coming to a shadow near you

[boogerman]

Look who's back, back again, here to play with all the children. Play with, not drive into gibbering terror.

...Not on purpose.

Shadows dance up and down the hallways, once he realizes where he's found himself again. No fear, never any fear in his own mind for himself, only happy cackling, echoing off the walls. Despite trying his best to be friendly, really, it's just in his nature to be a bit creepy. He can be no other way.

He wanders inside and outside the castle, easily distracted by everything he sees... and the snow outside! It's good clean fun, for someone who lives in a warm place that never sees snow. Much snow will be kicked around, strange shapes will be drawn, snow will be shaken out of trees for absolutely no reason at all... He doesn't seem as old as he looks, does he? Or maybe he's always been playful, deep down.

Comments

[mercybutton]

So strange.

They're both shadows, in a way--Frisk is the quiet presence, the dust in the corner, the spider on the wall. They are the unnoticed, the quiet and the timid. For good reason.

Pitch is the shadow of the wildes, they think, the shape of animals darting through dark forests. He's bright and fun-loving, they think... and rather pretty in a strange way. Creepy, but pretty. Loud. Not quite human, they think, both how he acts and how he looks.

Maybe they could make a new friend.

They peek tentatively at the doorway, are actually there for a long time before they can muster the bravery to step out into the snow and be noticed--a thing they're not quite used to. The first time they talk it comes out as not much more than a breath in the air.

They speak up. (Sort of.) "... hi."

[boogerman]

"Hello." he says, grinning, and currently sprawled on his back in the snow, loving the cool wetness. He's soaked from head to toe and doesn't give a damn, it feels good. And the greyness of his skin looks nice against all this white.

[mercybutton]

... nervous.

They step out into the snow, staring a little in wonder at how perfectly white it all is. They're used to street filth and salt making all of its perfection ruined in all of a few days. Their boots aren't that well against the cold, but that hardly matters.

"you're not cold?"

[boogerman]

He doesn't know what he is. There are only three other spirits in all the world and none will speak to him. 'Spirit' isn't a word that's been thought up yet, probably.

He just knows he's unique and not at all like his village. Feeling uncomfortable when cold is something that happens to everyone else.

"Yes! Doesn't it feel good?"

[mercybutton]

"i don't know. maybe?"

Fresh, certainly. Cool and sharp and clear, they don't know about, but it's definitely not the same muddy blurriness that heat brings. But if he likes the cold, they're not going to stop him.

"is it fun?"

these got lost, sorry

[boogerman]

"Obviously! Why ask?" See, he's smiling, he's enjoying it. Unquestionably. He kicks his legs back and forth like he's shooting for half a snow angel, another concept that won't exist for millennia. Yes, this is very good. "This is much colder than our lands."

[exuviiated]

Aaron's-- Felicity, that awful name-- been hiding in rooms where he can't find anybody. The castle provided him with bobby pins, bandages, and he's made good use of them. It hasn't provided him with anything to soothe the bone-deep fear, or worse, the dragging (drowning) sadness that settled in his chest and refused to be shaken.

Pretty heavy stuff for a twelve-year-old, but it's something he's dealt with and will deal with.

The sun is nice. The chill is not so nice. He found a sweater in his size (plain blue, as if the place knew he hated Christmas and everything associated with it) and has put it on; pleasantly warm and comfortable in the courtyard. As one who finds himself waking up to a nightmare (before here, at least) the shadows don't daunt him past examining them to see if they'll hurt him-- they don't. He calls out, finally.

"Hey! Aren't you cold?"

[boogerman]

A laugh and a "Never!" from where he's straddling a tree branch that doesn't quite look like it should be holding him. How much does a shadowman weigh?

Then the faint fears ping his senses and he takes a second look at the boy, curious. "You're afraid."

aaron: buddy what

[exuviiated]

The man is cheerful, far too happy for the way his very presence is the atmospheric equivalent of nails on a chalkboard. Aaron crosses his arms.

"So what if I am?" A backstep. "I'm not scared."

shhHHHHHHHHH

[boogerman]

"Yes, you are, it's right there!" He gestures, not quite pointing, not quite waving his hand. "So what." Repeating Aaron's words like some kind of demented parrot. "I don't really care."

aaron: don't be rUDE

[exuviiated]

"Well," Aaron starts off, "If you don't care, then you shouldn't mention it." He tips his chin up so he's somehow looking at Pitch down his nose. It's an acquired skill, used to scare off bullies. "If you can't say anything nice, then don't say anything at all."

[itstheend]

who's been drawing dicks I mean.

Frisk is at this point confident that odd snow phenonema tend to have interesting stories attached to them. They're tilting their head at one of the odd drawn shapes, crouching next to it. What does it mean?

They take a finger and dip it into the snow, industrially adding onto it. When it's done, it resembles a large bird. Frisk stands up, stares at the final result, and starts crunching on to the next curious thing, unaware they might be being watched.