As if the loud overbearing music that was blasting in the small kitchen of the MTT-Brand Burger Emporium wasn’t already putting a strain on Whisk’s horrifically injured ears as it was, things were about to get worse for the fidgety cat.
The grill was dirty from the lunch rush and when the feline monster shakily poured a cup of water onto the sizzling hot surface to scrape it clean (before somebody saw it and gave him a “lecture” on how he should keep his areas tidy) the liquid instantly turned to hot steam and rose into the air hitting his face full force.
Whisk sputtered, his bandaged ears twitching madly as the burning steam lightly kissed those doubly sensitive areas at the top of his head. The pain that erupted from his injury was so bad it felt like somebody had sucker-punched him right in the gut and knocked all the wind out of him. The worst part was the pain didn’t just stay in one stop. That horrid stinging feeling started at the base of his ears, where his superstar celebrity of a boss, Mettaton, had brutally twisted them in an unprovoked rage two days earlier, and traveled straight to his brain until his whole head was throbbing.
Whisk’s vision spun as he instinctively hissed and bared his fangs at nothing in a pathetic non-threatening manner that Mettaton often described as “pitifully adorable”. The feline monster gently covered his injured ears and turned his face away from the hot steam, unfallen tears stinging his eyes. He’d like to think his need to cry was from the physical pain, but he knew that small amount of steam that just smacked him was simply the straw that broke the camel's back, so to speak. He knew the heavy burning breathless feeling that was beginning to grow rapidly in his chest wasn’t from a simple injury.
I’m sorry I can’t tell you this in person, but I think a letter would be best for both of us….
The loud music from the small glittery pink radio that was deliberately placed on a high shelf right above the grill suddenly got much more unbearable and if it weren’t for the fact that there were three additional radios in the now empty dining area of the Emporium also blasting his boss’ newest “musical hits”, Whisk might have walked in there to seek some silence until the pain simmered down.
After moving in and living with you for a while now, I don’t think we are gonna work out.
Whisk sucked in a sharp breath as another surge of pain hit him interrupting his thoughts. He was glad about that. He had no business thinking about things like that anymore and as sort of a self-punishment for thinking about his ex-lover, the cat monster pinched his right ear and gave it a sharp twist, letting out a small yelp in the process.
He hoped that enough pain would keep him from thinking about things that didn’t matter anymore.
We gave it our best try, well if we are being honest, I gave it MY best try but I just don’t feel us as SOULMATES….
It somewhat worked and luckily Whisk was used to pretending and so he just pretended he wasn’t thinking about Tops. Or about their little home at the end of WATERFALL. Or that pathetic spineless note he left.
I can’t see myself making it big as a singer when I have to deal with a broken relationship and a partner who has already settled for having a shitty life.
Whisk simply concentrated on the buzzing physical pain that was mercilessly filling his head and so pretending became so much easier and while Tops wasn’t exactly gone from his mind… he was never truly gone from Whisk’s thoughts… ever… the pain thankfully took center stage.
This injury, much like his partially nerve-damaged left paw that would never grow fur again, were probably two of the worst “work-related” injuries Whisk had received ever since he had the privilege of “meeting” Fell City’s greatest radio host of all times, Mettaton.
The sad thing was in most cases, he knew he deserved the little punishments his boss dished him. For example, the more minor injuries he received throughout the years of working for Mettaton were often a result of something he did to get his boss annoyed with his work performance. A tail pull here and slap in the face there had become so routine that Whisk paid the pain in those moments no mind even if his nose started to leak dust or his tail lost the ability to move on its own for a few days. It was just the unfortunate result of being a shitty worker.
Of course Tops didn’t understand it and got angry when Whisk would come home with those little unimportant injuries. No...Tops would become enraged, and while Whisk thought it was sweet that his EX-older lover was concerned about him, it really was unfounded concern. Tops had his own business and could be his own boss and didn’t understand what it was like to work for somebody else. He didn’t understand the concept that when somebody hires you and is displeased with your work, they have a right to express that displeasure.
Whisk had tried to explain that to Tops so many times and never understood the look of baffled horror that would come over Tops’ face and the many pointless conversations they would have.
“Sweetie, just quit already. Just… find a job here. I’m sure you can talk Gerson into giving you a job.”
Whisk hated those conversations because Tops didn’t UNDERSTAND.
“You k-know I can’t do that… h-he’s the only one who can get me into show business.”
Whisk actually found it quite hilarious at one point in his sad life he even had a dream, but at least that excuse kept the bunny from confronting Mettaton about his unimportant injuries. That and Whisk’s constant reminders to Tops that Mettaton was a close friend of Don Asgore Dreemurr. Whisk knew that Tops wasn’t worried about himself should the robotic man hurt him. He was worried that “fake metal piece of shit” would hurt Whisk further.
Though the cat knew that his bunny lover… EX-bunny lover wouldn’t be so rational if he knew what happened to Whisk’s left paw. Tops wouldn’t have understood, but Whisk knew he deserved that. He understood why Mettaton, who wasn’t even his boss at the time, held his hand right on top of the brutally hot grill five years ago when he was only fourteen. When you steal from Mettaton, things don’t go exactly in your favor, and Whisk was the living of example of that.
Luckily that injury was old and so Whisk played it off as damage he’d received during a small fire when he was just a kitten when Tops introduced himself that one night as Whisk was walking home from work.
Whisk still remembered that day. The sun had just set and the streetlight had just came on over on WATERFALL’s side.
The blue bunny had been leaning on his Nice Cream Cart.
“Hey kitty-cat, I couldn’t help but notice I live right at the edge of WATERFALL and you’re right at the edge of HOTLAND and yet we’ve never talked… I’m Tops…”
But that was ancient history. All of that was ancient history, and he should really stop thinking about it, because he really had no business thinking about any of that! He should just concentrate on the pain and nothing else.
Even if this latest injury, unlike the majority of all the other injuries he received, really was undeserved.
Two days ago Whisk had still been sweeping the dining room after the dinner rush when Mettaton had confronted him about the “filthy state of his BEAUTIFUL restaurant”. Of course, Whisk knew right away that wasn’t the reason why Mettaton was raging. Usually Mettaton patiently waited until Whisk had finished cleaning before ripping the poor feline apart.
No, what was enraging Mettaton two days ago was that he was disappointed; and he was not used to being disappointed. His metal boss had so been looking forward to seeing live human entertainment at Grillby’s and… buying a little “time” with the poor creature. It had been all he’d talked about for days on end with Whisk, either when the superstar came into the restaurant for his “surprise” inspections, or when the radio host advertised the event on his radio show, naturally leaving out his intention to “sample the little darling”.
It was a smart idea to have left that bit out. After all, nearly all the monsters who spent time at the MTT-Resort may have been rich, but only a selected few knew about Grillby’s “special services.” Oh yes, Whisk had learned a lot when Mettaton “found” him a new home or rather a small room at Grillby’s bar after his “breakup” with Tops.
Like the sick fire monster’s twisted attractions and what really happened to Binkie, the lovely female monster bunny who supposedly up and left her entire family to move to HOTLAND or Pyre, the pretty fire monster who disappeared shortly after graduating from high school. And those children… those poor little human children…
Whisk thought that making the anonymous call to Don Gaster would end all that madness. He couldn’t save himself, he had fucked himself over all those years ago and needed to take his punishments accordingly, but if he could save all those poor SOULS under Grillby’s rule….
Don Gaster did do something, but it wasn’t what Whisk had been hoping for…
Whisk figured he really should stop hoping… it did him no good. Just look what what happened when Mettaton found out about Tops.
Whisk gritted his teeth and pinched his ear again, focusing on the pain. HE SHOULDN’T BE THINKING OF THINGS HE HAD NO BUSINESS THINKING ABOUT ANYMORE!
Living under Grillby’s roof when he wasn’t working under Mettaton’s rule gave Whisk a lot of information he wished he’d never learned. The most recent thing he had been told to him by an exhausted Binkie; the human singer Mettaton thought he would be “meeting” soon was suddenly Don Dreemurr’s newest pet . That poor little human.
And apparently learning that tidbit of information had disappointed the superstar.
And what were the results of being disappointed? Just seeing a straw wrapping underneath one of the clean tables was a good enough reason for Mettaton to grab Whisk’s ears. The action reminded the cat of a parent who was fed up with their child’s poor behavior. Of course most sane parents don’t twist their kids’ ears until they’ve nearly rip them off the child’s head. Despite the incredible pain, Whisk didn’t fight back because fighting back was a sign of disrespect in Mettaton’s eyes and more abuse would follow, (that lesson had been learned the hard way) but he did scream and beg for his boss to stop. Begging usually worked during these punishment sessions.
Mettaton loved beggars, but that time begging hadn’t worked. Mettaton was more than disappointed. He was pissed, and Whisk honestly thought he was going to lose at least one of his ears that day, but at the very last moment, Mettaton’s ghostly cousin, who’d been observing the tantrum, nonchalantly reminded his metal relative that the restaurant was still open. If a customer happened to come in and saw what was transpiring they might start... untrue and unfounded rumors about the superstar.
That had been enough for Mettaton to stop. The thought of somebody important seeing him act differently than his radio persona must have scared him. After all, the monster went to great lengths on his radio shows to portray himself as a kind and charming monster and for that Whisk had to give him credit: the unknowing wealthier monsters who practically lived at the MTT Resort, who had lots of money and no idea what to do with it, ate his act up.
The majority of the wealthy and admittedly harmless monsters of the MTT resort? They saw him as nothing more than the charming radio host of Fell City, who answered call-ins to his radio shows with an excited and welcoming voice. Who was always so gracious and ecstatic to hear endless praise about himself and gave praises out just as quickly, and so dramatically that they made those unknowing fools blush with bliss.
But those weren’t the only things Mettaton was known for. To the innocent and naive monsters of the MTT Resort, Mettaton was also the visionary who was constantly adding entertainment to an otherwise cultural wasteland with his human music and the theater he had built a few years back; not to mention his name brand fashion clothing and accessories.
Of course, the poorer and more desperate monsters of HOTLAND like Whisk knew better. They knew Mettaton was more than just a radio host. Like Grillby, Mettaton had his own private services that he had been offering other monsters for years, but unlike Grillby, his services were strictly for “the unfortunate and down-on-their-luck” monsters.
To Whisk’s disgust, Mettaton was even tasteless enough to call what he did “acts of charity” and while Whisk never asked Mettaton for anything other than mercy when he was fourteen, he watched many poor and struggling monsters quietly enter the Burger Emporium on special days when they knew the celebrity would be at his office located in the back of the restaurant as opposed to being at his radio station putting on his eight-hour radio show. Mettaton called these days his “charity days.”
Whisk could’ve puked every time he’d heard Mettaton say that phrase.
Mettaton’s acts of charity were simple enough though: A monster asked for a loan and Mettaton would give it to them, no matter what the amount was and always with an understanding smile on his face. If a monster actually spent time explaining their sad situation, not only would Mettaton play the part of the generous and understanding monster, but he would also make a big deal about how happy he was that he’d created his charity to help wonderful but unfortunate monsters.
Some fell for the act and some didn’t. Most didn’t. They got their money and a timeline to pay it back in. There was no interest on the money, Mettaton was doing this “out of the kindness of his own heart.”
Whisk could have puked again every time he heard Mettaton declare that as well.
And as expected, some monsters were able to pay their loans backs, but many weren’t. Most couldn’t because a majority of the monsters who asked for a loan were monsters who had lost their jobs and needed money for their bills, or to cover Asgore’s protection fee. And when they couldn’t pay him back before their deadline, bad thing happened to those monsters. Very, very bad things. All the poor residents of HOTLAND knew what happened to those monsters, but monsters came all the time.
Desperation kept Mettaton’s charity going.
And today was a charity day and so Whisk’s boss was in his lavished office in the back of the Burger Emporium probably writing lyrics to a song that would most likely be the next musical hit as he waited for some poor monster to come his way. Fortunately these last few weeks had been a waste of time and Whisk was happy about that. There hadn’t been a monster in awhile who needed a loan and while that annoyed Mettaton, Whisk wasn’t too worried about his boss’ mood today.
Apparently after the ear twisting “accident” something must have brought Mettaton out of his angered state because the next day right after that horrible punishment Grillby had gruffly told the cat that Mettaton had given him the day off. Of course Whisk couldn’t leave his room in the small bar, but that didn’t bother the cat. Nothing seemed to bother Whisk much anymore. Except… Tops… but he really had no business thinking about the Nice Cream Salesman anymore.
No business at all. The past is the past after all and Tops was just another memory. Nothing to think about.
Instead Whisk spent his day off smoking his cigarettes, pretending he enjoyed being alone when Dogaressa took him to work the following day. The superstar had been warm and friendly with the battered employee, talking about his newest musical hit and sweetly asking Whisk if he needed anything for his new room.
If Whisk didn’t know firsthand how manipulative and downright cruel the metal bastard could be he might have actually fallen for Mettaton’s behavior as sincere kindness. Mettaton did put up a good show.
Whisk sighed and looked at the bright pink clock in the small, nearly claustrophobic kitchen of the MTT-Brand Burger Emporium, and felt his heart sink painfully in his chest. The fact that Whisk had nine more hours ahead of him until his shift was over and was down to only three cigarettes was making his hands begin to shake even worse than they already were.
At least during the lunch rush, Whisk was distracted. He was too busy mixing the hundreds of sparkling “Starfait” drinks to be bothered with Mettaton’s awful music. He was too busy flipping the nearly (but not quite) inedible “Glamburgers” to want a cigarette to calm his frayed nerves due in large part to the pain he was in, and he was WAY too busy layering the “Legendary Hero Sandwiches” (why humans named their sandwiches, Whisk would never know, but Mettaton, much like anything else that was human-like, latched on to the idea) to want to sob.
But now that all the business was gone, he wasn’t distracted. Now the screeching music was the only thing he could hear. Now he needed a cigarette, but his five minute break wasn’t for another two hours. Now? He NEEDED to cry.
Whisk winced at the nickname and cringed at his boss’ sugary sweet tone. A fucked up paw wasn’t the only thing he’d received the day he met Mettaton. When he’d stolen all of that food he probably should have brought a small bag with him instead of shoving all of it into the pockets of his loose pants.
Another lesson learned the hard way.
Forcing a wide smile on his face, Whisk turned around to face his boss. Mettaton smiled back at Whisk, revealing a set of pearly white chompers. Despite himself, Whisk took a minute to admire his boss’ beauty knowing Mettaton wouldn’t mind in the least about his delayed response if he were marveling at his boss’ appearance.
While a majority of monsters towered over Whisk as he was classified a “dwarf monster”, Mettaton took great pains to make sure he filled a room with both his personality and body.
His whole body was supposed to resemble a human’s, a sign of Mettaton’s obsession for the smaller race, only with a few...minor differences. Th e superstar took what a human generally looked like and “improved” the look by having the creator of his newest body, Dr. Alphys, add two more arms and two more eyes and Whisk had to admit that Mettaton achieved his goal. He really did look amazing. Not only was his body great for showing off, it also acted as the perfect armor just in case… somebody unpleasant were to plan something against one of the most beloved/hated monsters in the city. His fake but extremely realistic black hair, both in look and feel, always shined, and today was pulled back into a short ponytail, revealing all four of his beautiful bright yellow eyes that practically glowed. And one couldn’t forget his perfect smile and matching full lips that could get anybody to melt.
Oh yes, Whisk knew why so many monsters looked at this bastard as some sort of beauty and fashion expert, and speaking of fashion, the radio host’s choice of clothing was something to marvel at as well. But then again when one wears the same grease-strained uniform everyday, anything else looks amazing.
Today the superstar radio host was sporting a rather tight yet somehow perfectly tailored red pinstripe suit with a yellow button-up shirt underneath his suit coat that showed off his broad chest and how impressively long his four arms were. Two of his hands wore yellow gloves while his other two hands wore red gloves, which all matched his suit perfectly . The only thing that seemed odd were his red pants. They fit him perfectly, but they weren’t showing off his admittedly fantastic legs, a feature he ALWAYS tried to showed off no matter what he was wearing, but to be fair, this was kind of a new human style of clothing he was working with. Much like the design of his body, once Mettaton got the kinks out of what was wrong with the fashion, he’d fix it so he would look even more “fabulous”.
Money really can buy anything. Even a body as beautiful as this one, Whisk thought bitterly, but with no real jealously. I just wish the fuckers that were ugly on the inside looked it on the outside. That’s what happened to me at least.
“Hey boss, do you need anything…”Whisk began only to trail off when he saw the superstar glance down at the still unclean grill, but to his relief and surprise the robotic monster remained smiling as he glanced back up at his trembling employee.
“How was the lunch rush, darling?” Mettaton asked and pressed his chest up to Whisk’s face as he reached up to the shelf where the radio sat and lowered the volume so they could talk without raising their voices. Whisk had to push slightly back, pressing his face even more in Mettaton’s metal chest, to avoid touching the hot grill.
Great, Whisk thought honestly. It was so busy I barely had time to think.
Whisk shrugged, feeling his smiling lips slightly twitch as Mettaton stepped back. Between putting on this face for both Mettaton, and the endless array of customers, Whisk was always worried his face would get stuck with this smile forever. As if he weren’t a beaten pathetic sack of shit as it was, he couldn’t imagine waking up everyday with a smile like this one on his face.
“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” he said, trying to keep his voice as pleasant as possible.
Mettaton nodded and looked up at the clock before a small frown destroyed that perfect smile.
He must be getting bored waiting in his office, Whisk thought and couldn’t help but get a pathetic bout of bliss from the idea his boss was mildly unhappy. The only downside was that when Mettaton got bored, he wanted to talk. As if Whisk didn’t hate himself enough, Mettaton had this incredible ability to point out his biggest flaws, both his physical and internal ones, in the sweetest and most innocent of voices.
“Of course, darling. When you actually try you can be a somewhat decent worker,” Mettaton purred sweetly.
“Thanks boss,” Whisk said forcing his smile to get bigger. You’re lucky I deserve this otherwise I would say “fuck you”.
Sometimes it was nice to pretend that if Mettaton didn’t have complete control over his life, Whisk would actually be that brave.
“Well it is my firm belief that you must make your employees feel good about themselves if you are to run a successful business,” Mettaton explained, lightly pulling on his gloves, his smile becoming proud.
Please leave me alone, Whisk mentally begged his boss, but Mettaton didn’t leave and after working for him for so many years, the feline monster knew that Mettaton was about to have a long discussion with him about something.
“Darling, I’m sure you’ve heard about Mr. Asgore Dreemurr’s latest purchase, am I right?”
You mean that poor human he bought for his bat-shit crazy wife?
Whisk shrugged again.
“Sort of. I heard he bought a human or something.”
And for one moment, Whisk saw a look of extreme jealousy enter Mettaton’s yellow eyes. For the life of him, Whisk didn't know why Mettaton had such a strange obsession with humans, but it was bad enough that the superstar traded his more square, and obviously stronger, body two years ago for this surreal human-like body and began creating music and clothing that was supposed to be based on the human culture. Everything now was about humans… it was… eerie...
“Yes, but a few days ago, I received a call from that dear man. You know I absolutely LOVE Asgore, but he and his enchanting wife need some serious fashion help with the human and as I am a man of fashion, I will be coming to his home tomorrow to help create a whole new look for the human. A much younger look and nobody knows how to look their best better than me!”
So that’s why he was in such a good mood. He gets to meet that poor thing anyways. As if her life is gonna be any less horrid than what the first human the Dreemurr’s had, now she’s gotta meet Mettaton Whisk realized and suddenly his heart got a little heavier at the thought of that innocent human being dressed up for those sick fucks’ entertainment.
What possessed that human to come to Fell City anyways? Haven’t they heard all those stories about us? Whisk thought and nearly jumped when he felt Mettaton lightly rest his hand on the cat’s head. He wasn’t touching the cat’s ears...yet.
“Darling,” his sweet voice now had an edge to it. “I’ve known you long enough to tell when you aren’t paying attention to me.”
Whisk gulped. I deserve whatever he does to me.
Mettaton sighed again but didn’t move his hand towards Whisk’s bandaged ears.
“As I was saying, I’m gonna need you to accompany me tomorrow, darling. I need assistance with showcasing all the outfits to Madame Toriel and since that’s not really dear Blooky’s… thing, I’ll have to settle for you. Lucky for you, you have such a great boss who’s gonna give you the entire day off!”
No, don’t get me involved. I don’t want to see that human. I can barely sleep as it is, Whisk thought, but as always, the smile remained on his face.
“Sure thing, boss. So what are you gonna be doing to them to make them look younger? Make up? Clothing?”
Mettaton nodded, his eyes sparkling with excitement every time fashion or humans were brought up in conversation. He must have been ecstatic since he was going to be able to talk about the two at the same time.
“Of course, darling! I have some of the most precious little dresses for that human to try on and my newest line of makeup will do nicely and I’ll have to do a little hair removal...” Mettaton began to list off only to stop and narrow his eyes at the feline.
Whisk flinched back as Mettaton bent down to his level, the smell of the too-strong flowery perfume the radio host wore almost making the feline monster gag. However he instantly relaxed when he realized that Mettaton was simply straightening the wrinkles out of his shirt with two of his hands while his other two began to fix the messy fur on the top of his head, being careful not to touch his ears. Whisk braced himself just in case though.
“Really darling, can’t you keep yourself looking somewhat attractive? I know you don’t have much in that department, but every bit of effort helps,” Mettaton sang and didn’t notice when Whisk gritted his teeth.
Tops always said I was cute, the feline monster wanted to growl but knew better. Besides, he had no business thinking about something that didn’t matter anymore.
“Maybe I should add a little hat to your uniform so people can’t see how disgustingly greasy the fur on your head gets,” Mettaton mumbled thoughtfully to himself as he completely pulled away from Whisk, much to the cat’s relief. “Now where was I?”
Whisk continued to smile. “I think you were saying you had to leave early today to get everything ready for tomorrow’s-”
“Surgeries!” Mettaton said, snapping his fingers, making Whisk finally jump. The sudden loud sound make Whisk’s ear twitch. “Since the human’s body is much older than what Asgore and Toriel desire there’s going to be some minor surgeries to help her body recapture its youthful look, but don’t worry, darling,” Mettaton said quickly, his smile showing great concern for his employees well-being. “It won’t be anything too serious or too gory. I just need to remove a part of her body.”
Oh dear God, Whisk thought. I don’t want to hear anymore. I don’t want to hear anymore.
Mettaton looked at the counter behind him where Whisk usually cut the lettuce and tomatoes for the sandwiches, nodded in satisfaction when he saw it was clean, and hopped onto it, crossing his legs elegantly and taking up even more room in the already tiny kitchen.
“Darling, did you know that at a certain age, female humans go through a stream of body changes?”
Please stop talking and go away.
“You know I’m not the human expert.”
Mettaton nodded, and started to rub his two sets of hands together as his voice became more excited.
“Of course I know that darling, so let me educate you: Human females and monster females are extremely different when it comes to their anatomy. And one of the differences between a monster female and a human female is that when a human girl begins to develop she goes through a process called the menstruation cycle that happens every month at around the same time. I won’t go into more details than that, it’s a little gross. One of the more disgusting traits that humans have, but it’s one of the key elements in the human culture that defines womanhood. Given this human’s age, she most likely goes through this process every month.”
Whisk frowned. Where was he going with this?
Mettaon smirked proudly. “I spent the last two days researching this process in medical books and have figured out a way to stop it. You see, the human women have something in their body called a Uterus. It’s my belief that if you remove the Uterus, you can stop the Menstruation Cycle.”
Whisk’s tail started to move nervously as he gave out an equally nervous laugh.
“But… but if that thing that… Uterus is a part of her body and it were taken out… won’t that… that kill her?”
Mettaton condescendingly giggled at the question as if the answer was obvious.
“If I were to cut off your little dick, would you survive, Burgerpants?”
Whisk fought every urge to cover his lower area as he saw his boss’ eyes flash wickedly.
Mettaton giggled again. “Oh you poor dear, you looked as though you saw the Grim Reaper! You know I LOVE you too much to hurt you THAT bad. But yes, you would survive. You see, this strange organ is basically the female reproductive system. It’s like cutting off a female dick, so to speak, and what’s better, many of the medical books I have read tell me that removal of this organ would hypothetically be a safe procedure and most importantly some of those books even go into great detail about how it should be done! With a little bit of healing magic from the good doctor Alphys, that little darling human should have a fast recovery!”
“Hypothetically?! Oh Jesus Christ, the humans haven’t even tried this out…plus even if Mettaton is right…
“But… but boss, won’t that mean this human can’t have children if you take away her re-reproductive organ?”
Mettaton rolled his eyes. “I’m making her a child again and children shouldn’t have children you stupid little kitten-”
The sound of the bell that was placed at the top of the door entrance of the Burger Emporium alerted both monsters that a new customer must have entered. Mettaton gave Whisk his dazzling smile as he hopped off the counter.
“Break time's over, darling,” he sang with a wink.
Whisk nodded and eagerly raced out of the kitchen. He needed a distraction more than ever now! Anything to keep him from puking up his breakfast… anything to help him briefly forget about Tops or Binkie and Pyre or that poor little human he was gonna have to meet tomorrow.
He hoped he got a huge order. He hoped he got a crowd of picky customers whose demands on how their food was to be made were so ridiculous that it would take all of his concentration. Anything… he would take anything…
Oh fuck no.
He knew this kid who was standing awkwardly in the middle of the dining room. Snowdrake Jr. His father, Snowdrake Sr., used to work for Mettaton as a stand-up comedian in one of his clubs, but about six months ago the poor guy fell sick. Really sick.
Whisk felt his heart sink down in his chest as the young boy’s eyes made contact with him and with a quick step made it to the counter that Whisk stood behind. The kid was clean but his clothes had seen better days. When his father had worked for Mettaton, the small family of two had money, but now that his old man wasn’t working Whisk had heard that they had had to move out of their expensive home at the MTT-Resort and into the poorer area of HOTLAND.
Whisk also heard the kid had dropped out of school and had taken a job as a sort of construction worker or to be more accurate, a construction worker’s bitch. Whisk had seen the kid being forced to lift up heavy things while his stronger “co-workers” watched, the ice that covered a majority of the boy’s body, a sort of shield more than anything else, becoming water from the hot weather and dripping to the floor. Thank God ice monster could refreeze and recover their icy shields once they were in cold weather.
“Hey Whisk! I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m-”
Whisk straightened his body to his full height, but even then the kid was the same height as him. He glared at Junior.
“I know who you are and what you want, kid, and I’m telling you this right now: You do not want Mettaton’s help. It didn’t help any of the monsters before you and it won’t help you. Get lost.”
Despite the fact that Whisk saw that Junior knew that fact, the feline also saw the desperation in the kid’s eyes. Desperation always won over logic.
“No, Whisk you don’t understand, I can’t afford dad’s medicine anymore! I got fired from my job and I need money,” Junior’s voice began to rise with his desperation. Whisk gritted his teeth and looked at the back door that led to the kitchen. He sighed in relief when he didn’t see his boss come through it and he turned back, he saw the kid who was on the brink of tears.
“Shut the fuck up or he’ll hear you and come out to see what the commotion is,” Whisk growled, hating how angry he sounded and how beaten and exhausted this poor kid looked.
Taking a deep breath to calm down his anxiety, Whisk softened his glare and mentioned Junior to come closer until they were only an inch apart from each other. The only thing separating them was the counter.
“Look I know you want to help your old man, but getting a loan from Mettaton is a certified ticket to death. If you die your father will die too. It’s best just to search for another job.”
Junior shook his head. “But-”
“I’ve seen it first hand, kid. He loans a monster money and gives them time to pay it. If they don’t meet his deadline, he has his bastard fuck of a cousin drag the poor SOUL back here on what he calls “collection days” and-”
“But he knows my dad!” Junior said with a delusional and desperate smile on his face. “I know he’ll cut us a break! Just let me talk to him-”
Whisk grunted, now feeling his own type of desperation hit him. This kid didn’t understand. Mettaton wasn’t merciful and didn’t even loan money out to monsters because he cared about them. He did it because he knew they couldn’t pay him back. He loved the feeling of power of having their scared trembling forms on his office floor and beg him for mercy before he killed them.
“Are you familiar with Mettaton’s radio game called Answer and Win ?” Whisk asked quietly.
The kid looked shocked by the question before he nodded.
“Yeah. A listener calls in and Mettaton asks them a lot of questions about himself. If they more right answers than wrong ones, they win a prize.”
Whisk nodded, feeling his stomach turn painfully.
“That’s right. Now imagine the title being Answer or Die because some times just for fun, Mettaton likes to strap the monsters who owe him money to a metal chair and-”
Whisk froze as he felt that gloved hand on his head again.
“Well now! I remember you, darling. You’re Snowdrake’s boy aren’t you?” Mettaton said, his voice warm and kind.
Snowdrake Jr. swallowed and nodded. “Yeah. I’m Junior.”
Whisk watched as Mettation nodded, his smile becoming as bright as the sun.
“I knew it! My goodness, you’ve grown into such a handsome young man, too. How is your father?” Mettaton’s tone dropped a little. “I meant to call and check up on him since he was one of my favorite employees, but…” Mettaton let out a practiced laugh of shame. “I’m embarrassed to say that I haven’t found the time. No excuse...but you know how it is.”
Once again Whisk felt the powerful urge to puke. He hoped he did. Maybe if he did, it would end this meeting.
“Dad’s not doing too well and I lost my job-”
Whisk watched as all of Mettaton’s hands dramatically fluttered to his chest and dramatically sighed in what Whisk assumed was supposed to be misery. The robot needed to work on that a bit more.
“Oh my goodness! I had no idea your father and you have fallen on such hard times! Please, my darling boy, if there’s anything I can do to help, please, I beg you, let me know!”
Aside from the three radios blasting Mettaton’s horrible “jazz music” there was a hopeful silence in the air as Junior looked at Whisk. The kid’s eyes were still desperate but now there was just a tiny bit of hesitation as well.
Get out kid. You’ll die. He’ll kill you.
Junior took a deep breath. “Actually that’s why I was here, Mr. Mettaton. I have heard you...you help monsters in my position.”
I don’t even know why I bother hoping for anything anymore, Whisk thought as Mettaton clapped his hands happily.
“Of course, darling! I would be more than happy to help you, and please, call me Mettaton! “Mister” makes me sound so old! Now follow me to my office and I’ll set you all up.”
Whisk watched as another dead monster followed Mettaton to his office.
The sounds of the radios completely filled the empty dining room. Whisk weakly looked at the clock. He had another three hours before his dinner rush came in. Three hours of not being distracted. Three hours to think about Binkie, Pyre, Junior, that poor little human and Tops.
Whisk reached up, grabbed his injured ear and pulled as hard as he could.