A collection of inane nonsense (ranging from Error being reincarnated as Palette to Dust finding a new love for the color pink) circling around the many AUs and Multiverses of the Undertale world. Some stories will be connected; Others will be rando...
Summary: Killer and Horror are concerned about their new teammate.
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Killer trod the cold, candlelit halls of the castle he'd taken residence in with a wide grin stretched along his jaws. Trailing a few paces behind were Horror and their small team's new rookie, Cross- a Sans, much like themselves.
The skeleton's figure had that particular stockiness signature to most Sanses, except less on the rotund side and more on the well-built warrior side; his height reached just an inch taller than Killer's. (No, he wasn't jealous. Not in the slightest!)
Each step Cross made flexed the invisible muscles hiding beneath his heavily layered clothing. (The eyelightless murderer definitely wasn't jealous of that either.)
However, despite the other's envy-inspiring physique, his aura held a sense of solemn acceptance; defeat. A trait only magnified by the lifeless, red/white orbs in his eye sockets and blank expression. (To think other monsters thought Killer was emotionless. At least he emoted more than a bag of potato chips.) It didn't help that the fuzz lining the collar of his black and white jacket drooped in a way akin to wet dog fur.
Like a kicked puppy left out in the rain, the eldest member of Nightmare's gang thought. Me and Horror will have to do something about that.
Teach him how to have real fun- playing in the rain to track mud all over the castle (and anger Nightmare), leaving soap in Nightmare's slippers, throwing plates out the kitchen window, blowing glitter in Dream's eye sockets mid-battle, and all the good stuff. Maybe I'll be able to convince him to put a fake mustache on Nightmare while he's sleeping.
Better yet, we all need to get fake mustaches and see how long we can walk around that hub AU Ink created before anyone recognizes us! And I'll find Ink's address and send him a pineapple pizza- No, wait, he'd probably like that.
Might even put chocolate syrup to it too.
Killer fought down the urge to grimace at the mental image. Once the feeling passed, he chanced a glance toward his colleagues. Horror and Cross still dutifully followed behind, and the light frown alongside the worried glances his oldest companion sent the rookie did not go unnoticed. Something to ask about when they got a bit more privacy. Or, in other words, successfully ditched their monochrome shadow for the day.
(Who knows why Nightmare thought they were qualified to babysit him in the first place. Their leader hardly trusted them to look after the herbal-smelling plants he had growing in the library. And that was on good days.)
Maintaining his smile, Killer turned the corner leading into the second floor's west wing (where all the bedrooms were). Nonexistent eyelights scanned the numerous oak doors before landing on the one right after his and Horror's rooms. He led the way toward it, only stopping to swing the door open and use one arm to gesture inside. All the while, proclaiming, "And here we are!"
Cross took a few tentative steps into the room, vigilantly combing over the sparsely furnished area. In an eerily monotone voice, he stated, "Ah, so this is my resting place."
"Resting place? Heh, you make it sound like you're already dead." Killer snorted, raising an invisible eyebrow.
The warrior's head turned in his direction, empty eyelights boring into his target-shaped soul. "Aren't we all just biding our time until the inevitable winds of fate turn us into sand?"
That successfully managed to get the forsaken Sans' smile to drop.
"Uh. Sure, buddy. How about you make yourself comfortable..." His sentence trailed off, brows pinching in concern as he watched Cross promptly lay face-first on the stone floor, listless and not all that dissimilar to a corpse. The following words hesitantly, if not uncertainly, brushed past his teeth, "And then we can t-talk about decorations?"
Silence hung in the air.
Killer carefully used a foot to nudge the other, earning not even a single budge or sign of life.
"Eugh." A grimace marred his skull, and he shuddered as a chill ran down his spine, taking several steps backward until he stood next to Horror. "I'm starting to think we should have let Dream take this one. He's kinda depressing. And in a way I'm not sure any amount of fun can help."
"...yeah," Horror mumbled, expression equal unnerved while his enlarged red eyelight fixated on their new teammate. "Should I... get a stick?"
"Uh, not yet. Let's wait a few minutes before we start poking him."
