![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sakon76I'll be posting a selection of stories today, throughout the day, as my gifts to all my online friends. I hope you all enjoy them, or, at least, don't get too annoyed with my spamming your friendslist. Happy Christmas, all.
Jack landed in what had once been Burgess, Pennsylvania. His home for over three centuries. Now it was an icy waste, worse than any winter he'd ever brought.
Nothing moved. Nothing breathed. Nothing lived.
Jack hated it. And he hated the one that had caused it.
But he was a Guardian, and a Great Spirit, and he had responsibilities. He would restrain himself from pouring out all the pain he felt onto Pitch's deserving head.
It wouldn't do any good anyway.
His feet told him that he was above his pond. He wouldn't have been able to tell by looking around. The snow buried all the dead trees. But Jack knew. He always knew.
The old cemetery was to the south, and he could always find that too. But he hadn't come to pay his respects today. Instead, he turned west, walking step by step until he came to the old, cold, dark tunnel that bared Pitch's lair to the surface world.
Taking a deep breath, Jack centered himself, and stepped forward, falling in.
Sanctuary: Pitch's Lair
by K. Stonham
first released 25th December, 2012
Ten Years Previous
"We know whose doing this is!" North had declared. He slammed his hands down on the long meeting table at the North Pole. "Pitch's!"
"Got no proof, mate," Bunnymund told him.
"Who else would do this thing?" Eros asked, his dark eyes fierce. "Who else would make this nightmare? None of us are this reckless!"
"I'm agreeing with you," Bunny replied, "but still, there's a lack of evidence."
Turkey lifted his head from his feathery hands. Toothiana hovered behind him, hands on the shoulders of her fellow avian. The world being destroyed on his holiday had been hard on the Thanksgiving-bringer; Thomas looked absolutely terrible. "We could ask him," he suggested.
The Groundhog, Phil, looked pale at the suggestion, and on the verge of bolting.
"Not you, ya pansy!" Bunny snapped at him.
"I'll go," Jack said quietly.
All eyes turned to him. "Jack!" said North.
Jack looked up, at the other Legends. "I've been to his Lair before. I know where it is."
"Not alone, Jack!" Tooth protested.
"A'course he ain't going alone!" Patrick stood, patting his arsenal of clover shuriken.
"I'll go too." Jack Skellington unlimbered from where he sat. His expression was serious. "Pitch has no power over me."
* * *
The Lair had looked much as it had the last time Jack had visited. The fairy cages still hung empty from the ceiling, the architecture still defied logic, and the shadows still made him nervous. The main difference was that the slate floor was clear, no mountains of tooth containers burying the surface.
Patrick whistled, looking around. His flame-red hair was practically a torch in the dim light. "Well, not a place I'd care to live, myself."
Jack Skellington, in contrast, was downright admiring. "Very classy and aesthetic," was his verdict.
"Each to their own."
"Can we just get on with this?" Jack asked.
Patrick made a half-bow, arm sweeping forward as if to say, be my guest.
Jack stepped forward, to the edge of the walkway, and yelled out, "Pitch!"
The echoes of his voice came back to him.
"Not even any bats," Skellington murmured disapprovingly.
"He's here somewhere," Jack said lowly. "I know it." He took to the air, soaring through the twisting shadows. With a gesture, Patrick cast a rainbow path and rode down it, balanced like a skateboarder on rails. Skellington followed him.
Jack's eyes caught on Pitch's globe. It was... nearly black, only a few glimmering lights left. He alit by the hollow structure. "Mort's been busy," he murmured.
"This wasn't my plan."
Jack whirled, staff at the fore. "Pitch."
The Nightmare King stood before him, but did not look at him. His eyes were fast on the dying globe. He looked... shocked. Traumatized. "This wasn't what I wanted."
Patrick and Skellington landed behind Pitch, one with gold coins at the ready, the other handling a bone-chain. Neither looked happy with Pitch Black. "So this was your mischief," Patrick declared.
"What did you do?" Jack didn't even try to keep the anger from his voice.
He got no answer.
Growling, he stalked forward, grabbing Pitch's collar and yanking the Nightmare King down to his height, blue eyes glaring into gray-gold. "What. Did. You. Do?" Jack Frost repeated himself.
Pitch was still looking past him, at the globe. "I spoke to the adults."
"What are you talking about?" Skellington asked. "They don't see us. They can't hear us."
"No." Pitch's voice, usually as smooth as sandwashed silk, was hollow. "But sometimes, if we whisper in their ears.... I knew the Guardians would only be watching the children. I never meant for this to happen," he said brokenly. His eyes met Jack's. "I can't fix this."
Disgusted and furious, Jack let him go. "None of us can."
"Not even Phil," Patrick agreed.
Pitch looked at the Leprechaun. "The Groundhog?"
Grass-green eyes glared at him. "He can only turn back time for small things. Not the entire world."
"None of us can fix this," Jack Skellington said, nodding. The dark holes where his eyes should have been bored into Pitch. "All we can do is ameliorate the damage."
"Ameliorate...?"
The tall, bony Legend stalked forward, jabbing a skeletal finger at Pitch's chest. "And you caused this, so you're going to help. Or gods help us, the Reaper will come for you next."
The Nightmare King was still, trembling. Then he closed his eyes and bowed his head. He took a breath, his hands fisted. "What must I do?"
Jack looked at the other two, then nodded. They needed help, no matter where it came from, and Pitch had to pay for his mistakes. "Get ready for roommates," he said.
* * *
Now
The drop into the Lair was longer than ever, but it was no longer as spooky. It was still cavernous, still reminded Jack of Venice as done by M.C. Escher, but now the Lair was filled with the sound of voices.
He landed on a ledge overlooking the central chamber. People, clad mostly in monochrome shades of black, gray, and white, went about their daily business as though living in the home of Fear was no big deal. Children, laughing and usually clad in brighter shades, ran around playing tag, or followed their parents closely.
"Not bad," Jack murmured, impressed by how normal everything seemed.
"I suppose they do have a certain charm in their naievete," Pitch said, separating himself from the shadows behind Jack. "Frost," he greeted.
"Pitch," Jack replied, straightening but not bothering to turn as the Nightmare King stepped forward to stand beside him.
"What brings you to my humble abode?" A gray hand waved at the crowd milling below. "Come to check that I am taking good care of my guests?"
"Not quite." Jack's eyes slid to the side to meet Pitch's gaze.
"What, then?"
Civil, Jack reminded himself. Civil. Pitch was in this as deep as the rest of them, and holding up his end of the bargain. "Do you have someplace private where we can talk?"
* * *
Ten minutes later, Pitch Black was stumbling backward in shock. "Wings?" he asked stupidly.
Jack nodded. "We think it's maybe a combination of exposure to the radiation, and exposure to our magic."
"But... but... they're human!"
"So were most of us, once."
The Nightmare King was not recovering well. His normally gray face was almost ashen.
Jack knew he should not be enjoying this. It was serious news, with serious implications. But part of him hated Pitch, would always hate Pitch, wanted nothing more than to twist the knife....
He didn't. He was better than that.
"We agreed that everyone should know," he said instead. "The rest of us are planning to tell those we're closest to first, let it spread out quietly... or at least let the humans decide how to break the news to each other."
"And by 'the rest of us,' you mean the Guardians," Pitch snarled.
Jack sat on his temper. HARD. "It's regarding children," he said, refusing to rise to Pitch's spite. "As far as I recall, you'd given up interest in children in favor of the adults."
Okay, twisting the knife just a little.
"You're never going to let that go."
Jack looked at the door that led to the rest of the Lair. "I haven't told them," he said quietly, gesturing with his staff toward all the humans who dwelled in this sanctuary. And by extension, meaning all the humans living in any of the sanctuaries. "None of us have. We have that much honor, Pitch. What you did is known to our kind only. But no." His eyes were hard. "You're not forgiven. You're old. You've watched them for millenia. You should have known what you would cause."
"So say your Guardians."
"So says all the Council."
Pitch's face fell at that.
"Even Phil, I suppose," he sneered, trying to redeem his weakness.
Jack nodded. "Even the Groundhog. Ten years isn't enough to get out of your probation, Pitch."
"What will be?" the Nightmare King demanded, waving an arm wildly. "A thousand?!"
"You get another chance," Jack said, sticking to the sentence he and all the other Great Spirits had agreed on, "when the humans are free to live outside our walls. Not before then."
And none of them knew how long that would be. Pitch's face fell into despair again.
"You wanted to make the world a nightmare?" Jack asked quietly. "Fine. You did it. Congratulations, Pitch. The thing is, you have to live through it, just like the rest of us."
Pitch had no response to that. Jack rose into the air, blew the dark room's door open with a wave of his staff. "I'll give your regards to the others," he said. Be the better man, Jack, something in his head urged him. "...If you ever want to talk, you know how to get in touch."
Leaving the broken King behind, Jack soared upward, seeking the open air and polluted skies that Pitch had made.
*~*~*
Author's Note: Yes, I'm once again borrowing Jack Skellington from Nightmare Before Christmas as the resident spirit of Halloween. And Mort from my other story Shadowlands, as Death.
Jack landed in what had once been Burgess, Pennsylvania. His home for over three centuries. Now it was an icy waste, worse than any winter he'd ever brought.
Nothing moved. Nothing breathed. Nothing lived.
Jack hated it. And he hated the one that had caused it.
But he was a Guardian, and a Great Spirit, and he had responsibilities. He would restrain himself from pouring out all the pain he felt onto Pitch's deserving head.
It wouldn't do any good anyway.
His feet told him that he was above his pond. He wouldn't have been able to tell by looking around. The snow buried all the dead trees. But Jack knew. He always knew.
The old cemetery was to the south, and he could always find that too. But he hadn't come to pay his respects today. Instead, he turned west, walking step by step until he came to the old, cold, dark tunnel that bared Pitch's lair to the surface world.
Taking a deep breath, Jack centered himself, and stepped forward, falling in.
Sanctuary: Pitch's Lair
by K. Stonham
first released 25th December, 2012
Ten Years Previous
"We know whose doing this is!" North had declared. He slammed his hands down on the long meeting table at the North Pole. "Pitch's!"
"Got no proof, mate," Bunnymund told him.
"Who else would do this thing?" Eros asked, his dark eyes fierce. "Who else would make this nightmare? None of us are this reckless!"
"I'm agreeing with you," Bunny replied, "but still, there's a lack of evidence."
Turkey lifted his head from his feathery hands. Toothiana hovered behind him, hands on the shoulders of her fellow avian. The world being destroyed on his holiday had been hard on the Thanksgiving-bringer; Thomas looked absolutely terrible. "We could ask him," he suggested.
The Groundhog, Phil, looked pale at the suggestion, and on the verge of bolting.
"Not you, ya pansy!" Bunny snapped at him.
"I'll go," Jack said quietly.
All eyes turned to him. "Jack!" said North.
Jack looked up, at the other Legends. "I've been to his Lair before. I know where it is."
"Not alone, Jack!" Tooth protested.
"A'course he ain't going alone!" Patrick stood, patting his arsenal of clover shuriken.
"I'll go too." Jack Skellington unlimbered from where he sat. His expression was serious. "Pitch has no power over me."
The Lair had looked much as it had the last time Jack had visited. The fairy cages still hung empty from the ceiling, the architecture still defied logic, and the shadows still made him nervous. The main difference was that the slate floor was clear, no mountains of tooth containers burying the surface.
Patrick whistled, looking around. His flame-red hair was practically a torch in the dim light. "Well, not a place I'd care to live, myself."
Jack Skellington, in contrast, was downright admiring. "Very classy and aesthetic," was his verdict.
"Each to their own."
"Can we just get on with this?" Jack asked.
Patrick made a half-bow, arm sweeping forward as if to say, be my guest.
Jack stepped forward, to the edge of the walkway, and yelled out, "Pitch!"
The echoes of his voice came back to him.
"Not even any bats," Skellington murmured disapprovingly.
"He's here somewhere," Jack said lowly. "I know it." He took to the air, soaring through the twisting shadows. With a gesture, Patrick cast a rainbow path and rode down it, balanced like a skateboarder on rails. Skellington followed him.
Jack's eyes caught on Pitch's globe. It was... nearly black, only a few glimmering lights left. He alit by the hollow structure. "Mort's been busy," he murmured.
"This wasn't my plan."
Jack whirled, staff at the fore. "Pitch."
The Nightmare King stood before him, but did not look at him. His eyes were fast on the dying globe. He looked... shocked. Traumatized. "This wasn't what I wanted."
Patrick and Skellington landed behind Pitch, one with gold coins at the ready, the other handling a bone-chain. Neither looked happy with Pitch Black. "So this was your mischief," Patrick declared.
"What did you do?" Jack didn't even try to keep the anger from his voice.
He got no answer.
Growling, he stalked forward, grabbing Pitch's collar and yanking the Nightmare King down to his height, blue eyes glaring into gray-gold. "What. Did. You. Do?" Jack Frost repeated himself.
Pitch was still looking past him, at the globe. "I spoke to the adults."
"What are you talking about?" Skellington asked. "They don't see us. They can't hear us."
"No." Pitch's voice, usually as smooth as sandwashed silk, was hollow. "But sometimes, if we whisper in their ears.... I knew the Guardians would only be watching the children. I never meant for this to happen," he said brokenly. His eyes met Jack's. "I can't fix this."
Disgusted and furious, Jack let him go. "None of us can."
"Not even Phil," Patrick agreed.
Pitch looked at the Leprechaun. "The Groundhog?"
Grass-green eyes glared at him. "He can only turn back time for small things. Not the entire world."
"None of us can fix this," Jack Skellington said, nodding. The dark holes where his eyes should have been bored into Pitch. "All we can do is ameliorate the damage."
"Ameliorate...?"
The tall, bony Legend stalked forward, jabbing a skeletal finger at Pitch's chest. "And you caused this, so you're going to help. Or gods help us, the Reaper will come for you next."
The Nightmare King was still, trembling. Then he closed his eyes and bowed his head. He took a breath, his hands fisted. "What must I do?"
Jack looked at the other two, then nodded. They needed help, no matter where it came from, and Pitch had to pay for his mistakes. "Get ready for roommates," he said.
Now
The drop into the Lair was longer than ever, but it was no longer as spooky. It was still cavernous, still reminded Jack of Venice as done by M.C. Escher, but now the Lair was filled with the sound of voices.
He landed on a ledge overlooking the central chamber. People, clad mostly in monochrome shades of black, gray, and white, went about their daily business as though living in the home of Fear was no big deal. Children, laughing and usually clad in brighter shades, ran around playing tag, or followed their parents closely.
"Not bad," Jack murmured, impressed by how normal everything seemed.
"I suppose they do have a certain charm in their naievete," Pitch said, separating himself from the shadows behind Jack. "Frost," he greeted.
"Pitch," Jack replied, straightening but not bothering to turn as the Nightmare King stepped forward to stand beside him.
"What brings you to my humble abode?" A gray hand waved at the crowd milling below. "Come to check that I am taking good care of my guests?"
"Not quite." Jack's eyes slid to the side to meet Pitch's gaze.
"What, then?"
Civil, Jack reminded himself. Civil. Pitch was in this as deep as the rest of them, and holding up his end of the bargain. "Do you have someplace private where we can talk?"
Ten minutes later, Pitch Black was stumbling backward in shock. "Wings?" he asked stupidly.
Jack nodded. "We think it's maybe a combination of exposure to the radiation, and exposure to our magic."
"But... but... they're human!"
"So were most of us, once."
The Nightmare King was not recovering well. His normally gray face was almost ashen.
Jack knew he should not be enjoying this. It was serious news, with serious implications. But part of him hated Pitch, would always hate Pitch, wanted nothing more than to twist the knife....
He didn't. He was better than that.
"We agreed that everyone should know," he said instead. "The rest of us are planning to tell those we're closest to first, let it spread out quietly... or at least let the humans decide how to break the news to each other."
"And by 'the rest of us,' you mean the Guardians," Pitch snarled.
Jack sat on his temper. HARD. "It's regarding children," he said, refusing to rise to Pitch's spite. "As far as I recall, you'd given up interest in children in favor of the adults."
Okay, twisting the knife just a little.
"You're never going to let that go."
Jack looked at the door that led to the rest of the Lair. "I haven't told them," he said quietly, gesturing with his staff toward all the humans who dwelled in this sanctuary. And by extension, meaning all the humans living in any of the sanctuaries. "None of us have. We have that much honor, Pitch. What you did is known to our kind only. But no." His eyes were hard. "You're not forgiven. You're old. You've watched them for millenia. You should have known what you would cause."
"So say your Guardians."
"So says all the Council."
Pitch's face fell at that.
"Even Phil, I suppose," he sneered, trying to redeem his weakness.
Jack nodded. "Even the Groundhog. Ten years isn't enough to get out of your probation, Pitch."
"What will be?" the Nightmare King demanded, waving an arm wildly. "A thousand?!"
"You get another chance," Jack said, sticking to the sentence he and all the other Great Spirits had agreed on, "when the humans are free to live outside our walls. Not before then."
And none of them knew how long that would be. Pitch's face fell into despair again.
"You wanted to make the world a nightmare?" Jack asked quietly. "Fine. You did it. Congratulations, Pitch. The thing is, you have to live through it, just like the rest of us."
Pitch had no response to that. Jack rose into the air, blew the dark room's door open with a wave of his staff. "I'll give your regards to the others," he said. Be the better man, Jack, something in his head urged him. "...If you ever want to talk, you know how to get in touch."
Leaving the broken King behind, Jack soared upward, seeking the open air and polluted skies that Pitch had made.
Author's Note: Yes, I'm once again borrowing Jack Skellington from Nightmare Before Christmas as the resident spirit of Halloween. And Mort from my other story Shadowlands, as Death.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2012-12-25 07:39 pm (UTC)i look forward to seeing how it turns out. *hugs*
no subject
Date: 2012-12-26 04:12 am (UTC)Little, tiny spelling mistake: millenia. Should be millennia.