Pitch Black (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
boogerman) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
boxfullofzeroes2016-06-23 02:33 pm
boogerman) wrote in boxfullofzeroes2016-06-23 02:33 pm
I heard you like suffering (for dustless)
The ordeal had started suddenly one night (as if it wasn't always 'night' for Pitch), while he was somewhere in Europe, amusing himself pacing around in an older home to make the floor creak while their children try to get to sleep. Funny how simple things like that--which should be dead boring by now--still make him feel good.
But the little game ends when he senses something odd about his network of shadows, his means of travel all over the world. Something cold and icky and bright that doesn't belong. He enters them, curious and wary, and--
He ends up being pulled, yanked along a path he didn't mean to take, full of panic.
From then on, it's a blur of madness, screaming, light and terror. He loses all sense of time. He starts to lose his Fearlings too, those old friends he didn't even know were there, poor lovely things. He's not alone, people are there, studying him. Scientists. Experiments. The scientific study of magic. He tries to hold on to the memories, but he's in too much pain most of the time. He's also blind as a bat while trapped in the light, with magical wards up that he doesn't have the strength to fight past without killing even more of his Fearlings... until there are only a few dozen left and he knows it's now or never.
He bursts out, more pieces of himself exhausting themselves and dying for their master, and flees to the nearest place that he knows is safe. His underground home is across the ocean, too far away. Frisk and Toriel's home is closer. They'll let him recover, won't they? That big plush couch in their living room has room for a Boogeyman.
But the little game ends when he senses something odd about his network of shadows, his means of travel all over the world. Something cold and icky and bright that doesn't belong. He enters them, curious and wary, and--
He ends up being pulled, yanked along a path he didn't mean to take, full of panic.
From then on, it's a blur of madness, screaming, light and terror. He loses all sense of time. He starts to lose his Fearlings too, those old friends he didn't even know were there, poor lovely things. He's not alone, people are there, studying him. Scientists. Experiments. The scientific study of magic. He tries to hold on to the memories, but he's in too much pain most of the time. He's also blind as a bat while trapped in the light, with magical wards up that he doesn't have the strength to fight past without killing even more of his Fearlings... until there are only a few dozen left and he knows it's now or never.
He bursts out, more pieces of himself exhausting themselves and dying for their master, and flees to the nearest place that he knows is safe. His underground home is across the ocean, too far away. Frisk and Toriel's home is closer. They'll let him recover, won't they? That big plush couch in their living room has room for a Boogeyman.
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They hold the shadow's hand and shuffle forward a little, closer to them all.
"I'm--I'm sorry."
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others gone no family they die
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"You can stay here. 'F you want. For a while." That last bit added only in case Toriel...reacts bad, or something.
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Where in this world of seven billion can three little ones go???
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Now, their only distraction is schoolwork. That's not nearly enough.
They sigh, long and low.
"...d'you want to hang out in my room right now?"
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They know what hang out is! In the sense that they're getting the intention of the words more than anything... But it works.
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Frisk carefully wraps their arms around the shadows, trying to scoop them up as gently as possible. They look too tiny to be wandering around the floors on their own.
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