Puppets On A String

Ch.2 - Hanging Out With Old Friends

A/N:

Hi. 

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Error let out a sigh of relief, safe in the comfort of the white endless void.

Never had he thought there would be a day, week, year, decade or century where he would appreciate the confines of his quiet prison.

But...

Finally he was free from those skeletons who were bombarding him with questions. The amount of skeletons that were there was one too many. 

Seriously, how did they all fit there anyway?

Probably magic. The greatest excuse for things that don't make sense.

Anyways, there were too many skeletons. It was anxiety inducing.

Not to mention gross. Ew, people. 

He was relieved to get away from them.

I mean, one second they hated his guts (not that he had any) the next all they wanted to do was be around him.

All he did was talk to them! Which he already knows he's absolutely terrible at! 

They were insane, he's sure of it. 

He shuddered, thinking about the intense looks they gave him.

Ugh, eye contact. Horrifying.

But now, he had time alone. 

No skeletons, no questions, no hanging out, just him, his puppets, the voices whom for some reason were much quieter these days --thank the stars--, and the void.....

Error: ...

Error's Puppets: .....

The Voices: .......

THE VOID: .........

Okaaaaay, now he's bored.

Boredom, the bane to anyone whose existence is literally based on always having something to do. ie. Destroying Universes.

Letting out a low hum, his eye lights wandered around the white void as if looking for something in the nothing.

As he thought about it, he hasn't talked to his 'family' in awhile, maybe he should visit them.

He gave another scan around him and promptly decided visiting his family would be the best choice.

Summoning a portal, he went through it casually,

The sight that greeted him isn't what he expected,

...

He had appeared in the living room, the glass table that was supposed to be in the middle of the room was broken.

And by broken he means shattered. Completely. Even the parts that weren't glass.

There, in the pieces of the broken table, haphazardly lay Cross. 

Dust was laughing his non-existent ass off, his grin stretched on his face. Which wasn't for long because he tripped and slammed face first onto the ground.

Killer looked like he was dying, he coughed and choked, looking pained. 

Horror was eating some instant noodles on a destroyed couch, seemingly ignoring what was happening.

Nightmare was in his weak form, wearing a pink tutu, crown and pink apron that said, 'Kiss a nightmare' he was yelling at them, face turning purple quick.