How to Establish Your Gang and Take Care of the Children in It (On Hiatus)

Rule 29: Stock Up on Darts (And Companionship)

"There must be some connection," Nightmare muttered. "There has to be one. There can't not be one."

"Yeah, y0u've repeated that like five time$," Error said, in equal parts confusion and irritation. "I$ digging y0ur$elf int0 a rut g0ing t0 help y0u in any way what$0ever? Becau$e at thi$ p0int it'$ all y0u're d0ing."

"Hmm. You're right." Nightmare nodded. "It's just... hard to think around this spell, you know? I need to write this down somewhere."

"Where?" Error asked.

"The others will probably want to keep watch over you themselves," Nightmare continued, without seeming to notice the glitch's question at all. "But fuck them, I'm a grown ass adult- not to mention god- and I can handle myself. As for writing," He added, "I actually have a room for that purpose. Would you like to come with me?"

Error was startled into silence for a moment, unable to respond. "Y0u're giving me a ch0ice?" He asked.

"Hmm. You sound surprised about that. I may need more darts."

"Dart$?" Error echoed, nonplussed.

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"Darts," Nightmare said. Helpfully, he picked one up, holding it for Error to see.

They were in a room simply referred to as the Board Room. It was easy to see why it was called such- two of the walls were covered in pinned up papers and chalk or whiteboards that looked more written on than not. Some questions and titles stood out more than others (Missing Killer?, Three N.G's and Mother Spirit were a few he'd read as they'd walked in), but Error didn't have time to read or puzzle out any of them. On the wall with the doorway were a few desks and bookshelves that looked like they hadn't been organized since the Spanish Inquisition, so messy and covered with papers sprawled on every available shelf/tabletop that it looked like a space Ink would be right at home in.

What caught his attention, though, was the far wall.

It was one giant poster board, that actually looked like it was made up of smaller, overlapping posters. Each one was outlined in black, a square with a specific title to it. There was a bigger title directly in the middle of the wall that read Event Tracker. However, the word Event was crossed out and written above it was the word Evilness in a badly scrawled lettering. Each of the smaller titles were almost impossible to make out, as each square was peppered with darts. Only a few were less covered (one of the squares only had a handful scattered in the corners. It read: "Impalement, maiming, blinding, being fed piece by piece to a pack of wolves, and death if somehow still alive, in that order [T]").

Nightmare picked up a handful of darts, studying the wall for a moment before throwing them one at a time with a practiced mastery. Most of the darts landed in spots that were already filled with darts, and either bounced off or dislodged others to fall to the ground. It was then that Error noticed a pile of fallen darts, as well as a smaller pile of pushpins against the wall. It was clear no one had even thought to pick any of them up in a long time.

"We don't actually use this room all that often," Nightmare explained, despite the fact that Error hadn't asked anything. That guessing ability was a bit unsettling, honestly. "Despite how crowded it looks. Started off just as a place to write down my thoughts and theories as they showed up, since it was easier than trying to keep track of everything in my head."

"And... that? What i$ it?" Error asked, looking at the board-wall.

"It's... a way of keeping track of what I've done," Nightmare explained. His voice sounded forcefully flat, as if he was trying to keep any hint of emotion out of his tone. "Or what people say I've done. Normally I can filter out what's a lie or not, but even then... there's a lot to process. We had to expand on some of the boxes, actually," he added with a false cheerfulness. "Like, threatening someone else. We had to make some very specific categories, or else nothing would fit. Like- murder. Or torture. Or mass destruction. Or-" He broke off, folding his arms over his chest and drumming his fingers repeatedly on his upper arm. A nervous habit, Error thought.