In which the Tower acquires a Boogeyman. Great. [intro]

[toomanyeyes]

Characters: Pitch and YOU
Setting: The library for now. He will be moving steadily upwards as he explores, so if your character is on a different floor, don't be afraid to put it in the subject heading!
Format: Prose to start, will match
Summary: The Tower's brand new Boogeyman is in the exploring mood. Be afraid. Very afraid.
Warnings: If you haven't checked out Pitch's permission post and replied to it, do so here first. Kind of important. Pitch exploits and reads people's fears, so if you don't want him digging into your character's head, please let me know!


Pitch couldn't believe how good his luck had become.

Centuries--no, millennia of being dismissed as a bad dream, as a nagging feeling, as a figment of some human's imagination, betrayed and starved and almost outright killed by the Guardians... No more of that, now. Now he had an entire Tower to paralyze with fear, to inflict with nightmares. Here, everyone could see him. Whether they believed in him or not. And they would believe, if Pitch had his way.

But that could wait. Bolstered by the fears of an entire community, he was feeling better, stronger than he had in ages. A perfect time to go exploring his new home. Why should he care about the old one, when the new was already turning out so well? He would miss certain things, certainly. Scenery, a few of his fellow spirits, the ones very old like himself that were still clinging to existence. But he had survived, and not them. All the better. He already had to share with his rescuers. Less to bicker over, really.

Pitch sat in one of the chairs in the library, enjoying a book he'd been meaning to read for a while. At the Mountains of Madness was the only thing he had yet to read, and he lamented not being able to do so during its author's lifetime. He read intently, giggling a bit to himself.  "Oh Howard. You sad little man. You never did quite get the hang of dialogue, did you?"

Comments

[eternally]

Jack blasts through the library late in the day, a flurry of wind and cold and echoing laughter that throws anyone's loose paper into the air and rapidly turns the pages of any books not pinned open by fingers and paper weights. Entirely heedless of library etiquette. He'd been afraid at first, collared and confused and without the light of the moon, none of which were aided by the fact that his shepherd's staff was left in a nearby chest, broken in two and squeezing a yawning ache in the center of Jack's chest that snaked its way outwards through his limbs.

But then he'd been seen. He'd been heard, and he picked himself up and pieced his staff back together and forgot all about the plight of the Guardians.

Forgot how angry he was with himself for letting all of them down. Forgot that being here, alone, meant that Baby Tooth was stranded in the arctic unable to fly, because he was having so much fun. Sure, he could feel it and see it, that downtrodden undercurrent of fear and misery in the people trapped here, but it was incredibly hard to focus past the exhilaration of the moment.

Of course, that all flies out the window when he hears Pitch's familiar voice, and sees the dark little spot he'd nestled into in the library. He'll never admit it aloud, but it sends a shiver down his spine, and bids him to clutch at his newly repaired staff a little more firmly. It could be in anger or it could be in fear, he finds them a little hard to tell apart at times. He lands behind Pitch's chair without much ceremony, light and silent on his feet but for the waning howl of the wind that he throws himself everywhere with.

"What are you doing here?"

[toomanyeyes]

Pitch looked up at the familiar voice, startled to see Jack standing there. "Well, well. Jack Frost! Who would've thought." He smirked and closed his book, leaning back in his chair comfortably. "I survived, like you. Why else would I be here?"