Hotelin to the 8th Dimension Episode 1: Technical Difficulties Something magical happened today. For a split second, when a strong gust of wind pushed opened the front doors, it almost seemed like they had a customer. This was not the case. Other than that, just like with every other day that month, the halls of the 8th Beat Inn were quiet. The business wasn't off to a good start, and optimism towards having an actual guest began to fade among the hotel staff. Their adventure was about to end before it even started... but little did they know, two magical things would happen that day. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "... skeleton pun 3,968. hey papyrus, i know you have spaghetti, but do you have any ribs?" "that was terrible, don't write that one down." "... skeleton pun 3,969... um... dont be such a bonehead...?" "im starting to lose my edge. lets stop for the day." Six hours of pun writing was enough for the morning, they'd continue to work on the notebook the next day. Sans finally removed his feet from the secretary's desk and, in a swift movement, he placed them against furniture's side and pushed off. His office chair rolled right from her desk all the way to his. The manager's office was small enough to make this journey short, but suffered all the problems that a small office contained. Cramped. Uncomfortable. Littered easily by empty ketchup bottles. Oh god, don't even get started on the goddamn ketchup bottles. The office wasn't meant for two desks, but it was like this when Sans took over. The space would have been nice, but Sans wasn't one to move furniture around. Plus, what was a secretary if she wasn't glued to his side from morning till dawn? Sans had a change in priorities since the Snowdin incident!... even if it was a small one. The skeleton shimmied his chair back behind his own desk. As the orientation of the room was awkward, the positioning of the desks had the two individuals facing each other completely. He buried his hand into the open drawer of his desk, and pulled out the last red bottle from his reserve. Sans cracked the cap off, took a quick sip, and moved his eyes towards his assistant. "hey. um. any ideas on how to save this place? maybe you have some friends that can create money from thin air?" ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ While the staff of "The Great Papyrus' Great Spaghetti Greatness: Bon Appétit Restaurant Emporium; Also With a Bar" were quiet during the long hiatus of work... today was different. Especially with the bartender. Or, really, just with the bartender. For the good old paranoid robot could be found hiding away under one of the restaurant's many clothed tables. He sat firmly against the floor in fetal position, trembling with fear, and clenching a spoon in his right hand. As was with the Manager's office, the bar/diner was too small for its purpose. The room could barely support the six tables crowded about in the center. Once again, Sans' thoughts towards furniture moving was unchanged. Poor little Cut Man bit his lip as he continued to lock his eyes with the light-green carpet underneath him. This was change in behavior for the bartender, as for the last couple of days, he had been rather calm and collected. Sure, he let off a snarky comment here and there, maybe a rant about Fate's plan for them all, but he never went into full meltdown mode like this. There was a reason for this, or a reason in Cut Man's mind at least. This was the day. This was when it was all going to start. Fate had waited a whole month, led the poor robot into a sense of relief, and then she pushed him back into the fray. He could sense it. Like he could sense the density of tree bark back in his lumbering days, he could feel his pitiful demise approaching. The more he thought about it, the more he held his spoon closer. Cut Man would stay under that clothed table as long as he needed to! Months if he had to! YEARS! Unfortunately for him, the scissors atop his head poked generously out of the table's covers. They stuck out like a sore thumb, and they absently began to snip the white cloth to pieces.