Chapter Text
“Aw, cmon kitty. Not again.”
Your keys rattle while you shove them in your pocket, leaning on the door to your family’s music store to close it with a click . It’s a good-sized store, rows of guitars lining one wall, a few drum kits, smaller instruments like ukuleles and mandolins on stands that sorta float in the middle of the main room. Your father’s luthier shop was in the back, a room where the door was always open if he was in working, where the walls around it showcased the more classical instruments - violins, violas, and a few cellos. There was even a section of wall devoted to the less standard instruments - things like harmonicas and kazoos and triangles.
Pressed up against the left side was the counter, whose display was covered in guitar picks, cables, straps, tuners, and various miscellaneous musician’s accessories. It gave you a wonderful view of the window display - a drum kit you had beaten the hell out of when you were younger and repurposed as a cat tree for the shop feline. A drum kit that was, currently, half on its side, and had an empty floor tom down from the display. And picks all over the floor.
“Whispurr, we’ve been over this,” You scolded as you set your bag on the counter and took your coat off, “No messing with the guitar picks. It takes forever to clean them up, and I never find them all.”
Whispurr, of course, couldn’t care less. The pretty little calico was lazing in a sunspot, only acknowledging your finger-wagging by stretching out and rolling on her back. Even her little mew was sugar sweet. She would never ever cause you any trouble, right?
You huffed, running a hand through your hair as you righted the display. Zip ties, you needed to ask your father where the zip ties were. Picking up the guitar picks that littered the floor always took longer than you would have liked, but at least they were big enough to see. It wasn’t like they wouldn’t get used - a music shop in a town full of monsters meant your shop was always busy.
Eight years ago, life changed for every single human on the planet. Especially for those in the little town of Ebott that you called home. You had been in the shop, of course, working on a violin rental when the sky had flashed the brightest white imaginable. You had nearly dropped the instrument you were holding, all parties abandoning the sale for a moment to search outside for some cause of the light. You wouldn’t have an answer until you got back to your apartment that evening and turned on the news. Monsters. On the surface. Actual, living and breathing monsters on the surface and interacting with humans. The news had kept showing one set of footage, a set of eight human monsters and two human children as they walked out from a gaping black hole in the mountain - one with a child’s guitar strapped to their back. Life had changed in your town overnight - the military occupying and quarantining the monsters until it could be determined if they were a threat or not.
In the middle of that whole mess, the monsters who had been the first to surface made a band. One line still stuck in your brain all these years later, even though the face of the monster had long since blurred from memory.
“we’re not here to start a war. we’re not even here to fight. we just wanted to feel the sun on our faces and see the stars again. we just want to make music.”
That was a sentiment you could get behind.
The military had stuck around for nearly three years, evaluating each and every monster that appeared, categorizing them and documenting and trying in vain to find some way to label these newcomers as a threat. But every antagonizing strike had only been met with a riff on the child’s guitar or a song that flowed from every monster’s voice at once. It was like they were pouring their souls into their music, and humanity loved it. The military had been unable to occupy for much longer, the people of your little town had started camping near the fence and staying up until the sun rose up in the sky making music and interacting with the monsters. No concrete evidence and some insanely positive press meant the government had to go.
Ebott had played a big part in getting monsters into society, but a lot of places were not so welcoming. Humanity was far from perfect, adding something new into the mix was a recipe for trouble. There were some riots, some pretty serious injuries that the hospital had taken care of - but with the music and magic that monsters brought to Ebott Town, people changed their minds pretty quickly. It wasn’t like that for the entire world, but in Ebott, it was a little slice of Paradise for monsters and humans alike.
Which is why you didn’t bat an eye when the first customer of the day walked in. The bell above the door jingled, and Whispurr perked right up, prancing over to the newcomer with her tail held high in the air.
“Morning!” The blue rabbit called your name with a wave, “How’re you this fine morning?”
“Hey, Jimmy!” You waved, still crouched on the floor, “I’m alright, Whispurr made a bit of a mess, but otherwise I can’t complain.”
His ears perked up, twitching while he knelt to help you gather the last of the picks, “Aw, well, at least it’s not a permanent mess, right?” There’s that hopeful grin that never failed to coax a grin out of you. You smiled right back, straightening up and dumping the picks on the counter. He followed suit, then pulled you into a hug that you readily returned.
“Are you here for more nose flutes? I don’t have as many colors as I normally do… but we should get a new order in next week?” You scrunched your brows while you thought, gesturing to the bin at the end of the counter while you carefully tucked your personal belongings away.
Jimmy rested his elbows on the counter, ears tall and attentive, “Nah, not today. I was actually wondering if you had any maracas in? My buddy is feelin’ a little down, his broke when we came to the surface and he hasn’t found any he likes since.”
You hummed, nodding and leading the way back to the percussion section of the store. Jimmy had waited a while before coming to the surface, almost five years. The worst of human aggression seemed over, and there was no point in coming to the surface if he couldn’t continue his Nice Cream sales.
“Tell me about your friend, maybe I can help pick out something he likes!”
If Mr. Nice Cream’s grin could get any wider, it just did. He immediately launched into a tale about his friend who always helped him when he was stuck on slogans for his popsicles. Even though his friend worked a crummy job selling Glamburgers™ and had a terrible boss. He had stumbled on maracas one day in the dump and found he could make something similar with the seeds for the burger buns. But when the pair had moved to the surface, it had rained and melted his homemade instruments.
You frowned in sympathy, nodding and skimming along the wall for something close…. Oh! Oh, wait!
“What about these ones?” you asked, pulling a pair off the wall. They were fairly traditional, a brown base with a red zig-zag and a baby-blue base. You struck a dramatic pose, wrists wriggling to make the shakey-shake sound that maracas made so well. “They’re pretty simple, but they’ve got a great sound. I thought about the sparkly pink ones, but…”
Jimmy shook his head. Aggressively.
You nodded, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” One last shake and you handed them over, “What d’you think? Think they’ll like them?”
This was the most serious you’ve seen the Nice Cream Guy. His ears drooped - not from sorrow, but in concentration. His eyes narrowed and he inspected every inch, even lifting the handle up to his eyes to look down the length of it.
“They do have a pretty nice sound,” He mused, stroking his chin while he thought, “But I don’t think these colors scream his name, y’know?”
You nodded wisely, “I know. Tell you what, my dad has some sealer in his shop - take them home, paint them however you please, and bring them back. I can seal them then and the colors will have no choice but to scream his name!”
“That’s a great idea!” He was practically vibrating with excitement, and scooped you up in another hug, “There’s no better way to show someone you care than by making them something yourself, right?”
The rest of the day went by pretty similarly. A few customers here, some questions there. Equal parts monsters and humans wandering through your doors. The monsters came in knowing exactly what they wanted - it was especially exciting for them. There had been so few decent instruments Underground - they had to survive the fall first, and then had to be lucky enough not to land in the water and stay there. Rumor had it there had been two whole instruments in decent enough shape (A baby grand piano and bass) that had survived well enough to be played. Beyond that… Well, they were a rarity. Monsters had flooded your store a little faster than you knew what to do with.
It’s getting to be late enough all you want to do is play with Whispurr - but she’s snoozing in the window display. You can see the tip of her tail twitch from that repurposed floor-tom she was so fond of. Dad’s working in the back of the shop, you can hear the little tap tap taps from various tools, creating a sort of soothing ambiance for the whole store. It was during moments like these where you found your gaze wandering to the back of the shop where the classical instruments rested. Specifically on one viola off to the side. It had been an experiment of your father’s and had a wider base than most, but the strangeness of the shape lent itself to a wonderful round sound. It was your favorite. Maybe you could play with it, just for a little while….
No sooner had your fingers just began to touch the instrument than the bell above your door jingled, signaling a new customer. You sighed, letting the tips of your fingers trail off the edge with a sigh. Maybe next time.
“Hi! Welcome to Harmony’s Music, anything I can help you find?” You call over your shoulder, sighing to yourself before plastering on your customer-service smile.
“GOOD AFTERNOON, HUMAN. I WAS WONDERING IF YOU HAD A MOMENT TO LOOK AT MY BROTHER’S INSTRUMENT? IT IS IN DIRE NEED OF SOME REPAIRS AND HE IS TOO LAZY TO GET THEM HIMSELF.”
Wow. That was way too loud for indoors. You barely manage to hide a wince at the initial volume, instead choosing to believe it was because they were so enthusiastic about… repairing… their brother’s instrument…
Totally believable.
“I do! My dad’s busy at the moment with another repair, but I should be able to help figure out what you need,” You began, turning around to face the newcomers. You blinked in surprise, not because they were monsters, but because they were skeletons. There weren’t a whole lot of skeleton monsters around - actually, now that you thought about it, there weren’t any other than the ones in front of you.
The two brothers were standing side by side, one was nearly seven feet tall with red-mittened hands on his hips and a mildly annoyed expression on his face that told you he was the speaker. He wore a sort of armor on his chest, white with golden trim, and blue briefs with a wide golden belt that seemed to cover his important bits. Did skeletons have important bits? Underneath all of that was a black skin-tight (bone-tight?) bodysuit that covered his bones. He wore a bright red scarf as well, billowing in the wind that didn’t exist inside of your shop. The skeleton next to him was his brother, you assumed. He was average height, though next to his sibling anyone would look small. He was wearing a blue hoodie, zipped up almost enough to cover the white shirt beneath, with black shorts and well-loved sneakers. He was the one with an instrument on his back - something that looked like an electric guitar, or maybe a bass.
You blinked again, and the taller of the two furrowed the brow bones above his eyes in concern, “HUMAN, ARE YOU OKAY?”
“You have eyebrows?”
Wow. Great first impression.
“I mean! I’m fine! Totally fine, I swear I didn’t mean to stare.” You hurried to explain, hands splayed before you in an effort to stall them while you explained yourself, “I was confused. That’s all. You’ve got a very expressive face, considering…”
The taller of the two struck a pose, lifting his chin proudly, “YES! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, HAVE ALWAYS BEEN THE MOST EXPRESSIVE OF SKELETONS. MY BROTHER SANS COULD LEARN A THING OR TWO FROM MY ILLUMINATING USE OF EYEBROWS.”
The smaller skeleton shrugged. He kept his perfectly straight teeth in a lazy grin, the smile not quite reaching his eyes, “you’re just too cool for me, paps. it seems like an awful lot of work to make so many expressions all the time. it’d make me…” The white lights of his eyes trailed over to meet yours, they seemed to twinkle, “... bone -tired.”
“SANS! YOU’RE GOING TO CHASE THIS NICE HUMAN AWAY AND WE NEED HER TO REPAIR YOUR BASS! NO JOKES!” You snorted, rolling your eyes and covering your grin with one hand.
You wandered over to the counter, still grinning to yourself as you rest your elbows on the counter, chin propped in your hands, “Oh, I don’t think he’ll chase me away. I thought it was pretty punny .”
Papyrus froze, turning his head to glare at you while his brother’s smile seemed to grow enough to reach his eyes. “NOT YOU TOO.”
“aw, don’t worry about it. that was an easy one,” Sans said, pulling one hand out of his hoodie pockets to inspect something on the counter’s display, “too lazy to find a bone to pick with her over it.” He drawled, holding up one of the thicker jazz picks to his brother.
Ooh, music puns. That was way more your forte. Heh.
“I’m sure you could drum something up. Sounds like puns are more your forte than mine, I’m afraid my jokes usually fall a little flat .” You grinned, flicking your eyes over to the drum kit in the window. Sans was really smiling now, dimples forming in the bones where his cheeks would be and the lights in his eyes shrinking ever so slightly. It was an expression equal parts delighted and mischievous. You quirked a brow at him, daring him to continue.
He hummed low in his throat (or lack thereof, you really needed to re-evaluate how you described someone without muscle), “i think you’re a natural, kid.”
“I’ve been told I’m pretty sharp .”
“ clef-er girl. people usually can’t measure up to my punnage.”
“You’re four ‘n’ four , seemed rude to just waltz in.”
His eye-sockets narrowed (bone could move like that?) while he thought about your sentence for a moment. You kept smiling, tapping out a waltz rhythm on the countertop while you waited for his brain to catch up. His eye lights widened when the joke finally landed - you took the chance to seal the deal with a wink.
Sans laughed, eye sockets closing fully while his shoulder shook, smile wide. Papyrus had his face planted in his palm, shaking his head and grumbling.
“ARE YOU TWO FINISHED? WE WERE HERE ON A MISSION.” Papyrus asked, finally lifting his head to glare at the two of you.
The smaller skeleton nodded, “yeah bro, we’re done.”
You nodded, breathing out a laugh while you ran a hand through your hair, “For now. Probably should work before my dad hears. He hates it when I joke with the customers - not because I’m supposed to be working,” You clarified, “Just because he can’t keep in tune with what we’re saying.”
“I AM GOING TO IGNORE THAT.” Papyrus said coldly while Sans barked out a laugh, shrugging the instrument off his back, “YOU TWO ARE GOING TO TALK ABOUT SANS’S BASS, I AM GOING TO SIT IN THE WINDOW.”
With that, he stomped off, chin lifted comically high in the air as he sat on the stool by Whispurr’s kit. Hopefully he wasn’t afraid of cats, especially ones that seemed to sleep in old drums.
You grinned with a shrug, “I couldn’t resist.”
“don’t blame you.” Sans said, setting the soft case down on the counter with care, “he complains, but he finds them just as entertaining. he also says you are the best bet for restoring my baby.”
“Dad is, I work the store, he’s the one who actually does the repairs in the back,” You hum, pointing back to your dad’s workshop, “But I can let you know what we’re looking at price wise. It’s usually a few days for a repair, are you going to need to rent a bass in the meantime?”
“nah.” He says with a wave of his hand, “the band can deal without me for a few rehearsals. i usually sleep through most of it anyway.”
You glance up at him, a wry grin on your lips, “Bass is more important than a lot of people think, definitely an underappreciated instrument. May I?” You ask, fingers hovering on the zipper to the case. He nods, and you carefully open the case expression turning serious as you inspected the instrument.
Inside the case is an Ibanez bass, but it definitely had seen better days. The body is all dented, some of the metal fret markers are completely missing, the strings are rusted all to hell and you’re pretty sure the pick-up jack is completely ruined. It looked like it used to be a dark midnight blue, but there was so much dirt and grime that it looked grey-black. You frowned, carefully picking up the instrument to inspect the neck a little more thoroughly. Five strings, but the tuning pegs looked like they were crudely carved out of rocks and jammed in. He’d need new ones. In its prime, it must have been a beautiful instrument. Now?
“No offense, but did you pick this up in a garbage dump?” You questioned, inspecting the bridge, “Your brother wasn’t kidding. It needs some pretty serious repairs.”
Sans shrugged, “you could say that.” He closed his eyes for a moment, opening his left in a half-assed approximation of a wink, “i had it before we came to the surface.”
You winced, gingerly setting the instrument back down, “Ooh, sorry. Hope I didn’t strike a chord there.” You offered an apologetic smile, hoping the pun would lessen the blow. Monsters didn’t really like to be reminded of life underground.
“no, it’s a minor thing.” He waved you off with a hand. Both eye sockets opened, and his smile dropped into something close to a frown, “how bad is she? i know i haven’t been the best at taking care of her, didn’t really expect her to last this long…”
“Bad enough,” You hummed, “Body’s all dirty and dented, but that’s mostly cosmetic. Have you been having issues with your amp?” He nodded, “Yeah, thought so. Your pickup’s busted, means the volume and tone knobs are probably in the same state, which means a whole lotta time in your wiring. Some of these frets need to be replaced, or reattached, depending on your budget. Tuning pegs, but we’ll have to order those so we know they’re the right size. And strings, of course. I’m impressed the ones you’ve got on here are playable at all.”
“SANS HAS NEVER CHANGED HIS STRINGS. HE CLAIMS IT WILL CHANGE THE SOUND, BUT REALLY HE IS TOO LAZY TO BOTHER.” Papyrus called from the window, “HUMAN, MAY I PLAY THESE DRUMS?”
You turned to face Papyrus, nodding, “Sure, just make sure Whispurr isn’t --”
You don’t get a chance to finish that thought. Papyrus had conjured two long, narrow bones from thin air before you get past your first word and immediately begins rattatatata- ing on the floor tom. It’s halted by an indignant meow, which freezes Papyrus in his tracks, looking at you in alarm.
“THAT IS NOT THE SOUND THIS DRUM IS SUPPOSED TO MAKE.”
“No, but it’s the sound shop kitties make,” You smile, walking over to him and crouching down. You tugged the floor tom around, spinning it so he could look into the little hole you had carved out and see the disgruntled calico peering at you with narrow amber eyes. She was not happy to be disturbed.
“HUMAN! YOU DID NOT--” He cut himself off, clearing his throat while he moved to sit cross-legged on the floor beside you, “You did not mention you had a pet, let alone a feline as sweet as this one.”
Your expression softened, watching as he seemed to struggle with the urge to reach out and pet the cat, “She usually makes herself known the moment someone walks in the door, must have been sleeping when you guys arrived.” You stuck your hand out for her to sniff, then scratched the top of her head with your fingertips, “This is Whispurr. She keeps the mice away from dad’s workshop and watches the store at night.”
Papyrus nodded wisely, “A Night Guard, the most honorable of professions. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He pulled the red glove off of one hand, exposing the bones of his hand to the elements as he offered it to Whispurr to sniff. She was definitely curious, ears perking up as she sniffed up the length of one of his phalanges.
“Do you want to hold her?”
Papyrus nodded solemnly, very serious in how gentle he was in your cat’s presence, “Very much so.”
You hummed, and reached your hands right into the little drum, scooping up the kitty while she mewed in protest. Only for a moment though, as you gently plopped her into Papyrus’s lap. He seemed to hesitate, hands raised and looking at you uncertainly. You offered him an encouraging grin, gently stroking Whispurr across her back. She seemed uncertain herself, sniffing around Papyrus’s lap and moving in a slow circle. It took the feline a moment, but she settled right down, resting her chin on his femur. The Skeleton’s eyes widened, and he slowly began to grin as his hand trailed across her fur.
“I think she likes you,” You murmured, scratching between her ears as she gave a content little mrow, “She loves attention, but doesn’t settle in just anyone’s lap.”
Papyrus nodded, reverently stroking Whispurr. She began to purr, and the moment Papyrus’s expression softened to unbridled awe you grinned, standing and leaving the two to themselves. Sans is still over by the counter. His eyes were locked on you, a strange expression on his face. Your own smile faltered, unable to read whatever emotion was playing in the depths of those dark eye sockets. Sweaty hands get run over your thighs while you meander back over to the counter.
“He’s good with animals,” You said with a nod, “Do you guys have one at home?”
Sans shrugged, “sometimes. there’s this annoying dog that likes to steal his bones once in a while, but it’s not really a pet.”
You blinked, “It steals your bones? Isn’t that… I dunno, painful?”
“nah.”
“Then how…?”
“magic.” he says, wriggling his fingers underneath his white gloves.
You snorted, pressing a button on the counter that would ring your father back in the workshop. “Right, magic. Is that you’re explanation for all things monster?”
“nah.” Sans gave another lazy wink but made no move to elaborate further.
Thankfully, your father chose that moment to intervene. You heard the door to his workshop close behind him with a click, feet quietly moving along the hardwood floors of the shop. He had his glasses perched on the end of his nose, easy jeans and t-shirt covered by the green apron he always wore when he worked. His hair was salt and peppered, and his hands looked worn even from this distance, and he was still wearing his wedding ring on a cord around his neck. You felt a pang in your heart at that, memories poking at the edge of your consciousness, but now wasn’t the time to reminisce. You had a customer to take care of. Dad waved, which you returned with a smile.
“Look at this, dad. Think you can repair it?” You asked.
Your father hummed, pushing his glasses up a little further on his nose while he shifted into work-mode. He handled the instrument, eyes narrowing and lips pursing as he checked it over. “It will take at least a week, if not a little longer. I can get the frets and pickup done in a few days, but the shipment on the tuning pegs…”
“Is unpredictable at best,” You sighed, “I kinda figured. You really need a new provider.”
Sans cleared his throat, pulling your attention from the bass to him, “can’t you just carve new pegs?”
Dad nodded, moving his glasses to rest on top of his head and rubbing the side of his face, “Technically, yes, but carving something that would support the tension on the thicker bass strings would take more time. And cost you more.” He clarified, tracing the rusted strings as he spoke, “I can, if you would prefer that.”
“THAT IS ALRIGHT. WE CAN WAIT FOR THE CORRECT PEGS IN THE MAIL, RIGHT SANS?” Papyrus chose that moment to pitch in, cradling a perfectly content feline in his arms as he approached the counter. “THE REST OF US WILL BE PERFECTLY FINE WAITING FOR REPAIRS.”
Sans had both eyes closed at this moment, seemingly content to let Papyrus and your father work out the logistics. You were too, as a matter of fact. One hand rested on your father’s shoulder as you squeezed behind him, keeping him from back-stepping and pressing you into the wall. That viola was still calling your name. Just because you couldn’t play with someone in the store didn’t mean you couldn’t admire your father’s craftsmanship.
It really was a beautiful viola. A warm cherry red finish, the striping on the wood alternating between deep shades and warmer fall tones. There was no standard design for a viola - violins and cellos you could basically scale up and down between sizes, but violas? The neck could be shorter, the base wider, really, you could craft it however you wanted as long as it wore the same strings. You had seen some pretty interesting interpretations in your time, but your father’s were always your favorite. Probably personal bias. It didn’t stop the smile on your lips as you carefully pulled the instrument from where it was hung, taking the moment to admire it from all angles.
“do you play?” You jumped, head whipping around to look at Sans with wide eyes, “heh, sorry kid. didn’t mean to jump your bones there.”
You shook your head, exhaling and turning your gaze back to the instrument in your hands, “S’cool. I do play, my mom is first chair violin in a fancy orchestra up north. She taught me violin when I was younger, but they’re just so squeaky, y’know?” You grinned, plucking at the E string of a violin nearby, “Violas, well, they’re deeper and warmer. That nice middle sound that everything is just so empty without.”
Sans nodded, hands shoved back in his pockets, “i get that. s’why i play bass.”
“Exactly,” you grinned, setting the viola back on the stand, “I’ve never been a leading player, and I don’t want to be. I’d rather support my peers than steal the spotlight over some fancy trills in third position. I don’t do melody, I like harmony.”
“heh. you’re alright kid.”
“Thanks.” You grinned, lifting your chin, “You seem alright yourself.”
The two of you enjoy the silence for a moment, Sans was looking at you with a thoughtful gleam to the light in his eyes, at least, you thought it looked thoughtful. He still wore that grin, you didn’t know him well enough to be able to tell how he was feeling from the way the bones of his face moved. Did faces have bones? Beyond the obvious one of the skull? Huh, maybe it was time to brush up on your skeletal anatomy.
Sans, for his part, was actually thinking about you. You ran a shop of this size all on your own, accepting everyone who walked in with no strings attached. He had traveled, he knew how sour humans could be to his kind, and even in Ebott, there were still people who didn’t think monsters belonged on the surface at all. He still received the occasional letter in his overflowing mailbox that was filled with slurs, some even with fine grains of sand meant to appear as Dust. It… it took a lot out of a guy to see these things, especially in a place where everyone else seemed so content. Maybe it was because he was closer to human than the rest of monsterkind, living in some sort of uncanny valley where humans say themselves dead every time they looked at him and his brother. If they bothered to look beyond first impressions, they would see the differences. The thicker bones of his own body, the fusion of the bones near his jaw, how Papyrus’s bones were too long to belong to your average human. They didn’t care. He didn’t like humans, with the small exception of the one who fell and saved them all. Not after so many insults and threats and attacks that he had been lucky to dodge and spare himself. You… You were a good person. A kind person.
You were intriguing.
“HUMAN!” Papyrus called from the counter, startling the two of you out from whatever silence had fallen between you, “YOUR FATHER AND I HAVE WORKED OUT THE DETAILS OF SANS’S REPAIR. AS MUCH AS I WOULD LOVE TO STAY AND CONVERSE WITH YOU AND Whispurr THE CAT, WE MUST RETURN HOME. IT IS SPAGHETTI NIGHT, I WOULD NOT WISH TO BE LATE AND DISAPPOINT UNDYNE.”
“Oh, alright!” You nodded, “It is getting pretty late, Dad and I should close up and head home ourselves.”
Papyrus nodded, carefully handing you the feline that was so sweetly asleep in his arms. Whispurr really did like him a lot, if she fell back asleep that quickly. She mewed at the transfer, looking back at Papyrus with amber eyes filled with longing. Interesting.
“FEAR NOT! WE WILL RETURN TO VISIT YOU AND YOUR FELINE WHISPURR, MOST LIKELY BEFORE THE BASS IS COMPLETE. BECAUSE I ADORE YOUR FELINE AND YOU SEEM NICE ENOUGH,” He paused, holding a moment to glance between you and Sans, “EXCEPT FOR THE PUNS.”
“yeah, we’ll be back. frisk mentioned wanting new guitar strings, maybe we can bring them by later this week.”
You hummed, “I’ll be here. Monday to Friday from 10:00 to 6:00!” You pulled the door open, flipping the sign from ‘open’ to ‘closed’ as you held it for them to go through, “And Saturdays 9:00 to 1:00.”
“noted.”
That pulled a snicker from you while your father shook his head in the background, “See you guys around!”
The door closed behind them, Papyrus turning to bow deeply at you through the glass window in farewell, which you returned with some approximation of a curtsy while you still held Whispurr. Sans just waved, and the two turned a corner and promptly vanished. You grinned, locking the door and turning back to your father. He was still examining the bass on the counter and you could see the gears in his head turning. If you didn’t get him out of here soon, he would stay all night working on that.
“Come on dad,” you said while you gently place Whispurr on her stand in the window, “Let’s go home. We should probably eat too.”