[ Pickles is padding out of the Barks & Waffles store, looking thoroughly pleased because of the books and food and sees Boothill. He barks and goes over to him, but then there are shadows that kidnap Boothill and Pickles into a small dark pocket dimension. Pickles is gone, but Boothill will now witness the following: ]
Charlton: Part 1[ In London of the 1960s, the traditional close-knit family gradually fell behind the mainstream, while pets started to play a more important role in the bonding between family members. More and more people went into the bustling pet stores to find a fluffy, energetic new member for the family. Compared to all other pets, there is no doubt that the welcoming puppies were the most popular one. They would walk in circle around you while wagging their tails, rub their teeth against your legs, bark to call for the frisbee or ball in your hand. Apparently, no one could resist such temptation.
There are always loners, however, even among the social puppies in the most professional kennel. That black-and-white figure hid himself at the rear of the cage, his eyes piercing through the jagged crimson bars and the busy crowd to reach some corner outside the window which no one noticed. He liked being alone, but he didn't like being lonely. A small puppy barely at a month old sits by himself in the corner of the back of the cage. He thinks about how fast his fellow brethren are taken from the kennels, and his mother eventually left as well. A puppy with no energy would look sick, and no one wanted to adopt a dog that was sick (he wasn't sick). Even then, he found himself at peace that no one would bother him.
"Hey buddy!"
A pair of rough hands interrupted his tranquility. The owner of those hands rubbed his neck and chin intimately as if they were close friends in reunion.
"Look at this little philosopher with deep eyes. You are the most special dog I've ever seen."
He also memorized the face of the man by heart. The man's name was Charlton and as he introduced himself, he carried the small puppy in his hands, cradling him lovingly. The puppy melted into the warmth.
Before he put his front paws onto that grey-and-white window at registration, his friend in red and white shirt just carefully wiped a pair of goggles and put it around him.
[ boothill was originally here to do some more raiding of the pharmacy's beer cache (and pet a few cats) when he noticed the mall's new stores. before he can come close enough to get a good look inside of the bookstore, out runs pickles!
and then pickles is no more! and maybe neither is boothill? he's suddenly surrounded in pitch black, his feet making no sound even as he tries to break into a sprint. no, as soon as he takes a few steps, the blackness diffuses and reveals the kennel and its residents. how the hell did boothill even get here? did the mall do this? that new store?
he has no moment to question it all. instead, he watches as the pup is slowly left behind and then finally found by a seemingly warm, caring, happy individual.
pickles. this is pickles' childhood? boothill watches in disbelief, trying to fathom the situation, but the scene itself makes sense as the basis for the lovable, intelligent dog the sacrifices and overseers know and love.
the puppy is small, and perhaps he shouldn't try to disturb the scene at all, but boothill can't help taking a few steps forward into the vision and reach out towards the puppy. ]
Charlton: Part 2 (FIN)[ The scene before Boothill shifts into a 1960s London apartment with the sun shining through the window. It's a peaceful day, and there's a bulldog in the same home too. The dog's name is Wendy. For breakfast, Pickles eats shortribs out of a can with Wendy, sometimes Wendy sings her passionate howls to Pickles that he turns down every single time. As Pickles grows up, he's always at his deep blue dog bed with a tag that has his name on it with a big book on the floor at 7 PM sharp every night. He turns each page with his paw. Upon taking a peek at it, you'll see that it's a rather... complicated book--The Republic by Plato.
Charlton is watching the TV and he occasionally looks back behind the couch to watch Pickles so into reading his book with a lot of fondness.
"He's the most special dog in the entire world. The rhythmic sounds he makes sometimes sounds as if he's actually talking to me."
Charlton told his friends once upon a time.
It was a really peaceful time. ] [ The actual Pickles shows up as the memory disappears, welcoming the black void once more. ]
[ THIS IS ALL SO SWEET AND SPECIAL 😠PICKLES! CHARLTON!! i wish boothill could see how smart pickles is, but he can't read the title of that book. to boothill, the fact that this dog is reading (or looks like he's reading) in the first place confirms his intelligence. the most special doggo in the world... and he has a loving home to boot. mods please send pickles back home soon.
when pickles appears in the void, boothill isn't there to greet him, seeming to have vanished as soon as pickles stepped inside. ]
SCENE I [ first is the gust of cool wind from behind—not harsh, but strong enough to make one close their eyes. the sound of rustling leaves follows quickly behind it, then a running stream, then faraway birdsong.
blink and the view is suddenly and perfectly picturesque: a clearing by a healthy, freshwater creek. the air smells crisp and clean, refreshingly cool with every inhale. ancient trees stand stalwart as guardians around the periphery, leaning over the stream as it stretches into the distance, their branches stretching high overhead. the sun filters in through bright green leaves, and its light reflects in little white mirrors against the water. salmon swim as if floating in air, their images rippling as dragonflies and pond-skippers disturb the water's surface.
a velvet-smooth drone from a harmonica comes from the grassy patch nearby the stream. the source of the sound is a young man in the clearing, seated on a blanket. on closer inspection, one can see that it's boothill—though his name was something else at this point, when he was still made of flesh and blood. his skin in general is noticeably tanner, rough with scars around his arms. his hair is tied in a loose ponytail. his outfit is less flashy, more modest, more brown than black. a red bandana is tied around his neck.
not-boothill rolls a few more notes from the harmonica, eyes calm and closed, before he's suddenly interrupted by a small but jarring sound. he lowers his hands and smiles fondly at something in front of him.
a baby in soft clothes, likely no more than a year old, is on her belly on the blanket. for the second time, she slaps her little hand against a very small four-stringed guitar lying in front of her. boothill laughs. ]
Shucks. Should'a told me you wanted to lead, lil' one.
[ he sets down his harmonica and reaches to pull her into his lap. the baby eats her tiny fist as he lifts the tiny guitar for her to grasp. as soon as she takes it, she waves and bonks it harmlessly on his leg as he picks up his harmonica again. ]
All right now. I'll follow you, all right, Clem? [ he readjusts the guitar in her hand, facing it upwards, and immediately she starts slapping it again. his deep chuckles shake his shoulders. ] All right, all right...
[ it's a brief, fleeting, golden moment. the sounds of a perfect duo fade as the scene is swallowed again by blackness. ]
[ that's when pickles will realize that someone is standing still behind him—boothill again, only this time, he's exactly as pickles knows him to be—and they're back in front of barks & waffles.
boothil shakes his head and blinks hard, seeming to come to. ]
[ Pickles couldn't turn himself away from the memory. It's peaceful, calm, and there's Boothill in a familiar, yet not quite so appearance. How he'd love to sit next to them and enjoy the atmosphere... but then the memory fades. Pickles turns around to see Boothill as he is now. ]
[ boothill stares at pickles, hands held out in front of him. he slowly looks down and back up again as if something just vanished from his hands. and it sort of did.
he lowers his hands to his side. for the first time, he looks incredibly somber. many people here have called him a father. he's starting to believe it. ]
[ here we are sir pickles... the library at ebonbriar academy (pic in case we need to reference it again). they can explore the other grounds, but pickles can introduce him to his favorite authors or what have you over here.
boothill is looking at that giant egg embryo thing in the cradle at the center of the room, scouring all angles of it. ]
Holy forkeroni. I saw it through the screens, but... What the fudge is this thing anyway?
[ He would introduce Boothill to his favorite books, but he's not sure if Boothill would be even remotely interested. Instead, he puts his paw on the cradle that houses the huge egg.
The puppy says the birth of the summonable god would be a very wild guess. ]
[ POOR PICKLES is going to get a ton of amniotic fluid and eggshell barreling at him. an aggressively horned?? creature comes sliding out onto the floor, filling the area with grossness. boothill stands there in shock as the fluids run up to his ankles.
well. he doesn't know what else he expected honestly. ]
Muddle-fudger... Now that I got a good look at it, what in the wubbaboo is that forkin' thing?
[ Pickles yelps and then shakes after getting back up. This reminds him of being birthed as a dingy puppy--no. He has no idea what a wubbaboo is, but he cannot assume that this creature is dead, so he pads on over to tear off its neck, if it has one. Fuck these horns.
Anyway, the little baby thing is dead for real. Hope the mom doesn't come back. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
w2 monday
Charlton: Part 1
[ In London of the 1960s, the traditional close-knit family gradually fell behind the mainstream, while pets started to play a more important role in the bonding between family members. More and more people went into the bustling pet stores to find a fluffy, energetic new member for the family. Compared to all other pets, there is no doubt that the welcoming puppies were the most popular one. They would walk in circle around you while wagging their tails, rub their teeth against your legs, bark to call for the frisbee or ball in your hand. Apparently, no one could resist such temptation.There are always loners, however, even among the social puppies in the most professional kennel. That black-and-white figure hid himself at the rear of the cage, his eyes piercing through the jagged crimson bars and the busy crowd to reach some corner outside the window which no one noticed. He liked being alone, but he didn't like being lonely. A small puppy barely at a month old sits by himself in the corner of the back of the cage. He thinks about how fast his fellow brethren are taken from the kennels, and his mother eventually left as well. A puppy with no energy would look sick, and no one wanted to adopt a dog that was sick (he wasn't sick). Even then, he found himself at peace that no one would bother him.
"Hey buddy!"
A pair of rough hands interrupted his tranquility. The owner of those hands rubbed his neck and chin intimately as if they were close friends in reunion.
"Look at this little philosopher with deep eyes. You are the most special dog I've ever seen."
He also memorized the face of the man by heart. The man's name was Charlton and as he introduced himself, he carried the small puppy in his hands, cradling him lovingly. The puppy melted into the warmth.
Before he put his front paws onto that grey-and-white window at registration, his friend in red and white shirt just carefully wiped a pair of goggles and put it around him.
"Name... I'll call you Pickles!"
It was an ordinary day, until now. ]
no subject
and then pickles is no more! and maybe neither is boothill? he's suddenly surrounded in pitch black, his feet making no sound even as he tries to break into a sprint. no, as soon as he takes a few steps, the blackness diffuses and reveals the kennel and its residents. how the hell did boothill even get here? did the mall do this? that new store?
he has no moment to question it all. instead, he watches as the pup is slowly left behind and then finally found by a seemingly warm, caring, happy individual.
pickles. this is pickles' childhood? boothill watches in disbelief, trying to fathom the situation, but the scene itself makes sense as the basis for the lovable, intelligent dog the sacrifices and overseers know and love.
the puppy is small, and perhaps he shouldn't try to disturb the scene at all, but boothill can't help taking a few steps forward into the vision and reach out towards the puppy. ]
Pickles? That you, boy?
no subject
Charlton: Part 2 (FIN)
[ The scene before Boothill shifts into a 1960s London apartment with the sun shining through the window. It's a peaceful day, and there's a bulldog in the same home too. The dog's name is Wendy. For breakfast, Pickles eats shortribs out of a can with Wendy, sometimes Wendy sings her passionate howls to Pickles that he turns down every single time. As Pickles grows up, he's always at his deep blue dog bed with a tag that has his name on it with a big book on the floor at 7 PM sharp every night. He turns each page with his paw. Upon taking a peek at it, you'll see that it's a rather... complicated book--The Republic by Plato.Charlton is watching the TV and he occasionally looks back behind the couch to watch Pickles so into reading his book with a lot of fondness.
"He's the most special dog in the entire world. The rhythmic sounds he makes sometimes sounds as if he's actually talking to me."
Charlton told his friends once upon a time.
It was a really peaceful time. ]
[ The actual Pickles shows up as the memory disappears, welcoming the black void once more. ]
no subject
when pickles appears in the void, boothill isn't there to greet him, seeming to have vanished as soon as pickles stepped inside. ]
SCENE I
[ first is the gust of cool wind from behind—not harsh, but strong enough to make one close their eyes. the sound of rustling leaves follows quickly behind it, then a running stream, then faraway birdsong.
blink and the view is suddenly and perfectly picturesque: a clearing by a healthy, freshwater creek. the air smells crisp and clean, refreshingly cool with every inhale. ancient trees stand stalwart as guardians around the periphery, leaning over the stream as it stretches into the distance, their branches stretching high overhead. the sun filters in through bright green leaves, and its light reflects in little white mirrors against the water. salmon swim as if floating in air, their images rippling as dragonflies and pond-skippers disturb the water's surface.
a velvet-smooth drone from a harmonica comes from the grassy patch nearby the stream. the source of the sound is a young man in the clearing, seated on a blanket. on closer inspection, one can see that it's boothill—though his name was something else at this point, when he was still made of flesh and blood. his skin in general is noticeably tanner, rough with scars around his arms. his hair is tied in a loose ponytail. his outfit is less flashy, more modest, more brown than black. a red bandana is tied around his neck.
not-boothill rolls a few more notes from the harmonica, eyes calm and closed, before he's suddenly interrupted by a small but jarring sound. he lowers his hands and smiles fondly at something in front of him.
a baby in soft clothes, likely no more than a year old, is on her belly on the blanket. for the second time, she slaps her little hand against a very small four-stringed guitar lying in front of her. boothill laughs. ]
Shucks. Should'a told me you wanted to lead, lil' one.
[ he sets down his harmonica and reaches to pull her into his lap. the baby eats her tiny fist as he lifts the tiny guitar for her to grasp. as soon as she takes it, she waves and bonks it harmlessly on his leg as he picks up his harmonica again. ]
All right now. I'll follow you, all right, Clem? [ he readjusts the guitar in her hand, facing it upwards, and immediately she starts slapping it again. his deep chuckles shake his shoulders. ] All right, all right...
[ it's a brief, fleeting, golden moment. the sounds of a perfect duo fade as the scene is swallowed again by blackness. ]
[ that's when pickles will realize that someone is standing still behind him—boothill again, only this time, he's exactly as pickles knows him to be—and they're back in front of barks & waffles.
boothil shakes his head and blinks hard, seeming to come to. ]
What in the forkin' fudge...?
no subject
Woo...? Woof, woof.
[ The puppy says you are a daddy. ]
no subject
he lowers his hands to his side. for the first time, he looks incredibly somber. many people here have called him a father. he's starting to believe it. ]
I was. Not no more.
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[ Pickles tilts his head.
The puppy apologizes, but hopes that you treasure this memory. ]
no subject
I do. One of the best ones I got.
[ he reaches to pet pickles's head and rub his ears with both hands. ]
Bet you treasure yours too. That owner a'yours knew exactly what he got, huh? A special one. You can read, boy?
no subject
[ Pickles looks a bit downtrodden at that.
The puppy says his favorite thing to do is read books. Regarding its owner, it feels... mixed feelings about him. ]
no subject
Mixed? What d'you mean?
feel free to drop since it's been too long!
Woof, woof. Woof.
[ The puppy says it returned home, where its owner kicked him out violently and the citypeople all hated the puppy. ]
it's ok!! if you wanna handwave the rest we can too 🥺
then that comes out. at least boothill was already bracing himself for bad news, but this? happening to the goodest boy ever? ]
Pickles... what in the fudge happened?
w5 monday
boothill is looking at that giant egg embryo thing in the cradle at the center of the room, scouring all angles of it. ]
Holy forkeroni. I saw it through the screens, but... What the fudge is this thing anyway?
no subject
[ He would introduce Boothill to his favorite books, but he's not sure if Boothill would be even remotely interested. Instead, he puts his paw on the cradle that houses the huge egg.
The puppy says the birth of the summonable god would be a very wild guess. ]
no subject
Think we should try to smash it anyway?
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The emotion here is excitement. Let's fucking go!!!!!! His tail wags a lot. ]
Woof! Woof!
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All right then, partner! Let's get to it then!
[ this is so stupid. boothill can shoot and also kick, so he's getting into a ready position. ]
You wanna go at it first? If you ain't, I'm gonna bust it right open!
no subject
[ The puppy says it will go after you.
Can't wait to do a follow up attack!! ]
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[ THERE HE GOES he steps back and gets a running start before swiping his metal heel in a powerful kick across the egg's surface.
it cracks it significantly, but it can take another hit for sure to finally bust it open! boothill hops until he's back on his feet. ]
All right, bud. Go for it!
no subject
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well. he doesn't know what else he expected honestly. ]
Muddle-fudger... Now that I got a good look at it, what in the wubbaboo is that forkin' thing?
no subject
Anyway, the little baby thing is dead for real. Hope the mom doesn't come back. ]
no subject
boothill gets to watch this happen with a little bit of visceral horror but also this is metal as hell and he's not afraid of blood. ]
Holy forkeroni... [ whistles! ] You sure don't leave no room for doubt!
[ he sloshes on over to the dead bleeding creature and tries not to slip!! ]
Dead, right? ...Think we should bury it?