Mezil never brought so many people into his Hub before. There’s always a first time for everything, one could say. They’re the core Ebott crew, with the exception of Flowey, Chara, and Sans Serif.
It was certainly a cheerful atmosphere. Papyrus uttered a joyful squeal, while the rest of the monsters were in various levels of wonder and awe.
Undyne grinned. “So THIS is Mezil Thyme’s magical time-desync training space???”
“YES!” said Papyrus. “I’M SO HAPPY TO SEE IT AGAIN. I THOUGHT… I THOUGHT I WOULD NEVER COME BACK HERE.”
“Aww, did you have good memories? Like, LOTS OF TRAINING???”
The mention of ‘good memories’ made Mezil cough. Papyrus went through hell and back to deal with that Chara menace. The old veteran wouldn’t count it as a pleasant time.
But Papyrus had a different mindset. “OF COURSE! HE EVEN HAS A KITCHEN! WITH THE ABILITY TO SPAWN ANY INGREDIENT I WANT! A GREAT PLACE TO PRACTICE COOKING -- SHOULD THE GRACIOUS VAMPIRE OF TIME GRANT ME HIS PERMISSION -- BECAUSE IT WOULD BE BENEATH THE GREAT PAPYRUS TO MESS UP THE GRAND FEAST!”
“Worry not, Papyrus. You may practice in this Hub after your brother’s Trial. Please bear with us for a while longer.”
Wistful, the youngster expressed: “THOUGH I WISH FLOWEY AND CHARA COULD HELP ME OUT.”
“Sorry,” said Mezil. “Certified Soulless DEMONS are not allowed in my sanctuary. It’s a rule.”
“I UNDERSTAND. IN THE MEANTIME… CAN I SHOW MY FRIENDS ALL YOUR COOL SNAZZY ROOMS???”
“Go ahead,” he said.
So, Papyrus kicked off his mini tour. Frisk stayed behind, however, squinting at Mezil with crossed arms.
“Does this mean I could have saved all that travelling time for my trial?”
Mezil wondered what would be the most difficult part of this odd session: keeping Sans Serif’s mouth in check, or handling Frisk’s genre savvy snark?
The adult replied: “You think I’d reveal the secret before you pass your test? What if you had turned out to be a Fallen? Besides, many believe the Crimson Hall is an actual location. It’s important to maintain public perception.”
Though still displeased, the kid agreed to his sound reasoning. “Good point.”
Their expression then changed to glimmering hope. “Can I do the same in the future? Access my cool space anywhere I want?”
Mezil answered, “With some refinement on your magic, yes.”
All that irritation vanished in an instant. Frisk’s eyes twinkled with anticipation.
Well, the Hub access is one of the best perks. I had used it in more than one occasion to circumvent inconvenient situations.
…Convenience, huh. What a dangerous lullaby.
Lucidia commented straight into his mind: “It was indeed very convenient when you stole yourself away for Jungle Curry.”
Hrk! The commlinks are open?
“Yes, honey. Now. About that Jungle Curry. Is it really worth punishing your bowels for that taste? I tried it before and I would rather have a cheese platter.”
I… I apologize for my mistake during the Chara incident.
“And?”
The Persona talk was for the greater good.
Lucidia remained bitter. “You rewound time for Papyrus, and yet you neglected to warn me about my own folly? Is he more important than me now?”
Not exactly what he expected. Close enough, nonetheless.
Lucy dear, you could have walked away from Doctor Gaster anytime. I had reminded you before: sometimes you just have to let someone be wrong. Also, I don’t think it’s fair that you push that responsibility on me, considering that you were also made aware of the consequences of your choices through your Perseverance.
“…I know. That’s why I didn’t want to confront you about it.”
But you kept it in your heart anyway. Isn’t being passive-aggressive worse on yourself? There’s no need to hide from me, Lucidia. I can handle you.
“I’m more frustrated about myself. I can’t stand seeing that Gaster so WRONG about his definitions.”
“It’s not just Sans Serif who’s affected here…”
“Um, Tsunderjudge?” asked Frisk, “You okay? You’re spacing out.”
Mezil replied, “I’m fine. Sorry about that. Was thinking about something.”
“Can I ask you another question then?”
“Yes?”
“Gaelic said you have some… dark complicated history. It’s related to me and the Crimson Hall.”
Mezil replied, “Did he? I suppose sooner or later I’ll have to disclose it to you. But not right now.”
“Why not?” they asked back.
“I don’t want my past to influence you just yet.” Mezil replied. He then asked: “Do you know how the Dreemurr Nation handles court cases?”
Frisk narrowed their eyes with an audible ‘hmm’. “Monsters tend to duke it out. I don’t know if they ever settled anything without a magic rumble.”
Internal palm to the face. Mezil still wondered how their society could run with so many outdated areas in administration. Their scientific department was a ‘delightful’ mess.
Hmm. In that case, I would need to secure the safety of both parties. Sans Serif included. If I can’t do that, he might retaliate. That will just worsen the situation for everyone involved.
Lucidia mused over the line. “Sir Gerson, Hammer of Justice… his Champion magic might be useful here. I had seen how The Law stopped all of Gaelic’s direct hits.”
Interesting. How is Gaelic anyway? Has he recovered?
“I’m… trying to get him back on some proper routine. Dress right, eat at the table, practice his Snake Arts, the usual. Grandpa is praying with him too. The more he builds discipline, the sooner he might recover…”
A lack of confidence resonated in her words. It didn’t sound like his recovery was quite on track. The clouded news made Mezil’s determined heart sink a little.
Why don’t we make your introduction official to Frisk?
“Yes, very well.”
Mezil summoned a holographic voice panel. He set it to broadcast her words for the child to hear. “Lucidia, my dear, is the Crimson Hall ready?”
“Preparations are complete. Do you wish to connect it to the physical realm now?”
“Not yet. Papyrus had initiated a tour around the Hub. It’ll take a while.”
Frisk meanwhile stared at them with great astonishment.
“Lady Lucidia is here?!” exclaimed Frisk.
Tapping his cane on the ground, he explained: “She’s currently in a hidden basement of this Hub, managing its systems.”
Faint ‘ngaaaah’s’ and ‘nyeh heh heh’s’ then echoed from the gaming room. From the sounds, Mezil concluded that Team Ebott had discovered the pinball machine. He was never a fan of the game, but no respectable arcade would be complete without that oversized vintage toy. At least Papyrus was enjoying himself.
Lucidia giggled. It pleased him to hear that her mood lightened a tad.
“What a sweetheart. I will be on standby then.”
“Thank you.”
He then dispelled the panel.
When the Ebott Gang finally finished their tour, they gathered back at the living room’s table. They were given key necessities for making their rough drafts, such as pens and papers.
Mezil remained standing, resting some of his weight on the cane before him. “Today, you’re preparing for another Trial of the Crimson Hall,” he began, stern.
“The subject’s name is Sans Serif, the biggest thorn of our diplomatic efforts. Negotiations will resume once we settle his case. Ideally, this covers matters surrounding the Six as well.”
“MORE FIGHTING?” Papyrus frowned. “I THOUGHT WE’RE DONE WITH THOSE SHENANIGANS.”
“He was an invader back then. Now, we’re testing him as a legitimate candidate. Furthermore. I will not be the one to handle his case.”
“Frisk Wanderstar,” commanded Mezil. “In the name of cooperation and coexistence, step forth to receive your duty.”
It’s rather heartwarming to see their friends and family give them little signs of encouragement. Mezil had stopped envying this closeness a long time ago. He didn’t remember when. Maybe he never had that feeling to begin with?
The kid then looked up at him, waiting for their next instruction.
So, Mezil conjured a fully loaded pistol and placed them in Frisk’s hands. “This gun is a sign of your authority. Use it wisely.”
Frisk’s brow twitched. “…Are you serious?”
“Yes,” replied the Judge.
They looked at Mezil, then back at the pistol, and then back at him again. “I don’t even know how to use a real gun! The one I used in the Underground was empty!”
Undyne blinked. “What do you mean, punk? Don’t you just aim and pull the trigger?”
Papyrus then mused out loud: “I NEVER UNDERSTOOD WHY IT’S CALLED ‘PULL’ WHEN YOU CLEARLY ‘PUSH’ YOUR FINGER INTO THE LITTLE TINY HOOK.”
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
Doctor Alphys, master of trivia, started spouting random facts: “T-t-that’s because you actually pull your finger back into the firing mechanism! Modern guns like Mezil’s rely on a Double-Action trigger, where the hammer strikes and releases in one action which is REVOLUTIONARY compared to their earlier incarnations--”
“That’s… interesting.” Said Queen Toriel, skeptical. “But how does that help my child?”
“W-well, good practices go a long way. For example, a gun won’t fire unless the safety is removed.”
Frisk showed the gun to Alphys. “But I don’t know if this is or isn’t locked either…”
Before they caused a catastrophic accident, Mezil dispelled the gun. He already imagined Lucidia being speechless over his bizarre choice.
“Eherm,” he cleared his throat. “Let’s try something else.”
What other symbols of judicial authority do we have? Hmm…
So, Mezil spawned a judge’s gavel for Frisk.
The kid shook their head, refusing to accept it. “We already have a ‘Hammer of Justice’ right here. We don’t need any more.” Their thumb pointed to Sir Gerson.
“True that! Wa ha ha!”
Such fuss… Good thing he had Patience as one of his Minor traits. “What do you suggest then?”
Reaching their palm out, Frisk answered: “The Wanderstar. My SAVE. There’s no better symbol of authority.”
“Very well. Focus your power on your palm. The Keys are yours the moment your Mark forms.”
The elder drew in a long, deep breath. Slowing down his heart rate helped shut his inner crimson valves sector by sector. He closed off the flow belonging to Frisk in particular, allowing them to fill their personal reservoir again.
It didn’t take long for Frisk’s star to shine bright on their palm.
“…Why is it gold?”
Frisk replied, “Why not? This works just fine.”
A plain black and white window popped up beside them. It had a single SAVE slot with their name on it.
“No,” Mezil instructed. “Make it red. You’ll see the difference.”
“Okay?”
When Frisk pumped in more Determination, their symbol shifted hues to crimson. Five new empty SAVE slots opened beneath their measly single file.
They dropped their jaws, blown away by the revelation. As with their friends.
“Ohmigoshohmigosh it quintupled in capacity!”
“I CAN’T BELIEVE IT! WAIT, I CAN. MISTER MAGUS HAD ONE HUNDRED.”
“One hundred?!?! Jeez! Kid, we’re ramping up your training! Let’s make it TWO HUNDRED!”
“…What kind of situation would require anyone to keep that many?…”
Lucidia privately whispered: “Little did they know, you had once used 93% of your max capacity before.”
Resolving that damn Aratet War was indeed a huge pain in the rear. Not to mention pyrrhic and unsatisfying.
The world became peaceful. But, it didn’t get better. Back to square one.
“Everyone, don’t get too excited.” Mezil reminded. “Let’s continue the briefing.”
“Sans Serif, Lichborn Tactician of the Dreemurr Nation, had dyed his SOUL Red. He had enough expertise to manifest a Mark and cheated death at least once. This makes him a full-fledged Living Victory by technical definition.”
“He is however also a citizen of the Dreemurr Nation. It would widen the diplomatic rift between our nations if I drag him by the chains as a DEMON. Therefore, I’m handing custody of him over to Frisk Wanderstar: Crimson Keeper and Ambassador of Monsters.”
“The Dreemurr Nation shall thus trial him based on their own laws, and in the method they believe is the most fair. That’s the gist of our current predicament.”
Queen Toriel asked: “Can we resolve this without violence?”
“Yes,” Mezil replied, “I don’t conduct all my Trials by battle either. Many of my candidates are unable to fight.”
There was a wave of relief over the monsters, each of different reasons. Some were happy for Sans’ sake. Others were grateful that they didn’t need to engage in another hair-splitting deathmatch.
“Today’s proceedings will be closer to a standard courtroom. However, there is one key exception: there will be no jury, as we do not have enough time to secure a neutral third party. The Ebottians will act as prosecution, levying out their charges against Sans Serif.”
“Who’s defending Sans?” Frisk questioned.
“Himself,” Replied Mezil. “Which is ideal. Unlike standard courtrooms, the Crimson Hall depends on personal accountability. A man or woman who’s unable to speak for themselves wouldn’t become a Living Victory.”
“I suggest that you take advantage of the disconnect in the flow of time to prepare your case. Once the Trial of the Crimson Hall begins, the clock will resume as usual.”
“THAT’S STRANGE,” Papyrus pointed out. “WOULDN’T IT BE BETTER IF WE FINISH THIS WITHOUT WORRYING ABOUT PRECIOUS SECONDS?”
“I wish we could. But, the Trial of the Crimson Hall demands the presence of the Grandmaster. He monitors the proceedings from his office in the physical realm. It’s too much of a security risk otherwise.”
Mezil bowed his head in respect to the ancient turtle. “Sir Gerson, if you have nothing to bring against Sans Serif, could you help us?”
“Wa ha ha! Of course!” The ancient turtle nodded. “Let the young’uns sort it out.”
“I would like to request you to lay down a boundary field. Deny anything that will cause harm or death.”
“No problemo! Leave that to me. Waha!”
“Thank you.”
The Dreemurr Nation began putting their plans on paper. They shared their ideas between themselves… and laughed. A lot.
Seems that they’re planning less of a sentence and more of a revenge prank.
“I think it’s many an Ebottian’s dream to ‘dunk on the dunker’.”
Hmm. What should I do in the meantime? Maybe boot a challenging game? Take a nap? Or, read some Scripture. Lord knows I’m behind on that.
Just when he thought he’d have a moment's rest, Team Ebott had already finished their assignments. It’s either they worked fast, or their demands were ‘simple’, to say the least. He would have to find that out for himself in due time: it's onward to the Crimson Hall now.
Mezil thus escorted everyone out of the main entrance. Except for Papyrus. That young man stayed behind in The Hub, alone.
Mettaton noticed the oddity: “Papyrus darling, you’re not joining us?”
The young skeleton responded: “NO. I REFUSE TO PROSECUTE MY OWN BROTHER. BESIDES, I’VE ALREADY SETTLED ALL MY ISSUES WITH HIM. THERE'S NOTHING LEFT FOR ME TO SAY. I’LL BE WATCHING THE TRIAL FROM HERE.”
“I see~! All the best, sweetheart.”
To Mezil’s surprise, Gaster slid back to the youngster. He reasoned: “Being no better than Sans, my judgement is moot. I too shall remain here should anyone need me.”
Did he just… attempt to weasel out of an uncomfortable situation?
“Tch, the nerve,” Lucidia grumbled. “Do you understand now why I couldn’t disengage?”
He’s certainly quite a temptation for fury. It says something if not even Sans Serif can stand him.
“No,” said Mezil. “You will attend court as a key witness, Doctor Gaster. And who knows if we might need to bring you to the stand for… other reasons.”
And how he doth protest: “Y-you can’t pronounce such! Have you forgotten, you gave the authority away to--”
The junior Crimson Keeper nabbed Gaster by the hand, trapping him in his own wits.
“Please?” they begged.
The Amalgamated doctor rippled a bit. In the end, he gave in to their wishes. “Oh… fine… I can’t decline the Child of Mercy’s personal invitation.”
With that out of the way, Mezil resumed playing the guide, leading the group past the gentle streams of a digital garden. It’s not full of colour: when it comes to plantlife, he enjoyed cohesiveness and function more than splendour. Instead, small, fragrant white flowers dotted the greenery, glowing a tinge of blue from the backlit cyan streams.
“Jasmine?” asked King Asgore. “Isn’t it a tropical plant?”
Gaster grumbled. “Don’t get too excited, Your Majesty. I apologize for dampening the mood, but those are mere digital recreations. Fakes. Unaffected by climate and other complicated biology. They’re not worthy of so much as a shred of your attention.”
“I see…”
A tram station waited at the end path. From there, a single-car vehicle would take them to a different part of the Void: far away from the mansion grounds.
When all related passengers had boarded, Mezil used his Mark to activate the locomotive’s gears, chugging along on an invisible rail.
It didn’t take long for the young at heart to marvel at the foreign space. They asked questions among themselves, filled with comments, speculation, and wonder about the what-ifs of alternate universes…
Frisk then held up a rough drawing of a man sitting on an ornate throne, slumping on one side with a half-filled wine glass in hand, legs crossed. The person appeared thoroughly disinterested at whatever’s happening before him.
“What’s this?” Mezil asked.
Frisk pointed a finger-gun at him. “This is how I imagine the Fantasy AU of Mezil Thyme.”
“A stereotypical vampire lord? You really think I’d sit this way?”
They nodded.
“Why?”
“Because it suits you.”
He huffed. “Kindly take your silly imagination elsewhere.”
Elsewhere, indeed. They started cooking their imagination together with the more fiction-savvy friends, making up alternate personas of themselves in different settings.
“Honey?”
Yes, my dearest?
“Do you think -- somewhere out there -- there’s a Mezil Winston who became a normal accountant?”
Hmm. It wouldn’t surprise me. Maybe a seamstress version of you exists as well. The possibilities are infinite.
The tram soon stopped at the designated destination. The monsters seemed confused by the blank space. They expected a pre-prepared place.
Sometimes, Mezil just wants to show off the ‘cool tech’.
“Courtroom Mode, please.” He instructed Lucidia over the line.
“Affirmative.”
White tiles spread outward from the platform, building over an invisible frame. Unlike the Crimson Hall’s usual arena format, this new chamber was a standard room by all means. Once the ceiling was in place, the bench and bar were first to form.
Next, the side desks. The court clerk and court reporter would sit there in a normal courtroom. But in this case, The Hammer of Justice replaced both those roles. He must stay within the boundary field for it to function.
Then, two veto panels appeared up high.
The Grandmaster’s, and one more beside it: a secret extra that the Ebottians don’t know about yet.
Last to be installed was the gallery. Or what SHOULD have been the gallery: the usual rows of seats were replaced by a single ornate gothic throne, complete with a black frame and crimson cushions.
Mezil took a step back in disbelief.
“Lucidia!!!”
Worse still, a holographic screen displaying her face appeared. She intended to make this a public affair.
With a mischievous smile, Lucidia explained: “I thought Crimson Keeper Frisk had a fine suggestion. You always did have spectacular showmanship as testament to your pre-Judge jobs. Not to mention I like it when you sit with style.”
The mere mention of ‘showmanship’ caught Mettaton’s attention. “Oh my~~ did you just say he was a fellow performer, Lady Darling?”
“Why yes. A skillful bartender and a professional gamer, living the same life with separate names.”
“How very fabulous! And with time spinning around so much, I bet he needs to maintain an act at all times. Splendid, splendid! This explains how your wonderful husband could handle the media so well.”
“Thank you for your gracious praise, Mister Mettaton.”
Mezil sighed out loud. “…Is this what I reap for that curry gambit?”
“Yes.” she answered. Brutal and straight to the heart: a price to pay for teaching Lucidia to be more assertive. He’ll have to take both the good with the bad.
Frisk had to rub it in further: “Can we give him a glass of red wine too?”
“Alcohol clouds the mind, therefore it’s banned from court. On the other hand… I think some sparkling grape juice would make a fine replacement.”
In truth, nothing edible was allowed during a court session. But, they’re in the Crimson Hall. So in the end… Mezil had to eat his own bent laws.
The Vampire of Time thus sat down on the Dark Lord’s throne with a half-filled wineglass of sparkling grape juice. This moment would be forever recorded in the Chronograph.
“Snapshots made.” said Lucidia.
“Send them to my phone!” Frisk exclaimed.
Doctor Alphys joined. “M-mine too!”
“Oh, it’s not ready yet. I first have to filter and edit for the best shot.”
…They’re enjoying this a bit too much. Mezil thought.
Thereby, the wife whispered the following words into his mind: “Your objections are as empty as your stomach. Monsterkind ill needs a curry fanatic such as you.”
Tsk. What is a mon? A miserable pile of dank memes.
With the embarrassment out of the way, it’s time for the Hammer of Justice to go down.
“Hup!” Gerson lifted the digital clone of his hammer. “Here we go. Wa ha! No one’s croakin’ under my watch!”
One slam later, and The Law spread underneath their feet. The edges of the field passed just behind Mezil’s fancy chair, ensuring the Vampire’s safety as well.
Lucidia began her work; “Connecting the Crimson Hall to designated real world entrance. Time will resume.”
Within seconds, a Spirit Gate spawned, the door swung wide open, and…
…Sans Serif was unceremoniously tossed into court by a tangle of vines. But, right before he hit the floor, he flipped himself in the air for a secure landing.
The DEMON flowers were unimpressed, grumbling at Sans from the doorway.
“Gosh darnit!” Flowey crossed his leaves, “Why do you have to compete with Papyrus for cool points???”
“Yeah,” Chara nodded, “Fall flat on your chin like the lousy comedian you are. Stop stealing the limelight!”
Sans responded to their mockery in his usual nonchalant manner. “What can I say? I’m a natural.”
With that, order was returned. The flower siblings shut the door behind them, leaving the suspect in his spot.
“Everyone ready?” asked Frisk.
There was a unanimous ‘yes’. That marked the beginning of court.
Frisk was given a transcript to read out loud. Standard procedure in the courtroom. “We gather here today for Sans Serif’s Trial of the Crimson Hall, a potential candidate with the following criminal charges to his name: disruption of Frisk N-noklu-u-uawaah… Wanderstar’s Trial, the theft of Supreme Judge Mezil Thyme’s Keys of Fate, kidnapping a minor, multiple accounts of harassment and attempted murder, including but not limited to the near eradication of innocent alternate universe residents and the use of High Volition Marks.”
The first-timer rubbed their cheeks, sore from reading the complexity. “That’s a real mouthful…”
Still, they recollected themselves and got back to business; “Sans Serif, how do you plead?”
He replied: “Guilty as charged. I’m a real trashbag. Did all of that and more. So. We done with this already? I gotta get back to the lab.”
Frisk set their paper down, hopped off the Judge’s seat, walked all the way down to the witness stand, and dragged Sans to the clearing in the center of court.
“Kid?” the skeleton asked.
There was a moment of silence. Then, Frisk executed the most satisfying of all flying kicks. What a glorious boot to that trickster’s chin!
They then walked over to Sans and picked him up by the collar of his hoodie.
“Defend yourself,” they said. “We want to know why you did all that shit, so TALK! I swore to you that you WILL taste the consequential boot, and that includes owning up to your fucking actions!”
Shocked by the kick, no one moved. No one objected. Not even Queen Toriel, who would normally correct others for their crass language.
“…Heh,” said Sans. “You’re growing up. That’s good. So, you mean to say anything goes for my defense?”
The kid nodded. “Yeah. Give it your worst. Anything but just standing there and taking the guilty verdict.”
“‘Kay. No regrets then.”
An ominous subtext brewed beneath those final words.
“Mezzy,” Apprehension gripped Lucidia. “Why do I have a terrible feeling about this?”
That’s because the both of us are bound to get involved. One way or another.