#aog open

[nxghtlight]

Everything itches. Nightlight can't tell if that's just his armor acting up again or if there's a deeper meaning to his discomfort-- a discomfort he can pin down immediately. Punishment is practically non-existent. He's barely even monitored; no one requires him to check in before he leaves or upon return, and he's barely noticed hovering around in the Workshop these days. Even the scolding comments that he was 'too flighty' and 'uncoordinated' weren't there, as if Nightlight himself was not there unless someone needed to make use of him. It left the astral child intensely uncomfortable. Most likely, whatever was happening, someone was totaling up all of his infractions, and all the skipped opportunities for detaining him would be instead compiled in one go. Feeling faint and looking much paler than even his usual, Nightlight clutched his lance closer to rest his cheek on a flattish part of Moonbeam's dagger. At this rate, he'll make himself sick.

[nxghtlight]

He still couldn't see, which stayed as disorienting as it had been when his vision went white. But the good news was that Katherine had left him in the big cozy chair near North's grand fireplace, which meant he could simply close his eyes, curl up, and stay out of the way, which was really for the best. With only 44 days left until Christmas, this wasn't the time to be underfoot and make everyone worry about him. He was, after all, only a Nightlight.

[nxghtlight]

He’s been chasing the fireflies again– though several of them mistake him for a much larger cousin and have stuck to his armor and hair with no intention of moving, casting a much warmer golden glow over the astral boy than his usual electric blue.

At this point, Nightlight’s started to attract the moths as well.

Please help him.

[nxghtlight]

One supposes that, perhaps if Nightlight’s hands were steadier, breakfast would not be such a mess each morning!

But alas, there is flour everywhere (and we do mean everywhere) once again, the coffee maker is dripping onto the floor, and there are slightly burnt pancakes stuck to the ceiling.

With his head in his hands, the boy stares gloomily at his mess from his perch on the counter– Bunnymund is sure to chide him for wasting chocolate, but all he’d wanted to do was make chocolate chip pancakes to cheer up Katherine. Now his feelers were plastered down against his face with batter and North’s cat needed a bath.

[nxghtlight]

He's not having a good morning; evidently the boy can't remember where he is, let alone who he is. Nightlight stares blankly up at the gas lamp on the wall, hands limp and still in his lap.

Perhaps an answer will make itself evident.

Most likely, it won't, and he'll only shake himself out of it when hunger pushes him to move.

[nxghtlight]

Good morning! Nightlight has gone and attempted (attempted being the key word here) to give himself a haircut with his dagger to no avail. Not only did it just hurt, due to all those silly curls and tendrils really being something like feelers, but he'd gone and nicked his ear and now there's sticky blue ichor everywhere and he's very angrily trying not to cry. How is he supposed to remain clean and well-groomed for the Lunanoffs if he can't even fix his hair right? At least he doesn't have to shave...

[nxghtlight]

The world is very quiet and still at three A.M, he has come to realize. Hoisting himself up onto the window ledge, Nightlight clicked quietly to himself and peeped softly. Quietness and stillness can be nice, but now he's just left with himself and his thoughts. And he does not exactly care about either. Naturally, his mind soon turns to his lost and missing memories, the half-remembered end of days of the Golden Age and the missing chunk of Before. There is something there, Nightlight knows, but just as he struggles to describe his own emotions, he struggles to give this concept a name. A small thump-- he's pressed his face into the glass, enjoying the relative chill of it against his forehead. Poor thing's in the midst of a temperature spike again.

[nxghtlight]

Good morning! Nightlight tried to cook. He is as successful at this as you can imagine an unsupervised and clumsy boy trying to make breakfast for everyone can be. Which is to say 'not really whatsoever'. ...It's the thought that counts.