Work Text:
"I can't believe you sent that out Sans!"
Papyrus stomped his foot on the ground repeatedly and made fists with his hands. Sans, not even glancing away from the TV, gave his brother a shrug.
"Looked like a letter. Those usually go into the mail."
"It wasn't a letter that was meant to be sent! It was one of several rough drafts that would eventually become a spectacular show of words! It was supposed to leave Mettaton speechless!" Papyrus sat down on the couch next to Sans, his anger quickly draining from him. He placed his head in his hands with a sigh and lowered his voice as he spoke, "Now he's just going to think I'm some bumbling fool!"
Sans attempted to reach over to pat Papyrus's arm comfortingly and failed.
"Can't be that bad, dude."
Papyrus mumbled quietly. Sans tore his eyes from the TV and looked at his brother.
"What was that?"
Papyrus tossed his head back dramatically.
"I said I loved him!"
Sans blinked at him, then shrugged and turned back to the TV.
"Probably gets thousands of letters a day saying that bro. Shouldn't stand out much."
"Sans, you are seriously not at all grasping the seriousness of this situation. It wasn't just any old regular letter! If I wanted to simply state that I loved him I would have sent the first draft!" Papyrus hung his head and shook it in shame. "No, I... I took it one step further."
The next words that came out of Papyrus's mouth made Sans sit up and stare at his brother with full attention.
"I wrote him a poem in iambic pentameter."
~
Mettaton lounged in his hotel/apartment suite and looked on as his loyal servant poured out hundreds of letters from very large postal bags. It was during moments like these that Mettaton was thankful he had robotic hands and didn't have to experience the tortorous pain of a papercut. Finally the letters all lay out on the floor in a giant heap, and Mettaton sat himself up, rubbing his hands in excitement.
"That will be all. Leave me."
The loyal servant grumbled and picked up the bags, mumbling angrily to himself all the way out. Metton paid him no mind. It wasn't unusual for his servant to be so rude, but Mettaton knew a good few hours of his mix CD would surely put a smile back on the lowly workers face.
After a strenuous process of sorting the letters, getting rid of the ones he knew he wouldn't read and placing them in a large pile for him to read through quickly, he finally set out to reading them. He would never disappoint a fan and not read a letter, but most of them were so similar he couldn't tell one letter from the next.
Until finally one stood out.
The envelope was nothing special. It was an odd handwriting style and nothing was capitalized, and Metton really thought it would be the same inside. The letter however was quite different. It smelled like marinara sauce for starters, a cologne Mettaton had forgotten he had even launched, and the paper was covered in glittery bone stickers.The writing looked as though someone attempted calligraphy but forgot about lower case letters, and it consisted of a short poem:
The way your silver metal shines quite bright,
While on the stage performing melodies,
You glisten under the sparkling spotlight,
And oh, my aching heart it remedies!
Your voice, it echoes, through my hollow bones,
Resembling chimes in a serene land,
It pulls my heartstrings, releasing their groans,
When I stumble upon MTT brand.
My love for you holds no possible bounds
As I'm certain neither does your talent
My mind your brilliance surely astounds
And
...And?
That was what it ended with? Mettaton reread the poem, hoping the ending would appear this time, but he was left again with just the one word. This was frustrating, to say the least, and put the paper in a hatch on his side before leaving his room in a rush.
~
Papyrus looked at his brother, believing he was finally taking the severity of the situation seriously. Sans titled his head.
"What's iambic pentameter?"
Papyrus huffed and stood up, heading to the kitchen. "Something only true artists of the written word would know about!"
Sans lay back down, flipping through channels aimlessly before he got to the only working channel in the underground. "Artist of the written word and of food. Got a lot of skills there bro."
"Those are only two of the indefinite amount of skills I have! You truly have no idea how absolutely skilled this skeleton can be!" He reached into the fridge and pulled out a large container of spaghetti.
Sans closed his eyes. "If you're an artist with words why wasn't the letter I sent good enough?"
"Because it was unfinished you numbskull!"
Sans chuckled. Papyrus groaned.
"That was unintentional."
"You're smiling though."
"You can't see if I'm smiling!"
"I know you are though. I feel it in my bones."
"Enough fooling around!" Papyrus waited impatiently as his spaghetti heated up. "I've got to regain my energy so I can go back to my room and write two letters to Mettaton. One as an apology for the letter I wrote, and the original one I was going to write in the first place!"
"Hope it doesn't take long. A new episode of Mettaton's Quiz Show is airing tonight."
Papyrus gasped. "You're right! I'll have to consume my dinner and write at the same time!" He picked up his plate and started to rush to his room before he realized he forgot to make dinner for Sans. He sighed and handed his brother his plate before heading back to the kitchen. Sans lazily munched at the food he was given, not bothering to see what he was even eating. Papyrus crossed his arms and tapped his foot, watching the spaghetti spin in his microwave.
"Honestly, if I miss even a second of Mettaton's show because of these letters I'll be up all night-"
A knock on the door interrupted his sentence. He and Sans both looked up, and Papyrus gave a sigh before putting a smile on his face. He didn't want to put anyone in a bad mood with a sour face after all. He opened the door and grinned.
"Hello, what m-might...umm."
"You alright Paps?" Sans sat up and looked over the couch to see who it was, and he nearly choked on his spaghetti.
Mettaton gave an exaggerated wave to Papyrus before shaking his hand. "Hello there! I take it from the nickname you're Papyrus? The one who sent me this?" Mettaton held up Papyrus's unfinished poem. Papyrus nodded, stepping aside as Mettaton made his way in.
"I doubt there's any need to introduce myself, you both must know who I am. I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
Papyrus shook his head. "You're no-"
"Good, because I have an urgent matter to discuss with you, my dear fan!" He rolled back over to Papyrus, putting his arm around his shoulders and shoving the paper in his face. "It seems this poem is unfinished."
Papyrus took the poem and nodded. "Umm... yes, well you see, this wasn't-"
"So it IS unfinished then!"
"I thought you knew it was-"
"Being in the television industry there are a certain level of standards I try to live up to, but given your life style I'll excuse you for now because there's no way you could have known. But when we send letters to each other, we try to make sure they're finished before they're sent out."
Papyrus threw a glare at Sans, who simply whispered back not so quietly, "You're welcome." Mettaton motioned to the paper.
"So I'm giving you a chance to make up for your mistake by finishing it now."
Papyrus's cheeks grew red and he swallowed as he looked at the paper.
"The... the last line was supposed to be "And fonder grows my heart when you're absent"."
Sans snickered, and Papyrus threw him another glare as his face reddened more. Mettaton put the back of his hand to his face and leaned backward.
"Oh darling you're making me swoon! Now that's a fan letter that I'll remember!"
"Umm, Mettaton, sir, if I may say, this was only a rough draft, this wasn't what I had wanted to send."
Mettaton stared at him. "What?"
"I didn't think it-"
"Why didn't you say so earlier? Where are your other drafts?"
"In my room."
"Well!" Mettaton took Papyrus's hand and dragged him around until he found what he believed to be his room. "You really ought to finish what you've started you know! Now get to work and write that poem about me!"
"But I haven't eaten! And your new episode is going to air any minute!"
"It's recorded, Papyrus, you can come over and watch it at my place when you're finished."
"What?!"
The two of them were silenced as the door to Papyrus's room closed. Sans could only hear robotic chattering and concerned mumblings after that. He grinned to himself and lay back down on the couch.
"He's going to owe me for this."
Not sure of what he was expecting to happen, Sans raised the volume of the TV to drown them out, only to fall asleep mere minutes after.