Work Text:
Spamton grunts as he lifts himself up and out of the water. The cold cutting into his bones.
He had been searching the dumps for what felt like hours now and all he's found was a few unusable VHS tapes and a couple broken bracelets. If he spent some time on them he could do a shabby job of repairing them. They wouldn't be pretty but they'd be sellable.
Without wasting anymore time the mail monster shoved the bands into his bag, taking time to shake some of the water dripping off his pants and feathers.
Even with how busy the bird was, his job paid shit. He needed an entire side business just to make enough to get through the week.
It was pitiful really.
Spamton let out another sigh before beginning the long trek back to his office, a run down little shack. It served it's purpose though, housing his postal services and storefront. Monsters rarely come into the building itself, usually only for important packages they didn't trust leaving in the mailbox but it's what he called home. Not like he had anywhere else to go, any ties he had with his old friends were cut, he made sure of that himself.
With his casual pace he had started whistling, clutching his bag as he hopped and skipped over puddles of liquid or mounds of trash.
He had almost made it halfway home when something caught his attention, it was thrown across the pathway. It's shape..it looked kind of..kind of like an arm.
The mailbird paused, clenching the strap of his bag a bit tighter as he hesitantly continued. *It wouldn't be a real arm..monsters turn to dust so there definitely wasn't a body.*
As Spamton hesitantly approached it became clear, it WAS in fact an arm, but it was metal. It looked as if it had been ripped from the socket, wires hanging out the end. He cocked his head, nudging the thing with his talons.
He had seen robots before, Mettaton being the only one he's known sure, but he's seen him! It looked close enough to be robotic.
It wasn't like it was a body, heck, the person was probably still alive. Likely walking around looking for this thing and Spamton being the good Samaritan that he was would happily sell it back to them for a discounted price.
Even if he didn't find the owner, perhaps that new scientist would take interest, she seemed to collect this type of stuff every time she visited the dumps. Spamton had taken up the habit of collecting anything that could be used for machinery, also had gotten quite good at repairing things himself! He could just sell it to her if he couldn't find the..
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of something heavy moving right next to him, in fact, he saw it move out of the corner of his eye.
The mailman froze, he had already squatted down, arm stretched and hand hovering over the limb. He swallowed once before slowly moving his head to gaze at whatever had just shambled up next to him.
His feathers stood on end when he was met with his own reflection. It took him far longer than he'd admit to notice he was staring at a darkened cracked screen that was reflecting his own image.
From what he could see, this thing was some sort of robot, his head seemingly an outdated TV.
As his gaze roamed over the other monsters' form he noticed two things immediately. One, this creature was ENORMOUS and two, HE, Spamton was in grabbing distance.
The birds gaze went from the larger monster to the arm in the floor, then back towards its supposed owner. He let out a nervous chuckle, retracting his hand to clutch at his mail bag, slowly moving to stand. He placed one foot slowly behind the other, offering shakey smile.
“Dear stranger, I was just..uh.”
Before the mail monster could finish the creature next to him had moved forward. Spamton jumped back, letting out a surprised squawk before bolting the opposite direction. He heard a series of static filled cries, as if the thing behind him had tried to call him back but forming words was too difficult.
He risked one look back, eyes going wide when he realized he was being pursued. Unfortunately due to his gaze being focused behind him instead in front he missed the tire that sat in his path, clawed foot catching on it, sending him tumbling back onto the damp ground.