Warnings: Gun violence, Swearing, Vendetta, dismemberment mention(?)
Sans eyes his brother with uncertainty, not knowing how he's supposed to react to the feather boa. Is he supposed to laugh? Pretend to not notice it? Did his brother lose a deal with the Key Maker, have to dress up like a woman? Maybe not. His brother wouldn't look so smug if he was being forced into something… or maybe he would.
The round skeleton watches as Papyrus slips a square into their meat grinder, the machine's teeth crudely mulching it to a pulp. Sans's brows come together.
…Should he even ask? Should he put a voice to his question? Risk this tentative bit of household peace for a smidge of curiosity that he could well live without?
Roller watches his brother casually mix the shredded polaroid with a bowlful of water and Worcestershire sauce.
…No. Sans's curiosity wasn't worth peace-- or Papyrus's ever-changing temper.
He turns away from the war criminal just in time to miss him setting a wick, gunpowder, and glitter glue on the dinner table.
Sans moves away from the kitchen and into his brick bedroom. His lumpy mattress dips underneath him as he slides an ornate, blue hardcover book out from underneath his pillow. Roller quickly opens the book to where he left off. His open window letting in the construction site ambience from just outside the house.
He has more important things to do than disturb the peace. Like finish "Pride and Prejudice" and then return it before people realize that he isn't reading some kind of academic essay on racism. Which would be feels-y enough in its own right, but the Human/Monster romance Jabot lent him would probably get him stabbed in this part of town if people found out. Shot. Maybe both, in that order.
Sans catches a glimpse of his Human eyes in the tiny wall mirror to his left. He decides to focus back on reading, instead.
…Or maybe he was just paranoid.
Maybe the world is kinder than when he was a baby, he thought, watching Mr. Darcy make his first, somewhat cold, proposal to the sheep Monster, Elizabeth.
More willing to tolerate the fact that he was born.
Maybe he could even--
A gunshot from the kitchen makes Roller fling himself to the floor, borrowed book sailing out through his window.
-----
Papyrus reloads his pistol, grumbling about how he grabbed the Wrong. Damn. Gun.
He'd wanted to have a cigar while he assembled his bootleg firecracker, so he'd reached for the pistol-shaped lighter he looted off of the corpse of a homeless man in Normandy three years ago and pulled the trigger.
This was not that lighter.
He also has a pistol, the same make and model that the real lighter was based on, and he keeps both right next to each other for his own entertainment.
And now, he's just shot his own damn cigar in half.
Vendetta glowers down at the smoldering stub he's set next to his gunpowder, then flicks the pistol chamber closed.
Sans creeps out of his bedroom. There is a gun in his shaky hands, a weapon Papyrus knows his brother doesn't have the strength to use, but enough weight to bluff with. He cautiously peers into the kitchen. Papyrus sees the man make eye contact with him.
Vendetta rolls his eyes at Roller's theatrics.
"CALM YOUR TITS, WOMAN. IT'S JUST ME."
No longer fearing for his life, and after a significant pause, Sans pockets his gun and rounds on his brother in a disorganized fury.
"H-- What the hell are you doing?!? Do you-- I-- you just woke up the whole building!"
Papyrus grabs the correct lighter, attempting to salvage the half of his cigar that hadn't fallen to the floor.
"I'M KEEPING THE RENT DOWN, YOU SISSY. WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE I'M DOING?" He lights up.
"You--!"
There is a familiar, harsh knock at the front door, and Sans begins to sweat.
"This is the police! You have five seconds before we forcefully search your home! Five! Four! Three--!"
---
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