Papyrus, a little overwhelmed with his new position as king, sits down to write letters to his dear friend. After all, who wouldn't want to hear about his cool life, especially when they're relaxing on vacation?
'I TRIED LEAVING YOU ANOTHER VOICEMAIL, BUT IT TURNS OUT ANSWERING MACHINES HAVE A LIMIT? WHICH I THINK IS SILLY. HOW CAN YOU ANSWER MESSAGES IF YOUR MACHINE CAN'T TAKE THEM IN THE FIRST PLACE? IT'S VERY STRANGE. I MISS YOU. PLEASE COME BACK. YOU ARE MY BEST FRIEND AND I LOVE YOU VERY MUCH. BELOW IS A PICTURE I DREW OF US BEING COOL, BECAUSE IT OCCURRED TO ME THAT ALL OF THE PICTURES OF US TOGETHER WERE AT YOUR HOUSE? AND I DON'T WANT TO ORDER ANYONE TO BREAK INTO IT, SO I HAD TO IMPROVISE. I HAVEN'T DRAWN BEFORE IN... EVER, NOW THAT I THINK ABOUT IT. I KNOW YOU'RE PROUD OF YOUR MUSCLES, SO I MADE THEM VERY BIG. I CAN'T REMEMBER HOW THEY LOOK, SORRY.'
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'MY OWN TALENT ASTOUNDS ME. I TRIED TO MAKE IT LOOK LIKE I WAS REACHING OUT MY ARMS IN A SHOW OF FRIENDSHIP, BUT IT LOOKS LIKE I'M SLAPPING YOU IN THE FACE. THAT WASN'T THE INTENTION OF THE PICTURE, AND EVEN IF IT WAS IT WOULD BE A GENTLE SLAP OF FRIENDSHIP. A PLATONIC NOGGIN-BOP.'
Papyrus shifted his long fingers uncomfortably around his quill, dipping it in the inkpot to his left, the aggressiveness of his motions causing it to spill and soak the table. He gasped. This table was expensive, it must have been. He had a ballpoint pen within arms reach, but he had already made the effort to use a quill, and thus decided it best to see it through, even if the ink smudged, even if he were clumsy. He grabbed a fistful of untouched, blank, paper, doing his best to dab at the stain, making it worse. He sighed, resuming.
'BEING THE KING IS--'
Papyrus mopped at his eyes, ignoring the great heaves of his shoulders that made his handwriting shake. Undyne, brash though she was, wasn't stupid. But he couldn't burden her, it just wasn't done.
'BEING THE KING IS GREAT! I GET TO HELP TONS OF COOL PEOPLE, AND SANS IS WORKING VERY, VERY HARD!'
Too hard. Sans hadn't slept in days. He swayed when he stood up too quickly.
'I MISS YOU. A LOT. THERE ARE LOTS OF FANCY THINGS TO DO WHEN YOU'RE KING, BUT I CAN BARELY REMEMBER ALL OF THEM. I DON'T WANT TO BE KING, BUT IF I'M NOT, THEN SOMEONE ELSE WILL BE. WITH THE WAY THINGS ARE, I WOULDN'T WISH THAT ON ANYONE.'
He paused, astounded at himself for getting carried away. He groaned, head in his hands, and pulled out another crisp sheet of paper, setting about copying his message with any unnecessary, depressing, additions. He picked up the ballpoint pen, having discarded his quill. They were so unwieldy. That ink would never come out, he thought.
'YO UNDYNE!'
He discarded that one as well.
'DEAR UNDYNE--'
The Underground had descended into chaos.
With no heir to the throne and nobody worthy to be mantled as a successor riots had broken out, there was no Captain of the Guard, there was no king to rule them, there was no hidden queen to slip from the shadows with gentle words and guidance, there were no children to be given the titles in name only, until they were old enough to truly rule. Dead. All dead. Or at least on vacation.
