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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"About this high?" He holds his thumb and first finger apart--very tiny, tiny enough to be gripped in his hand easily. (Not the hand Frisk is holding.) "Big enough to carry a tooth and a quarter."

He shuts his fat mouth while the last fireworks go off... only just while.

"I'll take you back in."

Wow.

"...Whimsies are bigger than that. There are littler Froggits, though, ant-sized, but I don't think they're here. Or easy to find if they are."

They unconsciously tap a light rhythm on one of his knuckles with their thumb. "Okay. You staying...?"

"Ant-sized? How do you hear their voices?" Gah, seriously. That's pushing it... no spirit was that small.

He sits up slowly, daring to grip their hand in return, and then release. "I think so. I won't let it happen again."

"Oh, you don't. Froggits don't talk in the first place, they ribbit an' meow. Not all monsters can speak or even make noise and stuff."

Delight flashes across their face. What an expression.

"Yeah. I'll keep a lookout for other humans too."

"How do you know they're proper people?" As opposed to animals... hmmm.

(Weird kid, weird kid, smiling at him.)

"Come on, then." Right, he's going to have to take their hand anyway to drag them into shadow, so he does. It may not be strictly necessary, but it's easier and he's lazy. Off they go to the party!

"'Cause they understand what you're saying and stuff, I guess? Dunno, never asked. They just seem like it. And--wait, some Froggits can talk a little, except I think they have their own...words. Language. 'S weird."

Nice. And the ballroom is darker, since most people went outside and it'll take a while to trickle in.

He takes a look around, soaking up his sort of atmosphere. Very nice.

"My Nightmares understand me, but I wouldn't call them quite people. Well... who cares?" He was fond of them anyway, until all of them besides Onyx turned on him.

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?

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