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]

"You know, there's more where that came from. They had their own comedy show back--er, back then. The 70s, I think?"

He really needs a calendar. Or perhaps a diary. Something to keep track of dates in.

[dustless]

Toriel looks delighted. "Then we must do this again!" she says as she heads out towards the kitchen.

"Can probably find more if Netflix doesn't have it all," Frisk thoughtfully murmurs, poking around on the remote.

[boogerman]

Again? With him in the house? He drums a foot on the floor for a moment, then prods Frisk again, with that foot. Heh.

"Or steal it. Pirating."

[dustless]

Leg poke! And grin.

"Yeah. Might even be able to get it on the TV after." They have a game system that can store files, they'll just need to get it connected.

"Frisk, Pitch, would you like to help me with the frosting?"

[boogerman]

"How--no, nevermind." Not going to go down the rabbit hole of all that computer stuff, he's satisfied with 'youtube' and 'articles'.

He blinks, looking up, and waves Frisk on to the kitchen? That sounded like a Motherly Order.

Someone's spent too much time watching families, hasn't he.

[dustless]

"'S not hard," says the kid who grew up with this stuff.

They hop up and beckon him to come too. "You can help! Make frosting...bats or bugs or something. 'F you want."

[boogerman]

"Ah, high art." ...A weird sort of painting? Edible painting. "Fine." He's not going to sit in a room alone, anyhow--he's following.

[dustless]

"The best," the agree, apparently without a trace of irony.

There's a rainbow assortment in tubes and cans, almost looking like paint supplies over food. The cake looks a little uneven, but otherwise seems fine.



"Here we are," Toriel says, placing spreading spatulas beside the cake. "I am certain it will be extra delicious once we are finished!"

[boogerman]

It really is like painting on a canvas, then. And if mistakes are made, they'll be eaten up in a few days, so who cares?

He's more of a sketch artist, there may be mistakes made if he's allowed to get his hands on the 'art supplies'. Sloppy castles, in honor of silly Camelot.

"Extra tooth-rotting, you mean."

[dustless]

Frisk clambers up on their stool, looking the frosting types over seriously.



"Perhaps. But we will be brushing our teeth right after we are finished."

[boogerman]

Kiddo gets priority. He leans on the counter, chin resting on his hand. "And then sleep, I assume?" As every night he visits, he'll politely bow out.

[dustless]

After a few more seconds of study, they start spreading the light purple over half the cake.



"A short while after, I believe. Sugar does give energy, but not for very long." Sugar crash, Frisk is susceptible.

[boogerman]

"That's why you balance it out with bacon." he says, on the off chance perhaps Goatmom doesn't approve of meat that isn't buggy.

Ain't he a delight?

[dustless]

Pitch, are you trying to provoke someone who's always friendly to you?



"Bacon is a meal fit for breakfast, not dessert."

Frisk--focusing pretty hard on the cake--has done exactly half, pushing a random color towards him, Pitch's turn. Now they're drawing weird white triangles with one of the tubes onto the cake's side.

[boogerman]

His sense of humor is... something. He hardly expects anyone else to laugh. (So it would be a nice surprise.)

Speaking of 'humor', forget the castles. He takes the icing and starts writing sloppy math problems on his side. 9 x 12, 8 x 8 x 8, 456 x 456...

Math is scary and horrible, Frisk seemed to imply. Ha.

[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.