Toriel looks excited as she and Kat sit down, almost like she’s much younger. Kat, as a result, is curious - if her adopted mother is that excited about something, it has to be good.
What’s exciting? she asks at last.
Toriel smiles brightly. “Wing asked me to marry him.”
Kat’s tail freezes mid-flick, expression frozen as well.
Toriel’s smile falters. “Kat? What is wrong?”
He - he what?
“He asked me to marry him.” Toriel blinks, smile fading.
What did you say?
“I said yes.” A beat. “Are you alright?”
No. No, you - you can’t, Mom. Please, you - you can’t. Kat is clearly distressed, tail flicking in agitation.
“Katherine,” the goat monster says, expression turning to compassion. “Sweetheart, I know you think he -”
I don’t think he did. I know he did. Please, Mom, please give him his ring back. Please, please, don’t marry him.
“Katherine...”
The tiny cat gets up, shaking her head as she slowly moves away from Toriel, still facing her. No. No, this - I - I don’t -
She bolts for the front door, leaving before the motherly boss monster can stop her. Toriel’s compassioned concern turns into worry, and she sends a text to Gaster about what happened. Maybe he’ll be able to find her and bring her back home. In the meantime, she’ll get Asriel and ask him to help her look for Kat, too.
“In! In, in, in, in, in, in, in” Flowey all but shoves the two girls into a tiny cave that they’re lucky to fit into.
“Hey!” Brooke yelps.
He moves in after them, quickly hissing, “Stay quiet!”
“What’s-”
“Shh!” Flowey moves a vine to cover her mouth.
Kat is tense in the smallest bit of the cave, pressing herself against the wall. She can hear what Flowey sensed and what Brooke can’t: the Guard are passing. Probably looking for them; they do have a human with them. It’s not an ideal situation.
There’s silence between the three of them for a while, the sound of the Canine Unit snuffling around evident. One of them sneezes, then complains, “I can’t smell anything but these stupid echo flowers!”
Another growls. “We have to keep looking. Come on.”
The sounds pass, and after a tense few minutes, Flowey exhales, the vine around Brooke’s mouth retracting. “That could’ve been bad,” he says quietly.
“He-!” a hand grasped his upper arm, and pulled him aside.
He grunted, and twisted, grabbing for his gun, but a familiar voice hissed “Son, it’s me!” and he stilled, unable to help a wheeze as his back was slammed against a brick wall.
“Shh, Arthur,” the man murmured, and when Arthur opened his mouth to ask what the hell was going on he pressed his gloved hand over it, “Just stay quiet, they can’t see us.”
“Come on, Arthur, come on!”
“I’m coming!” Arthur snapped, firing a last couple of shots over his shoulder, grinning when a lawman’s horse reared, startled by a bullet that struck the dirt between its legs, and dumped its rider, before darting down the side street.
Their pockets were heavy, and if they survived they’d be well fed for weeks. But that damn shop-keeper’s assistant had snuck out when he’d seen them enter the building, figuring out what they were planning before they’d even entered the shop, and set the lawmen on them the moment they’d left the building.
He turned around, bolted down the side street, hearing the lawmen shouting “They went that way!” and cursed under his breath, wondering if it was worth firing anything shot, decided running was more important and kept going.
Shit, where had Dutch gone? The side street was short, and he could hear lawmen ahead of him; had Dutch been caught? Surely not, he would have heard him and the lawmen yelling, but which way had he gone?
“He-!” a hand grasped his upper arm, and pulled him aside.
He grunted, and twisted, grabbing for his gun, but a familiar voice hissed “Son, it’s me!” and he stilled, unable to help a wheeze as his back was slammed against a brick wall, Dutch a thick line of heat against him.
“Shh, Arthur,” the man murmured, and when Arthur opened his mouth to ask what the hell was going on he pressed his gloved hand over it, “Just stay quiet, they can’t see us.” He dropped his forehead to Arthur’s as hoofbeats raced by, footsteps nearing their tiny little alleyway, flattening himself tighter against him, his dark clothing helping to obscure their shapes in the shadows. They were so close Arthur could hear his heart racing in his chest, thundering from the exertion of the chase.
The footsteps stilled in front of their alleyway, and the pair stilled, Dutch’s breath ghosting against his forehead (he was still taller than Arthur, if only just, and hell did he hate it), hand tightening around his mouth in warning, so tight on his jaw that he felt the joint creaking, and he reached up to dig his fingers into Dutch’s forearm as his eyes watered; the man breathed an apology, loosened his grip slightly, and Arthur took a deep breath, wishing he could yawn to work it out.
“They’re not down here!” the lawman finally said, and Dutch heaved a sigh of relief, stepping back and straightening his clothes as Arthur reached up to rub his jaw, scowling and regretting it immediately.
“Come on Arthur,” Dutch muttered, sticking his head out of the alleyway and looking around, “We need to hurry before they come back,” without another word, he began to jog back the way they had come from.
