Papyrus stared at the ceiling for the whole day, blank and in deep contemplation. Being stuck to a hospital bed was one of the most boring moments in his life.
His best flower friend took care of all his needs. Making sure he drank. Making sure he ate. And making sure that Papyrus never, ever, ever takes off the red scarf around his skull.
To pass the time in between tasks, Flowey played on his portable video game console. “Maybe you should just try to sleep, Papyrus.” he said.
Papyrus replied, “I’VE SLEPT FOR DAYS, FLOWERY. I REFUSE TO BECOME LIKE SANS!”
“Point taken. Feel like solving some puzzles instead?”
“I GUESS. BUT I DON’T SEE ANY BOOKS LYING AROUND.”
“Heh. Be prepared to get your mind blown away then!”
After a few taps on the gaming pad, Flowey passed his console to Papyrus. “Go nuts. Solve as many as you’d like.”
Flowey showed him everything under the ‘puzzle’ category. With all those titles, there would be hundreds, maybe thousands of options.
Oh how he sparkled at the sight. “WOWIE!!! THIS IS A TREASURE TROVE! THANK YOU VERY MUCH.”
He got right to it. Flowey watched over his shoulder, just like the old days.
One set of puzzles.
Two.
Ten.
Thirty.
A whole day must have passed by now, right? Papyrus remembered how it would take him forever to solve this many. But, when he looked at the wall clock, it was only two hours. He spent an average of four minutes per puzzle.
“HOW STRANGE. WHAT IS THIS BABYBONES DIFFICULTY?!” he asked the flower.
Flowey looked over the puzzles again. “Do you wanna call your old self a babybone? Because nothing changed. These puzzles are about the same level as the stuff you had in the Underground. You’re not cheating with your all-seeing-eye… right?”
“NOPE,” Papyrus frowned.
“Well then, I think you finally gained some experience! Or. Maybe Lady Lucidia did something to your brain, skull, whatever, while you were asleep.”
“NOW THAT’S JUST SILLY. SHE’S A FAIRY GODMOTHER, NOT A MAD SCIENTIST! THAT TITLE BELONGS TO UNCLE GASTER AND ALTER PAPYRUS.”
The ex-prince lifted his leaves in protest. “A person who can transform a pumpkin into a carriage is totally capable of tweaking people’s heads!”
“HMMMM…” Papyrus rubbed his chin. “YOU DO HAVE A POINT. BOTH REQUIRE SACRILEGIOUS LEVELS OF ATOMIC MAGICAL MANIPULATION THAT MAY OR MAY NOT CROSS THE BOUNDARIES OF NATURE!”
The moment Papyrus finished his speech, the one and only Mezil Thyme entered the room.
“I heard that,” he said, ever grumpy.
Flowey tried to play innocent. “Nope. You didn’t. You weren’t even in the room. You shouldn’t be hearing anything in the first place.”
Mezil’s squinted at Flowey. Showing his earpiece, he said: “You think that Lucidia wouldn’t install monitoring devices? Papyrus is under observation, for goodness sake.”
The flower stared back at the Magus with disgust. “And you wonder why people think she’s a witch?”
Ignoring Flowey, Mezil pulled a chair over to Papyrus and sat there. “My wife aside, you are half-right. Papyrus did gain experience. His observational and cognitive skills have improved over the trial of fire. Count on his good fortune that he came out remotely fine.”
Thinking over it again, Papyrus had to admit that his old self was too distracted by thoughts of fame and popularity. Maybe that’s why he found Junior Jumbles so difficult? Those require some level of focus.
The old man leaned on his chair, resting his head against the wall. He had the face of someone who had just woken up and was still trying to get his engine started.
He said: “It would have been nice if she could really ‘fix’ someone’s brain, though. Might have cured someone who dearly needs it.”
Papyrus frowned. “IS IT MISTER GAELIC?”
“Yes,” the Magus replied.
The skeleton gave the console back to Flowey. Any mood for fun and games was all but gone now.
“WHAT’S WRONG WITH HIM?” asked Papyrus. “HE BECAME WORSE THAN A REAL DOG. HE REMINDS ME OF THE SCARY CREATURES INSIDE STORYBOOKS.”
The flower interjected, “I wanna know too.”
“I’m not the expert,” said Mezil. “But from what I understood, it’s some kind of a backlash from activating The Eye too soon in his developmental cycle. You will have to ask Lucidia for further details.”
Flowey complained. “Aw c’mon, man, I’m sure YOU know enough. You married the most computer skelly lady in the world!”
“IT’S FINE,” Puffing his chest, Papyrus announced the following: “THERE’S NO BETTER WAY FOR THE GREAT PAPYRUS TO GAIN KNOWLEDGE THAN TO SEEK IT STRAIGHT FROM THE SOURCE.”
“Hmm.” The flower pondered. “Skips any stupid misinformation too. Not a bad plan. If that’s the case, we can also ask what the heck is going on with you.”
The skeleton placed his hand over his right eye. Could his own power turn into an enemy? Sans did mention that the Seer’s Eye is both a blessing and a curse.
“WILL I… BE ALRIGHT?” asked Papyrus.
Mezil turned the question around. “What is your definition of being ‘alright’? To return to your old life unscathed, as though it was all a dream? Or do you expect to escape with the skin between your teeth?”
“I SUPPOSE IT MEANS ‘TO FUNCTION WELL ENOUGH FOR A NORMAL LIFE’.”
“Then you will have to ask yourself what is your new ‘normal’.”
Papyrus started sweating a bit. Still, he forced a smile. “AS LONG AS I DON’T NEED TO CHANGE MY HOUSE ADDRESS TO A HOSPITAL WARD.”
The old man huffed. “Then you’re fine. At worst, you’ll live with me in the Berendin Manor.”
“I HOPE IT DOESN’T COME TO THAT!” he exclaimed. “NOTHING AGAINST YOU, BUT EBOTT TOWN IS MY HOME.”
“Understandable.”
That made the young skeleton think. Mezil -- the old man with a lifetime of experience -- mentioned that he was born in the same city as The Magus Association. Then, he described a rather unhappy family life.
Was it really that terrible?
So Papyrus asked: “MISTER MAGUS, WHAT WAS YOUR CHILDHOOD LIKE?”
Mezil glanced at the former prince. “I would rather not want to continue this conversation with Flowey around. It’s a private matter.”
“Fine, Fine. I’ll eavesdrop like usual.” Flowey hopped on his levitating plate. Quite a technological wonder there. It’s controlled by magic. A soulless DEMON Flowey may be, he still had his monster touch.
Once he left, Mezil relaxed his shoulders. Papyrus figured that it was less about the facts and more about the presence. Maybe he didn’t want to be on guard for sassy, snarky commentary. Too much of a distraction.
“I suppose both of us had irregular childhoods,” he began. “You, raised by your older brother. Me, who raised himself. You turned out much better. What a difference love makes.”
“YOU RAISED YOURSELF?” The skeleton scratched his head. “I THOUGHT YOU HAD PARENTS.”
The other huffed. “Not much parenting can be done when one is drunk half the time. They’re forever addled. Mind asleep in a different land. I might as well have been an orphan.”
“BUT WHAT ABOUT YOUR SIBLINGS? THEY SOUND NAUGHTY BUT, I’M SURE YOU CARE ABOUT EACH OTHER.”
“No. My sister resented my parents for their failures. And me, for my success. Part of the reason why she turned to drugs.”
“As for my younger brother… he cares only about himself. A worse sociopath than your flower friend: the rest of us were mere sources of money to feed his risky games.”
Papyrus shivered for a moment. That was Mezil’s ‘family’? Home should conjure images of a safe place where people love and annoy each other. Not… whatever he just described.
The man continued: “I kept the house in order so Child Protection Services won’t take me away. Some may call it ‘enabling behaviour’, but I just didn’t want to leave. My own siblings were already a headache. Dealing with complete strangers who may or may not come from worse conditions? An absolute nightmare.”
“BUT, YOU COULD ALSO HAVE MET SOMEONE LIKE FRISK.” Papyrus smiled.
“I could,” said Mezil. “But I didn’t believe it was possible. If you think I’m a pessimist now, you’ve not met my younger self.”
“I’M GLAD YOU GOT BETTER. EVEN IF IT’S A BIT.”
“Did I truly? …Or is it just your presuppositions?”
He seemed… doubtful? Troubled? Mezil’s perpetual frown made it difficult to tell the difference. Frisk’s youthful and simple face telegraphed the nuances better.
“Say, Papyrus… When you were a child, what did you do when you’re bored?”
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Talking about himself always gets Papyrus animated. “PUZZLES! LOTS OF THEM! AND IF I FELT MORE RAMBUNCTIOUS, I WOULD RUN AROUND PRETENDING TO BE A HEROIC ROYAL KNIGHT! THAT’S SOME GOOD TRAINING, I MUST ADMIT.”
“And what would you do when you’re angry?”
“HMMMM…” The skeleton mused. “DEPENDS. IF IT WAS WITH UNDYNE, I WOULD WRESTLE HER ON THE SPOT!”
“IF IT’S NOT WITH UNDYNE, I WOULD JUST SCREAM, SPIN AROUND, AND STOMP MY FOOT. THAT WOULD SPEND MOST OF MY ANGER POINTS! ANYTHING LEFT WOULD BE USED UP IN JOGGING AND PUZZLECRAFTING.”
Mezil raised a brow. “Isn’t that just irritation?”
“IRRITATION IS A FORM OF ANGER TOO.”
“I suppose. As for me: in my times of boredom, I would go to the arcade. And there…” His voice darkened. “In my growing anger, I would ‘kill’ anything that stood in my way. The more difficult the enemy, the better.”
Silence hung in the air. Papyrus didn’t know how to react yet. There’s a nagging sense of familiarity in this scenario.
But what?
Think, Papyrus. Think.
Grillby once said something about solving puzzles in steps. His mental gears thus tried to connect the dots.
Which troubled individual did this story remind him off…?
Chara? No. Mezil had no such grandiose fantasies about genocide. He never once smiled in his battles.
Flowery then? No. Though boredom was a shared motif, it wasn’t the source of his apathy or killing intent.
What about Sans? No. Sans had more focus. He always built his plans around a specific goal or target. That would be Mezil later in life, not the fledgling youth.
Maybe… Frisk?
Papyrus exclaimed, “SO YOUNG AND BURDENED… YOU MUST HAVE BEEN STRESSED BEYOND YOUR HAIR, WISHING TO ‘KILL’ YOUR PROBLEMS JUST SO YOU COULD BREATHE. YOU WERE JUST LIKE FRISK! ”
The positive tone didn’t go unnoticed. Mezil asked, “Why be so happy about that?”
“MISTER MAGUS, IT MEANS THAT YOU CAN HELP THEM! AND THEY CAN HELP YOU! I WAS WORRIED THAT YOU WOULD HAVE NO COMMON GROUND, SEPARATED BY DECADES OF OLDNESS.”
Mezil… resisted the urge to bite his lip? Was he embarrassed by the connection? Flustered?! Who would have thought.
After regaining his composure the old Magus asked: “Is it that obvious?”
Papyrus nodded. “FROM WHAT I UNDERSTAND, TSUNDERES ARE HARDEST WITH THOSE WHO’RE MOST LIKE THEM.”
“I don’t think that’s exclusively a tsundere idea. Nor I would say that Frisk shared the same issues as I did either. But, you’re right to some extent.”
Looking away, the Magus said: “You believe people can choose to be good. I did not. And, I still don’t.”
“ARE YOU SURE?” Papyrus asked back. “YOU GAVE ME A CHANCE!”
“Thank the Grandmaster for that. I honestly didn’t have high opinions about you. I was at wit’s end. My deck, empty. Desperate for a game-changer. Any game-changer. That’s how ‘low’ you were on my radar.”
Papyrus glanced left and right. “I EXPECTED IT AS MUCH. HAVE WE HAD THIS CONVERSATION BEFORE?”
“Did we? Maybe. I can’t remember. A day for one man could be a month for me. Sometimes, my personal thoughts get mixed up with events. Thank God for Lucidia.”
“I KNOW HOW YOU FEEL.” Papyrus nodded. Yes, that Chara incident. He had a first-hand taste of a Living Victory’s life. “THAT’S OKAY. WE’LL JUST REMIND EACH OTHER.”
He then asked: “WHY DON’T YOU BELIEVE OTHERS CAN BE GOOD?”
“What is ‘good’?” Mezil replied. “That everyone is happy? Or winning a prize you want? Or getting others to concede to your wishes? Fortune and misfortune are two sides of the same coin. One man’s cruelty can be another man’s heroism. Without knowing that person’s standard for ‘goodness’, I would rather err on the side of caution.”
Papyrus clutched the end of his blanket. “THAT… SOUNDS LIKE SOMETHING SANS WOULD SAY.”
“Without doubt, he would. Application is where we diverge. ‘In the End, I persevere’, that was his Ascension. His SOUL’s vow. It didn’t matter how hopeless or nonsensical or questionable the circumstances were, anything to stop the universe from collapsing into a premature end. As for myself…”
Mezil uncapped the top of his cane and drew his sword. He used its polished surface as a mirror, reflecting his visage.
“You heard it before: ‘As long I walk on this Earth, I shall preserve peace. No schemer nor manipulator shall tarnish the hearts of the pure for their sick and twisted amusement. My loved ones must be protected, no matter what’.”
“Similar, sure, but different in intent. There’s a reason why I detest conniving wordplays: they hide malice behind innocent ideas. Detestable.”
The Magus offered the blade by the hilt. “Do you want to hold it?”
“SURE!”
The young skeleton lifted it one-handed. Contrary to expectations, it was light. Maybe between 400 to 600 grams? Less than a kilogram for sure.
“I THOUGHT YOU ALREADY HAVE A GUN. ISN’T THIS FANCY BLADE REDUNDANT?”
This time, Papyrus could hear the sheer dismissal in Mezil’s huff. “Come back to me when you’re stranded in battle with no bullets. There’s weight and bulk to consider too. Magic? That could attract unwanted attention. Swords are silent. Stealthy.”
“I SEE… BUT I’M NOT EVEN SURE IT’S LEGAL. THE HUMAN COPS GOT CONCERNED WHEN I SHOWED THEM MY CALCIOUS BATONS.”
“A swordcane is indeed illegal under normal circumstances. They’re considered ‘concealed weapons’. Though, as Supreme Judge, I have the necessary clearance while on duty.”
Papyrus tilted the blade, the reflection shifted against the silver gleam. It’s a beautiful piece of art. Except, it was meant to take the lives of others.
“WERE YOU ALSO ARMED AT FRISK’S WAKE?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Mezil, “The situation was more dangerous than you realise.”
“…WHAT’S IT LIKE TO KILL A PERSON? DO YOU FEEL ANYTHING? I IMAGINE THAT IT MUST BE PAINFUL.”
“I want to say that it depends on the victim. But, that would be a lie.”
The Magus remained silent for a while. His constant-stoic expression made it difficult for Papyrus to guess his exact emotions.
“I felt nothing,” at last he admitted. “Nothing died on the inside, as others have attested. I did not choke from disgust, by sight or by scent. Blood didn’t trigger any negative reactions. Neither was I haunted by remorse over the lives I had ended.”
“In other words, I’m abnormal. A ‘monster’ in human terms. Though it’s closer to a DEMON, if you ask me.”
Is that how Mezil thinks of himself? At this rate, a truly normal well-adjusted person would be the most special of them all.
But…
Papyrus knew better than to accept surface facts. Mezil is the kind of guy that requires one to read between the lines.
“MISTER MAGUS, IT’S OKAY TO BE ABNORMAL AS LONG YOU KEEP TRYING TO BE BETTER. BESIDES, YOU’RE JUST MAKING YOURSELF SOUND WORSE THAN REALITY! AN UTTER TSUNDERE TO YOURSELF!”
“I KNOW DEEP INSIDE YOU ARE KIND. IF YOU WERE TRULY AS COLD AS YOUR WEAPONS, YOU WOULDN’T HAVE POURED SO MUCH INTO HELPING OTHERS. EVEN… EVEN IF THEY END UP HATING YOU FOR IT.”
“TRULY, BEHIND THAT MURDEROUS FRONT IS SOMEONE WITH A SOFT HEART.”
That must have hit an emotional bullseye. The stoicism broke: try as he might to hide, Mezil’s cheeks turned pink.
How he flustered. “T-that’s nonsense! I-- you-- Did Lucidia tell you to say that?!”
Papyrus chuckled. “I KNEW IT! THE FAIRY GODMOTHER HAS HIGH STANDARDS AND EXCELLENT TASTES. GREAT MINDS THINK ALIKE, AS THEY SAY. AND THERE’S NONE GREATER THAN THE GREAT PAPYRUS! NYEH HEH HEH!!!”
“Tsk, now you’re just rubbing it in with your sarcastic glory hogging.”
He wriggled his brows. Yes, he was being cheeky. It’s a trait often obscured by his zany logic. It takes a sharp person to tell the difference.
Just when he was about to show the old man the true joys of wordplay… his phone rang. Mezil reached into his pocket.
“Mettaton, hm?” he muttered, then walked away. “Please excuse me.”
“UM, BUT YOUR CANE…” The sharp half of it was still in Papyrus’ possession.
Too late. Mezil had already left to attend to the call.
How does it feel to wield a real non-magical weapon? Papyrus wondered… Would it warp and wobble against the wind? Would it be bouncy?
Papyrus got out of bed, trying out a few moves with Mezil’s blade. It’s balanced. Surprisingly sturdy.
Nonetheless, something felt ‘off’. Uncomfortable. Was his technique wrong? Or, his conscience couldn’t bear the thought of holding a true instrument of killing? It’s different from a misappropriated kitchen knife.
Mezil cleared his throat to catch Papyrus’ attention.
“Playtime is over,” he said. “I would like to have the rest of my cane back, thank you very much.”
“OH! NO PROBLEM.”
The young skeleton passed the weapon back. Hilt first and blade pointing downward of course. Safety first.
After reassembly, Mezil reached for the opposite pocket… What’s inside there?
He pulled out a familiar looking device and handed it to Papyrus; “Fully charged. Ready for you to use anytime.”
When Papyrus inspected it further, he realised that it was his very own phone. He accepted it in absolute delight. “THANK YOU SO SO VERY MUCH!”
“Mettaton just called,” said Mezil. “He informed me that you had some ‘new friends’ desperate to contact you. So much so that they sought out the celebrity in his own studio. You need to contact them the moment you’re awake.”
New friends?
Desperate?
Mettaton’s Studio?
Papyrus turned on his phone. Turns out, he had a lot of missed calls registered to ‘a new friend’.
It all made sense now. He gulped in his heart. Did Mezil try to pry? “I SUPPOSE THERE’S A DOWNSIDE TO BEING POPULAR. NO BREAKS ALLOWED.”
“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” Mezil replied. “Injuries can’t always be avoided. Your ‘new friends’ should understand this best.”
The way Mezil emphasised his words clued to Papyrus that the old man knew the truth. Not surprising, since Mezil was sharper than a tack. Papyrus was more disappointed with himself for not being able to maintain secrecy.
“DO… YOU HAVE ANY ADVICE FOR ME?” he asked. This would be his first true diplomatic ‘mission’. Any teachings from a senior would help.
Mezil replied: “Worldviews matter. A person’s value determines what they perceive as truth. Good. Bad. All easily twisted to mere subjectivity. A successful diplomat must know when to open their arms, when to stand their ground, and when to shut the door.”
The Judge pointed the top of his cane at Papyrus. In all his characteristic grimness, he warned: “Weigh every demand carefully. And never, ever make rash promises.”
More heavy things to contemplate about.
“THANK YOU,” said the skeleton. “I’LL KEEP THAT IN MIND. NYEH.”
The elder nodded. “You’re a hero now, Papyrus. I entrust this connection to you.”
And so, The Supreme Judge left the young, budding hero with his first true assignment in the real world.
It’s going to be a tough job, but Papyrus wasn’t afraid. He’s about to try something that could only be dreamt of for centuries. The idea filled him with both fear and excitement.
No point lollygagging anymore. He dialled the number and waited for the other end to pick up.
It was almost instant.
“Oracle,” said Aiden. “Your kind’s celebrity insisted that you were out of commission. Is that true?”
Papyrus replied. “YES. I TRIED TO STOP MY BROTHER’S NEFARIOUS PLANS. IT… DIDN’T TURN OUT AS WELL AS I HAD HOPED.”
“‘Brother’? I presume he’s a Coloured One too. There’s a reason why I don’t trust those of bone.”
“IT’S NOT UNFOUNDED. BUT, I -- THE GREAT PAPYRUS -- AM HONEST. PLEASE WAIT FOR A MOMENT.”
With his selfie camera, Papyrus snapped a picture of himself: hospital gown and enchanted red scarf included. He then send it straight to Aiden’s number.
Over at the other end, he heard Mettaton’s dramatic distress. He heard the young teenager Dayton as well.
Whoops. Mezil did say they were Mettaton’s guests. That bot would never leave his visitors unattended. Basic hospitality after all.
Aiden returned to the line. “Wounds held together by The Sky Witch’s potent magic… they must be serious injuries. Scars are the proof of survival. Wear them with pride.”
“I-I WILL.” It’s not surprising that the Gungnir value toughness.
“I’M SORRY FOR NOT BEING AVAILABLE AT YOUR MOST ANXIOUS MOMENTS. SINCE I’M HERE NOW, LET’S GET RIGHT TO BUSINESS! WHAT DO YOU WISH TO ASK ME?”
“I want to meet your new Crimson Keeper.”
“FRISK?”
“Yes. We Gungnir have tried to secure them many times. It’s unprecedented to have a Chosen strong enough to overpower the Vampire. If Frisk ascends as a new god, we’ll finally take back our ancestor’s Keys of Fate. That will end the infighting.”
Listening to Aiden only brought more questions. Infighting? The Gungnir weren’t united? Papyrus thought that was a Magus problem.
“WHO WAS YOUR ANCESTOR?” he had to ask.
So Aiden explained, “You know our ancestor as ‘The Legendary Hero’. Though the True Name was lost, we still venerate the memory of ‘Asas Asal Ara’. It roughly translates to ‘Ara, the original origin’.”
“OOOOOH.” Papyrus nodded slowly. How fascinating.
“Asas Asal Ara is the founder of us Aratet. Before that, we were fleeing nomads. Our land was ruled by demonic courts: twisted abominations in the shape of humans. Taking pity of us, the Asas Asal used the power of the divine gods -- the Keys of Fate -- to purge the corruption.”
“Yet his heroic deeds were defiled. First by the kings of the West, then by the Magi. Those of magic killed our founder to steal the power of the gods. We’ve been fighting to regain it ever since.”
That didn’t align to what Papyrus had witnessed. Mezil wasn’t kidding about mismatched perceptions.
If that’s the case…
“JUST TO CONFIRM,” said Papyrus. “WE ONLY WANT TO TALK, RIGHT? NO VIOLENCE? NO FIGHTING?”
“Indeed. I hope it will remain a peaceful dialogue.”
“THEN JUST LEAVE IT TO ME! THE GREAT PAPYRUS WILL ENSURE A SMOOTH MONUMENTAL GREETING BETWEEN TWO MISUNDERSTOOD SIDES! NYEH HEH HEH!”
“I don’t have a say in it?” asked the other.
“OH! I APOLOGIZE. HOW RUDE OF ME TO NOT ASK FOR YOUR OPINIONS. DO YOU HAVE ANY SPECIFIC REQUESTS?”
“I’ve heard rumours that you’re an aspiring chef. Cook us an Aratet welcoming feast. That will prove if you’re worthy of diplomatic discussions. Should you fail, Frisk will meet us alone. Do we agree?”
All he needed was to cook? What an easy job! Papyrus accepted it without thinking twice.
With utmost confidence, he answered the call. “I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL COOK YOU A FEAST THAT YOU WILL NEVER FORGET! NYEH HEH HEH!”
“Good. Your task begins the moment you’ve healed enough to leave hospital. From there, you will have three days. Do not cheat. I have eyes on you.”
“Rest well, Oracle.”
The call ended.
“YES!” Papyrus pumped his fist. “MISSION ACCOMPLISHED! NOW ALL I HAVE TO DO IS TO WRITE DOWN A SHOPPING LIST.”
Three seconds later, streams of sweat saturated his scarf. That’s when he realised that he had forgotten Mezil’s key advice.
‘Never make rash promises.’
“…I… HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO COOK AN ARATET WELCOMING FEAST!!!”