Chapter Text
“Would you pass me the snails, Dear?”
You grab the bag of snails that sits on the kitchen counter. You reach into the bag to feel their slimy lower bodies crawl over your hand. This is the easiest way to pick them up. Forcibly moving them is difficult.
Once your hand is covered in them, you pull it out. There are no less than seven of them. You hold them up for her to see, “This enough of ‘em, Mama Tori?”
She looks over at you. The moment she lays eyes on you, she gasps, “Oh, Child, be careful.” She takes you gently by the hand and places it on the counter. The snails begin the crawl away from you and onto the space below.
“They’re just snails,” you whine. She does this all the time. No matter how safe something is, she always overreacts and treats it like you are in mortal danger.
You suppose you can’t blame her. Outside of the ruins, you would probably be in danger all the time. As it stands now, you are perfectly safe. She makes sure that you are.
“Mama Tori,” a small voice squeaks up from the entrance of the kitchen.
You turn around to see the tiny frame standing in the entryway. Barely tall enough to reach your waist, they stare at you and Toriel from behind a pair of scratched up glasses with the tip of their thumb sitting between their lips. Their knees are covered in dirt and grass stains. Curled against their tiny body is a notebook held by their freehand.
“Oh no. Are you okay, Dear?” Toriel looks at them, seeming to forget about the snails on the counter.
They nod, “Fraé watch me.” Froggit. They mean Froggit. Their speech needs work, but what can you expect from such a small kid?
Toriel looks between the two of you with her trademark concern, “You went out alone?” You can tell she’s debating who is more need of her guidance at the moment. That is an internal conflict she will never solve.
You peel yourself away from the counter and walk over to the other child that makes their home with Toriel. You bend at the knees and sit up so you are balanced on the balls of your feet, “Were they nice? Are you hurt at all? You didn’t get in a fight, did you?” You know that’s the jist of what she wants to ask.
They shake their head. They hold out their notebook to you. When you do not make a move for it, they poke you in the upper arm with one of the corners. The assault only stops when you take it. When you do not do anything else with it, their face turns into a pout.
You laugh at their face and wrap your arms around them, mussing their hair with your fingers before you close the embrace, “Sorry. Sorry. Show me what page you want me to look at.”
They hold out their hands to take the notebook back. You gladly hand it over and watch them flip to one of the first pages. They hand it back to you with a smile on their face.
The page is a mess of red crayon scribbles and doodles. You can’t make out a word of what it says- if it even if in a real language- but you can make out the vague shape of a frog-esque creature. Alongside the doodle is a print set in mud.
“What is it?” You look behind you at the sound of Toriel’s voice. She is standing over both of you with her hand over her mouth in surprise.
The other child beams with pride, “Fraé.”
You have to stare at the page a little longer to understand what they mean. When it hits you, you almost feel embarrassed for how long it took you to come to the simple conclusion, “You wrote everything you know about them in here, didn’t you?”
They nod and clap their hands together. It seems you got it right. Not that you can understand the first thing about what they wrote, but it makes them happy. Toriel, on the other hand, looks like she is going to pass out from shock. She really does not like when either of you goes out without her. You aren’t too worried though. The younger child has a way with the other monsters in the ruins and is adored by all of them.
It won’t stop her from her worrying fits though, “Child, you know it isn’t safe for you to go out alone. Next time, promise you will-”
“Snails,” the other child speaks up and cuts her off. Their finger is pointing over your shoulder, toward the counter.
Both you and she turn around to see that the snails have begun to crawl up the walls and down the sides of the counter. You can almost hear the mental shriek as she rushes to try and recapture them all.
You look back at the other child, who has closed their notebook once more. The look on their face is priceless. You nearly chuckle before the next question leaves your mouth, “You’re going to sneak out again tomorrow, aren’t you?”
They nod, then change the subject, “Wha diner?” Dinner. So close.
“Snail salad.”
They stick out their tongue and makes a sound of disgust, “I dun lik leteshe.”
“You can’t have just snails, again.”
The look on their face tells you they are going to try. They will probably succeed too. They are a cunning child.
You sigh with a smile on your face, “Let’s let Mama Tori finish up in here. You need to get cleaned up.” You stand and hold out your hand.
They pass you the one that was sitting in their mouth. Their thumb is covered in slobber and drool, but that’s nothing new. You guess it doesn’t really matter. You’re going to clean them up soon, anyway. Then, you three will all sit down to eat dinner.