Work Text:
A certain flamboyant robot wasn’t having a good time.
In fact, simply not having a good time was an understatement.
Mettaton, the Underground’s number one star, was having one of the worst days he’s ever had the misfortune of living through.
Mettaton woke up on the wrong side of the bed. In fact, he didn’t even wake up in his bed. He woke up on the lovely, fuzzy, coral colored carpet. He had somehow shifted enough in his sleep to unplug in the middle of the night, leaving him at a whopping 35% to run all his errands on this particularly busy Monday. Now, he tried not to beat himself up too much over it. “It happens,” he thought to himself. As a matter of fact, he wasn’t too worried about his battery. Dr. Alphys had built a good battery life into this body. He could run an entire week on 10% if doing so was necessary. It was just personally annoying and left him feeling mentally tired. But, being the stubborn little robot he is, he was hell-bent on not crushing under pressure.
He mentally revised the list of things he needed to accomplish today while he was getting ready. Photo shoot at 9, interview at 10:30, rehearsal at 12:00, brunch with Napstablook and Shyren at 1:30, weekly repair/tune-up with Alphys at 3:00, the list went on and on. He internally sighed before picking up his bag, slipping on his boots and leaving his house. As thick, hot pink heels clicked against the sidewalk and the busy chatter of the city grew, Mettaton could feel himself growing tenser and tenser. Today was a sunny day, so he figured he’d walk the block down to the studio. Surely that couldn’t have gone wrong?
Wrong. If there was one thing Mettaton hated more than not being in the spotlight, it was mud. Mud splashed onto his sleek metallic body, sticking and nearly getting into his wires. He felt his irritation grow. He kept walking, but instead of that trademark grin on his pretty little face, it was a scowl. Not a sexy one, but one something along the lines of, “I’m thirteen seconds away from going to jail for committing battery on the next person to piss me off.”
Upon reaching the studio, he realized his hair was uneven. He cringed with anger, and sucked through his teeth. He balled his gloved hands into fists, exhaling deeply. He was not going to snap again, snapping meant another 4 months of anger management hosted by Toriel. He let the hair and makeup crew fix him up. He was feeling fine until one of the crew members spilled their latte in his gorgeous, silky locks. He felt like rage was enveloping him, swallowing him whole. Even if it washed out, it was still pretty inconvenient. Whatever. He closed his eyes, and tried counting to ten, half-assedly because that’s what he’d learned from four months in mandatory law-enforced anger management classes.
The next few hours went by in a hazy blur. He hurriedly made his way back to his own home, eager to plug in, get into his comfy bed, and forget about the mess today has been. He wasn’t even in the mood to swing by the Emporium and yell at Burgerpants about how shitty he was at his job, or smoking during his shift. He was just aching to get home. “The worst is over for today, and nothing can make me feel any worse. The best is yet to come.” Mettaton kept repeating those lines in an attempt to comfort himself.
He truly thought nothing could worsen his mood.
That is, until his glossy, hot pink high-heeled boots were stepped on.
Mettaton felt the entire world screech to a halt. He felt cold with anger, like the only emotion he could process was unfiltered rage, originating from his soul and spreading into his body.
‘’I’m so sorry-,” an apologetic voice rang out into the cold air. Mettaton turned around, ready to go off on whichever poor monster had bumped into him and stepped on his designer boots.
“Do you have any goddamn idea who I am? Any idea at all? I don’t think you do. Listen, bud. I’ve had a horrible day. And the last thing I need is some nobody, bottom-feeder lowlife of a monster to step. On. My. Designer. Boots.”
Once the glamorous pink robot had opened his eyes, he instantly felt the repercussions of his actions slap him right in the face.
His eyes were met with the sight of a tall, skinny, dark blue man holding the hand of a chubby, white and baby blue child. From the man’s head sprouted white waves that appeared to be downy soft. A gapped mouth twisted into a worried frown. The child looked particularly well-fed, a blue tongue hanging out of a confused mouth. Mettaton felt like a total asshole for nearly going off on these innocent people going about their day.
“I-I’ll have you know that I am SO sorry for bumping into you. And your son. I was having a bad day and I didn’t mean to yell at you guys...” Mettaton’s charisma faltered. He locked eyes with the man, and then looked back down at the sidewalk. He felt like he’d kicked a puppy.
“It is quite alrighth. I understandeth completely. No harsh feelings.” The odd man smiled.
Mettaton bent down to meet eyes with the young child. Or, at least where he presumed his eyes would be, through that hood. “I’m so sorry. May I ask your name?” Mettaton looked up at the young boy with hopeful eyes. He had a soft spot in particular for children. Whether monster or human, his only wish was to entertain.
“Lancer.” The child replied.
“Ah. Lancer. I like that name. It suits you perfectly. Wouldn’t it be weird if your name was something like Dylan or Bruce?” Mettaton joked, trying to lighten the mood. Lancer giggled.
“I was there when he was born; Can you believe he was almost namedeth Prince Spathe? Oh, how it feels like yesterdayeth when he was just an infanteth.” The man smiled and sighed.
Mettaton got up, dusting himself off. “I’d also like to have your name, if that’s not too much to ask.” He looked at the man again. He was actually quite handsome, Mettaton thought to himself.
“Kaard. Rouxls Kaard. Actually, Duke Rouxls Kaard. Or, ex-Duke? I have absolutely no clue. I personally prefer Rouxls, as a matter of fact.” He replied, with a chuckle. Rouxls smiled at Mettaton warmly.
Mettaton couldn’t help but blush. All of a sudden, things didn’t seem so horrible anymore. He held out his hand to shake Rouxls’, but the Duke simply kissed his gloved hand. “Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mettaton. I gaze upon thine television program every night.” Rouxls’ gapped smile seemed to widen, with Mettaton’s aching blush. “It’s always nice to meet a fan, darling.” he replied. “Could you grant me the honor of keeping your company? I’m not in a rush.”
“I’d absolutely loveth a chance to spend time with the biggest star in the Underground.” Replied the Duke.
The two joined hands, Lancer in the middle. The trio continued walking down the city pavement, as the sound of heels clicking and a mixture of laughter filled the air. Mettaton had a feeling things wouldn’t be so bad from now on.