Horizon's my target

Chapter Six: Life as an option

Fundy cautiously entered the dank, dark basement room his father had spent so many countless hours in. He wrinkled his sensitive nose as the scent of smoke and wet stone hit him. In an attempt to remedy this, he held his shirt sleeve over his nostrils, effectively dulling the smells just a bit.

"Dad?" He called out cautiously. "Y-you there?" When he was upstairs, he had heard the trapdoor swing open and shut behind him, so he'd thought- He shook his head, trying to shake the thoughts from his head. Best not to get his hopes up just yet right?

"Dad? Are you... are you alive?" He called out in a heartbroken voice once more. He stared around the room with large hopeful eyes, thinking that maybe, just maybe today would be the day-

He hated the way his heart leapt with sudden joy as he heard something fall behind him, only to turn around and find out it was only an inkpot his clumsy tail had knocked to the ground. He cursed as he realized there was now a thin trail of ink spilling from the lid.

He quickly picked it up, screwing the cap on tighter before placing it back on its proper place on the desk behind him. He sighed, taking one last look at the small puddle of ink on the floor. He scrunched his nose up angrily, feeling hot tears prick his eyes before hastily wiping them away, whispering "Dammit, I thought-" He sighed, then whispered in an even quieter, somehow more broken tone: "You're such an idiot Fundy; why would he come back for you." as he turned and started walking away. From the distance as Fundy descended up the stairs one could faintly hear the words:

"Why did I even try?"

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Meanwhile, Ghostbur opened his eyes to find himself in what appeared to be a train? (yea, no shit Sherlock w e o w hes a genius-) He slowly got to his feet, stumbling slightly as the train rocked him gently. He looked to his side, taking in his surroundings: dark grey interior, with poles and rings on the ceiling to hold onto. There were dark burgundy red seats, and floors of the same color. Besides that, the hallway seemed to go on forever: just rows and rows of seats as far as the eye could see, eventually fading into darkness at the 'end' of the hall.

"Like it? It's not an amazing arrangement, but I vibe with it."

Ghostbur whipped around to face the voice, holding his head as it pounded from the sudden movement. Through his slightly closed eyelids, he could see him. He felt his blood boiling just looking at the cocky motherf-

"Woah, calm down!" He said, laughing lightly as he shook his palms at Ghostbur in a chill dude! type of gesture. Ghostbur hated how casual he acted.

"Who're-No, where are we?!" Ghostbur yelled, cringing slightly as his voice squeaked.

The other man laughed; he had that type of smug laugh, where you throw your head back and laugh like you've never heard anything quite as funny as this, yet also the type of laugh that indicated I'm-just-humoring-you-peasent. It was very... British, if Ghostbur could describe it. Like the stereotypical British kings in shows where like. Wait, shows? What are those?

Ghostbur decided he didn't like this place; it made his head spin, think of things that couldn't-no, DIDN'T- exist. It's almost like some kind of wall's being broken..... I hate it here.

"Aw, cmon!!" the man laughed. "You don't hate hate it here right? You've only been here a few seconds; you don't get that title yet!" He laughed to himself; Ghostbur didn't laugh along. (Because he's a SAVAge-)

After his laughter died down, the man looked down, holding his face in one hand and looking up at Ghostbur. He had that kind of slack face, with an intense look in his eyes that made Ghostbur send a shiver down his spine.