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The ceiling fans spun lazily. They didn’t really do much when the bar was in full swing, but now after hours they slowly started to clear the smoke out of the air.
Didn’t do much for the smell, but Sans wouldn’t have felt comfortable in a bar that didn’t smell like tobacco, booze, and generic monster stink.
Grillbz crackled softly, behind the counter. He topped off Sans’ glass one more time. The ice clinked slightly. They both knew he wasn’t supposed to serve customers after hours, but they both also knew he wasn’t supposed to sell alcohol, either… so who’s gonna complain.
Sans stared down into the clear liquid and let his mind wander. He remembered what some zozzled idiot had said the other day. ‘The pro-bitions, best thin’ thad ever happened to this town!’ Course that was before the drunkard ran face first into a cop car. Literally. Sans grinned a little just thinkin’ about it.
Grillbz finished wiping down the bartop. The damn thing sparkled. Never let it be said the Grillby didn’t take pride in his craft… no matter how illegal it was.
i should prob’ly move.
Sans just lowered his elbows onto the bar and sunk further down onto his stool. Grillbz wouldn’t throw him out, for some reason the fire elemental seemed fond of ‘em and he sure wasn’t gonna start complaining.
Grillby finished up his work and switched off the neon sign behind the counter. It meant he was done for the night and was gonna either find this place locked up in the morning with the lights off or he was gonna find this place locked up in the morning with the lights off and a hungover skeleton asleep on the floor. Sans didn’t think Grillbz cared which way the coin flipped as long as the doors were locked.
Grillby nodded his goodbye and put on his coat. Sans raised two fingers in acknowledgement, but made no move to get up. His dim eye-lights were transfixed by the dull glow still emanating from the powered off sign.
‘Grillby’s Ice Chest’... what kinda name in that anyway… sure a guy can appreciate the joke, gettin’ a fire-monster to run an icebox but still…
Most everybody Sans knew just called the speakeasy Grillby’s, and they all knew the front for the drum was that ‘Dragon’s Hoard Antiques’ place run by that shifty old coot, Gerson. Everybody knew this bar was here and that the shop was a front, even the damn cops. Hell, Sans had seen a couple of the bluebloods getting sloshed at one of tables behind ‘im. But nobody could ever get a straight answer out of the bartender. The man just claimed the name wasn’t his idea.
...maybe it’s ‘cause of the dame that owns this part of town… she runs the ruins and the hoard-
Sans laughed out right. He felt like an idiot for never realizing that she’d been makin’ joke. The apartments down the street were called the Ruins and so it was just the name for this little slice of city. She’d owned all the buildings on the block, The Ruins, The Dragon’s Hoard, and The Ice Chest.
it’s the damned treasure chest! were all the money’s comin’ and goin’ and it’s hidden in the dragon’s hoard out in the goddamn ruins!
God, if that didn’t just make his whole damned day. The ice/fire thing had just been a cute way to hide the real joke. Sans sat there on his stool and laughed into his drink. This lady might just be the smartest skirt in the whole city, and not a soul’s ever met her. Except Grillby and Gerson… and maybe that Froggit lady who manages the low rent apartments. She’d been the first to put boots on the ground, so to speak, when this prohibition thing hit. She found an old retired cop who liked a good glass of scotch from time to time and who needed a place to keep his junk. Then she found the best damn no-nonsense bartender in this half of country. And at long last she got in contact with the spooks who make for mighty slick runners. Now she’s making a hell of a living and bought up the surrounding buildings just to help cushion her worst kept secret.
and she did it the smart way, she found the right people and let them run it the way they wanted to ‘cause they knew how to get the job done… and yet she’s got time and the composure to still make her whole operations a great big joke… i wonder if that’s how she sees all this… just a grand joke…
He could feel his mood starting to sink again. no. i’m not gonna let this ruin my mood… if this lady wants to see the world as a joke then i’ll give’r one… hell i’ll give’r a bunch. Sans scooped up is drink and staggered off his stool, if he was gonna finish this day off with a bang then he was gonna do it right. The lights were still on so it wasn’t quite right for a real comedy act, but it’d do. He left his overcoat and hat on the stool next to him and walked in a mostly straight line towards the stage’s stairs.
And slowly- climbed- each- step. Trying to make sure his drink didn’t slip on to the stage.
It wasn’t the best layout for a bar, having the stage and the backstage rooms so nearby the busy part of the joint, but Grillby made it work. And the entertainment was pretty damn spectacular so nobody bothered to complain about the awkward table placement, all heavily condensed to one side of the open floor.
Glass in hand, Sans plopped down onto the edge of the stage letting his feet hang over the side. If he wasn’t careful he’d lose a slipper to the villainous clutches of gravity. Sans cleared his throat and began speaking to the empty room.
“evening’ tables n’ chairs, thanks for coming out here today, ‘thout you i wood have to call it quits on my comedy career. although as it stands i think i could still use a leg up in the world, or at least a stool.” Sans snickered.
The ceiling fans swished quitely.
“so let’s get this shindig started, yeah?”, he continued and knocked sharply on the stage with his phalanges.
*Knock Knock* “knock knock.”, without waiting for a response from the empty room he continued the joke, “coffin for…. coffin for you.”
*Knock Knock* “knock knock…. ira…. ira-gret getting out of bed.”
*Knock Knock* “knock knock…. wire…. wire we here? why is anybody here? let’s just have a drink.” Sans took another swig from his drink.
why am i here… what am i tryin’ to find… ‘sides the bottom of a bottle…
Sans sighed. His bones felt heavy and sore. He took another sip.
*Knock Knock* “knock knock-”
“Who is there?”, asked the empty room.
Sans tensed. His eye-lights darted around the room trying to find the source of the voice. He couldn’t find anyone. He glanced down into the cup he was holding. i know this crap’s coffin varnish, but what the hell else are they lacin’ it with…
Sans waited for several more seconds, the room did not speak again. So Sans continued the joke, “dishes…”
“Dishes who?”, the decidedly female room answered back.
“dishes a closed joint… who the hell are you?”, Sans replied in a much calmer and collected voice than he ought to have been cable of given his drunken state.
A shadow moved on the narrow catwalk connected to the upstairs office. The stairs for the short walkway and tiny second floor, crammed in the extra second floor storage space for Gerson’s shop, were rickety old things that looked like they hadn’t been used since before the Great War. Underneath them were the piles of crates and storage supplies for the bar. The railed balcony overlooked the whole space quite nicely, and was paired exactly opposite from the stage.
“I, the hell, am the Owner.”, the large shadow stated cooly. “And who might you be?”
Before Sans could even try to form a semi-intelligible answer his alcohol muddled brain spit out the first think it thought of, “i liked your joke.”
The women shifted slightly to lean on the old rotted railing, it creaked dangerously. “Excuse me?, she inquired. Genuine confusion seemed to echo in her words.
Sans coughed slightly, mostly to buy him a few seconds to actually figure out what to say, “um… the joke with the names…” He used his free hand to gesture to the neon sign hung behind the bar.
“Ahh, yes. Grillby working somewhere with an ice themed name. It was a cute idea.”, she dismissed easily, but before she could go on Sans spoke again.
“nah, not that one.”
The rail creaked as the shadow shifted, “At the risk of sounding repetitive, excuse me?”
“the names deal… ya know with the ruins and the dragon’s hoard and the ice chest…”, Sans explained slowly, as the thought occurred to him that maybe the naming joke had been unintentional.
A loud guffawing laugh filled the room, before Sans had a chance to stick his foot farther in this booze-slurred mouth. “Thank you!”, the woman giggled in between breaths, “You are the first person to notice.”
“sure thing, lady…”, Sans looked into his cup once again, before setting it’s unfinished contents to the side. First thing in the morning he was telling Grillbz to pitch the whole shipment. Something was obviously very wrong with the booze because this sure as hell wasn’t actually happening. This train of thought hiccupped into the next and all too soon Sans felt his mouth say things without checking for his approval first, “hey, lady don’t get mad at grillbz.”
By now her delighted giggling and died down, “Oh? And why ever would I be upset with him?”
Something about the way she talked, left Sans feeling… underdressed. It was like she was from some ritzy neighborhood in East End insteada here, riding the line between the monster side of town and the human side. A physcologically self-imposed separation, of course , at least that’s what the politicians keep saying. He glanced down at his clothes and regretted it. House slippers, muddy sleep-rumpled trousers, and an equally sleep-rumpled button up with quite a few stains and mismatched rolled-up sleeves. His suspenders uselessly pooled around him on the stage and the tie that went with this getup was either stuffed in his overcoat’s pocket or on the floor of his closet at the home. “ya know, la- miss, fer’ not kicking me out when he locked up.”
“Goodness, no. I completely trust Grillby to manage this establishment in whatever way he deems appropriate, as long as the numbers all check then I have no complaints. Besides’ if Grillby thinks you are trustworthy, then you undoubtedly are. He does not make snap decisions about anything.” She remarked airily.
Sans snorted at her words, “i don’t think it’s trust… the guy prob’ly pit-y ’s me, er something. i mean givin’ the state of my clothes he probably thought i climbed outta a grave. heh, guess the diggers thought someone of my stature didn’t need the full six feet.” Sans snickered.
The women laughed, but it wasn’t like the way she had earlier. Not that deep, full body laugh. “Cute… But it does make me wonder if you always turn to self-deprecating humor when in a pinch?”
“welp, when i’m the easiest target in the room, why wouldn’t i?”, Sans shot back.
“Hmmm… I think you might be selling yourself short, but from all the way up here I cannot tell~”, the woman hummed. It was like she was trying to lighten his mood, but he didn’t know why.
“thanks for trying lady and i’m kinda sir -prised that i’m gonna say this, but i think you miss the point.”, Sans replied in an effort to lighten the conversation as well, and to see if he could get this maybe hallucination to laugh again… she had a really great laugh.
And she did not disappoint. Her laugh filled the space. She might be the best audience he’s ever had. “And would you be knife enough to point me in the right direction?”, she inquired a grin obvious in her words.
“as a pun-conocer, yourself, you really ought to know that if you can’t laugh at your own short -comings then how are ya’ supposed ta’ knock everybody else off their high horses?”, Sans answered with a wink.
Now they both laughed. Sans felt better. Not a ‘I’m cured and life is good’ kinda better, but the ‘laughter is the best medicine’ kinda better. “Thank you, my friend for that wonderful insight… so may I ask again who you might be? I like to know the names of any fellow joke-enthusiast I come across, for there are too few of us left.”
Sans smirked up at the shadow, “makes sense for us to extinct -sually stick together, birds of a feather ‘n all that, so why don’t we make a trade? your name for mine?”
“Oh! Well how is that fair, I have asked twice, certainly you must tell my your name first…”, the woman grumbled.
“third times the charm then, aye… ‘sides lady’s first.”, he smirked back.
The woman sniffed, “Quite, the gentleman you are…”
“oh yeah, i’m a real skeleton crusader. me, the drunk guy you met talking to ‘imself in an illegal establishment after hours…”, the sarcasm dripped heavily in his words.
She snorted indignantly. “Very well… I suppose you can call me… MissTori .”
“heh. you’re quite the Mystery already shadowy figure nobody’s ever met, but sure miss tori it is.”, Sans laughed, but didn’t continue.
“Now, I believe it is your turn to tell me what people call you?”, Miss Tori said after a beat of silence.
“most people just say, ‘hey smartass’, but in polite company everybody just calls me sans.”, he replied cheekily.
“I see…”, she hummed thoughtfully. “I suppose the next question should be, what we do for a living? And as you already know, I am an entrepreneur of sorts, so that leaves this question to you. What do you do for a living, Smartass?”
Sans through his head and laughed outright. I hadn’t been sure where Miss Tori had been trying to take this, but he hadn’t expected that. “suppose, you don’t consider yourself polite company, do ya’?”, Sans asked with a laugh.
“Of course not. I am far too involved with illegal business practices to deal with those kinds of formalities. As for my previous question, I choose to redact it.”, she snarked back.
“oh, why’s that? lost interest or didya figure it out?”, Sans hummed back.
The shadow straightened to adjust her clothes and Sans could see that her head was higher than the door frame. she’s very tall… seven feet easy… Miss Tori answered, her airy tone had returned, “I have figured it out, rather simple actually. With all the evasion you are doing you must be a lawyer.”
Sans snorted, “not a snowball’s chance in hell, miss tori.” He slapped his knees while he laughed at the sheer idea of him standing there in a courtroom looking stuffed. She huffed in irritation, she probably wasn’t a fan of being laughed at. Sans recollected himself before continuing, “though the laws’ a bad place to start… in my line a’work i got know all about them, so i can bend them to fit my terms.”
“So then are you some kind of police detective? For if you are I believe I would have heard of you before this…”, she commented.
“that’s still gonna be a big ol’ nega- tori ,” Sans continued with a smile, “i’ll give you another clue though, i consider myself more of a glorified photographer than anything else.”
“Are you paparazzi, or perhaps a member of the ever prestigious ‘if it bleeds it leads’ crew?”, she continued to play this game with him.
“not a fan of the press?” At her negative response he went on, “i can’t really blame ya’ i hate gettin’ my name in the paper, too… but that rag’s normally good for cleaning the sticky gunk off of my shoes.” i wonder if i could look in the papers’ archives for a monster woman with the name ‘tori’ and find somethin’ about her…
“Was that another hint?”, she asked skeptically. When Sans only nodded she fell silent. She was clearly thinking and Sans didn’t want to interrupt her train of thought. “... sticky shoes…” Sans heard her murmur to herself. welp, she’s on the right track let’s see if she’s as clever as she thinks she is...
The silence stretched and Sans began considering his abandoned drink again, when his audience blurted, “Private Detective!”
Sans raised his watered down drink to her in a toast before winking and slugging the rest of it back. Either she was a hallucinations or she wasn’t. If the first then he didn’t want it to stop and if the second then there wasn’t anything wrong with the drink.
He had intended to say something witty, but she began speaking instead. Well, it was more like thinking aloud, “Sans the PI… hmmm, where have I heard that before…”
Again Sans tried to say something, but she was a bit faster on her verbal toes than he was, “Sans and Papyrus Serif of Not Forgotten Investigations”, she remembered and Sans grew worried. He didn’t like where this was going.
She gasped as the lightbulb of recognition finished clicking. Sans felt his soul turn to lead. “You- you and your brother… the kidnapping ring, you two are hero-”
“ don’t. ” Sans interrupted her. He reached for his glass and remembered it was empty. He briefly considered getting up and pouring himself another glass… or three, but he wasn’t to sure how this Miss Tori lady would take it. This being her place and all.
“I am sorry. I did not mean to offend you. It is just that you saved the lives of seven children, and by extension their families. It is something to be proud of.” She tried to soothe.
He only snorted bitterly, “no it aint, lady.”
“I do not und-”, she began, but he cut her off again.
“‘course you don’t! nobody does, cause you people all read the same dolled up news story about the seven snot-nosed brats that we found in time. but it doesn’t say a damn thing about the other five we didn’t save in time. it doesn’t say a damn thing about how the human coppers from across the line wouldn’t do a fuckin’ thing when it had been only missing monster children. it doesn’t say a damn thing…”, he trailed off as his anger petered out into exhaustion. He didn’t care what she did, he was getting another drink.
He hopped off the stage, glass in hand. His bones creaked a little with the impact, but he still shuffled towards the bar. “Where are you going?”, the shadow inquired.
“i’m gettin’ another drink… just put it on my tab ‘er somethin’...”, Sans grumbled back at her.
Silence fell over the bar as he staggered behind the counter to pour himself another drink. He knocked back the first two fingers he poured in one swig, it burned horrible on the way down. He savored it. Then he poured another and shuffled back towards his stool from before. He sat backwards to the bar, so he could face her still. They weren’t directly across from each other anymore, but it still worked.
“i’m not a hero… paps is though…” Sans said towards the floor, not to sure if she could even hear him anymore. “he was the one who went in and pulled them out… i didn’t do anything worth a damn…”
“I do not think that is the case…” Her voice was closer than before. When he looked up he realized why he kept seeing her as a shadow. It was because she was dressed head to toe in black mourning garb of some kind, she even had a full veil and gloves too. She stood near the stairs to the second floor. Surprisingly he hadn’t heard her make so much as single creak on the way down, despite her enormous size. … prob’ly light on her feet… maybe she’s got paws to help cushion her weight…
“an’ why’s ‘at?”, he slurred heavily.
“Because you do not drink like a man trying to hide from the guilt of inaction. You drink like a man who is trying to forget the choices he did make…”, She stated from across the room. She made no move to come closer. “Who found the others?”
Sans made no move to answer her, he just took a big gulp from his drink and hoped when he passed out he wouldn’t dream. After a several seconds of silence, Sans mumbled, “... ‘snot even big things… jus’ littl’ ones… littl’ choices that meant we got there too late… littl’ stupid mistakes i made that cost peopl’ ‘er kids…”
Sans’ vision began to swim as the booze caught up with him, but he could just hear the stranger say, “You saved lives, you caught the villains, and you made that officer Undyne’s career. The heaviest burdens typically fall onto those who care the most, Sans...”
Sans thought that if his head just exploded right now, it’d be kinder than the pounding creature on the door trying to coming in here to eat him.
He rolled over on the bed and tried not to upchuck.
… bed… how…
He cracked an eye orbit only to find the room blessedly dark. But on the other hand, he hadn’t a clue where he was. But the door pounding had stopped so that was a plus. His head still felt like exploding which was a minus.
Someone had placed his coat over him as a makeshift blanket, plus again . And on the small crate next to the mattress he was on, sat his hat and a glass of water, double plus . One more and this might actually be a good situation.
Sans sat up and the world span violently and his head pounded, double negative . Turns out the mattress was stacked on a couple of the crates like the ones that filled half the room. They creaked under his movement. He couldn’t quite remember what the score was anymore, but he downed the water and scooped up his hat as footsteps approached the door. Something was caught in the fedora’s hat band, it had curly handwriting on it. Keys jangled out side the door.
The little note had the word, “Smartass” written on it. He unfolded the note and read it slowly, while keys scraped in locks.
“If you ever wish to talk, I will be here all week, my comedic friend. Maybe tomorrow night you will not be too sloshed and we could continue our game. I have a few good knocks of my own.”
The door swished open and Grillby stepped aside as Papyrus stormed in.
oh this was definitely a plus kind of situation.