Something landed in the willowly palm of a ghastly coloured hand. Pitch brought it between his index finger and thumb; platinum eyes narrowed as he examined it.
"A quarter?"
He did see the Tooth Fairy's arm pulled back, yes..
… but he didn't foretell a haze of blue and a cloud of ice dust rushing in front of him; prepared to receive the hit.
It was almost like time itself had turned sluggish. The Bogeyman saw Tooth's usually sweet face register in horror, at the realisation of what had just occurred, as did the other three — and Pitch was quite sure his had done the same.
A snowy white molar skidded several inches away from the boy as he landed on the ice of the pond, his staff clattering near him. He groaned as he landed; a cold hand pressed up against his jaw. The winter spirit's azure eyes darted from each of the Guardians, to Pitch, then his tooth, lying nearby. Tooth's svelte hands were pressed against her mouth, North cursed in Russian, and the other three remained.. hushed, even as they observed Jack sitting up; gingerly touching the hole, and examining his finger when he retracted it. Tooth was the only one who chose to speak.
"Jack! Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry. I-I didn't.."
They merely watched Jack's tongue play with the new hole in the backline of his molars. He spat a splash of red out, where it unintentionally landed underneath the fairy, who gasped, and retreated several inches.
What clouded Pitch's mind, was one question: why had he received the blow for him?
Nobody uttered a word — it didn't even seem like anyone breathed — as Jack slowly rose to his feet. With a small smile, he moved over to Pitch, seizing the quarter out from between his fingertips.
"I believe this is mine."