"…what is that."
"Your present!"
And Manny be damned if Pitch wasn't smiling like a fool at that, if a person could smile and manage to look slightly maniacal and wild-eyed at the same time. But then again, it was the Nightmare King Jack was talking to. Not to mention he had found his special only in emergency late night snow day edition case of Starbuck's espresso shots missing from where he had lovingly hidden them behind one of those godawful and tacky ceiling cages (seriously, the whole damn place needed its own hoarder season on HGTV where some overpaid decorators sobbed and wrung their hands in horror at the sheer filth that had accumulated over centuries of Pitch's 'bachelor' stage. He claimed everything was a priceless antique of his Dark Age reign of terror but Jack begged to differ when he had discovered the vase he had knocked over one day contained the ashes of Vlad the Impaler. He had seriously questioned Pitch's sanity that day and what was left of his own) when he had returned to the lair. Personally, he was counting himself lucky that this was the worst of the trouble his lover had gotten himself into, he half expected the entire Nightmare roost to be decked out in garish and clashing shades of pink and purple with Pitch in the middle of them all speaking in a ridiculous high pitched voice and pouring tea for cowered and shamed Nightmares whom he had dressed up in colorful ribbons and asking in a sickly sweet voice if Jack would like to join the royal court of Theodora the Magnificent for afternoon snacks like he had done when he had once gotten a hold of Jack's super secret stash of North's strongest and exotic mix of cocktails. Deciding to act first and ask questions later, Jack had punched him straight into a state of unconscious bliss, he soon figured out that Pitch and several boxes of strawberry daiquiris did not mix into any state of okay. Pitch never did figure out why the Nightmares were so loyal to Jack for the next few weeks or why they seemed to be especially fearful of him. This latest monstrosity he should be grateful for…in some twisted sense. Carefully approaching his lover as if he would suddenly twist away effortlessly and cackle madly to spread his caffeinated fear in the hopes of world domination, Jack managed to take hold of his slippery robe and corral him away to the bedrooms, leaving the grotesque structure behind. Maybe with any luck he could call Sandy to knock Pitch out, though after a rather awkward situation at their last Christmas party involving a pie, a rubber duck, and a highly intoxicated and mischievous Nightmare King…that probably wouldn't be the smartest of ideas. Sighing, Jack resigned himself to a night of watching over a man who had the current mental and emotional capacities of a five year old, not that he acted any different normally.
"…so what actually prompted you to sculpt and erect a statue out of nightmare sand of me dressed in a tomato costume as a dancing show girl again?"
God, he was fucking doomed.
