"I have to say, Grillby this place has some pretty neat digs." the golden mare with a burnt orange and yellow mane leaned onto the onto the countertop and crossing her hooves, one over the other.

"Why thank you Spitfire. You yourself seem like a very nice mare," the bartender replied, his voice crackly, almost like static from a radio, but much warmer. The fire monster set down the glass he had been wiping onto the countertop, snapping the white cloth before tucking it into his belt. "I don't suppose you would like another glass of milk?"

"Aw, you do know how to please a girl," Spitfire said in mock flattery, batting her eyelashes and fluffing her wings, before her face split into a wide grin and a deep laugh escaped the golden mare's throat.

The heat from the fire monster's head increased for a second before he ducked down slightly to fill another glass.

"I think you are the only customer here who orders milk. Well, besides, him." Reappearing with a glass of milk, Grillby nodded to a tall skeleton with a red scarf who had just burst through the door. His arms were held stiffly at this sides, and his face was stony. Spitfire could almost smell the fumes of frustration rolling off him.

"SANS!" the skeleton bellowed.

Spitfire glanced to her right at the smaller, rounder skeleton sitting beside her, his head pillowed on one of his arms. He was snoring softly, and in his hand he clutched a bottle of ketchup.

The taller skeleton marched stiffly over to Sans and simply scooped him up under his arm. Sans briefly cracked open an eyesocket, muttered a "hey bro," then promptly began snoring again.

"SANS! DO NOT GO BACK TO SLEEP ON ME! YOU ARE SO LAZY, SOMETIMES I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH YOU!"

With that, he marched back out with the air of a soldier going off to fight his first battle, still carrying Sans with him.

"Hm," Spitfire mused, watching the pair disappear out the door with an amused expression. "I bet I might be able to whip that guy into shape at one of my training camps."

"It's actually not that he's not capable," Grillby said, leaning his elbows on the table and resting his chin in his hand. "His attacks come fast an furious, and he will fight to the last breath if truely threatened. To tell you the truth, Sans is not someone I would like to have as an enemy."

The pegasus mare slowly shook her head. "Well, he certainly doesn't look the part: baggy coat, shorts, slippers, for heaven's sake!" She leaned forward and took the glass in her hoof, draining the cool liquid down her throat. "Mmm, I should really come here more often. Bring some of the other guys too, maybe. I bet Soarin'd come, if only to eat all your pie."

"It's funny that you mention pie," the bartender remarked, running a cloth up and down the granite surface of the countertop. "When the queen was here, there was nothing she loved more than making butterscotch pie. And I don't think there was anything King Asgore loved more than eating it."

Spitfire grinned. "I think Soarin' and Asgore would get along pretty well. Say Grillby, what time is it?"

The fire monster pulled out a pocketwatch, and straightened his glasses, peering down at the small timepiece. "It is about 5 o'clock, Captain Spitfire."

"I'd better get going then. It was nice seeing you again, Grillby." The pegasus slid off her chair and gave a nod to the bartender, before slipping out of the warmth of the restaurant into the biting chill of the outdoors. Yet deep within her a warmth lingered, like the flickering of some tiny flame.