Watch me attempt to write cannon personalities for once--

"So, I hear you got lucky at the auction."

"That's still up for debate."

"So you think you wasted the money?" They stared at him intently, their bony phalanges tapping incessantly at the tall glass of wine tilted slightly in their grip to let the crimson-blood liquid wash around the edges smoothly.

Swallowing the section of beef on his fork, Cross cast a narrowed glance up at the skeleton sat opposite him. "I never said that, did I?"

"You're implying it." He grinned and took a bite of a roast carrot, his eyes fixed on the smaller ruler. "Don't tell me you've realised you've wasted all your money to lose again?"

"Hardly." He hid his hatred for the cloaked skeleton quite well, holding his gaze until the darker skeleton looked away.

Reaper was, in short, an asshole. A daddy's boy with so much money that he didn't know what to spend it on. Unlike most of the Rulers around the table, he'd been born into power, not having earned it. But he was a well respected figure of power, owning a twelfth of the country's land.

He often came high up in the leaderboards for the tournaments, having come first once. But his refusal to swatch out for a new fighter had seen him drop over the years.

But despite low rankings, he still thought himself to be king. The ruler of everyone because that's what daddy told him. In reality, most his subjects repented him, and that was common knowledge.

Behind him, his fighter of four years stood with their expression cast down at the floor so not to disrespect, their small and scarred hands grasping at their ripped and tattered scarf of the brother they'd lost years ago. He was disheveled in appearance with a large permanent blood stain blooming across his chest. He was due to die nearly half a decade ago, but Reaper had prevented that, his special magic keeping the skeleton alive in an almost zombified state. He didn't respond to anyone other than Reaper, and though records of abuse had surfaced, was completely loyal to him. It was as if he was bound by a spell.

A hazy glitch cloud covered his left eye, obscuring a gruesome injury from then tournament before last, an incident that left him with a third of his skull completed melted off. But despite his weak appearance, he was a true fighter with no concept of pain or backing down. He'd fight till all his bones were fractured and blood was pooling at his feet. Genocide. That was the name Reaper had given him; honesty, it fitted.

Along the table the other rulers watched silently, their own fighter-slaves stood behind them silently. Most of them kept their gaze trained on the floored but a few of the more confident ones dared to stare at the other slaves, but none of them laid an eye on any opposing rulers. Not unless they wanted a fight that was.

Sat next to Reaper was Error, a ruler that had forced his way to the top of the food chain though blood, forgery and betrayal. He'd killed his brother in a cold blooded assassination to take his spot on the throne, his kingdom being one of the most feared. He'd swapped out his old fighter last year after the disgrace of a battle they'd put up that left the King all the way down at fifth on the overall board. The fighter had been doing well, but one slip up and a trick sent them crashing and burning to the ground.

His new slave, was a self acclaimed artist. Artist of blood, that is. Last years fight had looked like an abstract painting when he was done with the other, there being enough blood to fill a small bath. He was - like his master - a skeleton, yet unlike most monsters in general, he had no soul. No one knew why, and no one dared ask. But it was so rumoured that Error had extracted it that people just believed it at this point. It was said to be locked up in the briefcase the King took everywhere with him, locked with all sorts of tech.

But the most interesting part was the vials. They were always slung over his shoulder and wrapped around his waist, a rainbow of colour that lay captured in small vials. They were emotions, each colour being a different one. That was his way of feeling, only being an empty husk otherwise - which is the state he was in almost constantly if you minus the arena. Error reportedly liked it better that way, as it make him "more active" when the time came for the emotions to be put in use. He fittingly called him Ink, and his chosen weapon was a giant paintbrush that could shatter bone and crack skulls. He was last years winner.

Opposite him was Horror. He was a smaller ruler like Cross, but still well known for the horrifying story of how he resorted to cannibalism after being locked in a dungeon to die with two of his friends. The rescuers took too long, and once they'd finally got there, only Horror was left, blood stained and crazed. He'd actually lost his throne a year before the incident, but the time in that dungeon had driven him crazy and in the mind, he still believed he was in charge. The insanity caused him to kill anyone that told him an opposing thought to his own until no one was left to argue against him. Because of that his kingdom was currently very sparse on numbers, but still viewed worthy enough to take part in the tournament.

No one knew how he got it, but his fighter was a sort of Succubus. No one knew their gender as they acted with the femininity of a female, but with the body and aura of a male. Horror liked to keep everyone guessing, so never told, and the demon enjoyed the attention so much that they revelled in it. If they were a moth, attention was their light, drawn to it like a flame. The last tournament had left them grabbing second place, the creature having rendered all the competition completely helpless. But against Ink, who had no emotions, their act was useless.

Still, it left a great impression.

Next along the table was Blue, a young Prince fresh to the throne and the decent manners to stay out of everyone's business except his own. He rarely spoke to the other rulers, but when he did it was a lot. After his kingdom had voted his lazy brother off of the throne, he took over and started the laborious task of building the kingdom back up to standard, his brother having left it in decay and turmoil. He'd only been in his position for three months, but because of family status - like Reaper - he was chosen to partake in the tournament.

Because of the short notice, he hadn't had long to choose a slave, and ended up with a cheep bargain off of a trade from a different kingdom; he refused to use auctions and black markets, claiming them to be an inhumane strip of monster and human rights. But so was slavery really, as is the tournament too - watching slaves fight till they're broken and bleeding for the benefit of their masters. He wasn't too keen on any of it.

His fighter was called Dust. He, like all the others, was a skeleton. But unlike the others, he wasn't stable, mentally, physically, you name it. His hands were constantly in cuffs in front of him, his thin and bony fingers forever picking at the metal until they were left bleeding and ragged. His eyes were dilated and crazed, never being able to rest on something for more than three seconds. Opposite to the other slaves, he wasn't afraid to make eye contact with others, even daring to look at some of the rulers for a darting second.

He was never silent, mumbles, giggles and laughs spilling uncontrollably from his mouth softly very now and then. He often found himself mumbling names; Papyrus, Toriel, Alphys. And each word came out with a sickening tone of regret and anguish. Upon times you could even catch him crying over something, the constant whimper of "Papyrus" repeated over and over till he went into what Blue had labelled a "mumble phase".

No one had seen him fight yet, but judging a book by its cover, no one thought he'd be a disappointment, and big expectations had been set.

A few seats sat empty at the table, their rulers either busy, not bothered or 'too important' to attend the traditional lunch on the first day of December, which marked a new year for the tournament, which would then take place in March.

One missing Ruler was Dream, a King nearly as feared as Error. He'd deemed this meeting a waste of his time and didn't bother coming. He knew all the basics, and saw no need in going over a 'pathetic lunch' every time the Tournament came close. He'd won three times previously, once with a slave that died soon after, and then the year before last and the year before with his not-now-so-new-slave. Keeping tradition, he was a skeleton too, scourged from the black market for a sum that made even Reaper's flowing bank account react like a child to a lemon.

Dream was a big name in the East, owning nearly all of it. He was mostly famous for his aura, which radiated pure positivity. As a boy people milked the feelings from him, acting like friends when really all they wanted was the blissful feeling of happiness. He was tolerant for years, but once he realised he was being used, he lost it, and his aura became one of the deadliest things around. Too much of it would send you into a "happy place", somewhere where the positivity was so great that your soul isn't able to contain it. The feeling is so strong and overwhelming that it can cause someone's body to cave in on itself, the extensive positivity being too much for the brain and soul to handle that it breaks them.

People can be left screaming on the floor, their bodies convulsing in pain, yet they'd still keep a wide and joyful smile on their faces, mouths ripping and eyes dripping. It was horrifying to witness, and even more so to experience.

His slave, like Ink, had next-to-no emotions. He'd been ripped of them years ago, yet still had a soul. The King's aura didn't effect him, and he new no rankings. The fact that Dream was his master didn't really bother him, the skeleton more bound to him by his love for blood and pain. Two time winner, he was called Killer. His actual name banished by Dream, wiped clean like a slate and built new. He'd resulted in the deaths of four other slaves.

A few other missing rulers were apparent, but they'd have to travel too far to get here, and never really turned up anyway. They were the rulers that were often missed out, the ones that were only there to make sure the alphas didn't loose. A fallback, children amongst a pack of wolves.

The table fell into silence and Cross finished the last of his glass, mouth wiped with a napkin. "I must be going, stuff to do."

"Aww? Don't want to stay and converse with the big boys?" Reaper laughed and raised a brow, a singular green pea held in between his fingers. "Don't tell me..."

"... You're afraid," his fingers slowly squeezed together and the pea convulsed, it's skin breaking and flesh inside spilling in a lumpy ooze that stuck to the bones, "are you?"

Nearly flinching, Cross gave him a scornful glance. "Don't tell me you're trying to be intimidating, Reaper."

"Well, if I'm being honest, you're not the intimidating one." His gaze travelled to the figure behind him, a slight smirk twitching on his face.

His fighter had been silent the whole time, and unlike every other slave, his singular eye had been fixated on each of the royals the same time. Short flickers of glances had been shot at the slaves, but he seemed to find no interest in them, the ice blue eye resting on Reaper as he spoke.

A sort of sneering grin formed on his 'lips' and he tipped his head to the side slightly, his sharp white teeth poking through to flash at him.

Covered head to toe in black slime, towering height and emotionless stares, he was impressive. How Cross had managed to grab him, no one knew. The small Ruler had always come at the bottom of the leaderboards in the Tournament, the highest spot being fifth. He'd inherited the throne from his corrupt father and slowly built his kingdom up to something acceptable. Yet it was still scorned on by others. He was treated as one of the children, the unfortunate one thrown against wolves. But this new slave; he was something new.

"As I was saying," Cross pushed his chair back and stood, a quick look cast at the other Rulers who only nodded in response "we must be going."

Reaper said nothing more, his bottomless eyes narrowed as he watched the dark skeleton stand to the side for Cross, his expression dropping from mockery to classic disgust. He viewed his master with a hatred he hadn't seen before, a grunt being the only sound he made as he dragged the large double doors open for Cross.

"I'll see you in March." The Ruler called before stepping out, his slave following right behind and letting the doors boom shut behind them.

"Well...~" Lust purred, daringly slinging an arm around their master and leaning against the chair, one slender hand reaching out to pluck a grape from one of the fruit bowls.

"That was certainly an exit~"

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hO bOy am I in love with this series-

So we're going to follow cannon personalities AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE in this (expect for Dream cuz ahahahahahahaAHAHAHHAHAHA fuck that)

I've seen people do this thing with Dream's aura before and I've kind of fell in love with the idea so yea-

Looking back on my books, I realise that yes, I'm very shit at cannon characters.

I'm worst at Ink, and honestly, I think everyone in the fandom is. Heck, I didn't realise he had no soul till like, Criminal Boundaries :'D

I tried to be a little more cannon in "Against the Odds" but I know I still fucked up a lot.

And boy writing a mean and hard Cross is weird- but also refreshing uwu

Honestly the un-cannon-ness of my characters in my old books makes me cringe, and I've been wanting to write something as close to cannon as possible for a while. And honestly, I think I'm doing okay so far. I'm actually planning a book following the characters as cannon as possible😈

⚠️Any great/forgotten/interesting cannon traits the characters have, please comment them here so I can improve :3⚠️

I've probably been the best at Cannoning geno and Reaper really. And I hate them both lmao- Its probably the abusive relationships I get them in that makes it work ngl

But I really have to work on Ink, Blue (the fandom ruined him lmao mE iNcLuDeD) and uh, Cross. But y'all know I like a more uwu Cross. Yet idk if you've noticed, certainty in "Prison" I've been trying to make him more independent :D

Anyways sorry for boring you with all this, I'll end it here :'D

Bye, wish me luck on my mock exams!

-Jess-