by GR Griffin
“Thank you, beautiful people,” Mettaton called out to his loving fans, his robotic voice drowned out by their clapping and whistling. “Thank you all!”
The music stopped and the applause died down. The camera panned over to the spooky disc jockey with the headphones. “…Oh…sorry… was I too overzealous…?” Napstablook whispered as a tear rolled out of their eye. The crowd laughed. Apparently, there was nothing funnier than a ghost with low self-esteem.
“That’s our Blooky,” Mettaton quipped. He turned back to the camera and to the audience that he was so eager to address. “Good morning, darlings and beauties and all six elaborate words in-between! Welcome to today’s fabulously fabulous show! We’ve got such a fantastic roundup of guests appearing today, including…”
The camera zoomed in to the television screen between Mettaton’s seat and the couch where the supposed guests would sit. The first guest appeared… only there was no one there, just a red background.
“Our first guest today,” the announcer went on, “is none other than the musical prodigy herself – Shyren! Give her a big hand, ladies and gentlemen!”
From the corner of the screen, the anxious features of the long-haired fish monster peaked into view, treating the camera as her worst nightmare. She flinched at the sound of clapping hands.
“Now, now, don’t be shy Shyren,” the announcer encouraged. The audience giggle. “Let’s see that lovely face of yours.”
With a half-hearted smile, Shyren edged further into view, her body a few inches behind. She opened her mouth and out escaped a hum. The deadly note flew towards the camera, smashing the lens into pieces. A few moments of static obstructed the show as satellite communications were cut.
During the din of white noise, Asgore reached over for the warm cup of golden flower tea on the coffee table and took a generous gulp.
The broadcast was re-established. The announcer murmured, briefly muttering something to the crew before returning to the microphone. He coughed, then said, “Sorry about that, folks. Our second guest of the day: famed street-magician Madjick will demonstrate some of his amazing tricks for us!”
The wizard who can only speak magic words floated before the camera, smiling, the orbs by his sides staring back. A card floated before him, an eight of diamonds. The card flipped, splitting into two cards, both of them four of diamonds. With another flip, the two cards split into four, twos of diamonds. The crowd gasped in awe.
“Sorry and bless you,” Madjick said mysteriously.
The third guest appeared, it was Burgerpants. He looked as haggard as ever, still dressed in his fast food uniform and taking deep drags from a nearly expunged cigarette. The announcer spoke. “And then, we’ll be bringing you some exclusive one-on-one work evaluation time between this guy and his boss, live on daytime television!”
Burgerpants grumbled as he extinguished his smoke in an ashtray to his immediate right, which was already drowning with ash and cigarette butts. “Sometimes, I swear he just makes up parts of my contract,” he muttered to no one in particular and then sighed, steaking his paw down his face. “I gotta get a lawyer…”
The fourth guest was actually two guests: Bratty and Catty, the blonde-haired alligator and black-haired cat, side by side as usual. “Then, we’ll be having a special interview with Bratty!” The announcer’s voice then dropped an octave and rapidly shot out: “But not Catty.”
“Woooo!” Bratty hollered, raising her hands into the air. “We’re on teevee, Catty!”
“Yeah, Bratty,” Catty cheered, “we’re on—” She suddenly stopped, her cat eyes widened. “Wait, what?”
The camera switched and the fifth and final guest appeared. It was Burgerpants again, and he was pulling another cigarette from his pack. “And then it’s back to Burgerpants as Mettaton himself will finish off with live performances from his latest album: Ode to the Failings of my Dear, Dear Failure of an Employee: The Greatest Hits. Available now in store or on download.”
Burgerpants realised the camera was back on him before the flames of his lighter could reach the white stick. His jaw dropped, the unlit smoke dropped from his lips. “W-w-what?” he exclaimed, “why are you coming back to—”
Burgerpants got cut off as the cameras focused back to the star of the show, now lying seductively on a piano being played by Napstablook. “Don’t go anywhere, darlings,” Mettaton said in a playful tone. “All this and much, much more will be coming up after a word from our sponsors!”
The commercials started, reminding the viewers that Saturday Morning Breakfast with a Killer Robot was sponsored by new and improved Temmie Flakes Cereal. It was the exact same cereal, the only thing ‘new and improved’ was written on the box.
Fleck had seen enough. Sorry, Mettaton, but as much as Fleck liked him, and as riveting as his show seemed, the human was going to disobey and go anywhere. They jumped off the sofa and walked out of the room, reminding Asgore that they needed to be ready for ten.
“Yep, I know,” Asgore said before poking a white-furred finger into his chest. “Who do you think Toriel’s got carrying all the picnic supplies?”
Fleck walked to the bathroom where they got showered and brushed their teeth. In their striped bathrobe, Fleck opened the wardrobe in their bedroom and browsed the selection of clothes available. T-shirts and jumpers; jeans and shorts; sneakers, boots, and sandals paired at the bottom. Fleck sifted through the hangers and pulled out their purple and blue stripped shirt and blue shorts, clean, fresh and ironed since the expedition through the Underground. Some of those stains: dirt, water, juice, tea, ice cream, and flecks of deep red (from when Undyne punched the tomatoes) were deemed by many as unmoveable, but Toriel proved them wrong.
Fleck felt good to be back in their favourite clothes, especially when they smelled white lily fresh. They completed the look with the same pair of brown boots. Fleck inspected themselves in the tall mirror on the inside of the wardrobe door, looking a spitting image of how they looked before tumbling down Mount Ebott.
Fleck looked at the clock on the bedside table. 9:54. Almost time to go. Fleck headed to the hallway and found Toriel waiting by the door.
“Hurry up, Asgore,” she called out, “we do not wish to be late.”
Asgore stumbled into view, carrying a hefty cooler in one arm and a couple of rolled blankets under the other. “Why do I have to carry all this?” he asked.
Toriel frowned. “Because you are tall, portly, and pitiful.”
The former king paused, realising that he could not necessarily argue with that. “Fair enough, but you could at least cut me some slack, Tori.”
The former queen shot Asgore a hard glare. “What was that?”
“—El.” Asgore shot out. “I meant Toriel. You could cut me some slack… Toriel.”
“I will cut you some slack only when you have earned it, Dreemurr.” Toriel’s phone beeped. She pulled it from her pocket and inspected the screen. A smile appeared. “Oh, I have just received a text from Sans. He says that both he and his brother are on their way, and that the reason why the skeleton did not cross the road was because it did not have the guts.” She laughed as if she had just heard the funniest joke in the world. “Are you ready to go, Fleck?”
The human child nodded and the family exited their house, stepping from the front door into the open of their quiet, rural town. Up and down the road, houses less than a couple of years old and nature all around them. It was surreal to both Asgore and Toriel, to exit their home and find a sky above their heads instead of another ceiling. On their driveway was a red SUV, a large vehicle to support a family as needy of theirs.
The neighbour on their right, a middle-aged gentleman watering his flowers, noticed them. “Oh, um… hello neighbours,” he said with a hint of uneasiness. “Lovely day for a picnic?”
“It sure is, Robert,” Asgore answered as he opened the trunk and loaded in the supplies. “We are meeting our friends for a relaxing day out.”
“More monsters
? That’s good to hear,” Robert said, the apprehension in his voice lifting by a shade. “Say, listen, they reckon we’ve got this weather for the next couple of weeks or so. I’m thinking of having a barbeque next weekend, if you’re interested?”
Toriel opened the front passenger door. “That sounds wonderful. We would love to attend.”
“Great, great. Well… I’ll let you get away. Have fun with your, uh, friends.” Robert walked across the garden back to the safety of his home, his watering can still half-full.
At first, the neighbourhood did not know what to think of monsters moving in, unsure of whether to be afraid or thrilled or mystified. After the initial greetings and a few run-ins, the people had started to warm up to the goat monsters, taking a few queues from their adopted human child and how comfortable they were around their new parents. In a strange way, the neighbours saw themselves as pioneers, the first humans making peaceful relations with monsters after many, many years. Now, whether the district where Sans and Papyrus lived or the seaside street where Alphys and Undyne resided thought the same was up to speculation.
With Asgore behind the wheel, Toriel in the front seat and Fleck in the back, the red SUV reversed off the drive and took off down the road. The ride was smooth and peaceful, very few cars on the road. Rhythmic tunes rang from the radio. Asgore hummed along and tapped his hands on the steering wheel, but could not coax his ex-wife to join in. Toriel stared out the window, refusing to acknowledge the burly monster beside her. Two more times, her phone pinged with more skeleton puns.
The minutes passed, Fleck remained silent in the back, watching as the world passed from behind the glass. The surface was something that Fleck had spent the entirety of their short life taking for granted, not knowing just how well they, as a human, had had it until it was taken away from them.
The destination for their picnic revealed itself when the trees parted and the imposing silhouette of Mount Ebott came into view.
Chapter 3: Picnic Nit-pick
Mount Ebott shone like a giant emerald in the clear, blue sky. On the surface it looked peaceful, serene, but deep down there was both plenty of history and plenty of pain. It was a mountain, yet it was also the portal to another world. For years, people have looked up to the stars and wondered if they were alone in the universe. Turned out, they were all looking in the wrong direction.
Fleck still remembered when they and their friends escaped the Underground, when all of them looked out on the day the barrier was broken and witnessed the sun for the first time, setting upon the horizon.
Asgore turned off the main road, up a side lane that twisted up the slight incline of the mountain’s foot. The road ended at a small car park. Aside from two cars, the lot was deserted. The red SUV pulled up to an empty space and stopped.
On foot, they followed the worn path up through trees of healthy brown bark and soft, green grass. The two goat monsters still could not believe that this was real, that this was their life. No more imprisonment. Fleck and Toriel strolled together, holding hands. Asgore trailed behind, transporting the precious cargo.
Close to the Underground entrance was a picnic area – a flat section of land overlooking the horizon and laid out with wooden picnic tables. It was there where the first of the surface dwellers were forever scarred by the sudden appearance of an overenthusiastically friendly skeleton in a fancy-dress costume, loudly proclaiming that they were the mascot of the newly appointed ambassador.
“Well, here we are,” Asgore said as they reached the spot, finding it empty. Asgore picked the cleanest table and set the load down on it. “I hope the others remembered.”
Toriel reached into her pocket, pulled out her phone, and checked the time displayed on the screen. “We are here early. They will make it.”
A short while later, at precisely half past ten, a tall skeleton bolted into the clearing, carrying a basket under his forearm. His red scarf ruffled in the warm, gentle breeze. “Nyeh heh heh,” Papyrus cackled like a Saturday morning cartoon villain. “Your majesty, your majesty’s clone, and the human. You’re here.”
Sans slinked out from behind one of the trees at the threshold, also carrying as basket. “What’s up, guys?” Like his brother, his wardrobe had not changed either, from his hoodie down to his slippers.
“I am glad that you were able to make it,” Toriel replied. A smile grew on her face. “Especially you, Sans.”
“Hey, Tori, I couldn’t not show up and leave you all high and dry.” Sans winked his eye socket. “Bone-dry, that is.”
Ba-dum pish!
“Sans!” Papyrus screamed over Sans’s and Toriel’s laughter. “Your insistent puns are the bane of my existence!”
Sans stopped laughing and asked, “And you’re smiling because…?”
“Self-assurance,” the Royal Guard hopeful answered, regaining his composure, “knowing that I am half the dork you are… or at the very least, a third… or maybe two-fifths even.”
“Whatever you say, Papyrus.” Sans turned back to Toriel. “Are Alphys and Undyne not here yet?”
“Not yet, let us hope they will be here soon,” Toriel answered.
They were there sooner that they thought. The other friends to the group – Undyne and Alphys – strolled side-by-side into the picnic area. Undyne was dressed in jean shorts, a tank top that showed her slender midriff, and her stomping, red boots. She may never get used to walking in anything else besides those. Alphys wore a wide-brimmed straw hat wrapped with a pink ribbon, and a white summer dress. Undyne carried a white and blue food cooler that – knowing her hatred of cold foods – would have been rigged by Alphys to keep food hot. Alphys carried a couple of plastic bags filled with paper packets.
“Hey, guys,” Undyne greeted.
Alphys pulled her hat up to get a better look at everyone. “Great to see you all again.”
The crew were reunited, altogether once again. Fleck felt happy to be surrounded by friends once more, even though most of them had tried to kill them in the past. They could still feel the heat of Toriel’s fire magic. The gravity of Papyrus’s fabled blue attack. A thousand spears coming down like rain. Asgore, destroying any option of mercy. Alphys indirectly with both her killer entertainment robot and the experiments in her lab… and a certain flower. The only one who had not actively tried to construct Fleck’s demise was Sans.
Everyone set their baskets, coolers, and bags down around the red and white blanket-laden table.
“Okay, everyone, let us see what we have,” Toriel said. She opened her food cooler. On the very top lay paper plates, plastic utensils, cups and napkins, which were all distributed amongst them. Three bottles of fizzy drink and a thermos filled with tea were placed evenly between them. “I hope you are all hungry, because I have brought…” She reached into the container and pulled out— “Lasagne. Penne in tomato and onion sauce. Beef and cheddar sandwiches. Homemade potato salad. Chocolate chip cupcakes. Sliced fruit shish kabobs… ” She stopped as she noticed the blanks stares from the others. Toriel narrowed her gaze on them. “I can make other things besides pie, you know.”
Asgore held up his hands defensively. “We weren’t going to say anything.” Something short of a chuckle threatened to escape from his mouth.
“You were about to.”
“We weren’t going to say anything. It’s just… you have baked so many pies that it’s odd to see you making anything else, that’s all.”
Sweat broke on Toriel’s forehead. “Serves me right for trying something new. I should just stick to pies in the future,” Toriel muttered to herself. “Well then, who wants to be next to show what they have brought?”
Papyrus hopped up and down in his seat. “Ooh, ooh! Let me, let me,” he announced like a giddy child. He placed his gloved hands into the basket and pulled out a silver platter. He pulled the lid off that platter to reveal an identical platter underneath. “You’ll never guess what I’ve brought.”
“Gee, whatever could it be,” Undyne said
sarcastically, tapping a finger against her cheek. “I don’t suppose it begins with an ‘S’ and ends with an ‘I’, does it?”
Papyrus laughed in his signature fashion. “Don’t be ridiculous. What do you take me for?” He whipped the lid off the second platter and revealed a mountain of pasta swimming in tomato sauce. “Behold, spaghett-Es: trademark!”
“Spaghett…Es?” Toriel reiterated, unsure of herself. “…Trademark?”
Everyone got a closer look at the bowl of pasta, Alphys adjusted her glasses. It looked like regular alphabet spaghetti, but upon closer inspection, only the letter ‘E’ comprised all the pieces.
“I, the great Papyrus, painstakingly collected these letters from a grand total of eighty-nine cans of alphabet spaghetti to construct the wonderment that you see before you,” he said loud and proud, setting the plate down on the table.
“Eighty-nine cans? Just to make that?” Toriel’s eyes were riveted to the platter, unsure of whether to be impressed or mortified. “That sounds like a big waste…”
Sans leaned over and whispered from out the side of his grinning mouth, “If you think it sounds bad, wait until you see it.”
“Nonsense,” Papyrus continued. “I have used the remaining letters to write a strongly worded letter to the company that sold me that uselessly low sink. Give me some credit, do you know how hard it is to write without using the letter ‘E’? I just replaced them with the threes from all those cans of numbered spaghetti—”
“Let us move on!” Toriel said quickly before Papyrus’s story could dig any deeper than it already had. “So, Sans,” she said, facing the shorter skeleton, “what did you bring to this picnic?”
Sans opened his basket. “Just the usual.” One-by-one, he pulled them out. “Ketchup; relish; mayonnaise; barbeque sauce; mustard; tartar sauce—” Sans was stopped by Fleck, who asked if he had brought any actual food besides condiments… or anything not for himself for that matter. “Oh, is that what we were supposed to be doing? I must’ve missed that part.”