บท 56: Chapter 56
Frisk finished taking a shower and turned off the water. After pulling his necklace off the faucet and putting it around his neck, Frisk stood there for a moment in contemplation of what Mettaton would probably do next.
Frisk scratched his arms fearfully. He did not like being this close to Mettaton alone. It had never gone well.
Frisk breathed deeply and prayed for the wisdom to know what he was doing as he opened the curtain of the fancy-looking bathtub and discovered to his horror that his phone and his clothes were not where he left them on top of the toilet next to the tub.
"God, how did this happen?" Frisk prayed. "I didn't even hear him come in…"
In a panic, Frisk pulled a towel off the rack next to the tub and wrapped it around himself while he climbed out and ran for the door.
Frisk opened the door and yelled, "Mettaton, do you know where my clothes are?!"
He couldn't see where Mettaton was, but Frisk heard him respond, "Of course, dear, I threw them out."
"WHAT?!" Frisk screamed as he left the bathroom. "Mettaton, those were the only clothes I had!"
"I could tell," Mettaton responded sitting up and revealing his purple form on the couch. "They were so torn up, not to mention out-of-date."
"Then, where's my phone?" Frisk asked anxiously.
"It's charging on the vanity," Mettaton replied pointing a blobby hand to his vanity where the phone was sitting while connected to a charger.
Frisk walked over to the vanity and pulled the phone out of the charger. It was now fully charged.
"Thanks," Frisk said reluctantly turning back to Mettaton and freezing in surprise.
Mettaton looked over and showed his face. He was a purplish-pink ghost with long eyes and a styled swath of hair. Frisk stared on in surprise as Mettaton looked back in amusement while holding his glass of red wine.
"Whoops," Mettaton said lackadaisically gesturing to his body that was charging against the other wall. "I guess I should have warned you in advance. This is what I look like when I'm not a robot. I would stay in the body full-time if I could, but it has its drawbacks. For one thing, it must be charged at regular intervals. Not to mention, you can't enjoy the finer things in life, like food and drink…or wine."
Mettaton took another sip of his wine before saying, "Dr. Alphys built it for me. She's a genius, and she's built me an upgrade I plan on unveiling tonight. But for obvious reasons, I'd like you to keep this under wraps. If it weren't for that suit, I'd still be a snail farmer…Oh, look at you. Where are my manners? Would you like for me to find you some clothes, Frisk?"
Frisk's only response was, "You're like Napstablook…"
Mettaton's expression and tone immediately changed.
"How do you know Napstablook?" Mettaton asked.
"He's my friend," Frisk answered cautiously. "I met him in the Ruins when I first fell. I went to his house and listened to music yesterday. How do you know him?"
Mettaton put the wine glass down on the table and replied happily, "He's my cousin."
"What?" Frisk asked incredulously.
"It's true," Mettaton said pulling out his phone, scrolling to a picture of him and his cousin, and showing the phone to Frisk. "This is us at the snail farm. We've always been super close. That's why we lived right next door to each other."
"I've seen it. That was really your house?"
"Yes, sadly, it didn't last. I loved living so close by and hanging out with Napstablook all the time, but I hated that snail farm our parents dumped on us. So, did he. I wanted to be a superstar like you humans have on the surface. He wanted to create his own house music. I left that place the first chance I got. I just wish my cousin was as bold as me…"
"Why didn't you bring him with you? He's really depressed."
"There were only one suit and one spot, and I took it. Besides, he wouldn't abandon that damn farm. If only there was some way I could convince him to leave, then he could be happy, too. I really should call him sometime."
Mettaton looked sadly at the picture on his phone. He was lost in thought and thinking about what he could do for his cousin when a reminder popped up on his phone telling him that the show was starting in about an hour and a half.
"Oh, God," Mettaton said putting away his phone and phasing through the couch and table to where Frisk was standing. "We're running out of time. I need to get you into some clothes and get started on that hair."
"But what about Napstablook?" Frisk asked.
"We'll deal with him later," said Mettaton as he flew over the couch and threw a package of underwear and a pair of black skinny jeans at the dumbfounded boy.
Frisk somehow managed to catch the clothes with one arm while still holding the towel around his waist with the other.
"Don't just stand there, darling," Mettaton said flying behind him and ushering him back into the bathroom. "Go put those on."
Mettaton shut Frisk back into the bathroom and pulled the rack of clothes over to the bathroom door.
In a few minutes, Frisk opened the door wearing the underwear and black skinny jeans and saw the rack of clothes in front of him. Without warning before he could even react, Mettaton flew behind him, picked him up, carried him above the rack, and placed him on the other side.
"You really were homeless," Mettaton commented before his eyes fell on the scars that covered Frisk's torso. "Your body is so light and underweight…Oh, dear God…"
Frisk realized what he was looking at and wrapped his arms around his torso in shame.
"Don't stare at them," Frisk said shamefully.
"Those cuts are deep, Frisk," Mettaton said sternly. "Did someone attack you? Or did you attempt suicide?"
"That's…that's none of your business."
"Do the skeletons and Undyne know about them?"
"Yes."
"Interesting…Anyways, those definitely need to be covered up. Pick out a shirt from the rack, dear. I'll go get your shoes and socks."
Mettaton flew away to find his items while Frisk looked over the clothes from the rack. He pulled down a white tank top with Mettaton's face on it offhandedly to cover his scarred torso before he took a more serious look at the other shirts on the rack.
The shirts were not Frisk's taste, to say the least. They were flashy and gaudy as shirts you would find in an 80's big hair band. They had sequins, feather, and everything meant to call the attention that Frisk had never wanted in his life. Even the most understated of them was brightly-colored or way too fancy.
Frisk grimaced in dismay as he desperately looked through the shirts for something tolerable. He would have to wear one of these ugly things on stage in front of an audience in a studio and wherever else in the Underground anyone might be watching.
Everything about this situation was awkward and uncomfortable and Frisk couldn't wait for it to be over. He asked God to help him focus on the end goal. He was doing this for Sans and Papyrus. Since Frisk would not be able to free them, he would make sure they could at least have the money to do whatever they wanted and be happy…
Frisk stopped searching. He had found the perfect shirt. It was a red and black-striped sweater. It looked almost exactly like the sweater the lead singer of his Dad's favorite grunge band wore on the cover of one of his albums. Frisk smiled at the memory and pulled the sweater off the rack and onto his body. It was slightly big on him, but it was comfortable.
"I found the perfect shoes to go with your jeans, Frisk," Mettaton said flying back over with black army boots and black socks before he noticed what Frisk was wearing. "Oh, you picked out that one…I forgot we even had that one…I'll admit it looks good on you, but I was hoping you'd choose something less…gothic-looking. Are you sure that you don't want to wear something more cheerful, Frisk?"
"No, I like this one the best," Frisk protested. "It looks the sweater of one of my Dad's favorite grunge singers. It's cool."
"It's a bit big on you."
"I don't care. I want to wear it."
"Okay, fine," Mettaton relented. "Got to pick your battles I suppose. Put on your shoes and socks, darling. I need to get to do your hair."
Mettaton flew above Frisk and dropped the items in his hands. Frisk got on the floor and pulled on the shoes and socks on his feet. He had to admit they were comfortable, a bit too comfortable.
"Frisk, dear, come sit on the chair," Mettaton called from the chair in front of the vanity. "I have to fix your hair. Come on."
Frisk walked over and sat in the chair.
After Mettaton put a sheet around Frisk's shoulders and started gently combing his hair straight, Frisk asked, "Mettaton, how did you know what size clothes to get me?"
"Easy, dear," he replied while flying back to grab his wine, sip it, and put it down on the vanity. "I checked the sizes of the clothes I threw out."
"Oh," Frisk said while Mettaton pulled out the scissors. "I guess that makes sense. You still shouldn't have thrown out my clothes without asking me…Hey! What are you doing with those scissors?"
"Your hair has ungodly split ends. I need to trim them. Is that alright?"
"Yeah, I guess that's okay. Just don't make it too short. I like it long. That was how my Dad wore it."
"I understand," Mettaton said as he started trimming the split ends of Frisk's hair. "Good God, who do you let cut your hair?"
"I usually do it," Frisk replied. "But yesterday, I let Sans do it."
"That explains it," Mettaton said in disgust. "Darling, you have lovely hair. Please do yourself a favor and never cut it yourself or let Sans cut it ever again.
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