Bad Time Crew

|| @plsdontkinkshameme​ || Continued || 

—

The first night was, for all intents and purposes, a rousing success. Lorona proved to be a very eager mouse— with more moxie than Sans had given her credit. 

He didn’t ask about the Matron. Nor did he ask on the second visit, or the third. For now it was all about building up a certain level of trust. Lorona still had moments where she eyed him uncertainly, as though he were a window she couldn’t quite see through. Still, his frequent visits seemed to be endearing him to her. At the rate he was spending cash, he certainly hoped so, anyway. 

Who was he to complain, though. As far as jobs went, Sans had to admit, it was the easiest one by far. All he had to do was show up and receive the affection of a beautiful human willing to do or take whatever he needed for the moment— really, it wasn’t a bad deal at all. On the third night, it had even been a nice outlet after a frustrating afternoon with his crew. There were bony finger marks on Lorona’s neck by the end of it. He sent her a mink scarf the following day. 

Then came the waiting game. Folks, dame or otherwise, tended to dislike waiting when it wasn’t on their terms. Made ‘em nervous. Uncertain. Made them wonder if they’d gone and done something wrong. 

Which meant, of course, that when the waiting was over, they were extra happy to be on the receiving end of attention once again. It was almost a full month before Sans stepped back onto the temples tainted holy ground again. 

He glanced up from his cards, a row of reds that were sure to make the other fellas just a bit less happy for the rest of night. In true gentlemanly form, he popped the hard-brimmed hat off of his skull for just a moment and tipped it ever so politely towards the approached dame.

“aw, that’s sweet of ya, miss. i’ll make sure it gets put to a good cause, makin’ the neighborhood safer an’ all that.”

Sans glanced to a face of jagged teath and cracks of red, and set his glass of whiskey down with an idle stir. 

Talk about a looker. 

@tinymute

Oh, there was nothing Juliette hated more than people sneaking up on her. The last time that had happened…well, she really did not need to get into details. So when Sans came up on her, he was lucky he did not receive a heavy baseball bat to the head.

Why did the sweet girl have a metal baseball bat? Well, it was pink and it did have her name on it…

The truth was, she had heard a strange noise and went to investigate. When one said she was not expecting Sans, they could be sorely understating the truth.

By the time she realized who it was, that bat was far too close to his skull, and the absolute rush of adrenaline that had fueled fury started to fade. Instantly, it shifted into fear and hurt. Tears immediately started to stream down her face, breaking the hardcore facade she had put on moments before.

Juliette sobbed, pulling back and stumbling to land on the ground, cradling her baseball bat like it was her first born. Her soft whimpers filled the room, and despite her gaze meeting his, it was clear that her mind was not in that time or that room.

“Don’t hurt me.”

Her voice came out, and it was almost as if she was unaware that she was speaking in the first place.

     He’d seen it before. Kids of top-notch bosses who glimpsed at the business and thought, hey, yeah, I can do that, too. Now and then Sans saw some poor schmuck jostled in by parents who wanted ‘em to take over the family business, even if they really didn’t have what it took. So those kids, by choice or persuasion, would end waltzin’ in with some tough talk and a reputation to prove; but in the end, they almost always ended up the same. 

     On their knees, big ol’ eyes cryin’, floppin’ like a flapper on a dime. 

     If it kept up, Sans was gonna start chargin’ a daycare fee. 

     White eye lights bore down on Juliette’s crumpled form with an unimpressed stare as he reached into his pocket for a smoke. He gave her points for bringing a decent enough weapon before prowling about, but doubted that her scrawny little arms would have managed to do much damage even if she had made contact. The doll obviously didn’t know where her strengths and weakness happened to lie— if she had, probably woulda been packin’ some lead instead. 

     Points deducted, then. 

     He heard a small, whimpering rasp of a voice, and let loose a snirk that muffled around his plump, brown cigar. “so y’can talk. interestin’.” 

     The packed tobacco ignited into a soft mellow glow of orange and red as it burned under the flicker of Sans lighter. There was a pause as he appreciated the taste of smoke filling his mouth, calming him, smoothing out his thoughts with all the tenderness of a Miss’s ironing her favorite drapes. It billowed out between his teeth in a puff as he removed the cigar and held it between two bony fingers, letting it rest while he hiked up his pants and squatted down to the girls level. 

       Seemed to be a tradition between the two of them. 

      “an’ here i thought y’wanted me to treat you like an equal, sweetheart.” He chuckled a low, hallowed sound, and shook his skull ever so slightly. “think y’got the wrong impression of what that entails.” 

      The end of his cigar crinkled away bits of leaf that grayed to ash. Sans gave it a little flick to knock the excess off to the floor and set Juliette with another quiet look. He made a series of tiny tsk sounds behind his teeth. 

      “mm. lookit at you. guess i did scare ya, huh? well. if you were just a dame, i’d apologize. wrap ya up. tell you it’s ok, no one's gonna hurt ya, ‘til y’felt all safe an’ sound. take you out somewhere nice, an’ in the mornin’, have your daddy send ya a ticket home.” 

      He shrugged, took another hit of his smoke, and blew it out to the side. 

“ey—” Catching the bits of flung gold was easy enough; good reflexes tended to be a must-have for Sans particular line of work. Still, though, it was the principle of the thing.