Can You Hear Me? *REWRITE*

Not His Forte

Your plan was flawless in theory, and so far, the execution equally so. Sure, you'd come up with this little 'prank' in less than 10 minutes (a new record), but you knew it was a good one. You weren't lying when you told Sans he'd started a war.

One thing you did not plan for though was this little interlude. You forgot to account for what helping someone with a somewhat menial task included: small talk.

Oh, you were fine at small talk. Fine when you were in full (y/n), singer/ songwriter mode, but currently you were fluctuating somewhere in between you and not you. The video game tournament had definitely loosened you up a bit, but you were still firmly trying to portray someone just a little better. And to be honestly, regular (y/n) was horrible at small talk. One of your go to questions was "how's the weather" and frankly that spoke for itself.

Toriel was already bustling around the kitchen when you arrived— pulling a pie from the fridge and setting it on the stove, removing the cover before simply settling her hands (paws?) on either side. The air felt fuzzy for a moment before her paws (yeah, you were going with paws— they were too soft looking to be anything but) began to admit a soft orange glow.

Magic! Your mind supplied as you gawked. You knew magic was very possible now, but you'd never actually seen it in action like this. Toriel glanced up after noticing your stillness and let out a soft laugh.

"Fire magic, my child. I firmly believe there is nothing quite like it when it comes to baking."

"That's... kind of amazing," you smiled. "It smells delicious."

"I am pleased you think so. Would you mind pulling down some plates, and finding some cutlery?"

"Sure!" You chirped, trotting further into the small kitchen and reaching for the first cupboard you reached. It took you a few tries, but eventually you selected the right door and drawer that led you to your goal, counting out enough plates and forks for everyone. You also managed to tack down a pie server and placed it on the counter next to Toriel with everything else. But once that task was done you were left with silence, and nothing to fill it with.

It wasn't an uncomfortable silence per say, but it wasn't companionable either. You didn't want to just leave, since you'd followed to help, but now you didn't know what to do with your hands. Or where to stand.

So, how's the weather? your mind supplied helpfully, as you settled for leaning against the counter with your arms crossed loosely. A thought occurred to you as you searched for something to say. Mettaton was friends with the monster ambassador. The monster ambassador was Frisk. Frisk was the adopted child of the monsters' queen. Toriel was Frisk's adopted mother. Toriel was the queen. And you were standing there wearing a silly fake crown after being pronounced 'queen' of the impromptu game contest.

"Oh my gosh, I just realized how insensitive this must be," you gasped, pulling the crown off your head and gesturing to it when Toriel glanced your way. She laughed, freeing one hand from baking to wave dismissively.

"Not at all, my child! Mettaton brings that silly thing every time. There is not a person in the other room who has not been named 'queen' of something."

"Like?" you couldn't help but prod, smiling genuinely now. But, regardless of her reassurance you gently placed the crown on the counter beside you.

"Oh, what have we not been named as," she snickered, dispelling the fire magic in favour of a knife to cut the pie evenly with. "Queen of legs, queen of science, queen of flexing, queen queen, queen of being great. The list goes on."

You hummed thoughtfully, trying to assign the proper titles based on what you knew of those present. It wasn't that hard. "That certainly seems like something he'd start." You grabbed the stack of empty plates ready to be loaded with pie and took up a position beside her.