Send one of the following to ask the mun… (please specify muse for multis)

ㅤHmm, short people were always snappy little piranhas, though. Small dog syndrome or whatever. Best not to bring it up, if he wanted to walk out of here without any bite marks.

ㅤ❝ That obvious ? ❞ he remarked dryly. ❝ Uh, yeah. A coffee. No sugar, a splash of milk. And gimme one of your croissants as well. ❞

ㅤHe was still looking about the parlor, getting the lay of the land, as it were.

ㅤ❝ Nice place. ❞ It sounded a little sarcastic, even if he really was trying to compliment them. ❝ My roommate was here the other day. Somethin' about dropping off a package ? He had good things to say, so I figured I'd stop in. ❞

ㅤHe made it sound as though he came here intentionally, and didn't just hop off at the closest bus stop because he was grouchy. From the barren look of things, they might not buy a story like that. He had to wonder how they were staying afloat, working from such a remote spot.

" Mm-hm! " She had no issue with his tone, nodding her head as she noted his order down. " I've worked looong enough to tell someone hasn't had breakfast yet. " His shades could also only hide so much. The skirt of her dress bounced as she turned around, swiftly ripping the page off and pinning it to a corkboard beside post-it notes and other pieces of paper.

Cue the flip of a switch, the loud whirring of coffee grounds being grinded— the same song and dance every time; so why mention every step? It all was background noise to their small talk any— GASP!

She turned around immediately. " The roommate who took Mr. Steve's truck that day— " Did she really had to put it like that? " —I remember! " Now it was very, very noisy at the counter, but one could've heard a quiet 'Well that explains it.' if they paid enough attention. " Weeeell, I was hoping he'd drop by sometime, so your timing couldn't be any better! "

The soft squeaking of boots was heard when the candy maker stepped off the ladder, dusting his hands off and holding the door to test the— " Oh huuuuun~ ! "

—well, sorta. " Can you cover for me while I go pick that up—? It'll take a second! " Before answering, his eyes darted towards the clock on the wall briefly.

" ...Sure, I'll take over— " It wasn't 10Am yet. " —go ahead. "

" Thank yooou— " She skipped to the door in the back, stopping in the middle of doorway to wink! " —you're the best~ ! " Aaand she was out! Allowing Pizzelle behind the counter and on the wheel—

" Yeeeeah, I... didn't find any use for that package he brought— but she did. " —as well as on the conversation at hand. It wasn't like there was much left to do other than switching the coffee machine on, set a cup down and pouring into it.

Mustache twitched in slight annoyance that the other wasn't planning on buying a bouquet. There went his plan to oversell the little candy maker; annoying. No matter! He could overcharge Pizzelle by other means.

"New plants for the windowsill, huh? What sorta flowahs are you lookin' for?" While he loved to annoy Pizzelle, when it came to selling his plants, he was all business. He could be an asshole AND be passionate about his flowers!

"Got a new batch of hydrangeas in recently... Or perhaps she'd like some snapdragons!" He snapped his fingers as emphasis before he tapped at his chin. "C'mon, Pizzelle, gimme stuff to work with here. Colors, shapes, what other flowahs does she have, or even what she's had before."

He gestured for the other to come closer, opening the door to the back where his more recent flowers that came in were. "You'll get first pick of the new stock, just for your special lady!"

...Good question— a great question, indeed! Shoulders tensed up, eyes blinking repeatedly as they darted to different areas of the shop, a long and dragged-out uhh becoming stuck to the back his throat. It wasn't a case of 'choice paralysis', however—

—his knowledge of plants was simply very, very surface level. " She, I mean— sh-she has low-maintenance plants for the most...? Part? " Some basic names and stuff most people knew through cultural osmosis. " Like cacti, succulents... rubber? Plants? " Blink. " Several... ferns too— th-they all look the same to me tho', I don't know. "

They're apartment-friendly plants. Probably. They were already there before he moved in— what does he know? Not a lot of... 'flowahs' there. Or in general. Many shades of green but that was all. Theit entire apartment is pink, did they really need a splash of extra color?

" ...Fine, fine! Uh— " Apprehensively so, as this is Waluigi he's talking to, Pizzelle accepted the florist's (nice) offer and walked around and past the counter, approaching the door. " —m-maaaybe I'll get an idea or two if I just... look. "

when the sugar expires

⠀ 🦴 ⠀ ╱ ⠀ 🌭 ⠀ ᶻz { 𝐏𝐈𝐙𝐙𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐄 } ＊ STARTER CALL - STILL ACCEPTING | ➔ @candymcker |

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐕𝐄 the   entrance   surrendered   a   clear,   silvery   peal   that   wandered   through   the   parlor   with   the   unhurried   grace   of   sunlight   spilling   across   polished   glass.   though   the   festival   itself   had   already   receded   into   memory,   it   seemed   to   trail   invisibly   behind   the   skeleton   who   crossed   the   threshold,   as   though   fragments   of   its   merriment   had   refused   to   release   their   hold   upon   him.   celebration   possessed   a   peculiar   resilience;   its   decorations   could   be   dismantled,   its   lanterns   extinguished,   its   music   surrendered   to   silence,   yet   the   joy   it   kindled   lingered   stubbornly   within   the   hearts   that   had   shared   it,   dissolving   only   by   imperceptible   degrees.   that   quiet   afterglow   accompanied   sans   as   faithfully   as   his   perpetual   grin,   lending   an   almost   imperceptible   buoyancy   to   his   otherwise   languid   stride.   with   both   hands   tucked   comfortably   inside   his   pockets,   he   wandered   toward   the   counter   with   all   the   unassuming   ease   of   someone   who   had   returned   not   because   he   needed   convincing,   but   because   success   had   already   rendered   the   decision   for   him.

❝ ＊ heya. hope you don't mind... i bought a whole bunch of your ice cream, turned around, and sold it at the festival. figured i'd see if anybody'd go for it. turns out they all did. heh. ❞

he leaned back upon his heels with an ease that rendered the entire confession strangely ceremonial, as though recounting an unauthorized business venture occupied no loftier station than exchanging pleasantries at the start of an ordinary afternoon. his ever-present grin remained inviolate, untouched by hesitation, apology, nor any discernible awareness that he perhaps ought to feel guilty.

❝ ＊ cleaned me out before the fireworks were over. turns out your stock's pretty... cone-tagious. think i oughta restock while the night's still young. ❞

Post-it note after post-it note, pin after pin, the faded brown of the corkboard's surface of the orders board was overridden by a large mass of pale yellow by the time Rosette had put the phone down; followed by a minute of silence in which both just stared.

It was a lot of ice cream orders for just the two of them. A sudden spike in orders, all within a similar timeframe, all from similar addresses was... surprising, to say the least. And nothing else needed to be said, they had work to do; but— " ...We should deliver all of this in a single trip. " —regardless, someone had to speak up; albeit impulsively, as a spur-of-the-moment decision, perhaps as a means to break the ice.

" I'd be careful if I were you, hun; you're thinking a liiittle too big there. "

" What—? N-no I'm not. " Heels squeaked as Pizzelle began pacing back and forth, mindlessly clicking a pen in one hand as he stared at his notepad in the other, notes he had taken. " There's— there's demand, a lot of it— i-it might be for a block party or something sooo we should strike while the iron's hot. " He spoke fast, scribbling even more on the page. " We've got the supply, there's two of us; w-we might be able to— . "

Just as he was starting to prove her right (he has always thought big, dangerously so) the ringing of bells cut their conversation short— " Oh hello, Mr. Sans! " —their attention shifting to the newly-arrived skeleton at the door. Cue a brief exchange of glances as the baker rested her arms on the counter, pushing a small stack of post-it sheets to the side.

He... had paid them a visit the day before, hadn't he? To pick up a large order which included a wide variety of ice cream flavors in medium-sized containers of all things. Very different from what his younger brother usually sent him for. To call it a 'coincidence' would've been... generous— " ...Well that explains— "

" —th-that explains the demand! " —when it definitely was the cause behind their current conundrum. " Oh my Gosh, of course— of course! " Swiftly bringing a hand to the side of his head, the candy maker almost smacked himself. " That's— th-that's smart, actually; he can do that... " They hadn't been 'played', the skeleton had bought all that stock fair and square. He could do with it whatever he wanted— no matter how morally or legally-dubious. He could be up in arms about it, though. Like seriously— who does that?! There was a long, looong hum.

" Weeell— " At least someone at the other side of the counter could have a laugh at all of this. " —knowing our phoneline was being flooded juuust a bit ago, we might've scooped up your clientele already~ . " A giggle. How obvious was it that she had been practicing? She gestured at the board behind her. " All of these orders are for Hometown residents; so we were trying to figure out how to deliver them in a timely manner, y'know? "

Even if they wanted to, they were most likely going to be sold out by the evening as well. Guess Sans had underestimated the small monster town's collective sweet tooth.