A collection of inane nonsense (ranging from Error being reincarnated as Palette to Dust finding a new love for the color pink) circling around the many AUs and Multiverses of the Undertale world. Some stories will be connected; Others will be rando...
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(Warning: This story contains mild swear as well as alcohol and drinking/drunkness.)
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A medium, dark brick pub sat amidst the snowy, pine-laden town. Atop its front, plain black letters spelled out the restaurant's name, "Grillby's."
The small sign placed on the outside of the door was flipped to "open," signaling its current status. (If the divine scent of greasy food wasn't enough of an indication.) Warm light filtered through the windows. Beyond the clouded glass, one could make out large and somewhat spiky silhouettes moving about within.
An unfriendly chill permeated the air, ruthlessly nipping at all the living inhabitants in the outdoors.
Red chivalrously shed his fluffy-hooded leather jacket and offered it to his date-mate, who gratefully accepted.
The sharp-toothed skeleton had to admit he was a little nervous taking Sci here for a date.
Underfell didn't exactly have the best reputation in the Multiverse with its "kill or be killed" motto and all. However, he at the very least knew what to expect: a few crass words here and there, maybe one or two attempted stabbings, ninety percent guaranteed protection via his brother's captain status (which meant next to nothing in other universes), and nothing ominously cheery like in that freaky Underswap place.
No monster could be that outwardly friendly without having a devious plan to stab someone/everyone. And he knew that for a fact because even Dream, the literal embodiment of positivity, looked like he wanted to stab Ink in the back - or, well, anywhere in general - sometimes.
Sci shifted nervously beside him. "Red, are you sure this is a good idea? Your AU isn't especially open to... outsiders."
"It'll be fine. Just let me know if anyone heckles ya an' I'll kick their ass." The black/red-clad Sans reassured, wrapping his arm protectively around the other's waist as he led him inside the establishment.
A few regulars (the mutt guards and weird, perpetually drunk rabbit monster who practically lived in the pub at this point) watched when they stepped in, anxious and shifty. Not to mention, notably huddled as far away from the bar as they could get.
His guard instantly raised, and he pressed his date-mate closer to his side.
He half expected the King of all monsters to be sitting there considering how everyone acted, but instead, a single dark-cloaked monster sat there. A strikingly familiar one that caused dread to fill the air and brought with them the horrid odor of decay and death.
And now alcohol, given they were surrounded by empty whisky glasses and wine bottles.
Carefully, the skeleton duo approached.
The monster barely acknowledged them, only briefly glanced and downed half his glass.
"Reaper," Red narrowed his eye sockets, questioning, "What are ya doin' here? This ain't your typical type of joint, an' that definitely ain't coffee."
"D-drinkin'." The death god slurred despondently before returning to nursing his glass.
Sci frowned, expression laced with worry. "Ar- Are you okay? Is everything alright?"
"No, he left me!"
The dark pressure bearing down on the restaurant increased tenfold.
"Wh- who?" The scientist tentatively asked.
"Geno! He left me for a potato!" Reaper wailed. All the while, tears gathered in his vacant eye sockets.
His non-alcohol clutching hand reached into his robe's mysterious pocket and produced a simple touch-screen phone. After a few drunken miss clicks, he managed to pull up a social media post bearing a photo of a white coat-clad, bloody Sans and potato sitting on a park bench while watching the sunset.
Sci eyed the picture. Then leaned forward, adjusting his glasses. "Huh... That is a nice-looking russet."
Red chuckled and said jokingly, "But you wouldn't leave me for it, right?"
