Archive of Our Own ^beta

So, another Dark World was born, created in the very living room of poor Kris Dreemurr. As a child they had brought life into that home, and now, they were doing so in a new way.

TV World, led haphazardly by the Lord of Screens, was a quaint little place. It was homey, if a bit old fashioned— but crumbling beneath the surface, not unlike its ruler himself.

And in that world... lived the creature's new toy.

He really was nothing special. He was just a Pippins, not even originally from TV World. But he was clever. He knew more about the nature of his world than anyone else, and the creature hadn't even needed to clue him in.

The Pippins was a little theorist. By day, he worked, and by night, he sat at his desk, scribbling away at notes and new ideas, and pinning them up to his special corkboard. He ran on caffeine and stubbornness alone; he was a sad sight to behold.

On one late night, the sad thing, unable to any longer keep his eyes open, fell asleep with his head against his desk. Now, it was time to play.

In his dream, the Pippins found himself in a forest. It was dark, and he could hardly see anything. Curious and confused, he began to walk, enamored with the strange new feeling of leaves crunching beneath his feet.

He was certain this place must be like nothing he had ever seen before. In TV World, what existed of leaves was artificial, made just to look pretty on screen. And in TV World, the only thing that crunched beneath your feet when you walked was snow. It was fascinating. If only he could make any of it out.

Of course, without his vision to assist him, his mind zeroed in on other details. The smell of the nature around him. The feeling of cool air and of the branches that brushed against his outstretched arm. The…

The sound.

Of footsteps behind him that weren’t his.

He was startled, and he immediately turned to look, but he saw nothing there. He let out a sigh. He must have just been hearing things…

He yelped when he turned back.

There was a face! With big, dead eyes and a grotesque Cheshire grin.

“There you are! Tell me, have you been staying up late just to avoid me?” The creature teased, circling the poor Pippins like he was a prey animal. Its smile never left nor faded. In fact, it almost seemed like it had gotten bigger.

“Wh… What?”

That was all the Pippins could utter, a meager and trembling word for the usually spirited Darkner.

The creature’s face came close, but no breath was felt on the Pippins’ face. He didn’t think it was breathing at all.

“Don’t be so scared. See, you’re always on edge. You ought to loosen up every now and then!”

The Pippins didn’t feel very comforted. A shudder went up his spine as he felt something pointy graze his leg. This was an awful time to suddenly be unable to move.

The thing’s voice was almost as disturbing as its unchanging expression. It was smooth but rough, low but high and chittering. It surrounded him, but it was all in his head.

“Who are you…?” The Pippins uttered, forcing the words out of a tight throat.

“Ah, the elusive question… The ever torturous question! I figured you’d ask,” The creature cooed, circling the poor Pippins. “I’m your Friend, silly.”

His friend. But the Pippins didn’t know this creature— he’d damn well remember it if he’d seen this thing before. And what did it mean, it “figured he’d ask?”

“I’ve been watching you. You’re not quite like the others, are you?”

The Pippins swallowed and shook his head.

“Right. A little unlucky, aren’t you? Well, sure, it seems that way. But being different has its perks— you see things that others can’t, when you’re not blinded by betting and petty thievery.”

Was this thing trying to flatter him? He shook his head. Can’t let that get to you.

“You’re on the right track. Believe me.”

Before he could answer, the Pippins’ vision darkened, and he soon found himself back at his desk. His little work station was lit up by a single, dingy old light, and his desk was as much cluttered mess as the inside of his head.

Thinking back on his dream, he felt an unreasonable sense of dread. He knew he shouldn’t be so bothered, it was just a nightmare. But something deep inside him felt chilled. That dream had felt so real.

He rubbed his eyes and sighed. He’d try to push it out of his head for now. He turned to face the corkboard up on the wall behind him, its clamor of confusion and red string only understandable to him.

He was on the right track.