Peace (The Silence to the Bells)

The Wayward One

Scattering lights lit the city aflame. Nothing noteworthy nor noticeable about the whole ordeal to the discerning eye, but anyone who knew the signs well could have spotted him from acres away... Could have spotted it from acres away.

The "man" was never inherently subtle, not one to feign normality. On a good day, it blended into a crowd with a strange and inhuman height, as if a man was haphazardly hiding poorly done stilts under his large and unflattering trench coat. Its shoulders weren't broad but fitted to a strong stance of attention, granting it the respect and attention that kind of being would accrue. The figure always seemed to cling to that famous and noteworthy yellow sweater his appearance had become synonymous with.

While Tommy absolutely despised smoking in every regard, this monster seemed to be built to make it almost a style choice. Finally were the glasses that laid themselves gingerly across its nose, fitting its face and completing an old yet timeless look to its exterior. Large round lenses that made its face all the more perfectly suited to the rat race they found themselves in, always obscuring those endless and empty eyes. So hollow and empty, holes that seemingly lacked an end.

Noteworthy towns, almost always in England. It never strayed too far from the usual route, only making divergences on special occasions it seemed. Not that anyone could corroborate anything else. The setting best suited for the figure was London if the sightings were to be believed. It was a maze built masterfully by time, complete with all the flaws that could grant it enough believability to be dwelling in such a crowded area.

The last five sightings were centered around the underground. The busy trams never let up only to be obscured by the torrents of people making it in and out of the town, hundreds of thousands every day. While more evidence points to this area being the place to look, it would be a wild goose chase to the normal person. A gold needle tucked tightly in the makings of a haystack that only grew and grew.

It would be pointless to search for this strange character. Sure, ignoring the argument that it may be human after all may give you some moral ground to stand on, but tell that to the searing glare of a police officer and the cold slap of handcuffs. To almost everyone, this cryptid was off-limits. No matter the stories, the legends, the hundreds of hours poured into his existence by hungry fans just chomping at the bit for any sign, The notoriety just getting a glance at this creature would get you, nothing was worth the risks.

And that's not accounting for the disappearances of those stupid enough to go searching for it.

So when Tommy first started considering looking for it he had to acclimatize himself to the immediate risks involved. Tubbo, his friend from school, had always claimed that these cryptid watch sights were full of hogwash. Stupid to give them more than a laugh. Sleepovers were one thing, he always let Tommy pour his heart out with his theories and ideas surrounding those creatures he so dearly loved, occasionally commenting on the nice craftsmanship of the person that wound the tall tale.

Eventually, once you get over the glitter and glare of the subtle starlight reality seems to set in. A cold and harsh unforgiving one that doesn't have time for silly monsters that come to snatch your appearance or monster crows with eyes made of rubies.

There was a point there. As much as the boy loved believing in that which you normally could not, making journals and google documents was one thing, and hunting what could be a very real and very dangerous man down in a metropolis designed to make you lose yourself. He has never been to central London come to think of it. Never had time for it, really. School chewed up about 3/4s of his entire schedule nowadays and the other half seemed to be solely built on kissing the boots of his current foster family.