Feeling Reborn

Shenanigans of Questionable Interest

Arrghhhh blame my 1:45 AM mindset for making this all dramatic.
And I think that after entering the Naruto fandom and searching AO3 and Fanfiction.net for more fanfics, I just yeeted my whole writing style out of the window. RIP.

Oh, and enjoy the weird sketches.

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Morning came, and Erratum found himself curled up on the couch, right next to his children. The couch barely dipped underneath their combined weight, and he made a mental note to grab the best food he could get his phalanges on, (preferably takeout) and let Nil and Deviate eat their fill. They definitely deserved it.

Erratum was clueless when it came to the topic of food and life essentials in general, and it definitely showed in his lack of hygiene and self-care.

However, he did remember someone explaining the cons of not eating anything, a few of which were stunted growth and a weaker immune system. Of course, that applied to most Monsters, and he was most definitely not most Monsters. At all.

He also recalled a skeleton consumed just enough to maintain high magic and energy levels, seeing as they were made of the stuff and lacked a proper stomach to digest solid matter, not that many ate human food anyway. Eating more could result in a slightly chubbier physique, quite similar to most of the Sanses, and less could cause weaker bones and the long list that Erratum never had time to read. Yes, he took the facts (which could be false, by the way), from an ancient book in Nightmare's mansion.

And so, with the conviction to care for them to the best of his abilities, he opened a small portal, stuck his hand through it after surveying the area for living beings, and took a carton of eggs, some milk and several bars of chocolate.

He set them on the counter and stared at them for a while. It was silent. Almost too so.

Something.. Or someone was missing... It just felt too.. quiet? Too peaceful?

He abruptly discarded the thought, ran it through a mental Blue Magic beat up, crushed it to bits with his strings, then proceeded to dump the whole mess into the VOID. He wasn't touching that train of thought with a ten foot pole. The Voices weren't there, not anymore.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Time to make breakfast.

That, admittedly, was a mistake.   

Two hours later of cursing, burnt pans and cremated eggs, Erratum condemned himself to a diet of chocolate and take-out until he could properly cook.

First, he had tried to fry an egg following his shabby memory of Horror's scrambled egg recipe. He lacked the salt, pepper and copious amounts of meat, but figured those weren't an integral part of the dish, so he twisted the stove knob to high and set the egg on the electric stove before pouring milk over it. Nothing happened. He wandered to his knitting basket where he started putting together a small sweater out of tan yarn.

Shortly after, he smelled smoke. He froze, took a shuddering breath, dropped his equipment and bravely invaded the now-on-fire kitchen.

The first thing he saw was a pile of ashes where the egg, shell and all, used to be, a handful of small flames licking the cupboard frame and a campfire dancing on the ashes of the once-meal. He sputters in his panic, then proceeds to snatch the rest of the milk, which was resting right next to the eggs (this detail is very important), and tries to throw it. 'Try' being the word to focus on here since, due to his inhuman and in-monstrous strength, the milk carton burst in his grip.

And even though around forty percent of the pale liquid doused a good part of the embers scattered on the polished floor, it completely missed the main now-small-bonfire and instead entered the toaster, which was already smoking because of a significant amount of raw egg. This, of course, unleashed bright blue sparks and somehow even more smoke. Erratum flailed his arms about in a last-ditch attempt to smack the flames to oblivion. Instead, this inevitably and literally* added fuel to the flames and heightened the intensity of the heat.