The Lady Of Mercy {A Mafiatale Story}

¤ ×{C3: Let's Gala}× ¤

The smile did not leave the don's smooth ivory visage, greeting every guest who approached him, each giving him praises of acknowlegment. His snow white eyes were beaming with grace, and naturally, the two black markings that adorned his face was no match of intimidation against the total cold aura he emits, enough for the others to keep a 'safe' distance from him.

Everywhere you look, the guests were obviously aristocrats, not a single one of them merely owned a penny, nor were they satisfied with only what they currently have. But most importantly, they were the Dreemurr's trusted partners in businesses, and none had nothing to offer. They all belonged to their own honorable families. And the Gasters were considered highest amongst all of them.

"Ladies and gentlemen. All rise to the presence of His Majesty, and Her Highness, King Asgore an Queen Toriel Dreemurr, with their son the Crown Prince Asriel." the herald, a froggit announced in such pizzazz.

Revealing the three monsters that held Ebott's total power, the guests bowed in an act of respect. Don Gaster kept his act as the royal advisor, and since, of course, he did not have the right and position to oppose and object, he bowed on as well.

Soon...That throne will be mine, Asgore, he thought as his pupils focused on the carpetted ground, his soul overflowing with crave, jealousy, and selfishness.

"My dear and distinguished subjects.", the tallest, King Asgore begun, as they all hushed to listen. "I would like to take this opportunity to express my most sincere gratitude for the years that each and every one of us spent, and cherished, fortifying our strongholds for the sake of a brighter future..."

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The winds were still amidst the centre of people in their last resting place. Buttercups of bright yellow petals did the hula upon contact with the soft caress of the breeze, all except for the batch of the said kind of floral he held in his hand, wrapped in blue paper. He slowly bent to set it on one of the graves, next to a tombstone, which seemed to be decorated with golden flowers instead of moss.

[Here lies, Dr. Frisk Clemency.
"To a journey in which, her mercy was sent."]

"Good day, m'lady." the skeleton bowed, taking his fedora off to his chest, before proceeding to sit in front of the gravestone, dusting it with his ivory skeletal fingers. He popped the cork of a bottle of ketchup open with a dagger, pouring some of its contents to the ground, before chugging a bit down.

"Sorry." he chuckled, "I know ya don't like to drink ketchup." he sighed, staring at the carvings, his hand feeling the texture of the engravements of her name.

"I'm sorry. I guess I couldn't give the mercy ya wanted to show everyone." he gritted his teeth in immense anguish, tears beginning to flow down his cheeks, "There's no point in showing them any, my lady. Especially not when th-they... They d-did this to ya!" he cried, feeling the pain in his soul, either because of the huge blow his loss gave him, or because of the fact that the effect of the soul implanted in him was weakening.

As he wept, however, his pupils caught sight of the shimmering glint of the dagger he brought with him as a 'cork-screw'. How come he did not notice himself actually taking it with him?

Wiping his tears away, he observed the blade, turning it in different angles, with his pinpricks always landing its gaze on the inscribed noticeably infamous golden LM.

"Dr. Clemency has passed away."

Looking back at her supposed grave, he frowned, knowing that this was merely her memorial site. Her body was never here, nor was it brought.

The memory of walking into the house of his beloved only to find nothing but a pile of blood, was still fresh in his mind as he could still picture that moment. Yet for some reason, everybody believed she was dead, although the fact that her body was missing was what he feared most. Who knows whatever happened to it? Could it be that she actually lived? Or rotten through all these years? How come no trace of it was found, except for the blood puddle, indicating that a murder took place.

He toyed the knife a little.

"The Mercys, ey?"

He stared down to look at his own reflection on the blade. He could see the dark circles underneath both his eye sockets, as well as the incoming darkness of his atmosphere.

"Where did they bury her?"

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Back at the gala, we see Don Gaster timidly tapping his right foot as he took a sip of the champagne he held, his pinpricks wandering around the hall, seeming not at all content. Where is he?, he thought in annoyance, noticing time, as always, does not wait for anyone, even in the matters of life and death.

His gaze however, landed on a certain tall figure with golden locks, as well as his neatly groomed beard, a pair of majestically nature-granted horns, and the glinting golden crown that sat on top of his head. His whole white-furred being was suited in a black tuxedo, a purple necktie, and his flowing maroon cape. The man approached Gaster, a warm smile planted on his sunshine expression. His son, whose features much resembled of his father except for the fact that he was all suited in a light green suit, followed after him, willing to greet the sophisticated don.

"Howdy, mi amigo! [Howdy, my friend!]" the taller cheered, extending his paw for him to shake, "It's really nice to see you finally join the party. I kept sending you various invitations, but for some reason, you refuse to go. Is there a reason?"

At this, WingDing matched the other's grin, accepting and proceeding to shake his hand. "Not at all, Your Majesty. I deeply apologize for my continuous absences, but I seem to be stuck under piles of work. Being a royal advisor and all." he chuckled, along with Asgore's booming laughter.

"Work? Señor Gaster, I believe it wouldn't hurt to have a little fun to come in a man's way, would it?" he grinned, "After all, as much as we appreciate all your good deeds for the sake of our kingdom, this could be a chance for us to show you our sincerest gratitude. A gift for your everlasting loyalty?"

"Loyalty..." he muttered silently, a smile creeping its way to his pale ivory lips. He liked that word so much, he wanted to laugh. Loyalty, he says. Insolent hypocrites.

To him, he thought of only his side had the right to be entitled for such a thing. Seeing the Dreemurrs secretly siding with a bunch of unknown syndicates made him proud to realize that only he was loyal to the higher ups.

And because of that, he plotted to accuse them of treason, as well as the goal to be seated on the throne, all for loyalty, this was his philosophy.

I am loyal to the people, Asgore.

This city shall be the prize for my 'hard work'. Once I rightfully claim all of Ebott, let's see who gets the last laugh.

"Sorry to mention, but I thought Sans would be attending tonight." the younger goat monster piped up, realizing the absence of his so-called 'friend'. Asgore seemed to have also noticed that, giving the skeleton a skeptical look, "Oh yes, that boy... He always attends our galas as your proxy, did he decided not to come now that you are here?"

"I made him do some errands. He'll be here for a bit." he reassured, silently cursing inside. Indeed, his son was very late, he can't wait to give him both an earful, and a good smacking.

"Hoho, look at this man." the king chuckled in mockery, yet in a cheerful way, "Today is a day of celebration! And as a father, you really need to stop pestering him a handful of orders, he deserves this break."

"What about the deposed princess?" the don shot back innocently, catching the monarch off guard. WingDing could only grin a little in amusement, pretending to be concerned, "Is this not the party you prepared for her? I wonder what is taking her so long?"

He could sense Asgore gritting his teeth, as well as clenching his fist, his grip on the glass tightening, much to Gaster's satisfaction. Although he clearly looked a tad pissed, he remain his cool and beamed as always. There are many guests everywhere, he would not risk on giving out a bad image. So he decided to cough in an uncomfortable manner, "Watch wherever your smart tongue is headed, my Don." he gazed onwards, leaning to whisper on where Gaster's ear should be, "You might lose sight of it."

The don was unwavered as Asgore went on to greet the other newcomers with his signature fatherly smile.