where was I?" Mickey asked smugly and grabbed Mettaton's arm.
"Erm, how you plan on making the people "want to forget me"," Mettaton said. "I'd love to hear you plan on this enormous task, darling."
"Simple," Mickey responded. "I'll tell them."
"What?"
"The truth. About your ego. About your acts of desecration. About how you'd do anything to stay in the spotlight, even throw The Kingdom under the bus. About how much you love no one but yourself. Not even your fans."
"Hah, you really think I don't love my fans?!" Mettaton inquired and chuckled. "You don't truly know me."
"More than yourself?" Mickey said.
"I… of course!" Mettaton said. "How do you expect me to respond to that?! "Oh, I don't care about these lowly peasants who worship the ground I roll on"! Is that what you wanted me to say?"
"Are you sure?"
"Very much so!"
"Well, maybe the fans shall judge then. When they find out your desire to ditch them for the humans."
"I-"
Mettaton wasn't sure how to continue. If the robot could sweat, he would.
"Heh, that, erm," he began. "I d-didn't really mean it that way, erm- come on, the fans are great, but we all have greater ambitions, right?"
"Eh, sure. Maybe the monsters will just find another celebrity, right? Like you're disposable."
"I'm not disposable!"
"Are you sure?"
Mettaton took a deep breath to calm himself.
"Maybe you're right," Mickey continued. "Parasocial relationships are a bitch. And you probably know that. How many souls down here think they know you when you yourself have no idea they exist? What if they're made aware of that? What if when they realise that the number of people you can recall outside of yourself you can count on one hand?"
"They'll understand," Mettaton said. "When the shock wears off. It's only logical that I can't recall the millions of fans, not to mention hundreds of new faces I see every hour."
"Sure, but there are other things," Mickey continued. "The things your fans may not be as forgiving off. Such as, oh, I don't know. What about the desecration of a historical landmark that is still near and dear to The King? For what? To replace it with yet another depiction of you, as if your likeness and icon aren't known enough? And you cared so little for it in the first place that you barely remembered it? Just another pile of rocks in the way of your self-insert. I wonder how that'll look on your reputation."
"So you're going to try to ruin me with slander," Mettaton inquired. "Just like that?!"
"It's not "slander" if it's just informing the people of the truth," Mickey stated.
"Either way, people won't believe you. Why would they want to?"
Mickey chuckled eerily.
"You're right," he said. "Partly. Now, pardon my blasphemy for a bit, but to supposedly quote one of the few great humans in history: "you can't fool all the people all of the time". Of course, the catch is that there's little proof that the human most popularly attributed to it ever said it. Heh. Thinking about it, it probably makes the quote's meaning all the more valid. But the meaning goes both ways. There will, undoubtedly, be some fans who will not believe the truth no matter what."
"The point being?"
"Not everyone will believe it, of course. But the point is to make enough people aware of the truth, so much so that the damage and PR disaster will be enough to cripple you in many ways. Until they all move on to the next celebrity sensation."
His face suddenly gained a slight hint of frustration.
"Tell me," he continued. "How many people will willingly want to support or, dare I say, love you when they find out just how deep your selfish fucking ego can go?"
"That's all well and good," Mettaton said. "But you have no proof! Nothing concrete."
"Are you sure?" Mickey asked smugly.
The robot did not like the sound of that. Not one bit, especially not when Mickey reached into his pocket and pulled out a small microphone device.
"You've been recording this whole time?" Mettaton inquired.
"Of course," Mickey said, returning the device. "There's also some witness testimonies I can get from construction workers who helped move the fountain, some old folk who were around the time they erected the memorial, et cetera."
"You're also putting yourself on the line, you know?" Mettaton countered as a hopeful realisation dawned on him. "You are a lot more reckless than you think."
"Your meaning?"
"Oh, darling, I'm not the only one with incriminating information in your recording. You said a lot of nasty stuff the past few minutes, things you wouldn't want people in public knowing you've said. And if you publish it, I will no longer do your propaganda. I'll tell The Underground who and what you truly are. Your reputation will be in the dumps. Straight up!"
"Why do you think that?"
Mettaton didn't expect that response.
"Erm-" he began.
"Even in the unlikelihood that most monsters chose to believe your version of events," Mickey continued. "Even after everything about you, the lies and selfish ego trips, will be revealed to the public, will still leave you with enough people to believe your every word to swift the narrative about me, so what? Fear is useful. Maybe on just as equal footing as adoration. And hatred? Phew. Many have hated me so much of my life I'm getting numb. Hell. There are plenty of monsters who hate me even now in many areas outside The Capital. I can live with that. I can live without being loved. I can even live with being hated. The question is, darling Mettaton, can you?"
It was nearly impossible for the celebrity to keep his composure one bit longer. He sensed inside him rage, frustration, fear, and so much hopelessness he had never felt.
"If you do this to me," he stated. "I will grab the next human that falls here and then flee this hellhole of a kingdom and never look back."
"Sure, you can do that," Mickey said with the same smugness. "Assuming I don't kill you first. Right here even."
"What?!" Mettaton exclaimed in surprise. "B-but, but you just said-"
"I know what I said," Mickey began. "But, while many of the stories you've heard about me are probably complete bullshit, there is one aspect you may have heard with some truth to it."
"That is?"
"That is the fact that sometimes when push comes to shove, say, like if a stubborn egotist refuses to listen, I can become one impulsive, irrational, and diabolical cunt at the snap of a finger."
Mettaton wanted to look away, but as if by some spell, he couldn't. Mickey's hands grasped his arm with such a heavy grip, so much so that just moving the arm proved painful.
"So what will it be?" the lord said, grinning like a devil. "Are you willing to take the risk?"
Mettaton stared back at him with his screen, feeling his flowing dreads touch his metal body. The dreads felt like strings, and he was the puppet, unable to form words outside of those that his puppeteer wanted him to say. He had no more will, no more fight or desire. At that moment, all of it belonged to the beast looking at him.
How did it start this way? And how did it get here? Was it his own hubris? Did he stand against a force he assumed he could control, only to fail miserably? Could anyone make a choice of their own in this situation?
Mettaton signed inwardly. Everything was too far gone, and he only pushed it further, thinking he could win. If he could make one choice, just one of his own volition, it would be to stop.
Right now.
"All this because of a single statue!" he exclaimed. "Fine. You got me, darling. I'll put it back up."
Mickey gave him a closed smile. It was such an evil smile, made all the worse by showing no visible teeth. It was hateful, yet happy.
"Good, good," he then said. "Glad we could come to an understanding."
And like that, he finally let go of his arm, and Mettaton felt a slow, sneaking sense of relief. He leaned his body towards the table and grasped his "head" with his large hands.
"We'll want it up by tomorrow night," Mickey stated with fake friendliness. "Barring any complications or surprise developments. Because I'm a generous person. If you have no excuses and it's not done at that point, then-"
"I will have it done by then," Mettaton quickly replied. "Sooner than you expected even."
"Right."
He suddenly audibly groaned. Slightly curious, Mettaton raised his body and saw him looking at his phone again.
"That fucking twat, this many times?" Mickey muttered. "Jesus, she must be desperate."
He sighed and turned towards Mettaton, who stirred to alertness from his gaze.
"Hey, I need to make this call, or she'll never shut up," Mickey stated.
"No, I don't mind!" Mettaton quickly answered, even if he knew that Mickey wouldn't ask for permission.
Without another word, Mickey pressed a button and put the phone to his ear.
"Alright, Vissie, what is it now?" he asked the phone with a lack of enthusiasm. "Uh-huh. Uh-huh, yeah, sure. Yeah, yeah, just get to the point I'm busy. Ok. Ok, what is gone?"
He remained silent for a bit as he listened to what Mettaton could only hear from his end as gargled shouting. The robot looked away as if his gaze would disrupt his process.
"Excuse me?" Mickey asked with a hint of sudden concern.
At that moment, Mettaton looked up. He could sense a change in the air and felt the lord's demeanour take on a completely different tone. As if some fire was beginning to spark within him.
"W-w-wait, calm down!" Mickey said with confusion. "What do you mean it's gone?! Wha- all of it?!"
The sudden shout made Mettaton almost fall off his single wheel.
"Wh- how?!" he shouted. "Who?! How did-!"
He paused for a bit and then pranced around the room so that Mettaton could finally see his face, which resembled that of a rabid dog. The lord started to hyperventilate in frustration like an angry bull.
"Put someone else on the phone!" Mickey said sternly. "I don't care if it's Willy or Umbla or whoever! Vissie, I swear to fucking God that if you are bullshitting me- hello?! Umbla, can you confirm what-?! Uh-huh! For real?!"
He became eerily still and silent, like a bomb on a short-timer.
Then he continued in discomforting calmness.
"Ok," he said. "You. You all stay there. Make sure that Finrick or anyone else doesn't go anywhere. I'll be there shortly, ok? I need to see how bad it is- I know it's bad, I just- that's an order! I'll see you in a bit! Don't. Go. Anywhere."
And like that, he hung up and quickly returned his phone as if he didn't want to see it anymore. He wandered back and forth, face almost turning red.
"Trouble at work, darling?" Mettaton inquired.
Mickey cried out with rage as he grabbed the table next to him and flipped it with wrath and speed as if it was his worst enemy. That flip hurled so many glasses and drinks across half the room, leading to so much liquid and pieces of shattered glass filling the floor.
Mickey stood straight and panted heavily.
"Those kids," he muttered. "Those fucking kids!"
"Darling, that table-" Mettaton began.
"Call me "darling" one more time, and I'll rip out your wires and strangle your goddamned ghost with them!"
Mettaton felt his entire body freeze as Mickey turned to him. To see his rage in person was different from the rumours. The lord's eyes had gone unnaturally blacker and oilier, making him look even more demonic. Mettaton had thought those rumours were exaggerations, but now it seemed the truth was literally staring him in the face.
As Mickey turned and the blackness of his eyes faded and turned back to their usual bright blue, Mettaton felt brave enough to move again.
"Alright," Mettaton said. "Point taken. Now that table-"
"Shut the fuck up for a moment!" Mickey angrily demanded. "I need to think!"
Mettaton fought against his own stubbornness and turned as silent as the grave.
"Ok," Mickey began. "I appreciate your hospitality, Mettaton, but I'll be going now. It turns out I have some work to do."
They stared at each other for an uncomfortable silent moment.
"Ahem!" Mickey said to Mettaton sternly.
"Oh, i-it was my pleasure!" Mettaton quickly spoke.
"Good," Mickey stated. "I'll see myself out."
He put on his mask, then stepped over broken glasses and alcohol without a care in his path leading out the door, leaving Mettaton alone in the messy, silent room.
The robot stood still there. From every wall sounded the muffled noise of the club outside. Yet, for this brief moment, Mettaton could not do anything but admire and adore the subtle silence of his room.
Author's note:
So yeah.
Been a while, hasn't it? Over 4 months to be exact.
Well, I just want you all to know it was due to pretty... unconventional reasons. Not only did I start college, and that was a while to get used to, but a bunch bad IRL shit happened to me so... yeah. Ths chapter got delayed and delayed and DELAYED as shit kept piling on me.
But it's back, and to those who stuck around, I thank you so much for your patience and I promise the next chapter won't be so long to arrive
Anyway, as for the chapter itself.
It waa surpringly hard to get Mettaton down, or at least feel like I did. If you hadn't noticed, him being a ghost inhabiting a robot body is now public knowledge and... not much has changed. At least for him, that is. Turns out, monsters don't care who or what their favourite star is just as long as he remains the same fabulous celebrity(you can probably guess that Alphys was not so lucky when the beans were spilled).
As to HOW The Underground found out, well it is revealed in the Gaster centered prequel fic, Cry from the Void.
Outside of Mettaton, I hope you noticed OTHER charactera from the games. Ice Wolf is most obvious, but there is also Burgerpants early on, the Nice Cream bunny vendor, and some of the staff from the MTT Hotel in-game(such as the giant fish vendor for the restaurant, and the secretary with a giant human hand for a head). There was also one minor NPC from Deltarune I snuck in(the green guy that got trampled is the same green guy in the Town Hall in Deltarune).
Now some of you may be wondering if the Asriel Chara statue this chapter featured is gonna be important, and my current answer to that is, as Mickey would put it(thanks MultiVars on Discord): "if I told you, I'd have to silence you"(is this too far? I hope it isn't, lol).
Anyway, the next chapter I won't spoil, but it's gonna be a bit... experimental.
All I want you to do in preparation for that one is to remember the very first chapter of this fic. No, not the one in The Ruins, but THE VERY FIRST. As in the "cold open" chapter.
Until then, PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT BELOW, I really appreciate your words and feedback, more than Kudos in fact, and I'll see you soon. I promise.
(Oh, and yeah, this chapter confirms Mickey is Bi. His line "I swing both ways" means exactly as it implies. He's Bi. Why? I dunno.)