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

[dustless]

Triangles, circles...wings? Weird.

It takes a moment for them to glance over at his side--and then up at him, looking completely bewildered.

[boogerman]

Cue laughter, and flubbing of the next number. "Maths. Every kid's worst nightmare, all over your cake."

[dustless]

"...oh my god, Pitch." They pull a suitably horrified face for approximately five seconds before they snort. "How could you."

[boogerman]

"I have no idea. I'm worse than the Devil himself." Heh heh. Alright, done with the last math problem--he dabs a bit of icing on his finger and tastes it. Hm.

[dustless]

"I know. Even he wouldn't poison a cake!" With numbers!



"Math is not nearly that frightening." Toriel's tone is amused and exasperated.

Frisk thinks about drawing Pitch on the cake for a moment, but...no, that would look pretty terrible. They won't be able to make anything like his face at all.

[boogerman]

"Yes, it is. Don't tell me what is or isn't frightening to little kids, I'm the expert. Math tests, clowns, vacuum cleaners and falling down the bathtub drain."

He samples a bit more icing and then sets it aside. What a good night--this has been pleasant. He's had a good time with other people! How rare and how precious that is.

[dustless]

Toriel only sighs. She is a teacher. And a mother, of course, and she hates that any children have such fears, but...a fear of learning is something that always grates on her.

"Drains?" Frisk barely glances up, still barely finishing their patterns. "But...'s not how that works?" They've heard of the others--well, not vacuums, but those things can be loud.

[boogerman]

"Those little drains, yes. I know it's impossible, you know it's impossible... Kids are little weirdos."

He may or may not have been kidding about the math, but not the rest. Really.

[dustless]

"Done," Frisk announces in lieu of answering.



"A nice design, Frisk! And creative, Pitch." She cannot help sounding the slightest touch wry.

She places a plate in front of herself, and Frisk, and finally Pitch. "What size slices would you like?"

"Medium," Frisk answers immediately. Means they'll have more for later.

[boogerman]

Right, now he has to fill his mouth with sweetness... Oh, well, he'll live.

"Small." Save more for them and their dessert obsession.

[dustless]

He seemed to enjoy the icing, and so Toriel gives him a sliver that Frisk decorated, since they added much more. And to Frisk, vice versa.

"...thought I was getting cake, not pi."



That was an awful joke, but Toriel falls back into laughter anyway. She can only wish that he had written pi on the cake. Perhaps she will do that next time.

[boogerman]

"Pie--oh!" He chuckles to himself. Yes, pi. "Solve the maths before you eat or seven years bad luck."

He inspects his decoration for a moment before taking a tentative bite...

[dustless]

Frisk is already shoving the fork in their mouth. Luck, yeah right.

The cake is sweet vanilla--but not as much as Toriel's pies are, oddly enough.

[boogerman]

Ah, nice. Perfect level of sweetness. Bite number two is larger.

"Well, don't say I didn't try to warn you."

[dustless]

"'Preciate it," they say dryly. Somehow they do not spit crumbs everywhere.

(There's an odd, tiny sliver of fear, apparently unrelated to luck. A bit of 'you might starve don't waste it'.)

[boogerman]

He's been good, not prodding at real fears... very good, Pitch. Thumbs up for behaving like a decent person for once in your life.

His undercurrent of fear is always when will the two of them turn nasty, start a fight, tell him to leave and never come back... soon, soon. It can't last.

He finishes his cake quickly.

[dustless]

"So you prefer cake over pie?" Yes, Toriel noticed that speed. Even Frisk, in their haste, is only halfway through their own slice.

[boogerman]

"I'm still working out what I like." he says with a shrug. "It's been a while since I ate regularly." As they ought to know, and probably do?

[dustless]

Frisk's lips twitch as Toriel's eyes light up a little.



"Ah, that is right. You may come over and try whatever you like, as long as there is a little advance notice. I cook for many people."

[boogerman]

"Advance notice?" he says, amused at the very notion. "How's that going to happen? I don't own a phone, I can't ring you up and say I'm going to pop by."

[dustless]

"Not for visits--" (though she wishes, sometimes) "--but if you would like to take home some food."

[boogerman]

He really doesn't have a phone, these visits so far were not quite planned... Maybe he should look into it.

But that's commitment, admitting this has become a friendship.

"Ah, takeout dinners, I see. I'll consider it."

[dustless]

"Won't regret it," Frisk says. They well and truly believe Toriel's cooking is the best in the world. Certainly the best they've ever tasted.

[boogerman]

He doesn't want to...

Well, he's not sure what he doesn't want to. To be. A bother? But he's a pain in the arse all the time on purpose.

Huh.

"We'll see. I also don't have a fridge."

[dustless]

"Noted. Not all goods need to be refrigerated."