more for the boogerman

[dustless]

 (Continued from here~)

Frisk hopes there's no fight. 

They want to be left alone, sure, but that's not the only thing they hope for. Even they can't just fix a--rivalry, a longstanding hatred, at least not when the opposing parties actually know each other. But they also hope they can...lessen it, at least a bit. So the Sandman doesn't try to outright kill--no, they're sorry, 'banish', with lots of beating and tarry blood--Pitch when they see each other every time.

(Of course, they don't know the whole story. But they can't imagine that would matter.)

The time ticks down in companionable silence. 

Frisk keeps their eyes on the sky--

--and they sit straight up when they first spot glimmering gold in the clouds.

Comments

how did we even get to near 1k

[boogerman]

He shows his teeth in a false smile, ready for anything. He's better fed and stronger than the day he 'died' in front of Frisk, but he still expects it to likely end in pain... if Sandman gets one of his whips wrapped around Pitch.

He's expecting it this time. And he's a quick dodger after all.

In fact, he's up on his feet about that fast, firing something dark and grainy up at the Sandman, proving he's here. The golden cloud is coming down... Sort of like a landing spaceship itself. Ayyyliens.

A SHARED LACK OF IMPULSE CONTROL?

[dustless]

Frisk slips up to their feet to match, standing beside him like a shadow, or the other way around.

"...the scythe stuff," they comment quietly, and very much hope that wasn't a preemptive attack.

yes

[boogerman]

"It's his sand, you know. Funny stuff happens when I touch it. I've been stealing it for more than eighty years." Hahaha.

Closer... ETA: 30 seconds.

[dustless]

"Really? That's not nice." They don't sound particularly disapproving. Or like they're actually paying attention to their own words.

Frisk scowls at the golden sand, clenching their hands into fists. Wow are they sick of that stuff.

[boogerman]

"His fault for spraying that stuff all over the world. Accidents happen."

Close enough to shout at the little shit, who is already holding whips.

"You! We want to talk to you! Both of us!"

[dustless]

Frisk spots those whips and sidles their way partially in front of Pitch. Don't even try, Sandy. Unless you want to risk something.

They don't have anything to add, and their voice wouldn't carry that far, anyway. They just beckon.

ehhh bit of headcanon from me here too~

[boogerman]

Protected by a midget, wonderful. As if those whips can't snag his arms or neck.

The Sandman stops his descent near the roof, not on it, hovering more at Frisk's level than Pitch's. He folds his arms, glaring up at the Boogeyman, waiting.

"You are going to stop sending your dreams to this house, or deal with me every single night. Understand?"

...Ah, Pitch's diplomacy. Sand-signs start whizzing by much faster than they would be if Sandy was speaking to anyone but Pitch. They're two halves of a whole in some ways, Pitch has always been the best at understanding Sandy's 'speech'. (Of all the people, poor Sandy.)

/o/

[dustless]

Frisk...doesn't entirely like that (flash of fear, fear for Pitch), but they don't let it show on their face.

"Just stop it. Don't even get the dream stuff anyway, I never asked for it."

[boogerman]

The sand language makes whispering sounds as it goes by so quickly--maybe it's the whispering Pitch understands. Who knows?

Probably not an observer like Frisk. It'd look like a weird, rapid, angry one-sided conversation... but violence hasn't broken out yet! Huzzah!

"That's not what I said! No, no, no, I'm not, shut up you don't know anything, you've made the kid believe, now stay away!"

THIS IS A TIMESKIP I HAVE THE POWER

[boogerman]

Pitch allows himself one holiday a year, on the winter solstice, the longest night of the year in the northern hemisphere--where most of the world's population happens to be. (Halloween is also 'his' holiday nowadays, but Halloween itself is too important to 'waste' being silly and having fun.)

He's made off with many, many bottles of delicious drinks from all over the world, taking one or two at a time occasionally over the last year, storing them away in a cool place for His Special Day. Call it his birthday, since he was never actually born to his knowledge and he's lived through a lot of different calendars.

You know what would be fun right now? Music. He snags his magic Internet machine, a dozen unopened bottles, stuffs them into shadow-storage and pops off to that hotel he always lurks in. It takes him a few tries to get there and to find a room that's really empty. Some people are going to have extra nasty nightmares tonight due to him having barged through snickering.

mètminwi is now online.

MAKES SENSE

[dustless]

Frisk is resting after a Pre-Christmas Party. Which was exciting. None of the monsters really celebrate it, but they like the lights and the trees and the presents, so--yes. Parties all over the place, at various friends houses, all leading up to the day. And there'll be more to come.

So they've locked themselves in their room and faceplanted onto their bed, laptop open to various non-Christmassy youtube videos.

fr❣sk:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SjZUbCpIi_U
catchy

[boogerman]

This is not a Christmas celebration, not at all what he's doing. The solstice came long long before Christmas and his life went to pot.

Ooh, message for him. Song for him. Hahaha.

mètminwi:

iI deep dask hple

...That sure makes sense, Pitch.

[dustless]

Uh.

It's a good thing they're kind of good at deciphering weird typing styles.

fr❣sk:

♪♪ prisoner with no parol

are you
ok

[boogerman]

mètminwi

hitel, telly

Translation, he's in a hotel, he's fine, he has television!

[dustless]

Okay, those kind of flew over their head.

fr❣sk:

...tell who what

[boogerman]

mètminwi

tellyvshiln

[dustless]

fr❣sk:

...?

tv?

are u
sure youre ok

party party

[dustless]

If he bothers signing into his chatzy on the last day of the year, Pitch will find quite the long message from fr❣sk, giving him an address on the entire other side of the nearby city, as well as directions on how to enter the gardens from the side. Apparently the front and the back yards are well-lit, so that would be easiest for him to get inside from.

They add that they know he could get into the mansion by his shadows, but there'll be monsters all over the place, and if he wants to come, not surprising anyone by entirely slipping through security would probably be the best plan.

There's an app on their phone, now, so if he sends messages whenever, Frisk'll get them. Helpful since they'd gone early for setting-up purposes. (Mettaton was probably just trying to be nice, they don't know much about how parties work behind the scenes.)

boogie boogie

[boogerman]

What a long message. Good thing they sent it--he does shamefully lose track of time easily. One hour of distraction becomes two becomes four becomes an entire day and he may have missed it!

He arrives at the directed area, the side gardens, waiting around for a good ten minutes before he mentally slaps himself and just goes to enter. The right way, not the natural sneaky way. Frisk may still be surprised.

[dustless]

The gardens have monsters in them despite the cold. Or maybe because of the cold, since some of them look like they're made of snow and ice themselves.



Snowdrake's yellow eyes wander past Pitch for a moment before sharply re-focusing. He's in the way and he takes a step off the path with a grumble. "Teens are supposed to be fashionably late, but they're supposed to be fashionably late at the same time!"

Past the teenager apparently waiting for his friend, the path is a bit winding until he finds the door, at which Pitch will encounter...security.

[boogerman]

Guard-dogs. Isn't that precious? Somebody likes puns, probably the dogs themselves.

He eyes the Frosty teen back, reminded of unpleasant things for a moment, and then approaches the dogs, wondering if he'll be turned away. There's about a fifty-fifty chance of that, isn't there? Either he will be or won't be... he can sneak in if he is.

[dustless]

"You smell strange," says Dogamy.

Not human, not monster, adds Dogaressa.

Neither sound particularly angry about that, at least.

"Who are you?"

And who invited you?

[boogerman]

"Pitch Black, invited by Frisk and Toriel." Important names to all the monsters, he knows. And if things go sour... he knows there are good shadows below his feet, he can flee in an instant.

[dustless]

Important indeed--both light up.

Ah, yes! They mentioned you before.

"But Frisk thinks you have no smell."

Dogaressa barks a laugh. Pity human noses are so weak...

"You smell like the woods in the dark."

Neither of them can see him well, less for what he is than what they are. Few dogs are known for their keen eyesight, after all.

They take a step apart, lifting their axes. Pitch may pass.

[boogerman]

Woods in the dark, ashes of fires gone dark, cold winter nights and warm summer ones both... that's the magic part of it all.

(The other part is alien, not human, not of this world.)

"Well, I can't smell myself that well either. Not a dog." He says that and then he's passing, relieved. For a moment.