Authors note: warning for mild cursing, mentions of blood. Feb. 6th is the Host's birthday! Same birthday as me! I'm more excited about the Host's birthday than mine though, lol. Wrote this a while ago on Tumblr.
The Host sits at his desk, surrounded by multiple computer monitors that supplied the only light in the room, dimly illuminating his face. The room is dark and cluttered yet meticulously organized, smelling of old books with the faint metallic scent of blood, due to the overflowing trash bin of crumbled papers and old bandages. The interior decorating is dark, full of crisp monochromatic shades. Color didn't really matter to the Host, knowing that he can't really see it.
The Host runs his fingers through his hair, pulling it neatly back. He sighs. How long has it been since he ate? A day or so at least. The Host tended to forget to take care of himself when he was in a working mood. He knew Dr. Iplier would scold him for that later. The Host decides to take a break and eat something light, groaning as he pulls himself out of his chair. Standing up on unsteady legs, he tightens the bandage around his eyes as he mentally prepares himself to encounter the other egos, leaving the room.
The Host comes back to his room a short while later. He is surprised that the other egos weren't out and about as they usually were. The chances of not seeing or hearing any of them were slim, especially considering how many of them there actually were. He never really enjoyed having so many noisy people here, so he was happily surprised by their disappearance.
At least that's what he told himself.
He would never say it, but he enjoyed the presence of the other egos, even if it was just him listening to them vent. He even considered it more satisfying than just controlling people like fictional characters of his creation- it was harder to get an intelligent conversation like that. Sure, they might not ask much about him, but that didn't really matter. The only person who he considered himself close to was Dr. Iplier, since he was a regular patient, and Darkiplier, since he was used as a valuable informant. He felt appreciated when they would ask for him, even if it was just for a check-up or for some insight. But most of the time, it would just be him, by himself, in his room. The Host liked the quiet, but he didn't like being alone.
He thinks about using his clairvoyant abilities to find their locations but then decides against it. The other egos don't seem to notice him much anyways, and they probably enjoy their privacy. They might not take kindly to him snooping in on their private life, especially since they aren't close.
He sinks back down into his chair, letting out a deep exhale. There is something on his desk. The Host takes it tentatively, feeling and turning it around in his hands. It is a thick, plastic coated paper, the size of a small poster. The edges were crisp and sharp, smelling strongly of plastic and packaging. He inspects it further, beginning to narrate in a low monotone voice:
"The camera zooms into the small poster in the Host's hands. In it, there is a Stock photo picture of a typical looking man, peering through a pair of large black binoculars. Words at the top spell out a message in bright, capital, block letters: 'SEEING IS BELIEVING'. "
The Host groans, interrupting his narration and sinking lower into his chair. "They do know I'm fucking blind, right?" he mutters. This was probably some practical joke from one of the other egos. He then continues:
"The poster was dropped off while the Host was not in his room, the deliverer of the poster in question being Dr. Iplier." The Host never thought that the doctor would stoop that low. Clearing his throat, he continues again:
"Dr. Iplier wanted to check up on the Host as well as give him the poster as a group birthday present from all the egos." The Host stops. He turns to look at the paper calendar (Markiplier's Tasteful Nudes Calendar) on his wall, lines in red marker crossing off the days. It was February 6th. It was the Host's birthday. It was his birthday, and he completely forgot about it. Heh, that's interesting. He resumes:
"Dr. Iplier looked around, the camera panning around the Host's dingy room. He was surprised that the Host wasn't there. He thought about how the Host spent too much time here instead of socializing with everyone. In his medical opinion, Dr. Iplier believed that the Host's living style wasn't very healthy. But then again, the same could be said for him with all his late nights and caffeine addiction. Dr. Iplier placed the poster on the Host's desk for him to find. He noticed the overflowing wastebasket that contained many bloody bandages. He sighed, seeing that they were all used and washed multiple times, the once white fabric now a stained and faded pink. He wondered why the Host didn't just ask him for fresh ones as he walked out of the room."
The Host stops narrating. He feels the fabric he has over his eyes, wiping his fingers across it. It was already soaked through with blood, excess dripping down his cheeks. He made a mental note to see Dr. Iplier for a new bandage later.
The Host switches gears and continues describing the poster itself. "There is a message written on the back," he says, flipping the poster over. "The handwriting is in a distinctive scrawl of Dr. Iplier in blue pen ink. It reads: 'Dear Host, I hope the poster wasn't too insensitive. Wilford was the one who got it, so you know how that is. Anyways, we just wanted to say that though you can't physically see, your unique insight is important to us, so thank you. Hope you have a happy birthday! From your friends,' -the message stops there. Below it, there are various names and short messages to the Host, most of them wishing him a happy birthday, the colorful words filling the entire space on the bottom."
The Host smiles. He rips off a piece of masking tape from the dispenser on his desk. He stands up with the poster in hand in front of the empty wall space near his desk. He turns the poster over to the Stock photo binocular-man and the "SEEING IS BELIEVING" side, about to tape it to the wall. He pauses. The Host then flips it back over to the side with the birthday messages, taping that onto the wall. He smooths the paper down before stepping back away to make sure of its placement. "Perfect," he whispers. Using his abilities, he begins to locate the egos (especially Dr. Iplier) to thank them. He begins to narrate…
All of the egos were (both figuratively and literally) piled up in various hiding places in Dr. Iplier's office and makeshift hospital. Dr. Iplier sat behind his desk with his head in his hands.
"Why does everyone have to hide here?" he grumbles, complaining about the damage and the increasingly large number of people crowded around him. There are loud shouts as well as the occasional screams and crashes, as expected. He figures that it was better for the mess to be contained in a single space instead of having the whole house look like a disaster zone. Yet why, out of all the rooms, did it have to be his?
"I would guess that it's because this surprise party was your idea in the first place," replies a deep, echoey voice. Dr. Iplier turns to glance up at the figure standing beside him. It is Dark with an amused smirk on his face at the doctor's predicament. Dr. Iplier sighs, seeing the truth in Dark's words and looking out onto the sea of toddlers before him.
Ed Edgar crouches behind a patient bed with Bim Trimmer, making a business deal (Ed wanted to advertise his baby selling business on Bim's show. Bim said yes, of course.). An infinite number of Jims fell out of the top cabinets and closets, scurrying around to find a story worthy of Jim News. The Silver Shepard hides behind a bundle of colorful birthday balloons in an attempt to blend in, but fails due to the fact that there were only two balloons there. Bingiplier stands in the middle of the room with his eyes covered by his hands, naïvely believing (upon Googlplier's insistence) that if you can't see the person, then the person can't see you. The King of the Squirrels stood snickering behind the closed door of the office, not realizing that once the door opened he would be hit in the face. Amid all the chaos, no one bothered to warn him.
Dr. Iplier groans, slumping over his desk. The Host was probably coming soon. He sighs again, slowly standing up while straightening the lapels of his lab coat. He attempts to get everyone's attention, but no one was listening. Dr. Iplier turns to Dark as a silent plea for help. Dark smirks mischievously and clears his throat, standing up straighter with his hands held loosely behind his back.
"SILENCE," he barks, his voice booming. Dark's red and blue aura flickers menacingly behind him. All was silent. "Everyone has to hide quietly until the Host comes because if I find you, you be punished by me… personally," he growls. No one moved. "NOW," Dark bellows, the egos silently scrambling around to hide. Dark smiles, savoring the intimidation and fear they felt.
Even Dr. Iplier jumped a little at Dark's outburst, shivering from the intensity of his commands. It didn't help that he stood right next to Dark- the volume itself made it hard for him not to cower in fear. But Dark would never actually punish another one of the egos, right? He didn't feel like asking.
All of the egos were able to hide in record time, the room becoming silent once again. "Thanks for that," Dr. Iplier whispers to Dark.
"Anytime," Dark replies, still unable to wipe the content smirk off his face.
"Aren't you going to hide?" the doctor asks, seeing that Dark was the only besides himself that wasn't hidden from view.
"Yes, as soon as- wait," Dark says, pausing to look around the room mid-sentence, "where the fuck is Wilford?"
As if on cue, everyone's favorite li'l shit, Wilford Warfstache strolls into the room with a tower of boxes precariously balancing in his hands, kicking the door open with his foot. The door promptly slams into the King of the Squirrels' face.
"Where do I put all the presents?" Wilford declares excitedly, a large smile beaming on his face, completely unaware of the King of the Squirrels's presence. Dark gives Wilford a death glare, moving in to help get the presents and to scold Wilford for coming so late. Wilford then sees the King of the Squirrels squished behind the door. He moves out of the way.
"Oh, sorry about that, my good sir," Wilford exclaims, chuckling at his own oblivious attitude. The King of the Squirrels walks past him, rubbing his peanut butter covered face and muttering about how he was the king of the squirrels. Dr. Iplier advances toward him to try to access his injuries. The king waves him away and walked off.
"But you're dying!" Dr. Iplier calls after him as a futile attempt to bring him back.
Dark and Wilford finish arranging the presents on an empty patient bed, the packages of various sizes and colors covering the entire surface. Dr. Iplier marveled at the sight of all of the presents. It was nice for everyone to contribute something for the Host, even if he doubted the Host would actually use all of them.
"Where's the cake?" Wilford asks. Dark smirks, snapping his fingers to reveal a large birthday cake covering Dr. Iplier's desk. It was much larger than most store-bought birthday cakes, the size having to be enough for all the egos to share. The words "Happy Birthday Host" was written in neat cursive and the candles were already lit.
"Show off," Wilford muttered just loud enough for Dark to hear.
"Where did you get the cake?" Dr. Iplier interrupts, wondering about its atypical size.
"I made it," Dark says nonchalantly with a straight expression, then teleported away. Dr. Iplier decided not to press for questions, plopping back down into his seat. He peered down to see Wilford crouched underneath his desk, giving him a small wave.
The doctor sighed. Now to wait.
The Host finishes his narration. He pulls himself out of the chair, patting his pants down and straightening the lapels of his trenchcoat. "When will they ever realize that they can't surprise me?" he ponders aloud in a quiet voice. He leaves his room, mentally preparing himself for his "surprise".
He walks the familiar route to Dr. Iplier's office, not needing to use his abilities to see because he already memorized where to go. The Host stops in front of the door, his hand on the cold metal doorknob.
"Huh, 'friends,' " he wonders aloud in a whisper. He smiles, opening the door.