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]

"That'd ruin it." The surprise, Frisk means.

They lead him through the winding halls, to the back of the mansion--and, well, there are lots of dogs. They all look pretty normal, though, for monsters, all gathered in a circle, apparently playing cards.

The white ones bark greetings; the darker-furred one with the knives jerks his head up, peering around, looking through Pitch like any human...and Frisk, if he pays attention. "Who's there?"

...There's also something odd drifting in the air. A fear of needles, and weird, chalky confetti.

"Meee! And a friend. He has clearance!" Because Frisk said so. "I wanna introduce your parents!"

whoops

[boogerman]

Needles. That's common. Strangely normal, considering they're all dogmen and dogwomen.

"Me. Pitch. I was invited."

[dustless]

"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.

[boogerman]

What on Earth? Parents indeed. He didn't think monsters could get this weird--weird and wonderful. Except for the drool, that's just disgusting.

"Well, look at you." He's not faking the delight in his voice, or the grin on the side of friendly instead of vicious. "Endogeny?"

[dustless]

"They had different names, once." In this case, 'they' really is plural.

Endogeny perks up--well, the nothing around where the legs meet the body seems to take up a little more room--and they trot/shamble/float/climb over. Ah, so that's where that needle fear was coming from.

Entirely unbothered, Frisk reaches out to pet their writhing side.

[boogerman]

'They' is so confusing. He doesn't know what it is, but he approves. Many dogs? One thing that only looks like many dogs? It would be rude to ask probing questions in front of its or their children.

"Friendly to strangers? Do they speak?"

[dustless]

(Only other dogs can understand them,) Dogaressa answers for them.

And 'friendly to strangers' is about to get an answer as well. Endogeny writhes from beneath Frisk's fingers to move over to Pitch, half of them crawling up the wall, and they shove what could loosely be considered their upper torso towards his hands. Pet pet pet they want pets!

[boogerman]

Freaky.

He likes freaky and unique. Possibly likes those two things enough to get over the nastiness of the drool thing, and scratch the... dog. Dogs. Pet pet scratch pat.

"What am I not hearing them say?"

[dustless]

"They're telling you to pet them!" Dogamy says.

Predictable, Frisk thinks with a grin.

The mass of void around their legs whines and extends itself, bumping against Pitch--more like playful cats than dogs, really.

(They like you!) Dogaressa says.

[boogerman]

He scratches on them with both hands, nails long and probably good for itches. Heh. They sound like a dog (dogs) when they whine... Best not to think to hard on what it/they are. So, that train of thought is derailed. There have been equally as weird spirits, honestly.

"They said that? Can they understand me?"

[dustless]

A fuzzy/oozy/cuddly wall, slowly advancing into his hands.

Dogamy nods, looking jealously at those hands.

(You're GOOD at petting,) Dogaressa informs him.

[boogerman]

Good? Imagine that. All he's doing is pretending to scratch itches--is that all it takes?

Strange thing to be good at.

"Learn something new every day."

[dustless]

Pretending apparently works pretty well when you're supposed to be pretend yourself, it seems.

"You don't know lotsa dogs, do you?" Frisk asks.

Endogeny keeps pressing joyfully forward. His fingers start breaking their surface, the tips dipping into something warm and squishy.

[boogerman]

"Dogs who speak to me? Of course not. Horses, though, I have horses pouring out of my ears." Heh--he's grinning. They don't hang around him anymore, but it was the truth for years.

And then... oh, ew. No, thank you. It feels like digging into something rotting, and for all he knows it's harming her. So he stops the scratching.