#maybe there's space for a paps x concierge down the road...

[twentydaysofdrabbles]

The Concierge’s Day Off - ...And... (Part 32)

True to Sans’ word, the food is good. Better than good, even. Though by habit, you test it for poisons. 

Touch lips, stop. Touch tongue, stop. Chew, stop. Swallow, stop.

No tingling or numbing sensations outside that of heat and spice. No sense of wrongness, or the heavy taste of magic. 

Safe. And delicious.

“good, right?” Sans rumbles at you, halfway through his spaghetti. “boss knows what he’s doin’.” Though his crimson eye lights gleam at you, like he knew what you were doing. You suppose monsters might not have much use for poison, but among humans it’s exceedingly popular.

You nod in response, a soft sound of satisfaction coming from your throat as you take another bite. 

The peace doesn’t last very long, however. You’re only maybe halfway through your lasagna when someone comes in through the door. You flick your attention to them, your face still forward, your eyes to the side slightly so you can look at them out of your peripheral vision. 

Purpose. Intent. On a mission. No weapons in hand, one on hip. Smartly dressed, fedora hat. Monster. 

Sans is unbothered, not even looking at the newcomer. 

Not hostile. 

You don’t relax, but you certainly don’t gear up for a fight. 

“Sans,” they say, a little out of breath as they come up to the table. Ah, a more masculine voice. ‘He’ perhaps, until you find out otherwise. “We got ‘em.”

The skeleton monster grins wider at the news. He leans back in his seat, waves the...underling away. “Be there in a moment,” he drawls, licking across his teeth in a familiar gesture, with a familiar look. “Just let me finish my dinner first.”

You had continued to eat as if nothing had happened, patting at your lip with your napkin. “If you need to go, please don’t let me stop you.” You’re almost done with your meal anyway.

Rather than run off, Sans just leers at you. As he does, you place that familiar look - bloodlust. He polishes off the rest of his spaghetti, pats his teeth clean with his napkin, and purrs, “oh sweetheart, it’s going to be dinner and a show.”

You can only guess what this ‘show’ is. If it’s connected to the information he had bought and the phone call...

Well. You’d never wish a long, painful death on anyone.

Inclining your head, you take a sip of water. “I see.” 

Sans seems to wait for you to say something more. He waits but a moment more before he asks, “wanna go see a show, sweetheart?”

A pause. You could benefit a lot from going with him - inner operations, at the very least interrogation techniques. At the cost of watching someone you know die. 

Well, it’s not as if you were overly familiar with the Lieutenant; even if you did some contract work for her a long time ago. 

The Manager would like to know any intelligence you can bring back.

So you nod, taking another sip of water. “I would enjoy that, Mister Sans.”

Sans groans playfully, slouching in his seat. “i’ll get ya ta drop the ‘mister’ in public soon, sweetcheeks.”

A smile threatens to tip your lips up. “You may try, Mister Sans.”

“SANS, STOP ANNOYING THE CONCIERGE.”

The almost smile on your face drops immediately and you look up with dead eyes towards the towering skeleton chef. “Mister Papyrus.”

“CONCIERGE,” he tips his head at you, then gestures at your clean plate. “I HOPE YOU ENJOYED YOUR MEAL.”

“I did. It was delicious, thank you.” You incline your head in kind. 

“hey, not gonna ask me if i enjoyed my meal?” 

Papyrus growls and turns his blood red pips for eye lights on his brother, his sockets narrowed dangerously. “I DON’T CARE IF YOU LIKED IT OR NOT, AS LONG AS YOU FINISHED IT. NOW, WHAT’S THIS ABOUT A ‘SHOW’?” 

Sans shrugs, downing the rest of his drink. “wanna come with?”

“YOU’RE NOT ANSWERING THE QUESTION, BONEHEAD.”

As much as you’re enjoying their banter, you’re not sure anyone else in the restaurant is. Particularly since Papyrus is so very, very loud. 

“what, you feelin’ like a third wheel?”

“MY GOOD FOR NOTHING BROTHER, YOU WILL EXPLAIN THIS ‘SHOW’ TO ME RIGHT THIS MOMENT OR--”

“you don’t have ta worry ‘bout stealin’ the spotlight. ‘m sure sweetheart only has eyes fer me.”

“SANS--”

“gotta give ya props though, sweetheart’s a right catch.”

“STOP--”

“welp, this situation is theatre-iorating quickly.”

A low growl precedes the summoning of a big, red bone, big as a club and no doubt as lethal. It smashes on the table between you and Sans, and by perhaps the precision of a man who knows how to use his weapon of choice, the bone doesn’t even come close to grazing your legs. Sans’, on the other hand, have to move swiftly out of the way before Papyrus shatters them just like he did the table.

“I WILL END YOU.”

“if ya wanted an encore, ya should’ve just said.”

A truly disgusted scream can be heard from outside the restaurant.