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

[boogerman]

Mmm, eggs. Protein.

"Aren't we all, really?" Wasn't he going to horrify Toriel with his true age, at some point? Well, it's bound to happen sooner or later.

[dustless]

"Older than humans tend to guess! Frisk, my child, will you help me sift the flour mix?"

They slide over as Toriel adds flour, baking powder, and a little salt to another bowl. Sift, sift. They've done this a lot.

[boogerman]

Should he be taking notes? ... Nah, he'd rather just steal a cake than an entire kitchen and things to fill it with. How does one go about stealing a kitchen, anyhow? He'd have to carve an entire new room in his shadowy lair, using the shadows themselves...

"Not even you would guess high enough for me, I'm betting."

Willpower, very low. When was the last time he had someone to brag at? Haaa.

[dustless]

He may regret this if he's invited to do more in the future.



"Hmm. You do not act very old...may I have a hint?"

too hot, can't sleep

[boogerman]

"Frisk said the same thing, funny that. I can be immature if I want to, that's not a good insult."

Hmm, hint... "No. Take your first guess and keep going."

just can't sleep. remember to drink water dude

[dustless]

"It was not an insult." Not any more than the teasing sort.

The flour mix is poured into the other bowl as Frisk holds it steady.

"Hmm...I guess...ten thousand."

[boogerman]

"No." he says, amused. "You're warmer. Keep going."

[dustless]

Frisk has to hold back from saying something ridiculous, like 'ten million'.



"Really!" Toriel had been overshooting on purpose, or so she had thought. She hums thoughtfully. "...Thirty thousand?"

[boogerman]

His feet do something gleeful and silly--they're not looking, right? Too busy with the cake.

"Halfway. Of course, it's hard to keep track of time beyond that."

[dustless]

Their eyes are, their ears are not. Frisk grins a little, but that could be in anticipation of the cake.



"...my goodness. I had no idea!" Toriel sounds impressed, even if she cannot look up to smile, too busy pouring in milk.

[boogerman]

"I was made to last, and I do know I was one of the first ones."

Up there with the Moon, Nature, Sandman, and... no one else, really, who's lasted to the modern day. Shame Mother Nature always acted like a lunatic any time he tried to say hello, in the past.

[dustless]

"The first? Were there many that came after you?" Toriel is as curious as Frisk. She takes a guess that the Tooth Fairy is another, as she could not be a human.

[boogerman]

"Thousands." He waves a hand, brushing it off even if they aren't looking. He's speaking, and being heard. "But most of us can die. I'm just one of the exceptions."

[dustless]

Frisk remembers the fight he lost, a small chill running up their spine.



"...I see. I wonder if I nearly met any." A pity spirits are so hard for her to see on her own.

Oh--"Pitch Black, could you please bring the pan over here? It is in the drawer behind you, I forgot to take it out."

[boogerman]

Frisk gets the shivers and he immediately stands a little straighter, feeling it. Huh. But--what can he do, Toriel doesn't know about that.

"'Pitch' is fine." he says, absently, checking the drawer. C'mere, pan. "The others left don't care much about anyone over the age of twelve. I bet you haven't."

[dustless]

...They don't like anyone getting hurt. Even if he can't really die, it's not a good memory.



"Well, I may meet them yet, with how much I work with children. And...were there many more thirty centuries ago?"

[boogerman]

Fair enough, no one wants to watch someone be slung around like a yoyo until they're bleeding. Violence is not fit for children.

"Yes." Flatter tone of voice. "There's less magic in the world these days."

[dustless]

Tone shift. Not really surprising.



Toriel moves around the counter, holding her hand out for the pan...also using her other to gently rest on his back.

"...I believe that is changing. Or that it will, if it has not already."

[boogerman]

He inhales needlessly when he feels something on his back, then exhales slowly. But, fortunately, he doesn't flinch away or anything else weird. Right, the pan he'd quit thinking about--oops. Take it, Toriel.

"Not that I've noticed. Yet."

It can't bring back the faded ones.

[dustless]

Toriel acts as if she noticed nothing, though she needlessly takes the pan with both hands.



"Well, we and all of our own magic were only released last year." Frisk gets a fond look. "Change does not come easily...though, if it is not inappropriate to ask--how are spirits born?"

[boogerman]

A relief. It's odd, being snuck up on and touched while he's distracted by what he's saying.

"Depends. Some people have to die first, some change while still alive, and then some like me were never living things at all. No two spirits are the same, really."

[dustless]

"Hmm." Vanilla extract and such flavorings are added as she speaks. "I suppose there can only be hope for more in the future."

[boogerman]

He's still watching, although that doesn't mean he'd be good at doing all that himself. A Pitch-made-cake would be a disaster, most likely.

"Last one that popped up was about three centuries ago."

[dustless]

That is what (potential) future lessons are for.



"That does not mean there's reason to give up on it," she says, carefully placing the pan and cake mix into the oven.

Frisk glances sideways at him. The first fallen child must not count--not that they mind, they prefer being a secret for now.

"An' maybe that means there's going to be a new one real soon."

[boogerman]

"Maybe. I have all the time in the world to wait." But he's the Boogeyman, hated by the strongest five, any new spirit would have to be crazy to be his friend.

Cake in the oven. It'll take hours that way, that's... good. Surely he'll be welcome until then.