Bob's beady black eyes ran over the lines of his work. He spent several hours beforehand just reducing his ideas down, regretfully using up far too many piece of paper through his typewriter. His lips bounced in the rhythm he had set out with his barbershop posse, and though their critiques weren't as specific as he had hoped they were still showing some form of improvement.

Even still his hairs stood on end. Perfect did not exist and yet this audience would expect it from the number of poets that had threaded their words into the cloths of others minds. This poem, this 300 word narrative, it defined him. That did not guarantee the quality of his work was adequate. He should not be panicking, this was open to all opinions and a freedom of expression. His paws anxiously started to wrinkle and flatten out the paper several times.

A deep breath entered and left him. He did not need to focus on anyone else's opinion but his own. The only problem was that revolved around opinions of others, and he really wished he was not so paranoid of their enjoyment. Bringing himself to chew up a piece of carrot cake, Bob tried to draw his attention away from his poem, thinking that his attention should be drawn elsewhere. They passed over various persons as they made their distinctive mark in this moment.

Many were draped with unconscious clouds, whether light or stormy, their second skin...

The burst of her entrance still lingered, her words embers compared to it, but still orchestrating spots to dance across eyes...

His hair rose and set like the sun yet had the strength of a tree...

A man with wings white enough to blind sent streaking lights towards the gaze of the eyes that matched his hair...

All these people were a spectrum. Bob would have considered joining them if the need for his poem to be perfected rooted him back out of a state of procrastination.

A smile flashed onto Bob's face. "A dystopian novel it is, then." With the usual perk in his step, he trotted down the aisle, weaving between each one as he recalled his preferences. As he spotted each one he'd gently pulled them out to fall a short enough distance to the floor, nudging his collecting along using his nose. "Let us see what we have... Ah, 1984 had quite interesting theories, A Clockwork Orange was intriguing, I quite enjoyed The Road... "

But then he paused. What about those he had not yet read but had heard great things about? It lacked a solid opinion from his perspective, but Amarillo may like those despite his lack of motivation to read through them. He sighed a little, returning to pull out those ones to add to his pile. He wanted to offer the young Temmie as many choices as possible without emptying the shelves and straining his little strength.

As the line start to form behind him, Bob tilted his head as it started forming, no needing to observe the menu to decide what he want that night. Seeing the number of monsters slowly growing within mere minutes made him start to shake in excitement, giving a short smile hidden behind his poem to the monster behind him, and nearly jumping when the fire elemental burst in but he settled for a giggle. He hoped the atmosphere would remain when it would be his turn to perform.

Bob quickly thought if he did want to add some flavor to his drink, but shook his head. "I will just have it plain, thank you," he politely declined the extra flavoring, thanking the chipmunk with a smile before placing his items at the table.

With each instruction the faun gave him, he quickly nodded as he took it all in. He knew some of the factors of it from previous times he had attended and overheard the instructions, but it was somewhat of a thrill for it to finally be addressed to him. "Understood," he said as they were done. As the pen was offered to him, he took the end of it in his mouth, rolling his lips and avoiding to use his teeth. His name was then slowly scrawled in large, round letters that made him respect the abilities of those who had opposable thumbs. He let the pen drop out of his mouth as he was done. "Thank you very much." He smiled at the faun before trotting back to his table.

The Temmie leaped up into his seat, as he thanked the server who brought him his order. His eyes thankfully widened seeing it in the dish, thankful for their thoughtfulness. With his paws placed lightly on the table, he leaned over his drink and took several catlike licks out of it, licking his lips as his head happily twitched. He nudged his glasses back up his nose as he unfolded his poem, reading over it silently to make sure his words were strung to the greatest perfection he could make. He couldn't edit the paper, but he could take a mental note of them.

Bob had been anticipating his participation in this event for weeks. He had been polishing up his skills for weeks, filtering and painfully editing through his works to find one he could share in this slam. He became a regular spectator for this event, gathering many pieces of inspiration from other performers for which he had thoroughly enjoyed their diverse voices an opinions. And now it was his turn to share his voice.

A paper folded in his jaw, he trotted perkily through the snow, not just the tickling cold making his footsteps light. If his eyes were light bulbs they'd be turning the evening to a noon. His path was clear, as his eyes locked onto Espresso Yourself as he avoided grinning so as to ruin the paper in his mouth. This was going to be absolutely fantastic.

The door chimed as merrily as he was as entered with wiped paws. His steps were slower and calmer from the welcoming warmth, but his eyes were still happily alert in typical Temmie fashion. He waited for the counter to be clear before removing the paper to place his usual order to the chipmunk behind the counter. "Could I please have a Macchiato and a slice of carrot cake?" he smiled as he hastily put the money for it before him. Once all was done there, he nudged the number and paper to the side of the counter, taking them one by one in his mouth to the closest free table. He used the number as a paperweight for his poem, using them both to save his table while he would go over to talk the faun, who seemed like the right person he needed to see. "Hello, I would like to participate in the poetry slam tonight, please."

Bob's head tilted as he noticed the recommendation, going onto his hind paws to pull it out and bring it closer to the floor to softly fall. He took a brief note of the title before turning the cover over and quickly skimming the first couple of pages. Every few seconds his head intriguingly nodded, his mouth slightly hung open. "Huh," he mused as he shut the cover. "I think I shall give this one a try instead. Seems like a fantastic recommendation."

He took a few moments to ponder over that memory, not having recollected it in a while. "Yes... It was quite an enthralling time for you." He chuckled lightly, but made it a short one. "I can't quite remember the kinds of things you said when I showed you there, but they were certainly out of the ordinary."

Bob's taste led him to inspecting a couple of historical fiction books, one set during the war and the other sometime before it. He set them both down in front of him, contemplating which one of the two would be his next endeavour of the mind of these authors. He didn't have a coin on him to toss either. Simply selecting A or B would definitely make him double check his decision. He knew he could come back and read them again at any time, but he didn’t know which one he’d rather read more.

His repetitive chain of thought was thankfully interrupted as he flinched from hearing the traditional greeting of his kind, which on the worst days in Temmie Village sounded like a broken record. He was often bombarded with them after spending a few days out of the village, and he’d forget this instance almost every time. As he regathered himself he looked over to the grin of its source, and he became enthralled to see one of his few 'students' again after so long.

"Well, if it isn't Amarillo," he smiled in return, subconsciously pushing his glasses back up his nose with a light chuckle. "How long has it been since we've seen each other - a year? Well, we've been keeping ourselves busy, I'm sure. How have you been doing? Are you still keeping up with your astronomy projects?" He was legitimately interested after not seeing her for so long, as they had developed quite a bond when he had taught her the common language of the Underground.

<sub>In Character Date & Time: 17th November UUY 1, approximately midday

Set after Woofing Around Town</sub>

---

It was the peak of the day within the heart of Snowdin. Sounds of monsters small congregations washed together, forming a murmur and movement of a river as they passed by each other. Some monsters streamed off into shops and other businesses without disrupting the flow, some would stand and let the traffic flow around them. Nothing dammed or froze this routine, or tried to.

Patiently excusing his path through the flow, Bob lightly trotted his prints into the snow. His paws caught pinches of the cold with each patter, but it was barely a bother to wail about. His beanie brought enough warmth to his ears and head to compensate, though he made a note to find boots for when he’d venture to this part of the underground on colder days.

He eventually split off the crowd towards the regretfully misspelt library. It had been a while since he had taken the time to simply sit in silence for light reading that others criticized was too heavy, especially for entertainment rather than knowledge. He was hopeful that there would be something to suit his tastes available on the shelves this day.