Time flew by in a breeze for Toriel, with hours speeding by in what felt like minutes. Frisk awoke to see their mother already wide awake, standing on a small stool in the living room as she finished hanging the last of the multi-colored party banners across the ceiling.
Not a single spec of dust was spared during her early morning cleaning, making both the wooden floorboards and cyan walls look as if they were brand new. Frisk has seen plenty of magic in recent years, yet it wouldn't serve as an accurate explanation for what Toriel has achieved this morning. A miracle is a more appropriate assessment.
On the kitchen table where Frisk, the night before, had to reluctantly gulp down their unsavory dinner, are two plastic, see-through bowls. One is filled to the top with a pile of potato chips, and the other to the side contains thick, neon-orange dip. Sat next to the corresponding bowls is a large glass pitcher of iced lemonade. Beside it are stacked plastic cups.
Lining the kitchen counter is a variety of store-bought snacks, including but not limited to gummies, pretzels, crackers, and cheese. Of course, Toriel couldn't go without making something herself, that being a cherry pie. Its sweet smell steams from the oven, ensnaring those who inhale the irresistible scent. So only Frisk at the moment, whose mouth waters at the sight of so many goodies.
Currently, they occupy a small space on the large couch next to Toriel, joining them in watching a parade of instrumentalists and dancers perform through the downtown streets of Mirstone. Its selection of both human and monster talent has brought out a smile from Frisk that hasn't since left.
"Goodness, they really brought their A-game this year," Toriel comments before taking a sip from her tea glass. "Say, Frisk, how come your robot friend never attended one of these? He'd be a great fit."
Sometimes, Frisk forgets just how old-fashioned their mother's interest in entertainment is. Being nothing but a bookworm, she rarely turns on the television or listens to the radio, making her one of very few monsters who doesn't have Mettaton's name etched into her brain.
"The Mayor invited him to attend when the second one came around," Frisk says in response to Toriel's question. "But... it didn't really work out."
"How so?"
"Mettaton is..." Frisk tries to think of a nicer word to use, but after a brief pause, comes up short. "...kinda a control freak. He requested lights, fireworks, funkier music, more lights, comedic gags, concurrent plotlines... did I mention lights?"
In actuality, the mayor had considered more than just the illustrious robot for attendance. Frisk themselves was invited every year, but with each invitation came a polite decline. Emergence Day is supposed to be time spent with friends and family. Not drowning in some large crowd being encircled by constant cameras. Niel had revealed that an appearance from King Asgore was given thought, but ultimately decided against as a result of his declining popularity.
The soft ring of a doorbell brings the two's attention to the front door.
"Our first visitor," Toriel smiles, hurriedly rising from the couch to not keep the guests waiting.
She only makes it partway through the living room when something knocks against the entrance.
"Knock knock," a familiar deep voice says from outside.
"SANS, SERIOUSLY?!" another recognizable voice moans.
Both Toriel and Frisk share a happy grin. Excitedly, Toriel goes:
"Who's there?"
"I, THE GREAT-!"
"Needle," the deep voice interrupts.
"Needle who?" Toriel inquires, her mind anticipating whatever punchline will follow.
"Needle little help opening this door."
A fit of undignified, hoarse laughter leaves Toriel as she unlatches the front door and pulls it open. Standing outside, expectedly, are the skeleton brothers. Sans has his hands tucked away in the pockets of his blue hoodie like usual, swaying slightly from side to side. Papyrus wears his usual outfit, save for an odd top hat resting on top his skull. Both of his eyes droop, signifying a frown, undoubtedly brought on by his brother's comedy.
"Hey, Toriel," Sans winks, before peering through the doorway and spotting Frisk on the couch. "Sup, kid."
"Hi, Sans," Frisk waves. "Hey, Papyrus!"
"GREETINGS, HUMAN!"
"I'm pleased to see you both made it," Toriel says.
"AS AM I! HOWEVER, WHILE YOU MAY HAVE EXPECTED OUR ARRIVAL, NOTHING COULD HAVE PREPARED YOU FOR THE SURPRISE AWAITING YOU BENEATH THIS INCONSPICUOUS HAT!"
"Oh?"
"NYEH, HEH!"Papyrus yells before dramatically lifting his large hat, unveiling a plate of spaghetti.
Half of its noodles are properly boiled, and the marinara is unnaturally thick, with unrecognizable ingredients scattered amongst its messy texture.
"Wow, Papyrus," Toriel says as she's handed the prepared meal. "Uh, your generosity is greatly appreciated. Please, you two, come in. Make yourselves at home."
Even from outside the establishment's tan-brown walls, the sound of laughter rings loud and clear. A fitting noise considering its welcoming exterior. To the left of the building's burnt-umber front door is a curved set of five windows underneath a hanging small banner that simply reads: "Open."
At the top of the establishment are bold, life-sized coral-orange letters spelling out: G-R-I-L-L-B-Y-'S. While most humans would regard the restaurant as just another in a sea of businesses that made up most of downtown Mirstone, as were many things, it is an entirely different case for monsters.
Grillby's remains the sole relic of their time spent in the underground tomb within Mount Ebott. It uncannily mirrors its previous location not just outside, but within its interior as well. A mix of the dark brown walls, wooden floorboards, and soothing music emitting from the nearby jukebox all combine to establish a calming sense of tranquility amongst its current patrons.
Standing at the very back of the small restaurant, currently occupied with polishing a wine glass until its shine meets satisfactory standards, is its namesake. A monster whose anatomy is solely made up of bright, dancing flames. Humans had to learn very quickly that monsters came in all different shapes and sizes ranging from uncanny to downright implausible. Unfortunately, a being comprised of literal fire proved too much for even the most accepting of their kind to fully get adjusted to.
Luckily, in Grillby's case, it doesn't matter much. All of his time is spent right here in this restaurant, mingling with talkative customers and preparing meals. Being a monster who takes his craft seriously, he dresses professionally to better suit his position as both the manager and owner. A long-sleeved, black uniform. Small buttons run up to his white collar, where a black boe tie remains. Small glasses rest on the flaming monster's face, despite no eyes of any sort being visible.
Behind him lies two shelves containing numerous bottles of countless beverages- over half of them alcoholic. Even with the large supply, Grillby is uncertain if they will all be enough for a day like today. Just in front of him, sitting at the long, L-shaped counter, are a row of monsters occupying every available stool.
Beyond that are the various square tables, round tables, and booths supporting even more customers with an appetite only Grillby's food can satiate. Each lone monster, lacking those to create Emergence Day memories with, has found others in a familiar situation to do so together. Like lost puzzle pieces connecting.
A mutualistic relationship between consumer and supplier, as Grillby too needed other monsters to celebrate with. Truthfully, there's nowhere else he'd rather be than sustaining not just his restaurant, but the happiness of everyone inside. For those who visit aren't mere customers. They're family.
After the barrier dispersed, and monsters made contact with the descendents of their jailers, confusion and fear dominated both societies for a while. Through the chaos was the desperation of any sort of familiarity. Comfort. Grillby became the first monster to successfully obtain the required permits and licenses necessary to legally open a restaurant, and just like that, monsters without a home found a safe refuge detached from the intensity of the outside world.
Two of these monsters consume their meals at their usual hangout space- that being a small, round table near the front of the restaurant's entrance. Grillby's had been packed upon their arrival this morning, but no one sat in the pair's seats, recognizing who they usually belonged to. A thoughtful convenience made only possible by monsters' natural kindness.
"Nope, no way," the black bipedal dog says before taking another gulp of root beer.
"It's true, Doggo," the anthropomorphic hamster sitting opposite to him assures.
Covering the top of Doggo's face is a black ninja-like mask. In it are eye holes, which are an albeit pointless inclusion, given the monster's complete blindness. An illustration of a dog is displayed on his vibrant pink muscle shirt, and he wears leopard-print stretch pants. His white tail wags neutrally to the side of his chair.
While Doggo's clothing is usually seen as eccentric by his peers, his friend, Punk Hamster, lies on the other end of the spectrum, only wearing an overall black hoodie. Matching sunglasses rest on his snout, reflecting the light of the lanterns mounted on the walls around him. The only stand-out thing about his appearance is his golden blonde hair.
"What reason would the king have to climb the mountain?" Doggo asks with his usual skepticism, folding his arms. "There's nothing there for him."
"Hey, don't ask me," Punk says with an indifferent tone, gripping his cup of cola. "Just telling you what I saw."
"What you saw is baloney! Eyes have a way of playing tricks on people. Can't trust 'em."
"Whatever you say, dude."
Years of friendship have made Punk Hamster nothing but accustomed to Doggo's stubbornness. A debate would grant nothing but a mild headache, so instead, he silently sips his cola, thinking of another possible conversation topic.
While he does, a familiar, small ringing noise made to indicate an arrival draws his attention to the front door. It's wide-open, inviting in a warm breeze that sweeps through the building. Standing in its outline is someone who certainly isn't a regular. At least to Punk's knowledge.
Monsters can take many forms, but the scarlet knight in Punk's view is one he hadn't seen. What's more strange is their hesitation to come inside. They don't move, almost studying sight before them. By now, other customers have taken notice of the odd stranger, including Doggo.
"Nothing has changed here, it seems," they note. "Then again, I suppose that's not surprising."
"Nice new armor, Undyne!" a voice from the back shouts. "Loving the color change!"
Punk leans close to Doggo.
"IS that Undyne?" he asks unsurely.
"No," Doggo answers. "That scent... I know it...?"
It all happens too fast. A sudden move from the armored individual, a gust of wind, and the sound of a hard impact. Nothing remains of Doggo. What's left of him is a thick layer of white dust dripping in invisible drops from the seat of his chair.
Even with the stranger closing the door behind them, outside, the sound of panicked screams rings loud and clear.
After the Skeleton brothers' arrival, Undyne and Alphys followed suit. And like Pandora's box, there was no undoing the chaos that followed with six of the seven party participants now under the same roof. Constant noogies from Undyne, more of Sans' comedic gags, unintelligible science talk from the nervous Dr. Alphys, Papyrus's continuous attempts to look cool, everything is just as it should be. How it has always been.
Having caught up with everyone, and making a mental note to try Alphys's untouched casserole, (which looks to give both snail pie and Papyrus's spaghetti some rough competition), Frisk retook their spot on the couch. This time, joined by Sans, who leans back into the soft cushion. Both of his eye sockets are closed, but the lack of heavy snoring indicates he's likely not really asleep.
An inevitable, aching sense of guilt surges within Frisk every time the short skeleton is nearby. Once the barrier was shattered, and the human was finally relieved of their captor, everything was confessed to Sans. Everything. The endless resets, the violence, Asriel... the genocide. Even after the hundreds of times the two fought, seeing his horror in the face of the truth didn't hurt any less.
Expectedly, a revelation of such nature took a toll on their friendship. However justified his feelings are, Frisk's frustration has admittedly grown over the years. Why would I let you live free for so long if I was planning on resetting? They often thought. Do you really think I'm THAT cruel?
That last part is something Frisk tries not to dwell on. So instead, they pay attention to the concluding parade in an attempt to ward off the dangers of deep thinking. By now, the ensemble of dancers are finishing up their routine with one last encore. Both monsters and humans, each wearing blue "E means Everyone" T-shirts, sweep across the camera with impressive, harmonized choreography.
"I wonder what's k-keeping Mettaton," Alphys comments from behind the couch, glancing at the TV. The performers must have reminded her of the twice as enthusiastic star.
"Probably the paparazzi," Undyne suggests, standing in the doorway to the kitchen with a cup of lemonade. "I'm telling you, that guy needs better security."
"LIKE ME!" Papyrus chips in. "PERSONALLY, I'D BE GLAD TO LEND MY TALENTS TO SUCH A WONDERFUL- GAH!"
Papyrus's head is caught in an inescapable headlock from Undyne, who brings her triumphed right fist back and jams it softly on the skeleton's head before giving it a merciless noogie.
"WHO ASKED YOU?!" Undyne shouts playfully.
"Now now, Undyne, let's keep the roughhousing to a minimum, okay?" Toriel asks.
"Heh, sorry," Undyne says, obeying Toriel's request and releasing Papyrus who wobbles around, dizzy.
"Besides," Toriel continues. "Wouldn't you consider Papyrus a numb-skull as he is?"
Sans bolts up, emitting a shrill, almost uncharismatically high-pitched laugh. Toriel follows, unable to contain her's, then Undyne, and suddenly, everyone in the room joins in the laughter. Even Papyrus, who is the last to die down.
"NYEH HEH...HEH... I DON'T GET IT."
With that, the others standing near the kitchen resume their conversation, leaving Frisk and Sans alone again on the sofa once more. Surprisingly, the latter of which turns to the other and says:
"Your Mom sure is funny, kiddo."
Frisk nods in agreement with a smile.
"So, how's your academic pursuits going?"
"Good."
"That's nice. Education is important. Say, what do you want to be when you grow up? Given it any thought?"
The question brings Frisk's brain to a halt. They want to give an answer, but a future occupation is something they've never truthfully considered. Disappointed with not being able to find a satisfactory response, they shake their head.
"No?" Sans says, with not a single trace of surprise in his voice. "You're what- sixteen? Wise up, kid, the future will be here before you know it... ain't that right?"
Frisk looks over at the grinning skeleton.
"I'm done trying to convince you, Sans."
"Am I the one you're trying to convince?"
At first, Frisk is about to say something. Then they feel something wet threatening to emerge from their eyes. Sans sees it too, and he sighs.
"Sorry, kid, I shouldn't have said anything," he admits. "Forget I did. Let's just enjoy the party, 'kay?"
Frisk nods silently. Together, they return their attention to the public celebrations.
Constant honking blares through the downtown streets of Mirstone. Its source- a long stretch of still cars, each seating at least one agitated driver with somewhere to be. Several busy routes were blocked for the sake of the parade, resulting in the traffic jam Mettaton currently finds himself caught in.
The inorganic celebrity sits cross-legged at the back of a limousine. Perpendicular to him, sharing the same curved, pink seat wrapped around the interior walls of the vehicle is Nicole Amber. A human woman with a set of stunning brown hair running past her shoulders, glittery lip-gloss, and earrings that shine brightly enough to nearly cast their own illumination. From the neck down is all business. A professional blue suit.
In one of numerous decisions fueled by what his manager coined "anti-wisdom", Mettaton chose Nicole as his assistant not for her ability to aid, but rather her admirable fashion sense. Fortunately, she turned out to be the best of both worlds, taking the calls that needed to be taken and ensuring his neglectfulness doesn't pose a threat to his glamorous career. One, dazzling safety net.
"Ugh, at this rate, we'll NEVER get to the party," Mettaton pouts. "What will they do without my spark? They must be dying of absolute boredom!"
"I'm sure they'll survive, sir," Nicole sighs, as if she were talking to a child. Most would argue that isn't far off.
"Not to mention the weather!" Mettaton whines, gesturing to the tainted black windows that show a bleak sky. "Such an ugly eyesore is never welcomed, but especially on a day like today."
"Good thing you're here to brighten it, sir," Nicole adds in hopes of improving her boss's mood. Going off of his micro-smile, it seems to have had some effect.
"You were right, Nicky. I should've kept my schedule clear yesterday so we'd have sufficient time to make travel preparations."
As far back as she can remember, Nicole always desired a fun nickname to be called by her friends. Anyone can refer to her as 'Nicole', but a nickname is different. It's personal. An identity shared only between those she trusted. A wish immediately retracted the second her boss called her 'Nicky' on the first day of the job. She fought to correct him without coming off as unprofessional but soon realized that if professionalism was a spectrum, Mettaton would be on the far end of it.
Not that it came from a place of malice or condescendence. But Mettaton lives in a world of his own, separate from everyone else. When he decided on something, there was no rationalizing an alternative. If 'Nicky' was who Mettaton knew her as, then Nicky she is. Plain and simple.
Still, at least in her view, the eccentric robot's robust personality and care for those around him thankfully made up for his childlike nativity and ignorance, however draining it can be sometimes. Even with his shortcomings, Mettaton still ranks high among the self-absorbed celebrities Nicole had the displeasure of working under in the past.
"Because of me, you're also missing time with your family," Mettaton continues.
"Hey, this day is more important to you than it is to me," Nicole tells the glum megastar. "Besides, we're almost there."
Unlike last time, Mettaton doesn't show any sign of cheerfulness. Nicole begins to say something else, but before the words can leave her mouth-
"What in the world?"
Those words of bewilderment belong to the limousine driver, who for the first time since he asked for the passengers' destination, speaks unprompted. His words were muffled through the clear window separating the front of the vehicle from its main body, but Nicole accurately processes them as something of concern. It's made evident when the driver, that being a burly human man with a buzz cut and shades, leans forward to get a better look out the front windshield.
His curiosity is contagious. Nicole too leans in for a better view of what has the driver so intrigued. It doesn't take very long for her to find the source of his interest. An interest shared by every driver and passenger stuck in the traffic jam, as to say it sticks out would certainly understate the inexplicable sight on the roadway.
Passing through the narrow space between both stretches of stationary vehicles is a peculiar figure. Whether it be human or monster is anyone's guess, due to its bright red, heavy armor obscuring any identifiable traits. The protective suit is mostly clean, save for some white specks scattered across its breastplate. Attracting the majority of the onlookers' attention is the unnaturally extensive blade gripped in their right gauntlet.
"Who is THAT?" Mettaton questions, taking notice of the same person everyone else now observes. "And I thought I was the only one out here with some flair."
Mettaton's admiration is shared by another. A short, lime-green monster with two dear-like horns, who slightly cracks his driver-side door so as to not obstruct the stranger's passage.
"Aye, dope costume, ma-!"
SLASH
Where there was once a fascinated monster is now a small pool of white powder. The vacant car's driver-side door is completely detached, having been divided in two along with its former owner. All the while, the sword's wielder neglects to so much as spare a glance at the devastation brought on by their swift attack.
Terrified screams roar through the packed street. In droves, the idle vehicles are hastily abandoned by their occupants, who flee as far as their legs will take them from the masked murderer's sight. Mettaton's personal driver is one of them. Before either his employer or Nicole could object, he was already on the outside of the limousine, joining the other fleeing civilians without a second thought.
Nicole grows angry over the man's lack of care for one of the world's most cherished icons, and in her case, a good friend. But he admittedly has the right idea. It is not safe.
"Sir, we have to get you out of here!" she says, first unbuckling her seatbelt and then proceeding to Mettaton's.
The robot is completely still, his artificial pupils darting back and forth between the red knight, and what little remains of the slayed monster left behind in their trail. Unbothered by those running away in fear, they continue making their way through the street, having to occasionally stop and close an open door blocking their path.
It takes Nicole's iron grip for Mettaton to fully regain his senses. She flings open the left-side door, opposite to the lane the knight traverses through, and has to almost drag the celebrity outside. By now, most civilians have vacated the street, making them the only people nearby save for the murderer. A realization that makes Nicole's stomach turn, furthering her eagerness to get away. Still gripping Mettaton's hand, she turns to run.
"Let's go!" she says.
Mettaton doesn't budge.
"Mettaton!" Nicole yells, looking back at the silent monster. "It's not safe! We have to go!"
"No."
Nicole pauses. The look in her boss's eyes... it's alien to her. Still fixated on the red knight, he frowns. A twinkle of determination flashes in his eye. For a brief moment, it gives Nicole chills. Like she's looking at her friend of four years for the very first time.
"I have a better idea, darling," he finally says.
Without warning, a blinding flash of light stings Nicole's retina, forcing her to turn away until it subsides. Once it does, she notices something. The knight's heavy footsteps have stopped in their tracks. Panicked, she looks back at the space between lanes, her dreadful suspicion proving to be true.
The armed stranger is looking directly at them. More specifically, Mettaton. Nicole finally turns to her boss, and only for a second, astonishment rivals her overwhelming fear.
Maybe it's just a contingency. Or perhaps the DETERMINATION she's heard so much about personified into one, magnificent form. Regardless, what stands in front of her isn't the robot that stood by her a moment ago.
Pointed, curving pauldrons extend from Mettaton's shoulders, forming an X with its positioning from his legs. His left arm is now a large, high-tech cannon, ready to fire. And most noticeable are the massive, flashing fuscia-pink wings extending from his back.
Mettaton's face has undergone significant changes as well. The right side of his black hair is spiked out. Directly underneath is a part of his face shrouded in darkness, with the only thing of any visibility being a sparkling eye. As if to represent the boldness of such a form, the shape of a heart remains engraved on his chest plate.
"Mettaton...?"
Of course, Nicole was made aware of the star's many possible forms. This one she recognizes as being self-modified soon after the monsters' escape from the underground. A form of defense against potential discrimination. Mettaton Neo. However, seeing it for the first time is like seeing a part of the glamorous celebrity she never knew was there.
"Go, Nicole," Mettaton says. "Get somewhere safe. Hopefully, this fight continues long enough to be picked up by the News. I do love an audience."
Finally, the knight makes a move, aiming the tip of their sword to face the enhanced robot. An invitation.
"Let's get this show on the road," Mettaton grins.
"Sir, wait-!"
Mettaton blasts forward, the smoke exhaust left behind leaving Nicole in a brief coughing fit. Once she recovers, she glances at her boss who now circles above the armored stranger. Reluctantly, she turns away and joins the other civilians' run for safety.
Mettaton... please be careful.
Unbothered by the combat robot's speed, the knight stands their ground, following his movements. Doubting the benefit of surprise is a viable option, the celebrity opts for the direct approach. He aims his arm-cannon down below at his target.
"Smile for the camera!"
A merciless barrage of laser beams rain down on the knight, who just barely raises their sword in time to block the incoming projectiles. A pointless endeavor, Mettaton thinks, as the beams explode on impact. The following shockwave carries away the surrounding cars with a domineering force, sending them toppling over in various directions like toys.
Completely masking where the knight stood is a thin veil of smoke. From what Mettaton can make out while in the air, the street is scathed in burn marks. All around, car alarms blare loudly, drowning out any other noise.
"That fast?" Mettaton says with disappointment, looking down at the sheer destruction only a few lasers caused. "Talk about a show-stopper."
It comes out of nowhere. Slow enough for Mettaton to process but fast enough to render any attempt to escape its trajectory useless. A vertical, transparent, thin projectile flies towards him. Like a stray shard of red wind.
Because of his superficial nature, pain is but a fantasy. Even before he inhabited this robot form and shed the name: Stellablook, pain was a foreign concept then as it is now. However, the popular sensation isn't necessary to understand the gravity of what has just happened. The giant gash separating his torso and legs... he's just been killed.
Already, Mettaton can feel his SOUL beginning to come apart as his detached upper body crashes onto the street below. The violent fall only quickens his SOUL's deterioration as more of his body comes loose. Not a single part of it he can move anymore.
"Oh... no..." Mettaton groans.
Something smashes into his chest plate, caving in the engraved heart. The violent action exposes wires and coils. Oil seeps from the open wound and leaks onto the concrete. Crushing the monster's chest is a Sabaton belonging to the scarlet knight, who stands over their metallic opponent. Not a single speck of their armor has been damaged. They raise their sword.
"Oh yes."
SLASH
The resulting attack brings on an explosion from the cybernetic body. One that takes the celebrity's SOUL with it, and engulfs the stranger in burning heat. Neither the shockwave nor firey temperatures draw any concern from them, let alone damage.
Satisfied with a now uncluttered roadway, the knight resumes their previous pace.
An hour has passed since the parade met its conclusion. During that time, each of the party-goers continued with their conservations, gaining more insight into what one another has been up to. Frisk turned on the News channel which seemed to finally do the trick for Sans, putting him in a loud slumber.
Alphys's curiosity over Mettaton's absence has since escalated to worry. To avoid being annoying, she opted against flooding his cell phone with text messages. A declaration that lasted all but ten minutes. Despite her numerous DMs, not a single one received a response.
"Well, what do you expect?" Undyne told her. "He's a busy guy. Maybe he fell asleep or something. Robots do sleep, right?"
Suffice it to say, her attempts of assurance were in vain, but appreciated all the same. Eventually came time to eat. The group of monsters, along with their human friend, sit around the circular table, barely big enough to fit its six occupants. By now, Mettaton's exclusion has grown more noticeable. Sitting opposite to Alphys, Frisk smiles and says:
"Downtown Mirstone's traffic is usually awful on Emergence Day."
"Tell me about it," Sans reaffirms, sitting to Frisk's right. "One time, Paps and I got caught in it for about an hour and a half."
"T-that sounds miserable," Alphys says.
"Eh, not really. I kept us entertained with some jokes."
"WORST DAY OF MY LIFE!"
"Now, Alphys," Toriel says with her usual calming smile. "It's understandable to be worried. However, Emergence Day can be chaotic for those traveling. I'm sure your friend is doing everything he can to get here. While he does, we can begin eating before it gets too late."
"Too bad there won't be any food left when he gets here!" Undyne says, deviously rubbing her hands together as she stares at the meal before her with anticipation. Her one eye catches the warning glare from Toriel, and she immediately straightens in her seat. "Or, you know... I guess we can leave him a slice or two. Wait, do robots eat?"
Shortly after, everyone proceeds to dig in. On the menu is Papyrus's spaghetti, Alphys's casserole, and of course, Toriel's cherry pie. The latter of the three steals the show, briefly turning everyone except its maker into starved dogs finding their first slab of meat in weeks. Normally, Toriel would complain about table manners, but experience proved that her irresistible cooking overpowered any sort of authority.
"Man, this casserole is REALLY good!" Undyne says with a cartoonishly wide, unconvincing smile. "Frisk, Papyrus, you're really missing out! Here! Try some!"
Undyne takes the dish and unloads half of its contents between both the human and skeleton's plates. Nothing needs to be said, the terms are plain and simple. Either eat the food with a smile, or get punched in the face... with a smile from Undyne of course. Valuing their life, Frisk takes a huge mouthful without hesitation. Thankfully, it's not as bad as it looks. But that's not saying much.
"Wow, this is amazing, Alphys!" Frisk tells her as their eyes begin to water. Undyne tightens her fists.
Better hold it in, punk.
"Thanks!" Alphys says. "T-this is my first time preparing something. I'm so glad you like it!"
"LIKE?!" Papyrus echoes, having already cleaned his plate. "I LOVE IT! MORE PLEASE!"
Luckily for Papyrus, taste buds aren't a factor. All the more apparent when it comes to his spaghetti, which nobody touches except for Frisk. The skeleton never notices his cooking's lack of popularity as he's usually too busy watching the human's 'passionate' expression with pride. After, he eats the rest himself.
RING RING
The volume of Undyne's cell phone pierces through the silence of the dining room with the effectiveness of one of her spears.
"No phones at the table," Toriel says, accustomed to repeating the reminder after her child's many failed attempts at concealing a text conversation during dinner.
"Sorry, it's work," Undyne explains, rising from her chair. "Please excuse me."
While comforting, Toriel's house isn't all that big. So when Undyne walks into the living room, she really only takes five steps away.
"Hello?" She answers, listening to the operator who is inaudible to everyone else. "What do you mean there's an emergency?"
A pause.
The carpeted floor softens the impact of her phone hitting the ground. Still, it catches the others' attention, who all turn in their seats to face Undyne.
"Something wrong?" Toriel inquires.
She may as well have asked a brick wall. Undyne remains perfectly still, like a statue.
"Undyne?" Alphys says, starting to worry.
Hearing this, she finally turns around, bearing an unreadable expression. Then, she smiles.
"It's nothing," she finally says. "They need me to... check on something. I'll be back."
Before anyone can ask any more questions, Undyne rushes out of the house, exiting through the front door and forgetting to close it behind her.
"That was strange," Toriel says. "I hope everything is alright."
Frisk and Sans share a worried glance. If there's one thing the two have in common, it's the ability to read expressions. Even though the teen is nowhere near Sans's level, they don't have to be to know something is very wrong.
...