Feeling Reborn

...Or not to be? (and found)

This is more of a descriptive chapter, and may be rather boring at times.

Thank you @Pooptato1341 editing these last few chapters!!! \^w^/

Picture there by natsunenuko on tumblr. From now on, I will try my best to credit the artist.

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Dream wiped the imaginary sweat off his brow. Although he hated these decorations, the others seemed to love them, so he had to love them and hang them up as well.

And they weren't bad looking; no, on the contrary, they looked like masterpieces belonging in a high-tier museum, not some large social gathering. Banners of shimmering, brilliant gold hung from the navy blue ceiling, the walls left alone to their celebratory dark blue, apart from the banner Ink helped Little (number 63) make, half in the more 'mature' zone, and half in the 'party palace' : "A toast to our victory! Spread the news!", it read. It would've been adorable in the way children blurt their thoughts out without thoroughly processing them first, if not for the dark story behind the cheery façade.

It was a sort of half-and-half scheme, one to please people and monsters' diverse moods, with one having navy blue walls, bread, finger foods, wine and a buffet table lined up with appetizers, and the other, the half in splatters of pastel shades of pink and mint green, filled to the brim with all sorts of sweet treats, fruit punches and soda, popato chisps, pasta and many other main courses you'd find at Grillby's. Balloons stuck to the ceiling with the power of static electricity, thankfully missing the four-tier cakes.

The term 'moderation' was a complete stranger to Ink.

Speaking of the midget, he was doing the last finishing touches to the party favor bags; 'little' presents that took over a quarter of the 10,000 square meter room, resting as a veritable mountain on a lovely oak table, all personalized capsules filled with one's interests. There were boxes the size of a fist and sealed with handmade bows, plastic bags tied with a ribbon and strange cylinders wrapped in foil. Those amongst many other shapes and materials were as good as crushing the creaking furniture.

It was extremely impressive, though, to have the temperance to paint each and every bag or container, fabricate the decorations and tag each gift with the name of the monster along with their number, to avoid confusion, of course.

Although, his corner looked as if a unicorn came over and literally barfed rainbows all over the place. Thankfully, Ink took the precaution to line the walls and floor with a white tarp; however the same couldn't be said about his clothes. There was so much paint, his tattoos probably had great-great-great grandchildren by now.

He checked the ornate clock floor. Yes, an ornate clock floor. A clock built into the floor, stain, dirt and scratch-proof. It read 1:20.

Most of the skeletons had returned back to their brothers, friends, parents, whomever was or wasn't waiting for them at home, leaving a select few to continue decorating, namely he, Ink and Haven. Classic had tried- emphasis on tried- to help, but fell asleep standing in the bread corner, confetti poppers still suspended in the air by his magic.

They had planned to commence the party at 3:30, but Dream reckoned that over half of the guests would arrive half an hour later; the time '3:30' was a clever guise announcing 'hey! Come over at 4 o'clock!'

Well, there were chores aplenty.

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In the end, everyone did come at four; it seemed planned, with the torrent of Monsters unleashed by the opened door so that Dream was drowned in the scent of stale blood, various burnt foods, the occasional repugnant stench of cheap alcohol on one's tongue and cigarettes, unwashed bones and the faint, holy tinge of fresh food, downright becoming his savior, and the pressure between bodies of various sizes. There was a slight irony to the party, too.