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...
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Reaper stood in front of a near-empty kitchen sink, cloak sleeves rolled up and hands vigorously scrubbing way at a plate's particularly stubborn stain. One that almost felt like it might have given his beloved husband a run for his money - and that was saying a lot, considering how determined the Aftertale skeleton had been - but Geno would have gotten the job done in the end.
Alas, certain unfortunate circumstances meant the laborious task solely fell on the death god's shoulders.
His arms ached while he worked away at the grime, and his hand throbbed as its phalanges tightly gripped the scrub brush he forcefully dragged along the plate's surface.
Thankfully, his current chore was nigh complete.
On the adjacent countertop sat sparkling clean dishes; pots, pans, bowls, et cetera left sitting out on either a dish rag or metal rack to dry. Only two cups (a glass and a short plastic cup) and a few pieces of silverware along with the plate clutched his hands remained.
After finishing them, he could finally take a short break before going about his regular job.
Then he would need to work a "little" overtime.
Again.
King Asgore (or Chief, in Multiverse scenes) had begun cracking down on the Death & Reaping department quite harshly the last few weeks. More than blatantly attempting to get into the good graces of the Star Sanses (Ink, Dream, Blue, and anyone else apart of their "merry" band) by having Reaper and his brother, Grim, take care of nonlocal deaths- i.e., deaths that occurred outside of their AU. Alongside their usual duties in Reapertale. Which, in turn, left both senior Gods of Death with little to no time for themselves.
And even littler time to focus on things such as dirty dishes.
The scrub brush-wielding hand pulled away from the plate, revealing a sight that irked the raven-winged god to no end.
Not a single dent laid in the grime.
Reaper bit back an aggravated groan and glared at the stubborn filth.
At this point, it seemed like a hopeless endeavor to continue attempted to clean it; Nothing he had tried thus far yielded any results. Not scrubbed. Not soaking. Not even the industrial-strength cleaners kept locked up under the sink.
Thus, leaving him with little more to do than discard the dish.
A rather wasteful option, in the death god's opinion.
Maybe the Goddess of War, Undyne, would appreciate the stained plate instead? She was hardly one to turn down a challenge, and this seemed to fit that criteria.
Reaper shook his head.
Nah. I'll toss it and pick up another to replace it while I'm working. There is bound to be at least one person who won't miss a dining plate.
