This is more of a descriptive chapter, and may be rather boring at times.
Thank you @Pooptato1341 editing these last few chapters!!! \^w^/
Picture there by natsunenuko on tumblr. From now on, I will try my best to credit the artist.
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Dream wiped the imaginary sweat off his brow. Although he hated these decorations, the others seemed to love them, so he had to love them and hang them up as well.
And they weren't bad looking; no, on the contrary, they looked like masterpieces belonging in a high-tier museum, not some large social gathering. Banners of shimmering, brilliant gold hung from the navy blue ceiling, the walls left alone to their celebratory dark blue, apart from the banner Ink helped Little (number 63) make, half in the more 'mature' zone, and half in the 'party palace' : "A toast to our victory! Spread the news!", it read. It would've been adorable in the way children blurt their thoughts out without thoroughly processing them first, if not for the dark story behind the cheery façade.
It was a sort of half-and-half scheme, one to please people and monsters' diverse moods, with one having navy blue walls, bread, finger foods, wine and a buffet table lined up with appetizers, and the other, the half in splatters of pastel shades of pink and mint green, filled to the brim with all sorts of sweet treats, fruit punches and soda, popato chisps, pasta and many other main courses you'd find at Grillby's. Balloons stuck to the ceiling with the power of static electricity, thankfully missing the four-tier cakes.
The term 'moderation' was a complete stranger to Ink.
Speaking of the midget, he was doing the last finishing touches to the party favor bags; 'little' presents that took over a quarter of the 10,000 square meter room, resting as a veritable mountain on a lovely oak table, all personalized capsules filled with one's interests. There were boxes the size of a fist and sealed with handmade bows, plastic bags tied with a ribbon and strange cylinders wrapped in foil. Those amongst many other shapes and materials were as good as crushing the creaking furniture.
It was extremely impressive, though, to have the temperance to paint each and every bag or container, fabricate the decorations and tag each gift with the name of the monster along with their number, to avoid confusion, of course.
Although, his corner looked as if a unicorn came over and literally barfed rainbows all over the place. Thankfully, Ink took the precaution to line the walls and floor with a white tarp; however the same couldn't be said about his clothes. There was so much paint, his tattoos probably had great-great-great grandchildren by now.
He checked the ornate clock floor. Yes, an ornate clock floor. A clock built into the floor, stain, dirt and scratch-proof. It read 1:20.
Most of the skeletons had returned back to their brothers, friends, parents, whomever was or wasn't waiting for them at home, leaving a select few to continue decorating, namely he, Ink and Haven. Classic had tried- emphasis on tried- to help, but fell asleep standing in the bread corner, confetti poppers still suspended in the air by his magic.
They had planned to commence the party at 3:30, but Dream reckoned that over half of the guests would arrive half an hour later; the time '3:30' was a clever guise announcing 'hey! Come over at 4 o'clock!'
Well, there were chores aplenty.
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In the end, everyone did come at four; it seemed planned, with the torrent of Monsters unleashed by the opened door so that Dream was drowned in the scent of stale blood, various burnt foods, the occasional repugnant stench of cheap alcohol on one's tongue and cigarettes, unwashed bones and the faint, holy tinge of fresh food, downright becoming his savior, and the pressure between bodies of various sizes. There was a slight irony to the party, too.
Out of the billions of Sanses and Papyruses out there, only a thousand five hundred and ten showed up.
And no, the masses couldn't be caught up in coinciding genocide runs, for he had just visited them less than thirty minutes ago to check up on their conditions. Not everyone had easy access to green magic and medical supplies, so he had made a point to drop by. The total positivity count swayed his own mentality, regardless of his yearning to break free, the urge rooted within him a long time ago.
True, maybe around a half of the skeleton population were caught up in their final boss fight or grieving over another loss of a loved one, but the rest, what, a good forty nine percent? They were chilling at home, at restaurants, taking walks, whatever they did in their spare time other than moping at their incompetence as guardians or applying thick layers of self pity whilst drowning themselves in booze.
Forty nine percent with a more or less clear schedule: this meant millions were supposed to come; heck, Ink even brought a spacious front porch, Olympic-size swimming pool and backyard to life to accommodate a humongous number of guests, complete with a brook and a copse of pine trees.
Out of that forty nine percent, a slim margin were incapacitated by minor or major wounds, both self-inflicted and not; for the most part of the meager ten percent, their AUs were perfectly accessible by Dream. He went a little 'mother hen' over them, healed their injuries and left via portal.
The portion he healed consisted of seven percent out of ten.
And what of the remaining three percent?
Well, the negativity was too potent for him to come in contact with. It wasn't that the feelings would deal him pain, shielding an AU like that; no, it simply blocked him out completely.
He left those alone, to his ever-growing regret.
All in all, that left thirty nine percent. Still plenty, right? But wait: some are half-drunk off their asses, high as a bird, or simply too unstable at the moment to socialize with anyone. This last factor represented a good fifteen percent.
Dream's hopes and beliefs in Ink diminished by a lot. The universes he created were messed up, and still, fame and pity were pinned on Ink.
The final percentage of available Monsters: twenty four percent. 240,000,000 Monsters. 1510 out of 240,000,000; not a lot, huh? Showed how many actually felt towards Ink and his plans, how invested they were towards them, if they were worth getting up from the couch and celebrating or not.
Perhaps, just perhaps, he could pull this off; gather an underground, possibly illegal armada of skeletons with Lust, one who disagreed with Ink's absolute power, who found it terribly unfair that he, one Monster, who barely knew of suffering could decide their fates and futures for them.
For now, the buffet table was pulling at his SOUL.
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"Wassup, my radical brotato chip?" Fresh suddenly popped up beside him, resulting in an overturned tureen of fruit punch, neatly saved by a passing swap Papyrus. Make that 1511 Monsters.
"Holy shift Fresh, you scared the heck out of me!"
"Whoa, there, calm yo horses bud, I just felt like interacting with another cool cat, bruh! Dat and I wanna ask yo a lil' somethin' about mah mad rad broseph Error. Heard of him? He upright left his bros behind, and dat's not so rad, is it?" He shifted his shades down a little, revealing the cracked SOUL in his socket, voice turning dead at the last few sentences. A lesser being would've turned tail and fled, but Dream didn't see a true monster.
No, he saw opportunity.
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ah shit i dont know m3th. 24?
PFT-!? Wasn't it down to 15 before? .p. Or am I just being dummy dumb ( . _ .)
AHAHAAHAHAHAA I DELETED YOUR EMOTICON
MUAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAAHAAAA
(editor then deletes it all)
*LE GASP*
Revenge even if it lasts only half a second XD
WELL I HAVE INSURANCE, AKA COPY PASTE >:3
Well i have delete
MEE TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO *insert anime yelling*
(author deletes emoticon)
owq
(deletes again)
Aight i'll stop uwu
I'm just imaging we keep this in the chapter and readers are just like "what the fudge.."
Yes. this shall be the author's note.
I WAS JUST ABOUT TO TTUPE THAT! XD
XDD
Time to reinsert all the text-
Time to wahta? :3 ohhhhhhhh-
Yep XD
hoi confuzzled readers uwu
Stay safe!! <3
(Oct. 17, 2020)