boxfullofzeroes | more for the boogerman

more for the boogerman

(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.

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Frisk snags a bit of chicken from a table.

"...why not? 'Less they're like...robots. But robots can be people too." (Mettaton's not actually a robot, but that's what his body is and he wouldn't want the truth to be out anyway.)

"Not robots, more like animals. Very smart animals." And disobedient ones. That brings back bad memories... He looks up and down the table, trying to decide what looks tastiest. Hm.

There's just about anything he could imagine on the table--nearly a buffet one--from the blandest salads to incredibly spicy Indian dishes.

"Some of the dogs seem like that. They bark and...are dogs, mostly, 'cept some have armor too. Do you ever wanna meet really scary monsters?" Frisk asks abruptly.

Far too much to choose from. Excuse him as he walks down the table(s?), being ridiculously choosey. Hey, it has to be near perfect when you have no appetite for real food.

"What for? They can steal my soul, remember?"

They consider mentioning he's already met the monster that stole the most SOULS in the underground...but that would be unhelpful to everybody.

"Well, they're not scary-scary, as in mean. They just look super scary." Frisk snags a soda, too, and trails after him. "And sort of...ignore...the laws of physics an' magic."

Not literally steal his soul. He hasn't learned what Frisk calls the whole drag-it-out-and-magic-it-to-death trick yet. That's a topic for later.

"I ignore the laws of physics myself and some spirit rules. So why not?"

Pitchy picky. Eventually he settles for a few bites of shrimp, dipped in garlic butter.

Frisk doesn't really have a name for that beyond "showing it".

"Spirit rules? Like what?"

A few more people are wandering in, monster and human. Frisk glances around for Mettaton, 'cause he'd know where the Amalgamates are hanging out...

"Some spirits die without believers. I think I'm the only one who has to feed off a feeling." Even the other scary sorts didn't need it like he did, just did what they wanted to do. They had a choice. He nibbles his shrimp... nice.

"...huh."

Frisk's distracted from other questions by the sight of a gleaming pink robot preparing onstage with a guitar.

They hustle over and ask about it, watching him pose dramatically in thought.

"Darling--oh, most of them decided not to come. I believe Snowy's mother is around somewhere--and Endogeny is with their family guarding the doors at the back!"

He glances up and gives Pitch a glittering movie-star smile once he spots him.

Pitch has chosen to lurk where he was, staying nearer the food (shrimp! tough to steal) instead of following behind Frisk like some sort of creepy thin sad puppy. He meets the robot's eyes, raising a brow. What.

The smile doesn't falter. All Mettaton does is wave to him before turning back to Frisk.

He's the host, of course he's seen Pitch around, he knows everything that goes on in his household. He came in with Frisk, and he hasn't socialized much; maybe he's shy. Mettaton won't force him forward, especially if he has no act ready.

"All the dogs are around the back now, sweetheart, playing cards. They'll be the easiest to visit. But first, would you like to preform an act with me for old times' sake?" Smile, smile.

Frisk glances back and shakes their head. "No thanks." They have Pitch to do stuff with right now. "Maybe later."

Huh. They looked at him when they turned the robot down?

"Go ahead if you want to, I'll watch." Pitch says with a shrug. Watch and nibble. Getting into the proper, laid back spirit if the things.

"...you sure?" There's an unexpected dose of shyness there.

"Of course!" Mettaton answers for him, plucking them up and setting them on the stage. The handful of monsters around start to drift closer to that half of the ballroom.

See, it's what the people want! Even him, he's curious. Singing? Dancing? Playing an instrument? All of these are things he enjoys watching, so why not?

Although, as usual, he has to squint.

If it were a real encore for old time's sake, then it'd be half-dancing, half-fighting. They're good at that, and people would probably enjoy it, but--too much risk, too much. (Some other time.)

Blooky moves to their DJ booth.

Mettaton starts to sing.

For about a minute, Frisk listens. They know this song. They've heard it, they know it, they heard it, they know it--they swipe a mic and join in.

And they're good.

They can't keep all the childishness that comes with, of course, being a child. That doesn't matter. Their voice is nothing more than an extension of Mettaton's, only losing the tune once or twice, and that's one hell of a feat without any vocal warmup.

They sway in the spotlight, watching the light glint off Mettaton's armor, and they mimic his more low-key poses, waving their hand over the crowd when he does--yes, you! We're singing at you! To you! Just you, it doesn't matter everyone else is here! You out of the crowd are the most important, don't you know? Don't you believe it?

Performing a song in front of their friends with their family fills them with determination.

~~No, he does not believe it. He can't.~~

He swallows a mouthful of delicate shrimp, listening without truly looking (too bright), and... it's nice. Pleasant. A crowd he's safe in, touchable, someone he knows singing so well... definitely worth remembering. A good peaceful moment. That's rarer than diamonds, for Pitch Black.

Pitch might be jostled a bit, in fact, as more and more monsters gather to watch their stars with glittering masses of eyes.

Diamonds, diamonds, diamonds aren't so rare. Neither's gold. Frisk's gold, skin and hair under the spotlight, and they feel radiant even if not everybody's looking at them.

The song ends, the crowd screams and claps, Frisk laughs and laughs and laughs and takes a bow along with Mettaton. "Thanks! Thank you!"

He doesn't clap, merely chuckles quietly, subdued. At peace. No one can hear him and he's on the fringes of the crowd, safe from human touch. Frisk, a local legend in the making, who knows what they'll grow up to be?

There's call for an encore. Their head's buzzing enough they almost, almost do, but they're also gross and sweaty and their red ribbon's disappeared, crap. Maybe they went a little too far, it's lost in the crowd now probably.

Oh well.

Frisk rockets off the side to even more applause. Who needs stairs? And then they're circling around the crowd--not looking for Pitch right off, actually, just looking for a table with a drink.

Oh, well. The song is over. He himself starts wandering, a slowly awakening craving for something fruity. Maybe there's a dessert table--he's tall and dark, Frisk is bound to spot him calmly browsing.

Sure there is! All kinds of sweets, but there's stuff like chopped-up apple and kiwi and watermelon. Also a milkshake machine someone shoved between a table and a wall, somehow, and so Frisk heads to that before doubling around back to Pitch.

"Didja like it?"

Kiwi catches his eye, and so he scoops up what's almost a normal sized portion into a little bowl. Go Pitch!

"You're very good." Strong words, considering the source. "Surprised me in a good way."

Surprising! But good. A pretty good night. The walking-through thing was pretty bad, but at least nobody's died.

Frisk understands this, and they bow again, eye dancing. "Thank you!" They were genuine on the stage, and just as genuine here. "'M glad."

Bad, but normal enough. Bad is normal. He can forgive one walking-through, it happens more often than Frisk will ever know.

"Then I suppose it was good you went up there."

They grin and keep at their milkshake, leaning against the table and watching--Pitch, the passing monsters, Mettaton still onstage...it's a fun, fuzzy rush of excitement.

But they haven't forgotten what they were gonna do. "Wanna stay here a while? Or d'you wanna go meet Endogeny?"

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