Tiny Raven

Sans and I fell into routine.

Or, rather, I returned to my routine and Sans followed along as my skeletal shadow.

Every day was more or less the same. Wake up way too early, rush to get ready. Run around the city doing low skill, low pay jobs. Sans napped during my breaks. Grab lunch at Solar’s and chat with Grillby. Work some more. Go home, eat a late dinner, crash around midnight.

Wake up and do it all again the next day.

The closest any of my managers came to caring about Sans was to warn that I was responsible for “any trouble he caused.”

One manager reminded me more than once. Like I had forgotten in the last half hour.

I had a shit memory, but I had thought I was more put together than a neurotic goldfish.

Some of my coworkers, however, were more vocal about the skeleton.

“Since when do you have a slave?”

It was a valid question. I understood the curiosity, and the accusation in their tone.

I had been a vocal supporter of monster rights for years.

And here I was, a human with a monster slave all my own.

The question was almost physically painful. A reminder of my hypocrisy.

I retreated to the lie I had given on Monday.

“I live in a rough area. I needed a body guard.”

It was easy enough to believe. Those who knew me well enough to feel comfortable asking about Sans had seen me come to work with bruises or worse. Simple enough to believe that I was a magnet for bad luck.

None of them knew that the dangers I faced were more domestic than being mugged by violent street thugs.

Which was fortunate for me because I kept carrying around the extra cash to get Sans some new clothes.

Time kept conspiring to keep me from taking him to a thrift shop.

Where I had been a regular at Solar’s before, I only ate there two or three items a week. Now I was stopping by every day for lunch.

I wanted Sans to have a chance to talk to someone he knew, someone he could trust.

He always seemed more at ease when talking to Grillby.

When the two monsters talked Sans had those lights in his eyes. It was the only time I saw them, outside of the very rare occasions that I managed to surprise the skeleton. I hoped that, maybe, for at least a couple of hours, he could forget that he was a slave.

That I owned him.

It didn’t lessen the pit of guilt growing in my stomach, but I hoped it made things better for him.

---

It was Saturday morning. I was nursing a cup of coffee and waiting for the first two pieces of toast to pop.

“How many jobs do you have?”

I had mostly adjusted to Sans appearing behind me out of nowhere, but it startled me when I was half asleep.

I groaned as I realized I had jumped and spilled some of my coffee. On my work shirt. I would have to change clothes before we left.

I glared at Sans as I put down my coffee mug, annoyed.

“Freaking ninja,” I muttered as the toaster popped. I divvied up the slices before putting two more in.

I leaned against the counter and nibbled on my breakfast.

“I think I have five or six jobs consistently right now.” I counted them on my fingers as I went. “The factory and housekeeping jobs are my most stable. I also have a pretty stable gig at the warehouse packing shipments. I’m on call for event staff at a nearby bar, but I don’t get called often for that. Loading trucks for shipments, that one is pretty stable.”

I picked up my coffee mug with a frown. I desperately needed the caffeine but it was a double-edged sword. Maybe I would escape the migraine this time.

Unlikely, but a girl could dream.

“I have some side-gigs. General labor, contract cleaning, that sort of thing. None of those last long. I’m only brought in as-needed.”

I thought about it a little more as I sipped my cooling coffee.

“I do some freelance stuff, too. Mostly web design. I’ve written for some magazines and blogs, though. And I work for a temp agency that has me do stuff like stuffing envelopes or sorting mail. If I’m desperate I’ll donate plasma or sign up for a medical trial.”

Another double-edged sword. Plasma was one thing, but the medical trials could be extremely draining.

The toaster popped and I took my piece to eat while I worked on lunch, leaving the other for Sans.

“I guess it really depends on what you mean by ‘job.’ ” I said with a shrug. I paused and tilted my head at him. “Why do you ask?”

Sans seemed thoughtful as he ate his own jam-covered toast, and I wondered if he knew why he asked.

I pulled stuff for a sandwich out of the fridge while I waited for him to answer. Or not.

Outside of Solar’s our conversations tended to be one-sided, so I didn’t expect the skeleton to answer my questions.

He shrugged. “I thought I knew about working multiple jobs, but you’ve shown me a ton.” He winked at me, “A skeleton.”

I snorted and rolled my eyes as I layered meat and cheese on the bread, silently praising my rationing. I had just enough for today, and tomorrow I was going grocery shopping. Perfect.

“That was a terrible skele-pun,” I retorted. Then I looked up at him, grinning mischievously. “I thought I said if you made bad jokes this early you’d be toast, but I guess I was getting a-bread of myself.”

He gave me a surprised chuckle, a real laugh, and I pumped a fist in victory.

“Fuck yeah!”

It felt nice to talk to him like this. Like we were friends. Hanging out, enjoying each other’s company.

Bad jokes, mediocre food, good company.

It reminded me of being a kid, getting ready for school with Abby and Sam while mom slept and …

I pulled myself from my memories with a shudder, frowning at the sandwich I was putting together.

I had wanted to ask Sans about the collars, how magic and intent worked. Right now felt like a good time to have that conversation. These moments were always the ones that Abby and I would talk about important things. Moments where we were both calm, relaxed, neither of us in a rush.

But the skeleton’s eyelights were bright, and he was actually talking to me. He laughed at my stupid joke.

I didn’t want to ruin this moment.

I put the sandwich in a bag with a sigh, then started cleaning up.

Moments passed and my questions were important.

I tried to ignore the nausea gnawing at my stomach.

“Hey, Sans?” I hedged, voice soft, not looking at him. “Can I ask you something about the collars?”

The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. I shivered as I turned to look at the skeleton.

He was staring at me, eyes black voids and all humor gone from him. I’d snuffed out the easy atmosphere like a candle, and it wasn’t coming back.

“I mean … I guess it’s more about magic?” I said, my voice tight with anxiety. “Monsters are made of magic, right?”

He grunted at me, which I took as an affirmative.

“What does that mean exactly?” I asked. “I mean … I thought magic was a type of energy? But you’re physical. You can touch and … interact with the world. And … I know we can measure energy? Like … watts and joules and amps and all that? But you have mass and weight and physical properties. So … what is magic?”

Sans stared at me and I realized I was way off track. I waved my hand as though I could sweep aside my tangent. “Hold on, let me start over. That part isn’t important.”

I grabbed an apple out of the fridge and chips out of the cupboard while I thought out my questions better.

“Okay. The collars. They do something with your magic, right? I mean … assuming you even know how they work.”

He nodded and finally looked away from me. I barely heard him mumble, “Somethin’ like that.”

“Alright. I know they’re technological, too. I guess they’re technomagical?” I shook my head, annoyed that I couldn’t stay on topic. I needed more sleep. “They were supposed to be mini polygraphs or something, right? Polygraphs work by measuring heart rate, blood pressure, breathing, and skin conductivity. Or … something like that.”

I stopped and looked at the skeleton in my kitchen.

The skeleton without a heart or blood. Who lacked lungs to breathe. Had no skin or sweat glands.

I downed the rest of my coffee.

“Uh, except the collars must track something different for monsters. Which I guess is … intent?”

I looked at the empty mug in my hands and debated pouring another cup. I glanced at the oven clock and cursed under my breath. I was running late.

I put the empty mug in the sink and rinsed it with water. Then I ran into my room to pack my bag for the day.

All the while I kept attempting to explain my question.

“I’m off track, again. What I actually want to know is: What is intent? What does that mean when it comes to magic, specifically the collars?”

I glanced behind me, not surprised to find Sans in my doorway.

He wasn’t glaring at me like I had become accustomed to, although his eyes were still black voids.

If anything, he looked … tired.

“Uh, maybe I’m not – ”

“Why?” Sans asked, cutting me off before I could try explaining myself more.

Probably a smart idea, with how this morning had gone so far. I was likely to get even further into the weeds if I started rambling again.

“I’m trying to understand how it all works,” I said, I waved my laptop at him before sliding it into my bag. “I’ve been researching the collars for the last few days.”

I reached for my phone with a frown as I continued. “I can’t do anything about Grillby’s collar or the commands on him. I’ve figured out what a lot of his commands are … or I’ve figured out how to talk around the commands. Mostly through trial and error. Apollo told me a couple of the commands, but he left a lot out.”

Most of it, really.

Apollo wasn’t really a ‘friend.’ We weren’t close. He was some guy I knew from high school who happened to run a pretty great bar.

Still, it was distressing seeing how comfortable he had become with being a slave owner.

Sometimes it seemed like he enjoyed ordering the fire elemental around.

Like he got off on the power it gave him. The authority.

It made me feel sick.

I worried that would happen to me.

My stomach twisted unhappily, threatening to evict my breakfast of coffee and dry toast.

I rubbed my eyes as I left my room, closing and locking the door behind me.

“It’s different with you,” I continued as I walked down the hall. “Aside from the … pre-programmed commands? … mine are the next highest priority, right?”

I glanced back to see Sans nodding, his eyes dark and his expression becoming angry again.

“I don’t want to give you a command by accident,” I explained as I turned away from him. “I don’t want to give you a command at all.”

I stopped by the door to put on my shoes and looked back at the skeleton.

The anger was gone, replaced with a wary, confused expression that I couldn’t name.

His eyelights were back, small but bright.

Disbelief. That was the expression.

I looked down to tie my shoes. “From what I’ve read, the important part behind a command is intent. But I don’t … understand what that means. In a metaphysical sense, I guess.”

He didn’t say anything.

I felt like I had crossed too many boundaries.

I stood up and adjusted my jacket and messenger bag awkwardly.

“This was too heavy for this early in the morning. Never mind. Don’t worry about it,” I said, trying to sound lighthearted. Trying to ignore the tight anxiety in my chest. “We have a whole day of work ahead of us. New liver, same eagles.”

The comment seemed to snap Sans out of whatever he was thinking and he stared at me in complete confusion.

“W-What?”

I smiled as I held the door open for him. “What? Never heard of Prometheus?

---

I left the bar bathroom after washing my hands to find Sans in his regular seat. He was sitting across from Grillby, gesturing with his hands.

I watched him as I walked over, feeling like I recognized some of the motions.

Some of them looked like hand signs, a few enough to be recognizable words.

Chemistry … Alcohol … Solution …

It made me think of a joke I’d heard before. A poster on a chemistry teacher’s wall.

Technically, alcohol is a Solution.

Grillby flared in faux anger and as I got closer I could see Sans was laughing.

It clicked.

“You know ASL?!” I shouted at the pair as I ran the last few steps to them. I turned to Sans, “You’re telling jokes in ASL?”

Both monsters stopped what they were doing and stared at me.

Realization that I had just randomly screamed in the middle of a busy restaurant for no apparent reason hit me. I glanced around at the other patrons of Solar’s. I had quite a few people staring at me. Some amused, others annoyed. I felt myself turning red under the scrutiny and I clambered up onto my usual seat.

I threw back my drink, letting the burn of the alcohol mix with the heat of embarrassment.

I started to explain my outburst, signing as I spoke. The motions were slow with disuse, but I found I remembered a fair amount.

“I didn’t know you knew sign language, Grillby. I would have asked you to sign instead of being verbal if I had known!”

Sans was watching my hands, eyelights visible and expression curious.

“Not all monsters can speak,” the skeleton explained. He began to mimic me, speaking and signing at the same time. “We call it Hands. Most monsters know it.”

Grillby nodded and helpfully signed, “I didn’t know you knew Hands.”

“Not Hands,” I mimicked the unfamiliar sign as I shook my head. “I took some American Sign Language – ASL – courses a few years back. I’m not fluent. But I can follow what you two are saying!” I turned to Sans. “You said nearly all monsters know sign? That’s amazing!”

Humans, at least the ones in Ebott, generally only learned ASL if they absolutely had to. It wasn’t particularly well known outside the Deaf community.

Sans shrugged, “Some monsters can’t speak a language others understand. Some can’t speak at all. Most have hands or something similar, though. It’s pretty rare to meet someone who doesn’t know at least a little Hands.”

“That’s so cool,” I said. “Usually the only people who know sign are either deaf or hard-of-hearing. Or they know someone who is. I wish more humans knew it.”

“Why did you learn?” Grillby asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t really know. I was just interested to learn it, I guess. I like languages, linguistics, that sort of thing.”

In truth there had been a lot of reasons. I was interested to learn it, of course, but at the time I had hoped that maybe I could get a job as a translator.

I had wanted to be useful, to help people enjoy their lives more.

But I’d failed.

Story of my life.

Now that I knew monsters had a version of sign language, I wanted to learn everything about it. I pulled out my phone to start searching some of my questions.

Grillby tapped the plate of food I had been ignoring, gently pushing it toward me.

A reminder that I should eat before my lunch break was over.

He could tell that I had found something interesting to focus on. He knew how single minded I could get when I found an interest.

He probably had also noticed that I hadn’t been eating as much this last week.

My stomach hadn’t fully settled since bringing Sans home. Even thinking about eating made me feel nauseated and ill.

But I couldn’t afford to waste food. My budget was already tight.

I sighed and took a bite of my burger to appease the fire elemental, who gave a flare of acceptance. He turned back to Sans and the two picked up the conversation they had dropped when I had interrupted.

I watched for a moment without really processing the signs.

ASL was related to French Sign Language, but both were “new” languages. ASL specifically had only existed since the 1800s. But the Barrier went up, trapping monsters in the Underground, long before that.

Of course, monsters also spoke English, which hadn’t been in the area much longer than ASL. At least, not on the sort of time scale I was working with.

I wondered how that all worked.

I pulled out my notebook to write myself a note.

Look into Monster History courses/books.

Linguistic history?

Hands

I thought for a minute if I should add anything else, then put the notebook to the side and picked up my phone. I pulled up my social media to distract me while I ate.