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The air about the ruins and land is chilled, the brunt of winter having just passed and glossed over by the warmth of the Sun. The flower has no soul, so the warmth is felt but not acknowledged. Not cared about so inconsequentially taken for granted.
Curiosity is another matter, even those without a soul want to indulge. Enough interest for it to come comes sparingly. Ignoring it is consequential to ones happiness even if there was nothing to be happy about.
Shallow and buried in the ground, he feels the presence of another tapping against the soild soil above. It's weird that they tap, like someone tip toeing with enough pressure to pierce through the ground. Why not stomp? It would make more sense even though its irritating.
As per usual he plans to make his appearance and in moments he recognizes there is no soul present in this yet unseen creature. His curiosity does the opposite of waning. No need to make them wait.
"Howdy!"
Flowey is answered by an airy gasp as the tall, red, lobster clawed monster stares down at him, mouth somewhat ajar.
What the hell is this?
Flowey actually feels something foreign deep, deep down. Somewhere he can't quite place. Maybe where his soul should be. In the back of his mind, he will later juggle, disdainfully, if it was fear or not.
"Ahhh, hello!" His voice is airy and sinister, it echos without repeat. "A talking flower?"
He has no soul, but an all consuming pit of blackness. His purpose was to lay waste without vengeance, driving only to consume all that was tangible and intangible. Only thing left to do was to puppet the lifeless corpses of the once living.
Flowey doesn't need verbal explanations to know this. Beings without a soul knows one another's desired purpose upon meeting.
"What do you want?" He spits, sounding unfearful and threatening, face inching and contorting into hollowness.
Because who likes anyone taking up their territory?
The demonish monster semblances something akin to surprise and mirth, not at all swayed by Flowey. "Hahaha, everything." A dark conclusion.
A shiver almost visibly runs down his stem.
The monster looms over him, blocking the Sun.
The blue sky grows orange and the forest loses it shrubbery, becoming a desert.
Flowey looks down.
The soil is getting very dry, very quick.
The airy laugh erupts from from his pitch coloured lips, the fangs in his mouth barely seen and a clawed vice on his hip.
"Ain't that greedy of you..." He mumbles surveying the death around him. What's he to do? Although the animosity boils within him, he's not one to act without thought, not ignorant to consequences.
The grinning creep has already started to tip toe past him, insignificant and small compared to Him. He needs no direction or guide, going to Snowdin. No one will survive. Not even the human.