So a skeleton walks into a cafe-

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A gun can be used for an infinite number of things.

Protection.
Destruction.
Vengeance.

Murder.

Always in the instance that tears families apart; wives from husbands, making enemies out of friends- turning leaders into mourners. Not that the mobsters of this mow town care all that much- only we haven't been properly introduced to them yet.

So without further ado, we begin with a gun- the monster that held it— Oh, and how they both ruined your life!

"Order up!"

Not even- you squinted up hazily at the plastic clock that hung high above diners heads. Nine- Not even Nine 'o clock and you were already ready to rip the pass bell off it's hinges and parade about with it like a knuckle-dragging gorilla. You were coffee deprived- it was a valid thought. The ring of the shrill bell sounded again from behind you, turning to scamper towards the pass through the sliver of floor space left. Monsters crowded left and right, a mass of colours, fur- their hollers following you, an Everest of demands: Napkins! Refills! Cheque-!! The doorbell rung from somewhere in amongst the armada of sounds.

Grillby's was the only establishment in town that allowed them in, monsters that is- Humanity was having yet another one of its famed racist prick tantrums. You weaved in-between the bulk of two customers before stopping short of a staring Grillby. "....Here." Your pad and pen were shoved towards you. "You see that fella over there?" He raised a blazing finger, aimed behind you. You peered over your shoulder, a hunch looming dark in the corner. "Uh huh...?" You drawled, turning back around. Grillby gazed down at you, hard to tell under the scrutiny of his flaming brow. "I'm... I guess you could say behind the eight ball with him*- could you be a doll and take his order for me?" You raised a brow, about to ask— "Thanks sweetheart!" Was heard from around the corner, Grillby already making his way to cower in the pantry. You turned around.

Your frown set into a determined scowl as you faced the dining room again, ready for war against spilled food, sticky juice— and the true enemy: stray crayons... only to be met with a silent cafe. Swallowing, you began your walk, unaware of the leering violet pupil that peered over the shoulder of the black clump, watching as you approached. Your shoulders tensed, it was as if walking down the aisle to a waiting groom of death. No, no- not thinking of that, not thinking of that.. Your eyes flickered wildly over the horizon of solemn customers as you inched closer— closer—— "Welcome, sir! What can I get'cha today?" You greeted, beaming with your pad at the ready, pen hovering above it. The figure didn't move at first, you dreading having to poke him to test if he was alive before he shifted on the stool like an rusted cog.

"I say....."

A voice started in a manner that would've been robust and suave if it hadn't been for the grated edge of a voice box worn down by the centuries. It straightened, a lean tower of bones draped in a dark coat that stared down ominously. A perplexed smile balanced across a pale skull, large holed hands folded. "Grillby sends for the most amusing people to cater to me- and of all people he sends a girl, a child. How precious..." You dodged the dig with a smile. "Can I get'cha a coffee sir?" He looked taken aback for the briefest of seconds before smiling drearily. "I'll take it black. Extra hot. I suppose Sans can order for himself." He dismissed. "Of course." You mused, jotting it down messily as orders started popping up like moles from behind you. "We'll be right out with that-" you grinned almost apologetically, backtracking into the pass.

Most amusing indeed.

You curiously peered out from behind the pass at the lean monster that had turned again. You weren't exactly sure what he was, though a 'really dinged up skeleton' would be, theoretically, the best guess. His skull was engraved in shallow twin marks one dragging up the top of his right socket, the other dragging under his left. He was a rather crooked thing, jutting and gangly- though not awkward. But enough of that-!  'Work to be done, monsters to feed-!' was usually Grillby's motto, only he was now squeezed unceremoniously between two shelves, biding his time shivering till they left. You sighed, fists resting against your hips. It was up to you now. "Grillby—!!"

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