[grumpy intro]

[boogerman]

Being seen, even if only by one person so far and not even an adult, is all well and good, but there's one huge, major drawback to being stuck in a floating castle for this poor little shadow... it's all one timezone! He's stuck here during the day too! The night is so short compared to the daytime, beyond frustrating to one able to move around the world endlessly and never need to see a sunrise.

He's no vampire, he won't catch on fire in the sunlight, unfortunately for the castle's other inhabitants. It is blinding to his eyes and painful all over, though. So he's claimed a bedroom as his, boarded up the window very thoroughly, and lurks all day inside. There's not much to do in there, but at least he's not wandering the halls half blind.

After sunset, he's set free to earn his 'meals', mingle with people, or intrude on those sleeping to cause a few extra nasty nightmares. Not the kind that spring to life and he calls pets, just the every day restless sleep sort. Om nom, so many fears.

[OOC: Player's choice, barge in on Pitch's daily sulk or bump in to him after dark just about anywhere in the castle~]

Comments

~night~time~

[dustless]

Frisk wasn't joking when they said they have no bed; they have a hammock strung between two small trees, hidden away from the rest of the place in a grotto of bushes.

They're easy prey.

Teeth the size of their head gnash above them, thorny green arms beat the stone ground around them, but the laughing the laughing is the worst part, they can't do anything with it ringing in their ears--

[boogerman]

It doesn't matter. Sleeping people, especially ones having their very own nightmares, call to him. He'd have found Frisk anywhere in the castle.

He stands over the hammock, eyes glinting in the dark, waiting for the inevitable startled awakening. Mmmm~

[dustless]

Bullets fall bombs fall mouths enclosed in green whirl around and hit them over and over--

"He's DEAD and it's ALL YOUR FAULT--!"

The King's face is melting and whirling into the air in a disgustingly graceful wave of dust and they're choking on it, smothered in it, they're going to drown in it, and the laughter is only getting louder and louder and louder.

This is all a nightmare.

"AND YOU'RE NEVER WAKING UP!"

But Frisk does wake up. (They usually do at this point.)

And in doing so jerk their whole body hard enough to flip the hammock. They hit the ground with a painful thud and a smothered whimper.

[mercybutton]

Frisk has gotten into the habit of ditching any semblance of a day-night cycle of sleep. They've no guardian here, they don't need to- and bordering on the edge of teenager, their sleep schedule had already been beginning to wobble. They've taken to just finding their bedroom to sleep whenever they get tired, and rising when they feel like they should be up and about. This means they can be found wandering in the unholy hours of the night. Frisk did this in the Underground, too.

Or you will find their fear and dreams during evening, too early for anyone to be sleeping. But still.

Take your pick, Pitch.

[boogerman]

He's walking the halls while most people sleep, stopping outside occupied bedrooms and taking his own kind of census... A delicious nightmare census.

What a lovely place this castle is at night. He hasn't had to work on it at all, really. This is how Frisk the Elder will find him, hand on a doorknob, looking like he's listening to music only he can hear.

[mercybutton]

Ah, but see, Frisk is completely blind. They make their way by touch and sound, walking down the hall on the opposite side. A child. Dragging their hand down the wall so they can tell when it turns. At first, it seems Frisk doesn't see Pitch because of the whole "lack of belief" deal, until they smack right into a light fixture off the wall at face level while they walk.

"Au- ow." They smack at it weakly in frustration. It's been happening more than they like.

[regalduchess]

Duchess spends her nights snoozing. Most of the day, as well; and when she's awake, it's to eat and travel the castle, check up on the many small children that she's claimed as her temporary wards.

Instead, she stumbles upon a stranger-- the moon is high in the sky by now. And she's quite the curious cat.

(Here's to hoping satisfaction will bring her back.)

"Hello. You look as if you're one of the new people."

From behind him, tail swishing gently.

[boogerman]

There's about half a second of natural confusion, because no one seems to actually be there--oh. No. Just a little white cat, talking to a very tall man.

"Hello there, you. You're not wrong."

[regalduchess]

"I am a mother. I rarely am." A dainty, purring little laugh, and then she proceeds to wind around his ankles like she owns the place-- tail incredibly soft, twisting around his leg.

"I am Duchess. What is your name? And how long have you been here?"

[sansational]

Pitch will unfortunately turn out to be a bit late to the party for one potential meal. Sans wakes up with a strangled gasp when the stranger is still drawing nearer to their bedroom. There's the usual bad moment of who am i, when is this, what's real. A moment of just sitting and breathing and staring at nothing until the shadows make sense. A glance down at the sleeping forms of S-4 and Sans-Serif, a momentary touch to make sure they're not going to turn to dust on him. They don't. Good.

A skull makes a deceptively heavy thud when it falls from a body, even into newly fallen snow. And turning to dust doesn't always happen immediately, sometimes it's slow, slow enough that you can feel it without being able to stop it...

Sans needs to take a walk. Shakily, he gets up from the bed and pads over to the bedroom door. He opens it just in time to see a tall, strange, unfamiliar shadow pass by.

"what the...?" His voice is still a bit hoarse from the remnants of sleep, memories of fear curled around his soul.

[boogerman]

Dregs of fear are sad, but better than nothing. Like drinking the last bit of milk from a bowl of cereal you didn't get to eat yourself and longing for more.

(He thinks of drink more than food, as that's what he goes for most often. Teas, coffees, juices, milk, and so on.)

He turns and snaps his fingers when he sees the little skeleton boy, "Seems I missed all the fun. Nice dreams you have."

[sansational]

Not quite a boy, though in terms of size he really is only a little taller than the average human child. Probably about half of Pitch's size. But his shape is that of a small adult, the bones grown and settled. And his soul is even older than that.

Though there are still two figures in the bed, still asleep. Both skeletons, both children, though their dreams seem to be peaceful for once tonight.

Sans flinches back a pace at that fingersnap, looking wary. "thank you...?" He certainly doesn't sound grateful, but, well, what else do you say to something like that? "better luck next time, i guess? except, uh, if you actually are looking in on my dreams, cut it out. that's creepy."

[justletmewin]

Down the hallway is a guest room occupied by a sleeping goat. Draped in a royal purple robe whose sleeves are far too long for him, he's nonetheless curled up in a shivering ball in the middle of a king-sized bed, small enough to look as though the bed waited to swallow him. He whimpers in his sleep sometimes; tiny squeaks that most can't help find endearing, perhaps cute.

Cuteness doesn't matter to Pitch Black.



Of course he changed back. He suspected it would be too good to be true. Already, he developed a hatred for the island and all its inhabitants. Everybody gets a second chance... except him. He wanted to believe Frisk his life is worth saving. Have proof he can still remember love as a flower. But Frisk is an idiot. Frisk brought his love and his compassion back so he can have a reminder of what he's lost forever. What's a best friend here for if not to twist the knife?

Speaking of which, look at that shady figure.

"Chara? Is that you?"

[boogerman]

It's a goat with clothes on, having a nightmare about being turned back into a flower. He seems to be an extremely furious flower, too.

Goat. Nightmare. Flower.

Apparently terrifying to the goat-flower-person sleeping, but Pitch... Pitch will just loom over the bed for a few minutes, bemused look on his face. The things sleeping minds come up with.

Dad dropped a vacation on me at the worst possible timing, sorry. (TW: Body horror)

[justletmewin]

If anyone could inject a smidgen of hope in Asriel Flowey, it's Chara. But all thoughts of comfort dive out the window when he realizes Chara's body is coated in a thick sheet of silver dust. Dust and small blood splatters--their blood?--and buttercups. The buttercups sprouted over patches of Chara's skin like a yellow rash, and their eyes stuffed with nothing but those innocent and deadly flowers.

"Asriel, you idiot." They snarled. "Oh, I'm sorry. Flowey. Whatever stupid thing you call yourself these days. Why didn't you listen to me?"

TW: Dissociation and canon-typical body horror

[demonthatcomes]

It sure is a pleasant evening, isn't it?

They don't have an opinion. They don't want one. Their screams would shake the castle if they cared to feel anything beyond numb.

The human drifts to a corner of the room, watching that dumb and pathetic creature sitting in their bed. Their head is lighter than usual. They must have gone back to sleep, right? No doubt they escaped again, so it'll take time before hell retrieves its demon. Ha ha ha... You call that thing a demon? Must've gotten a runt, considering all it does is stare at nothing. No dripping voids for sockets? No tar-like tears bubbling down their cheeks? How disappointing.

Human and creature snap together into one being when they realize someone's outside. Chara blinks in bemusement, pale and sweating. Whoever wished to devour nightmares missed a fine dinner.

[boogerman]

Not quite all missed. He's close enough to snag some of the energy, here in the doorway. Sharp fingernails scrape at the door as he watches, not sure his luck will hold out... is he going to be seen this time? Are they all believers in this freaky castle?

[demonthatcomes]

Pitch's nails cause the hairs on their back to stand on edge, but otherwise they don't move. Were Chara in a better mood and not... the way they are now, they would've told whoever's outside their door to learn to knock.

"Just get it over with already." Are they talking to the door? Themself? For god's sake, don't just stand there and make them think they're imagining things. Again.

he may not be a kid but he's a horrible pile of Issues

[mettaton_rex]

The castle is too quiet at night.

Mettaton doesn't sleep. And he can't spend his nights watching movies, here (or terrible anime). Being alone with his own thoughts... does not lead to good places. Sometimes he needs to reassure himself - everything's going to be fine when he gets home. The kingdom isn't falling apart in his absence (but they miss him. They need him), his fans haven't turned on him, all the unpleasant secrets he's been keeping are hidden safely out of sight where they belong.

So, tonight, he's in the throne room, posing seductively for an imaginary audience on the middle one of the three identical thrones (after clearing away as much of the dust and cobwebs as he could). Someone passing might hear him proclaiming his love to the invisible crowd as they cheer and applaud and scream for him - "beauties, darlings, oh, I know, I missed you too! I missed you all so much..."

This is ridiculously self-indulgent even for him, and he'd be mortified if anyone walked in on him. It's not even helping very much. The acoustics in here are awful. Everything he says just echoes back at him.

they're twins

[boogerman]

Oh my goodness, what has Pitch discovered? He has good hearing and he roams all over at night, so of course he was bound to be wandering by and hear...

A soft hissing noise can be heard, if Mettaton can hear anything over his speech of craziness to no one, and then a strange whispy shadow shoots across the floor--it almost looks like sand. And it continues to zip around, getting closer and closer to Mettaton on his throne.

[mettaton_rex]

He hears the noise and sits upright, startled. Oh god, did someone see him? It had better not be that copy...

But there's nobody there - no, wait. He watches the strange shadow for a moment, as it moves closer. That looks decidedly ...spooky. He hasn't heard of any (other) ghosts in the castle, but maybe they just haven't made themselves visible.

"Hello?" His voice sounds oddly small, in the empty room. "Don't be shy, darling..." Just play it off like who-or-whatever this is didn't catch him doing something so hideously embarrassing. It's fine.

[systematicsupport]

If Pitch is able to make it past the skeleton who asked him not to go peering into nightmares, he may find that the children this monster watches over aren't always having sweet dreams themselves.

He's in a lab. S-4's nightmares always start back in the lab. He's pinned down in a chair, heavy leather straps keeping him still. A man takes notes in front of him, but his appearance shifts rapidly, from a taller skeleton peering over his glasses until his labcoat folds up into a faded blue hoodie, and a shorter skeleton shakes his head.

"You should have told us, S-4." they say.

"I... I should have."

"Why didn't you tell us you were a failure?"

S-4 tries to move one of his arms, fingers stretching out. Beside him, a shorter skeleton dressed in the same faded green shirt and slacks as him moves away.

"You know what will happen to you now, right?"

S-4 blinks back tears, as in the real world, his breathing quickens.

[boogerman]

There's really no way to keep him out of a room. Guarding the door won't work. Only lighting it all up so that there are no shadows would. He's in with very little effort, shadow-form, nothing but a pair of silver-gold eyes in the dark.

Interesting. A skeleton about to be written off by some sort of mad scientist? Good info, and a good burst of power.

tosses this mess in late--a few days after pitch's encounter w/ frisk

[bleakdrake]

She finds his room just after dawn.

Mostly, they're all just looking for a dark place. The sun can hurt her too, at least most of its components, makes them melt and sting more than usual.

When a door without light through the crack presents itself, all eight(six? ten? it's impossible to tell) feet of them presses against it, trying to get inside.

[boogerman]

Something seems familiar about the presence outside his door, wanting in. Call it a smell, a sense that something wants to make friends. He hops up from the desk and his latest read, hurrying to the door to let them in, less suspicious than he would be normally and more curious.