"Then move!" he growls, twitching his head left and right, still looking through them both. "I can't see you!"
"Be nice, Doggo. He doesn't know you can't see things that aren't moving," Frisk says reproachfully.
"Whatever. Why's he want to meet them?"
"I want him to meet them." And they're not going to say why, 'cause that'd be rude. They throw their head back at shout at the ceiling. "C'mon, Endogeny!"
No, at the white confetti, because it starts to move and bob and weave through the air all at the same time, until every piece ripples together and condenses into a chalky ball that descends to the floor with a thundering thud. It twists and warps until it's a mass of fur and too-many-legs (how many legs? it's impossible to tell even if you try to count) that moves and shifts and becomes something that barely resembles any sort of dog except for having fur. A mass seven feet tall and nearly double the width and length, maybe, maybe. It never stops moving, wormish movements under the fur and skin, something that should be a head faceless with only a massive hole that spills some sort of liquid like drool, like blood. Even so, Endogeny anything but soundless, muffled barking coming from maybe standing on the floor, maybe hovering with its claws striking the wood instead. The shadows in the spaces between its legs are impossible to see through, even for Pitch; it's not shadows at all, it's nothing, and it's blinking.
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
syntheid
no subject
Date: 2016-08-22 01:24 am (UTC)"Be nice, Doggo. He doesn't know you can't see things that aren't moving," Frisk says reproachfully.
"Whatever. Why's he want to meet them?"
"I want him to meet them." And they're not going to say why, 'cause that'd be rude. They throw their head back at shout at the ceiling. "C'mon, Endogeny!"
No, at the white confetti, because it starts to move and bob and weave through the air all at the same time, until every piece ripples together and condenses into a chalky ball that descends to the floor with a thundering thud. It twists and warps until it's a mass of fur and too-many-legs (how many legs? it's impossible to tell even if you try to count) that moves and shifts and becomes something that barely resembles any sort of dog except for having fur. A mass seven feet tall and nearly double the width and length, maybe, maybe. It never stops moving, wormish movements under the fur and skin, something that should be a head faceless with only a massive hole that spills some sort of liquid like drool, like blood. Even so, Endogeny anything but soundless, muffled barking coming from maybe standing on the floor, maybe hovering with its claws striking the wood instead. The shadows in the spaces between its legs are impossible to see through, even for Pitch; it's not shadows at all, it's nothing, and it's blinking.