A collection of inane nonsense (ranging from Error being reincarnated as Palette to Dust finding a new love for the color pink) circling around the many AUs and Multiverses of the Undertale world. Some stories will be connected; Others will be rando...
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(Warning: This chapter contains mild swearing.)
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Ink cheerily hummed as he got dressed in his usual clothing items- bandolier plus vials, gloves, overalls, sneakers, etc. Once clothed, his hand reached over to an obtuse-shaped wardrobe, which generally had his trusty paintbrush propped against it. When the appendage went to close around the object, it met with nothing. The five fingers merely grasped at thin air. A small frown formed on the artist's face. Thoughts whirling, colors and shapes flashed in his eye sockets with each considered possibility. Soon a green question mark and a red spiral remained. Sharp eyelights flitted to the empty space, examining the scene for clues as to why he grabbed air. His sockets narrowed a faction. Nothing laid there. Not even a stray brush bristle. That knowledge in mind, the senseless notions cluttering his head halted and formed a single question: Where is Broomie?
His brows furrowed, and a hand found its way to his chin; the spiral in his left eye socket swirled. Last night, the giant brush had been there. Ink distinctly recalled placing it against the dresser after throwing on his pajamas. However, that belief could easily be wrong given his poor, goldfish-like memory.
Maybe I moved it later?
Though, when would that have happened? After he had watched that weird movie about singing rocks or before testing the bounciness of his soft, springy mattress?
The skeleton chuckled at the thought, "Heh. That was fun!" Then the frown on his jaws deepened. "Well, up until all the jumping started to make me nauseous. Black ink is a pain to remove from carpet."
A dark stain sat where he threw up on the carpet. Despite his best efforts, he was unable to remove his namesake without leaving some behind. Blue probably had some great tricks for cleaning the substance by now. He'd certainly known Ink long enough to need them. The soulless artist began scanning the room. If he found his phone, he could ask his blue-clad friend about cleaning tips. Instead of continuing the search, he paused and internally scolded himself.
No. Ink, stay on track. You can always talk to Blue later, like at the meeting. Right now, you have to find Broomie.
His eyelights drifted over to the plush, bouncy surface he sleeps on.
Though...
Jumping on the bed again would be fun.
Ink pushed the thought from his mind and reminded himself of his current mission: Finding Broomie. And, unfortunately, not jumping on the bed, or talking to Blue, or solving that one thousand piece puzzle sitting on his livingroom's coffee table. He began investigating the room once more. Suddenly an excited gasp echoed across the room as a thought struck him, eyelights shifting into a yellow exclamation point and a pink heart.
"Broomie! Are we playing hide-and-seek?" Ink questioned, glancing around the room looking for his 'inanimate' companion. He quickly began wandering around and looking under/in random furnishings and objects. The effort proved useless. Broomie hid neither here nor there or anywhere. A blue teardrop and orange square replaced the previous shapes his eyelights took on.
The creative skeleton placed his hands on his hips, stating in faux seriousness, "As fun as this is, I do have an important meeting today; Dream will be upset if we aren't there on time. Pretty sure we are already running a little late. Too much longer and Dream will lecture us when we arrive- And we'll miss all the good snacks!"
Upon that realization, Ink fell to his knees and shouted a dramatic, "NO! Red has probably eaten all the high-quality chocolate by now. I won't be able to bribe Error into hanging out with me later!"
Elsewhere, in an endless plane of sheer white, a loud thump sounded over the unintelligible chatter of incorporeal voices. The sound's volume and overall unexpectedness startled the realms only known occupant. With narrowed eye sockets, Error looked up from his current knitting project. His glitches twitched upon seeing who/what dared to disturb him. A comically large paintbrush, which happened to be his mortal enemy's weapon, laid a few feet in front of him.
The glitch scoffed. "Oh-h, it's y-you. No better-r than th-that worthless artist-st of yours, I s-s-see. Al-always dropping in-into my home-e - unwelcome and unannounced - solely to-to irritate m-me."
Multicolored eyelights glanced around the space, looking for a blur of brown with a hint of rainbow. Error nearly sighed in relief when not seeing the artist anywhere in his void. A faint twitch drew his gaze back to the brush. He watched in mild disgust as the object's bristles squirmed and formed three tendrils, which it then used to begin dragging its wooden body. It moved further and further away (much to Error's delight), vanishing into the distance and, hopefully, leaving the Anti-Void to torture some other poor soul.
"E-ew. That-at damn thing i-is just as-as disgusting-ing as its owner-er." The destroyer uttered once he was positive it had left, adding under his breath, "C-creepy-ass brush sh-should have been p-put out of its-ts misery a long t-time ago. Fortunately, f-for Ink, I wou-would die before t-touching that fre-freaky a-abomination. Paintbrushes a-are not supposed to-to be sentient. Or move-ve, much less crawl a-away."
He tightened his grasp on the knitting needles, prepared to return to working on the barely complete scarf in his lap. However, a little something placed before him caught his attention. Error carefully pulled his red-rimmed glasses from his inventory and slipped them on. Lying in the spot Broomie once occupied was a thin rectangular item covered in a shiny plastic wrapper. The destroyer instantly recognized it as a bar of his favorite brand of chocolate. Blue strings snatched up the sweet delight, pulling it into an eagerly awaiting hand. A note attached to the outer layer prevented him from cramming it in his mouth. He shifted his glasses with a hand and examined the pesky paper, reading the words aloud in disbelief. "'From Ink'?"
Error grinned maniacally, shooting a glance at the yarn figures hanging above. Then a cold, low voice laced with malice and glee escaped the destroyer's jaws. "If Inkstain wants to play..."
