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A Splash of Purple

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 It all started when Fate decided to have a laugh at your expense, since you were an awkward mess of clumsy slapstick humor that would make even The Three Stooges jealous.


 You certainly felt like the butt of a joke each time you tumbled face first down stairs, especially now that you worked in a tiny, rundown smoothie shop, wedged between a massive gym and a sketchy nail salon. Most days were full of hangry bodybuilders that would order the entire menu and snooty Karens that would swear you messed up their orders.


Though something told you today would be different.




You should have known something screwy was going on when a seven foot tall skeleton walked up to the counter, wearing a pair of Groucho Marx glasses. They clashed horribly with his purple hoodie and upon closer inspection, you realized he was committing the cardinal sin of wearing socks with sandals. 


The smug grin on his face told you that he knew what crime he was pulling, but you begrudgingly asked for his order instead of booting him out of sight.


He chuckled lowly, intentionally making the mustache twitch. "just a blueberry-fig smoothie with all the vitamin shots, snotface."




I'll show you "snotface", you snaggletooth'd turnip, you snarked in your head, but vocalized, "I'll get right on it, sir!"


He snickered, stepping over to the area designated for those waiting for their drinks as you moved around behind the counter. You scooped up the ingredients for the desired mixture, tossing them into the blender and turning it on, then stood patiently. 


The moment it made a tell-tale, high pitched whine, you solidly thumped your fist on the side several times. It startled the skeleton, but it got the blender to start violently churning the fruits to a drinkable pulp.




"uh... is that normal?"


The nod you gave him was nothing if not resigned, smacking the machine again when it sputtered - then gave his "glasses" a pointed look. "Is that normal?"


"nyeheh. m'lord said i need to keep a lower profile."


You almost questioned what the hell he was talking about, then decided you didn't get paid enough to care and poured the smoothie into a cup. 


It was when you were snapping on a lid and carrying it back over to the counter that Fate decided to get its laugh.


A much shorter skeleton popped out of thin air.






The sudden shout startled you, making you jerk violently and screech, losing your grip on the slick, plastic cup - which proceeded to defy physics just to nail the stout skeleton in the side of the head. You could only watch in horror as the dark purple liquid dripped down his skull and onto what appeared to be some kind of uniform: staining the grey-violet material. 


The skeletal victim of your latest bout of clumsiness gawped at you. 


Your customer service smile was frozen in place: your hand still hanging in the air from where it had thrown the offending cup.  




The taller skeleton broke down into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, even as his shorter counterpart's face - his face that had a gnarly battle scar over his left eye - was slowly morphing into something that made you brace yourself for a punch. Mortification made your cheeks burn and you hoped that the ground would swallow your ass whole.


Unfortunately, you continued receiving a glare so intense, you were half afraid you'd spontaneously explode. The guy looked like he ate razors and babies for breakfast and dipshits like you for lunch, making your heart pound wildly as it sensed its impending doom. 




He hissed lowly, his baritone voice dripping with scathing venom, "I Should Kill You For This." 


"Yeah, that's fair," you squeaked, wholly impressed that you weren't pissing yourself. "I wanna kill me too."


His brows furrowed and his violet, triangular shaped eyes drifted down to your chest, where his scowl proceeded to intensify. You were almost offended by how offended he seemed by your chest, but you told yourself that you cracked him in the side of the head with a smoothie and he more or less earned a free peek at your apparently less than satisfactory goods.




"PAPYRUS," he shouted suddenly, making you jump again. "GET A REFUND AND NEVER STEP FOOT IN THIS ABHORRENT BUILDING AGAIN."


Groucho Marx rocked on his heels, his laughter silent and his stare far too interested in you. "a'ight, m'lord."


The shortstack pivoted to storm out, then jumped at his buddy: swiping the gag glasses right off his face. "AND STOP WEARING THESE IN PUBLIC. IT'S EMBARRASSING."


With that said, the skeleton vanished and you're pretty sure you made a sound akin to a dying Kermit the Frog.


"Papyrus" turned his head to look at you.


  "weeeell. m'lord didn't kill you."




"Yeah, sure, whatever," you pointed at the empty space "m'lord" or whoever the fuck was previously standing. "Did he just Houdini out of here!?"


"myuup. i need a refund, by the way. can you remake the drink too?"


You mechanically opened the register to issue the refund and began gathering the ingredients again. "Okay, you're acting too casual about the whole vanishing act."


"i'd be more worried about getting dusted on your way home tonight, if i were you," he fiddled with the half full tip jar on the counter. "my bro doesn't let that kind of stuff slide, bucko."




You froze midway through beating the blender again and Papyrus grinned at you. "i could get him off your back for the low, low price of..." He tallied up the money in the jar, "you've only gotten tipped seventeen bucks? wow, you're lame."


Scooping up the jar, you hugged it close. "Hey, keep your mitts off my lunch money. I'll take my chances."


"suit yourself, just don't be surprised when you come across him in a dark alley." 


Scoffing, you handed him the freshly made drink: it's not like you were scared of this dweeb - or his pint sized brother.