But the Sandman has an ETERNITY behind him, memories upon emotions
upon dreams, all conjoined, all creating this present, this person that is HE,
good and bad, and everything in between. Mansnoozie has learned, grown,
matured, been SILENCED, been heard - he has done everything in his
power to be the person he is at this moment, will do everything he can to
continue as it. He only wishes that Pitch was the SAME.
They were so similar in their creations, in their powers, that Sanderspn
knew, he knew without a doubt, that Pitch himself could be just as great as
he. After all, the Boogieman and the Sandman each bring DREAMS. The
only difference is in the connotations of GOOD and EVIL, of LIGHTNESS
and DARKNESS that each color they wear creates upon them, of the
inability for most of humanity to realize that the line between them all is just
a flick of a light switch, a largely blurred line of GREY that seems to never
end. Small, round, welcoming; this is his visual. Tall, dark, imposing; this
is Pitch’s. They are a complete set, no matter what they’ve done, what
they’ve ENDURED, together and sperate.
Sandy has been alive for LONG ENOUGH to understand that he can’t
spend his life HATING a product of environment, circumstance. For if he
did then Sandy couldn’t be near most of his own friends. He wouldn’t be
able to STAND being this close to this man, this creature of the night, of
monsters under the bed, of fear and dark and complete misery.
But here he was, and here would stay - for now.
Sandy shakes his head furiously, golden sand falling around them, shooting
stars slowly reaching to their quiet end. He hovers higher, higher, higher,
until his very LIGHT can illuminate the majority of the room, showcasing
stomping mares, DESPERATELY hungry for the raw fear they had spend
all their time feasting upon. They skittered away from the light, screeching
screeching screeching for the hidden shadows at the corners of this lair.
This is NOT A VICTORY.
This is nothing to be proud of.
This is TORTURE.
This is a living nightmare.
Why do you not fight back?
And here he drops, getting up into Pitch’s space once more, a speeding
slideshow of dark golden sand, Pitch the larges, casting the fear BACK at
the fearlings, a crown of true victory sitting upon a cackling, smug head.
What happened after we stopped you?
The Boogeyman is reluctant to look at him another time, but distracted by the speed of which Sandy shook his head ━ made upset by Pitch’s words, no doubt ━ the Nightmare King turned a stiff neck toward the LIGHT, staring with impatience at the speechless man. Until Sandy suddenly flew upward and into the air, dropping glittering golden sand in the wake of his movement!! And Pitch involuntarily flinched, raising an arm in defense and shielding himself from the Guardian, unable to predict what the Sandman had planned on doing.
Pitch is very much like his nightmares: AFRAID. Doing anything they can to get away from the little man and his blinding power. As the nightmares disperse and disappear into darkened corridors of the Boogeyman’s lair, Pitch pushes himself backward ever so slightly, sliding into the wall and pressing himself to the cold granite in some ill attempt to resist the LIGHT shining throughout the room, blessing all corners with its presence. It’s so overwhelming, and for a moment, Pitch fears it will burn him.
Alas, it did nothing more than clear the room of pestering fearlings and nightmares, something Pitch would later be thankful for (possibly). And when Sandman touched back down to the gray floors, invading the Boogeyman’s personal space, Pitch no longer stared at him with agitation or impatience. He seems somewhat content now, perhaps even relaxed without the fearlings surrounding the area and the nightmares looming above.
Still leaning in favor of the wall, Pitch’s lips remained parted and releasing shallows breaths, until he decided to answer his counterpart:
“The nightmares... They took me into the dark, stripped me of my power. EXPOSED me to my greatest fear,” He paused, his gaze narrowing slightly but not out of spite. Oh, the little man must have known what it was; rather, WHO it was. Who frightened Pitch so much it felt like his chest was swelling and his throat sealing every time he was within his presence. “I fought them, at first... But after a while, it all became... tedious. POINTLESS, while I was the only one who had anything to FEAR.”
Now Pitch is livid again, somehow cornered into this conversation and exposing weakness to his greatest threat. He leans slightly in the Sandman’s direction, invading his space with childish tactics. “Why does it matter to you? Am I to believe you’ve had a sudden change of heart!? That suddenly, you wished I’d had a different fate?! YOU were the one who brought this upon me, or don’t you remember?” His teeth are exposed and ground together after every word, sharp and hostile. He’s so close to the Sandman ━ close enough to see his own reflection within Sandy’s doe-eyed gaze. And close enough to jab the other man in the chest without really thinking it over.
“Why are you asking me questions you already have the answers to?! Have you no one else to bother that you must come down into a place where you are not, and never will be, WELCOME?”
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