[St] Calcite Knight (IV)

Once out of the vehicle, Sans took in the dangerous sight only humans knew how to create. He hit the lock button before shutting Frisk inside, the heavy clunk providing a mild reassurance. His movements were slow, his pulse swift. Dozens of protesters filled the street and swelled over the front lawns of the adjacent houses; either the owners did not care, were too scared to argue, or were scattered among the masses. Sans’ bet was clear. Many raised empty fists to the sky but others swung flags and banners, or raved their homemade signs above their heads. There were chairs strewn about, most toppled over, presumably when the car finally rolled into their web; not a single human was sitting now.

Perhaps the most unifying, terrifying element of this diverse crowd was their apparel, a sea of green staring Sans down. It was the shade of emerald, representing their idol prince, but hue alone did not erase Chara’s smirk from ghosting through the crowd. He shuddered, pressed his arms against his sides to remain strong as the cacophony of voices bore down on them.

“Go home, you freaks! You’re not getting past us; no way in hell you’ll trick our prince anymore!”

‘keep him.’ Sans grimaced, slipping his hands into his pockets as he sidled along the car until he was on Papyrus’ left side. Though he had no inclination to speak, Sans stood ahead of Papyrus, positioning his brother directly in his blind spot. ‘though he ain’t exactly yours.’

Through the bitter complaints and insults, Papyrus’ voice carried, his exuberance and volume put to good use. “ATTENTION HUMANS! WE APOLOGIZE FOR INTERRUPTING YOUR GROUP EVENT, BUT WE HAVE BECOME QUITE TARDY FOR OUR MEETING!”

“You aren’t welcome here!” One woman shrilled, swinging a pointed finger at them like a sword. By her side, a young boy clung to her leg, pressing his face into the dark fabric. He gazed at the skeletons with child-like caution; despite misgivings. Sans could tell he was afraid but not of them. Just scared of being somewhere strange, surrounded by anger.

He knew that look…from long ago.

“WE SHALL PASS FAST, I ASSURE YOU!” Papyrus promised, his long arms spread wide, to the sky. Still, his smile was bigger, always gentle and nonthreatening. “YOU HAVE THE WORD OF THE GREAT PAPYRUS! WE--”

“No! Go back to the caves you crawled outta!” A man shouted, the loudest of several other cries; At his words, a chorus of affirmation swelled into the city air. Then, the mass of humans took a few steps forward, emboldened; perhaps too quickly, Sans’ hands snapped from his jacket to his sides. Though he did nothing, many women screamed and flinched as if he had. His groan hidden beneath their undulations, Sans shrank, attempting submission.

Papyrus resumed negotiations, unaffected by the barrage of insults rushing at him. “IT IS UNSAFE FOR US TO REVERSE HERE! IF YOU WILL--”

“We will never! You won’t poison Prince Julius’ mind again!” A teenage female shrieked, her green shorts and baby tee matching the sign she swatted through the air. “He’s too pure to be tarnished by you!” With more “yeahs!” the group lurched forward again. Sans tensed, spared a glance at the windshield; he knew Frisk was watching.

--You can’t protect her from--

“hey pap?” Sans asked, his phalanges tingling. For a moment, the breeze ceased, and the heat of the day bore down on his bones.

“NOT YET, SANS!” Papyrus requested, his whisper firm, gaze remaining forward. Gritting his teeth, Sans obeyed, keeping his eye white and distrustful; he knew Papyrus had learned when intimidation became threat, but he still felt that sleeve on his face, absorbing his tears, breaking him down.

‘distals!’

“THE YOUNG PRINCE EXPECTS US!” Papyrus tried but the crowd shouted back, their steps haunting and uniform. Back and forth, the exchange met with flared tempers and shrinking territory. With every glance, Sans saw the car remain undisturbed, Frisk honouring his request. It was a small blessing as their boundaries buckled.

Peace was so simple to shatter, its bones crushed and cluttering the asphalt.

“Go to hell, bone bag!” screamed an unseen male before a red sphere cut the air and struck Papyrus in the intersection of the frontal, parietal and temporal bones. Seeds and watery, red flesh splattered his impeccable suit, staining the white shirt beneath and the purity of his skull. His amethyst sunglasses struck the asphalt with a pitiful crack, the glass spiderwebbing in one lens and shattering in the other. Sans’ head snapped forward and he yelled his brother’s name. Clenching his hands to fists, Sans felt his left eye flash cyan and the right go dark.

“AH! DELISSHA! YOU HAVE FINE TASTE, HUMAN!” Papyrus laughed even while mispronouncing the name of the tomato streaked over his skull and clothing. Sans glanced at his brother, chest tight, tortured by his unaffected friendliness and the dreaded clicks and thunks of the door behind him. “BUT I MUST SAY IT IS A SHAME TO WASTE SUCH PRECIOUS FOOD!”

*Agent Papyrus! Are you hurt?!* Frisk fretted as she lifted onto her tiptoes to try and pat away the tomato damage with her handkerchief. Even if Papyrus had seen her question, the crowd erupted with renewed vitriol.

“Finally showed your face, ya bitch, huh?!” was one of the least offensive slanders flung Frisk’s way as the front line lurched again. In his anger and fear of seeing a green shirt dive through the crowd, Sans snapped his hands wide; an array of blue, glowing bones arched around the three and their car, a final warning. Several stones, tomatoes and other produce fell in a heap before the bone barrier. An orange hovered several feet away from Frisk, blue and trembling.

“backbone off!”

*Easy, Agent Sans.* Frisk requested, still stretching tall to pat Papyrus’s cheeks with her handkerchief. Pushing her hands away, Papyrus insisted he was fine, quite enjoying the tomato perfume on his skeleton. Frisk, in turn, bit down on her lip, unconvinced. Still, she hadn’t time to argue with him, instead pressing the handkerchief into his hands so she could turn and address the crowd. Her discomfort was immediate, left hand clutching at her blazer. Staring down a shouting swell of humans, a minor inconvenience, but being forced to speak to them had her almost shaking. How she preferred to sign her speech to her guards but Frisk knew protests defied them more when she relied on translation.

With swift swipes and flicks, Frisk activated the stage microphone modification Alphys installed on her phone. Even if she possessed a confident voice, the incensed screams of her opposition would drown her. After another deep inhale, feeling the warm sunshine on her face, Frisk held her phone flat on her open palm and spoke, “Whatever complaint you have against myself should be raised at your respective assembly. Cornering and assaulting my team shall only create dissonance.” Pausing to suck in a refreshing breath, Frisk stiffened her spine to represent her confidence and indignation. “Prince Julius has already expressed his concern at our absence, thus I implore you--”

“Hell no, we won’t go! Take the hint, hit the road!”

No longer startled by Frisk’s mysteriously amplified voice, the mob smothered her request and continued to chant, Countless voices amalgamated, a shapeless mass of sound bearing down on the embassy trio. Not everyone moved at once; clusters oozed forward before they were rejoined by the crowd behind them. Sans flinched, tightening the cyan barrier. Even with aid from Papyrus, their magic was not infinite, but his glances to Frisk were set aside. Not one to be intimidated, the young ambassador prepared her voice with two cleansing breaths and stepped closer towards the bone barrier. Behind her, Papyrus pulled two femurs from his dimensional box-pouch and held them at his sides. “Please,” Frisk attempted, squaring her small shoulders with pride. “Compose yourself so we may advance towa--”

“Fuck off, pretentious bitch!” One male screamed through the chant. Barely seen, Papyrus dashed forward; he backhanded an apple back to the barrier where it split and smacked the asphalt in a splatter of juice and jagged chunks. It was lobbed but nonetheless dangerous.

“ARE YOU ALL RIGHT, HUMAN?” Papyrus asked over his lowered shoulder. With a sigh, Frisk swished her fingers to the beat of a *Yes, my dear, thank you.* It was not the insult or projectile that had her voice strangled but her lack of dialogue options. Scattered around her were posters and banners idealizing The Emerald Prince, but to Frisk’s memory, he was always supportive of her co-habitative mission. Thus, the young ambassador could not discern their grievances with her.

Before she had long to ponder, Sans called to her from behind. “kid, we gotta go before they get much closer…” Shifting his gaze to the masses, he watched the front line ooze steadily closer, safety shrinking too fast. Soon, the gleaming bones would encircle and trap them inside a time bomb. Sweat glistened upon white bone, not from exertion--not yet--but from the swarm of green fabric closing in; the hues weren’t right but the thought of cold metal tearing into Frisk’s flesh and organs was sufficient fear fuel. “somethin’ bad’s gonna happen.”

*But--* Frisk raised her hands in protest; Papyrus touched one wrist with his left hand, now sporting his defense femurs in his right.

“I THINK MY BROTHER IS RIGHT, HUMAN. THEY SEEM DETERMINED TO PUSH US AWAY.”

Frowning, Frisk readied her other hand, set to argue the breadth of her determination not to be intimidated; the distinct chop of helicopter blades cut through her lecture, yanking eyes skyward. Four splatters of black and green marked an otherwise clear blue expanse. The din of the protest had masked their approach, and thus the embassy trio flinched at how close they were. Pieces of the amorphous crowd broke formation and stared upwards but most continued forward; the front line attempted to score fruits and stones between the bones, to no success. Papyrus guarded Frisk one-handed, too practised in blocking magic spears to be challenged.

Above, the four Sikorsky choppers closed in, clustering over the stranded town car. Shielding her eyes from the afternoon sun, Frisk studied their bizarre choreography as they twisted and circled one another as if in communication before thick cables shot out from the doors and several soldiers rappelled to the ground. In her silence, Frisk thought of Muffet’s spider army. As they disconnected, Frisk strode to the car’s right side to intercept Kendrik. He bowed to her immediately.

“Ambassador Dreemurr, our apologies for this situation,” Kendrik, Julius’ personal bodyguard and head of his security team, spoke with deliberate formality. Frisk gazed up at him, blue eyes surprised to see him far from Julius’ side; he ignored her curiosity. His team assembled behind them, all clad in black with sporadic streaks of emerald, appearing iridescent in natural light. Reminded of a beetle’s protective shell, Frisk consciously fought a roaming gaze to watch the colours waver. Kendrik also ignored the situational faux pas. “Allow us to proceed.”

At her nod, Kendrik lifted his left hand and snapped it towards the crowd; his team dashed forward. Amber sprang ahead to tap Sans on the shoulder; he complied. Electric blue bones scattered to the breeze, replaced by the emerald guard, allowing him a moment to breathe. Credentials entered the fray, the guards’ sigils boldly shown to the protesters claiming support of the prince they served. Nodding, Kendrik addressed Frisk again. “We shall attempt to reason with this crowd but please remain here; you and yours will be transported via helicopter if the conflict will not resolve.”

Before Frisk could gesture perfunctory consent to the strategy, a yell rent the hollow chant to gasps. “We got every right! Piss off!”

Screams swallowed the crack of fist against jaw and Edvard crashing out of formation. Some protesters clung to each other, shoved forward and aside as others slammed against the guards. “Restrain them!” Amber commanded, her mid-back plaits slashing the air as she subdued a wild hook and slammed her attacker to the asphalt; three more took his place.

“Damn it!” Kendrik wheeled Frisk behind him. With a sequence of clicks upon the emerald stud in his left lobe, Kendrik advanced towards the surging crowd. “Guard the Ambassador! Lady Dreemurr, stay back!” he ordered to his squad and the two skeletal agents. So too was his voice swallowed in the screams of women and men crushed between guard and aggressor. Cacophony arose in chaos, victim and assailant blurred in a flurry of fists and broken signs.

“shin splints!” Sans ground out, twisting towards Frisk before a green teed male broke free and lunged at him. Left eye catching fire, Sans lit up the air with a scattershot of long, cyan bones, knocking the human aside. Others, he forced between the guards, fortifying their barrier. “pap?” He called out, but in fear saw Papyrus flanked by protesters too. A crying child clung to his leg, separated from his mother.

‘i feel sick.’ Sans tensed, vision darkening, his dream unrepressed in the verdant wave of shirts darting closer. ‘kid?’ Sans shifted stance but still saw her not. His soul compressed in his chest. ‘distals, ya know better!’

“Hey! Back off!”

Sans twisted until his spine locked, craned his neck until the vertebrae crackled. Until he could see with his only good eye. A cluster of humans had made it near the car, barricaded by two capable but outnumbered guards. Amidst a blur of limbs was a bright green hoodie, and between the struggling bodies, a glint of metal winked at him.

‘no!’

“Stop!”

He saw Frisk flick her head up at Lee’s command, her cellphone gripped tight in her hands. Too late; the hooded human dove through a gap and thrust his arm forward.

“kid!”