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: Everyone knows that a fake mustache is a perfect disguise.
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(Warning: This chapter contains mild swearing.)
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Nightmare hummed a low, melodic tune. Each dark, viscous tendril protruding from his back swayed in time with the short melody, occasionally stopping to help him achieve his current goal: pulling apart a small bread loaf and spreading the tiny pieces on the grassy ground.
The surrounding waterfowl (ducks, swans, and geese) greedily nibbled at the bread crumbs deftly sprinkled in front of the bench he occupied. Some - primarily the geese alongside a single swan - were even bold enough to pluck the food right from between his grimy phalanges. Soft as well as somewhat demanding/pleading quacks and honks filled the air while they ate, leading to a sneaking suspicion that these birds were a little more spoiled than they should be.
Nevertheless, the Guardian of Negativity welcomed their undivided attention and continued to unwind in his spot and dole out bread for the grabby beaked mouths.
It was surprisingly enjoyable; relaxing- holding a peacefulness highlighted by the temperate weather, clear blue skies, warm shining sun, and sheer lack of additional people in the pond area (likely having been scared off due to his presence). The whole situation had long since prompted a light smile to rest along his jaws.
The type of tender, caring smile worn around his boys (and possibly, many ages ago, around his brother).
Though, he dared not consider bringing them to participate. Killer and Cross would, without a doubt, attempt to feed the local wildlife something weird- whether that something be chocolate, an amputated limb, or spaghetti. None of which were healthy for most if not all animals. As for Horror, Nightmare knew the broken-skulled monster well enough that he could confidently say allowing him around may very well add roasted duck, goose, or swan to tonight's dinner menu.
Something not wanted in the slightest.
Perhaps the negativity-laden skeleton had grown soft, for he'd become quite fond of the elegant black swan and other water-loving avians in the short time he spent feeding them thus far. The way they squawked and nipped at each other while trying to monopolize the food reminded him of his boys. And how the three troublemakers jabbed at their nearest neighbor with cutlery when getting served at the dinner table and the way voices raised when someone stole the last piece of bacon.
