Are ya'll ready for Homeworld to fuck up everything we've ever known about Steven Universe on Monday?
Yeah, me neither. This was actually inspired by Mable's "Can't Go Home Again." Awesome story. Go check 'er it out. Yes, Mable's actually her name, no, she didn't get it from Gravity Falls, and yes, she does like Gravity Falls, though. I have no way to link it since Fanfiction's a bitch and'll eat up my links so just Google up the story with 'fnaf' at the end. Should do the trick.
I think.
Anyway, here's a thing, Now read it, 'n tell me what you think.
FNaF nerds; Olivia isn't the name of Afton's daughter. Just a placeholder till we find the real name, m'kay?
There were four.
But there was one.
One small, little girl.
On the first day, the girl came in, with a backpack filled to the brim with books. Baby could recall exactly what she was wearing, from the unorthodox purple bow on her head to the scuffed sneakers on her feet.
There were other children, two playing checkers on the table closest to her stage, and another, grinning up at her with wide, curious eyes. But the little girl hauled the bag up to a nearby table, sat down, and furiously began scribbling on a piece of paper that Baby could only get glances at through the middle of her song.
No matter. What difference would another kid make? Baby's only been alive for a couple of years, but she's been playing the same game for several lifetimes. It would always start the same. One new kid comes in and either explores the other rooms (while meeting other children and staying safe and away from her), or gets interested in her, and listens to her song.
Then there were the introverts, children who were scared of her, and didn't even want to say in the same room as her. Not like it bothered her. Hey, if you wanna lengthen your life by staying away from her and all the possible ways she could kill you, more power to you, right? The rebellious kids, the ones who didn't follow the rules and decided to sneak on backstage were often the ones were died sooner. Those were the easy catches.
But there were the select few who couldn't decide on whether they would be afraid, or curious. It made Baby confused, and it made her wary. Control, she reminded herself, she had control. She could predict which kids would die by the end of the week, strive to stay away from them in hopes to let their death have no effect on her, and then claim them when the time came.
But those kids, the anomalies, the aberrations, they didn't follow her as much as she'd wanted. They'd stay over at her stage for a second, get bored, and then interchangeably go from room to room, always coming back, always irking her with the fact that they had the power to change what they wanted at will.
How could they do that? Didn't their parents discipline them? It was unlikely that a child would survive an uncontrolled bout of shock, but there had to be ways to keep children in check, weren't there?
Didn't parents have the things she had? The women she'd seen, at least? She recalled a day where she had seen a woman with a rather swollen stomach, and a man next to her pressed his hand against it and listened, and talked to it as if there was a living, breathing child inside her. The woman said she had been expecting. Did they understand probability too? Could they control when and how a child would die?
She didn't understand. And Baby didn't like not understanding something.
The little girl, still scratching away at the paper, looked up briefly at Baby, still in the middle of song, and she smiled, her eyes absently returning to her work.
Well, she decided, annoyed as she finished the last lyric of her song.
An anomaly it is, then.
Then three.
The little girl wasn't there when Baby stepped on stage, re-introduced herself like she had been forced to practice, and then began to sing.
She wasn't here, she reasoned. The girl had smiled at her, not one of those nervous or curious or placeholders that Baby had come to familiarize herself with in her time of work, no, it was a small smile. Those tiny smiles little kids do when they meet someone they like or find something they enjoy. Not every genuine smile would reach your eyes.
It was the second day, she noted as she completed her song. As per usual, the children nearby would shyly approach her and she'd proffer her hand, colorful bulbs of balloons leaving her finger tips.
It was then, she had noticed, that the third child had left. That was fine, less to deal with.
But they were replaced. With a someone. A small someone. A someone with thick blond hair and a big pink bow and a tiny smile.
Great. This is just perfect.
What should she do? Well the obvious choice would be to shut up and hand the stupid kid a balloon, that's what she should do. But. She'd just. Stand there for a little while. Stand there and stare at a girl who was becoming more of a nuisance. Yeah.
But she wasn't alone.
In the middle of debating whether she should just give her a balloon or return to her stage because she had been gone for too long and her internal clock would go off and she'd be punished for her incompetence but the girl had seen her staring at her so she ideally needed to give her a balloon because she didn't want a tantrum on her hands and would she just calm down and stop worrying so much-
When.
Behind the girl, walked in another familiar face.
And there they stood. Baby, still on her knees because she was so goddamn tall and needed to in order to give that other kid a balloon, the little girl with the bow that looked like it'd been hosed down in Pepto Bismol, and the man standing next to her, her small hand in his grasp.
What.
What was he doing? Was he taking her? Why would he ever need to when he was the one who created her for this exact purpose? The other kids were talking to each other, distracted, they wouldn't know if Baby just took a step forward and inhaled the little annoyance right now, because if anyone was going to be taking those kids it was going to be her, not some middle aged man with a crazed need to tie children's souls to mechanical bodies.
Geez. When was she programmed with psychopathic jealousy?
How about, she insisted to herself, instead of thinking about all the ways to kill this kid, she'd think about what he'd do to her if she laid her hands on what he wanted?
The thought was enough to get her to stand back up.
"Daddy," the little girl whispered. She had such a small voice. Daddy? He was her father? That made more sense. Pff. No wonder she annoyed Baby so much. She was her creator's flesh and blood. Humans called those sisters, right?
She resisted the urge to slap herself across the face. She was better than this. She knew William wouldn't try anything new without at least changing her instructions first.
"Darling?" he had asked, tearing his gaze from her and smiling tenderly at the little girl.
Baby twitched. Ew. Why do people stare at each other like that?
"Her," the little girl began, pointing at Baby, who was still frozen because she couldn't decide on either killing her or thinking about the consequences. "I want to play with her. Can I? Please, can I play with her?"
His gaze hardened immediately.
"No, Olivia," insisted sternly. "You cannot."
Something in the little-Olivia's eyes made it seem like she wanted to protest, but then backed down.
Baby's gaze softened fractionally. Yeah. She knew what happened if you didn't listen to Afton. And, being his kid, meant that she had to put up with that all the time. Well, for as long as Afton was at his home, because he always spent most of his time underground.
"Okay," Olivia agreed quietly, the blond strands of her hair falling into her eyes.
Seemingly satisfied that she'd be complacent, as he always was, he patted her head, pressed his mouth to her forehead (why did humans do that?), and left the way he came.
Olivia sighed and returned to the same table she had been in since the second day, pulling a book from her bag and reading it absently.
"He lets the other children play with her," she mumbled into her book. "Why won't he let me go?"
Wow.
She.
She got it.
She understood.
Olivia was completely obedient. She repeated similar actions from yesterday. It was routine. Practice. By someone Baby had come to love and loathe. Olivia was his daughter. And she was human. Olivia didn't have as much control as she like, Baby noted from afar as she turned a page in her novel. The spark in her actions was gone, replace by another, something dull and aching.
Olivia was someone who was bound by the rules by the person who had created her, with no control on what that person did and or why they did that. She was refused things, simple things that shouldn't be refused to her. Baby, providing that she was a normal animatronic, should have been safe for Olivia to play with.
Should, being the operative word.
But Olivia understood. Olivia, providing that she lived with Afton, must 've had to go through the same things Baby did, right? She'd noticed her and what she'd done form the corner of her eye was she performed on stage.
Olivia would walk in with a bedazzled backpack on her shoulders, probably aligned by her father, and would sit down and busy herself with the contents of her bag. At exactly twenty minutes before closing, she would then leave in the same manner she came, always making sure to throw Baby one of her small smiles.
And for Baby, as much as she hated to admit it, had a routine too. Everyone did. And there was no skipping ahead, everyone finished their routine at the exact same time.
And Olivia, a human, a human being that should decide whether or not to play with Baby without consulting her father, was the first human Baby had met with no control on what they wanted.
Olivia wasn't an anomaly. The mere fact that Baby got this wrong should've irked her, but she tucked that away to deal with later.
Geez, she was an Afton. Not an extrovert or an anomaly or an aberration, or an extrovert.
Straightening automatically, Baby hurried onto the stage before her internal clock could alarm. She really didn't feel like buckling down in pain in front of the kids.
For her own pride, of course. She had control.
Baby told herself that as she began to sing, trying to ignore the tiny, secretive smile on Olivia's face.
Two.
Olivia had an affinity for bows.
The third day she came in, she was wearing a green one. It was big, and tended to flop in front of her eyes, which would result in laughter as she pushed it back up onto her head.
Other than that weird mouth thing humans would do when they were overcome with emotion (didn't they care for hygiene at all?!) it was something new Olivia had presented when she walked in.
As usual, she walked in with her bag, sat at her usual spot, and began to work on whatever she had brought with her. It seemed to be in important, as she was using markers and crayons and color pencils.
Baby peered at her through the corner of her eye as she sang. What did William have Olivia work on during her visits? Did she have assignments? Perform? It must be something important if Will wants it. If only Baby could find a way to convey this to her without actually talking to her.
William spontaneously decided that he didn't trust either Baby, or Olivia, and walked into the room, leaning his back against the door frame and looking between the two as if they were conspiring against him.
If she could, Baby probably would. She glared at him while she sang. Stupid walking flesh sack, walking around like he owned the place.
Baby had so many questions. What was it like, she would ask Olivia if Will wasn't flagging her. Is he nice to you like he isn't to us? Does he feed you? How do you humans eat, anyway? Why do you wear so many bows? Can I wear one? Why is your hair blond when Will's is brown?
Do you get sad sometimes? Does he shock you when you don't do what he tells you to? If you don't do what he tells you? Do you like to play make believe? Pretend? I've learned how. It helps a lot. Can I teach you?
What would you do, if you could play with me?
A pang.
Click.
Was she really thinking about playing twenty questions with an eight year old?
What a development. She was better than this, right? It doesn't matter that she met someone new, someone that has probably experienced something similar to what Baby has. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter that Olivia was probably to only human to ever really go through what Baby had gone through.
Olivia was just a kid! She didn't live underground get shocked and get physically removed from her body. She wasn't given a schedule that help the same magnitude as Baby and her friends.
But she was still given something. Even if Olivia hadn't gone through what Baby had on a larger scale, a smaller one would have been better than undergoing what Baby had to.
Click. Click.
Nope. Baby squashed those feelings down to the wires of her feet. Nuh-uh. Not gonna think about how relatable Olivia was to her, not gonna think about how the color green complemented her hair, not gonna think about the small smiles that Olivia always threw her way.
Nothing to see here. Move along.
Olivia, apparently satisfied with her work (she looked so much like Will when she did that and Baby had no idea how to feel about it), folded it up and left with it, heading to the hall that lead to the bathroom.
Right. Humans needed to...do that thing. She was never clear on that.
Well, now that Olivia was gone, Will had no reason to be there, and Baby knew that he knew that she was smarter than to stop singing (especially with a kid still around) , so he left. Olivia would be back soon, anyway.
The song ended, and it was her cue to get off stage and offer her standard. Balloons, and because why not, ice-cream, too. She had to keep a separate tank inside her chest, but it ends at her stomach, where the puckered hole lied.
The other child was fascinated by it, claimed a bowl, and began to laugh softly when the ice-cream sputtered from her.
She spotted Olivia at the end of the hall, looking at her with curious eyes. She tugged the sleeve of the man next to her, and pointed at Baby, saying something she couldn't hear.
It must not've been what Olivia wanted, because she pouted briefly and walked further into the hall.
Okay, Baby could understand why Will wouldn't want Olivia to play with her, but he wouldn't even allow her to get some ice-cream? Not even vanilla? What? He was the one who made her, he knew that she couldn't scoop anyone, not while the mechanism responsible had to lock up while she was dispensing.
Hah. Scoop.
The kid finished off the ice-cream with a swirl, and Baby carefully closed her stomach and headed back up onstage just as the music came on.
Reaching that point in the song where the instrumentals come in, she began to imitate a couple of moves that Ballora'd taught her.
Ballora was nice, if not a little confusing. She had a deep voice, with soft, determined tones that could send anyone crawling outside her room into a heart hammering frenzy. It was good for signing, but she danced more than she sung.
If she had the voice for it, why didn't she sing?
The answer came to her as she executed a spin.
Ballora was rebellious. In an awesome, awe-and-fear inspiring way. She broke the rules. She'd get off the stage just to annoy Will. She'd switch the controls for the panels. She'd play her music only when she got close enough to reach you without you running away.
That was when she could see.
CLANG!
Baby jumped, then cursed herself for being so off kilter, whirling around to find the culprit, a steel pipe, and a big, floppy green bow backstage.
She turned back around again, singing like nothing had happened, like Olivia wasn't bow-less, wasn't guiltily looking up at her.
But Baby wasn't upset at all. No, she just had this really bubbly feeling rise up in her chest and her faceplates shifted in such a way that her smile widened, and wow she should really get that checked but couldn't stop smiling so gosh-darn big because-
The damn kid really was an Afton, breaking the rules of her schedule. Then again, it wasn't Baby hadn't broken rules too, just not on the smaller magnitude of Olivia's slipup.
Still, though. Something else they had in common.
Trying to get ahold of her dignity as she sang, she twirled over to where the bow had fallen, close enough to the stage that she could reach it, but not close enough to be within eyeshot.
She swiftly snatched it up and tossed it across the room only for it to land there halfway, and carefully spun back in place. The other child looked like he had seen a Mandelbrot rainbow. Eh, it was fine. It was one kid.
This was Olivia they were talking about here.
The girl in question looked like Christmas had come early, scooping up the bow with a smile that could light up the room.
Click. Click.
Later, after Olivia and the kid had left (she gave Olivia a tiny wave goodbye and watched her face break into another big smile), Baby walked backstage, investigating. There was an old, broken pipe on the floor, and inlaid within the net of pipes that reached from the ceiling to the walls and through the floor, was a piece of paper adorned with starchy, inky, and waxy markings.
It was a picture. Of Olivia and her, holding hands on a grassy field, an ice-cream cone in Olivia's free hand.
Baby imitated a gasp, whooshing air uselessly into her body. Carefully, she pried the baby from its prison and turned it around in her hands.
On the back, it read out Olivia's full name, but it insisted that Baby should just please call her Olivia, no, really, it's fine, her favorite color (pink) what she likes to do for fun (draw), that her dad built Baby and her friends. She talked about her brothers, two that died due to what her dad calls 'mysterious accidents' and one that moved away because he was too old.
Olivia went on and on about how her dad had organized everything she'd ever known, how she had a checklist for everything she did when she came home from school. She said that her dad was getting sadder and sadder with each passing day, and that she didn't understand why he didn't want her to play with her.
But Olivia had resolve. And determination. She might as well come in tomorrow with a red bow just to prove it, because the way she worded it in her letter left something stammering in Baby's chest.
Click.
No.
Click. Click.
Stop.
Don't try to bring feelings into this. The day after tomorrow, a child will die. If Olivia gets close, she might see. She might see.
Taking a completely unnecessary breath that no, did not calm her down whatsoever, Baby stuffed the note into the compartment where ice-cream was dispensed.
She knew one thing.
Ballora was gonna have a hell of time wondering why there was a big tacky drawing tacked to the Circus Gallery.
One.
She did.
She walked right in, with her pink bedazzled backpack and jeans and a pink shirt, with a big, bright, obnoxious red bow.
Baby had to force her faceplates from breaking into another smile.
It was just Olivia on that day. Not that Baby didn't mind. Now she didn't need to hide if she slipped up. Thanks to that little drawing, Baby had a better understanding of how Olivia worked, and even gave her a big wave from the stage.
She would never get used to that smile on her face.
She had to get used to it while it lasted. Tomorrow, another child would be gone. Baby honestly stopped counting after the first year of her existence.
But eh, she could just pick the kid that was alone at the time. Right now Olivia was dancing to the song that Baby was singing and her hair was doing that thing where it fell into her eyes and god she was just so small and so cute-
Baby gravitated towards the edge of the stage, probably as close as she could be without getting dangerously close to her. She was surprisingly twitchy today, the limb tucked inside her tummy poking at the walls of her body.
Now was not the time for that, she firmly reminded herself. No, that only happened tomorrow. Nothing was as irking as the fact that she had no real control of the claw inside her. All she could really do was resist when it got twitchy, waiting, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. Only when she was completely alone with a child would she stop resisting and let her programming kick in.
It was an odd feeling. She'd freeze up, clamp her mouth shut, and come to a total stop. Then the doors of her stomach would flash open, the claw would impale, clutch, and then drag inside, and her stomach would close. It'd only take three seconds.
They'd stare up at her, confused, for a moment, just for a moment, then scream as they'd forcibly be plunged inside the darkness as she tore into them from the outside-
And then followed the thrashing, the kicking, the reflexes coming in to try to take her apart from the inside as they were churned inside her. The end result would make her feel swollen and sloshy while not really having an outward effect on her body.
Then when she returned home, Will'd lay her out on a medical table, remove the body, and scoop her for cleaning. That should've been the only reason why the scooper was used, honestly. She didn't want some random kid's fleshy gunk clogging up her wires.
And then repeat, at some other dumb and unsuspecting restaurant for another week.
Baby shook her head, barely registering the distance between them was shorter. Olivia would want her to have a good time, right? Even if tomorrow might be the last time she'd see her again.
Stop it, Baby demanded herself. She was ruining the good mood. And hey, since she had been doing nothing but sulking, couldn't she try to enjoy dancing with Olivia? Even though they weren't really dancing it was more of Baby twirling on stage while Olivia snuck closer from where she was?
Huh. Why was she? Was it because of her ice-cream dispenser? Turned out that humans when crazy for the stuff, especially little kids.
How could they even eat it? Humans chew it into goopy mush, swallow it and then it just comes out of them? It sounds awful. And it's not exactly pleasant when she dispenses it, either.
Buuuut...
Would Olivia like ice cream?
Baby saw her point to her only yesterday and ask Will, only for him to refuse. It would be so easy to give her some, right? And with her claw on lockdown, Olivia'd be safe.
"Daddy isn't watching."
Baby blinked. Had she heard that right?
Olivia wasn't dancing anymore. Instead she looked up at Baby with big, pleading green eyes. She was gripping the edge to the stage.
"Don't...don't tell daddy that I'm here. I wanted to play with you too."
Bewildered, Baby took a step back, and Olivia pushed herself up onstage.
Click. Click.
No.
Click. Click. Click.
NO.
This shouldn't be bothering her, none of this should be bothering her, she had control, she had control, she was fine. Everything was okay.
...Except for the fact that everything was not okay! Why was she backing away from a little girl who barely even reached the height of her chest? Why were her sensors so blurred and foggy? What was she supposed to do? On one hand, it's a child, and the limb inside her is already tapping on the walls of her stomach, just begging to be released, and on the other, something inside her was telling her that no, this was not just a child, this was Olivia, stop being so paranoid!
Just calm down. It's fine. If she could just get away from Olivia, everything would be okay. She could get the upper hand in this. This little girl (Olivia! Not just a little girl!) would be fine, everything would be just dandy, and oh god would she just get away?
"I don't know why he wouldn't let me come see you," Olivia murmured softly, raising her hands in a placating gesture, as if that would ever calm Baby down. "You're wonderful!"
Click. Click.
Stop it. That's nice and all, 'Livia, that you think so highly of her, she's flattered, really, but just do Baby a favor and scat. Go somewhere safe.
"Where did the other children go?"
God, where was that goddamned Afton when you needed him?
"Hey, wha's wrong?"
I'm both upset and elated that you want to play with me but mostly upset because I don't want you to get hurt and I need you to leave me alone right now before I accidentally kill you on purpose.
"Why're you so scared? 'M not gonna hurt you," Olivia pleaded once Baby was at the far wall of the stage.
I know that, it's not me I'm worried about, it's YOU-
"I just..." Olivia trailed off, reaching out to Baby's stomach with her right hand. "Wanna..."
Fine, she forced out. Olivia probably just wanted some ice-cream, and she could do that, right? It'd be fine. Why was she acting this way only when Olivia had come closer to her? Was it her coding? It shouldn't be affecting Baby this muuuch please please please go away please I really don't want to hurt you I've only known you for so long, please!
Control, control, control! No, she was not going to think about how much she was going to miss the small smiles Olivia had, why was she even thinking about her death when Olivia was still alive, right in front of her with her eyes full of determination and a bow on her head (Baby would've laughed at the scene; she was backed up against a wall and freaking out because an eight year old wanting to touch her stomach) and her mouth set in a sort of-pout-but-not-really, framed by the hair that would fall into her eyes and the skin still flush with life, all poised right in front of her, standing, staring, reaching, as the primary purpose that kept Baby alive lurched from inside her and took and claimed-
For a girl with a small voice, Olivia packed a shrill scream. It hollowed her out as she was scooped into air, the lights of the stage casting a grotesque image as she was brought inside the darkness, her screams causing Baby to quake and shiver and drop to her knees and hold her stomach with one hand as if that would fix anything, because the screams had ended with a wet thump and silence.
Baby stared at the red bow where Olivia had stood.
Then her last question was answered. All the children rushed in, smiling, excited because their favorite ol' animatronic had a song for them, right?
Baby stood up abruptly, and stared back at them, griping her microphone in her hand.
Right.
Feeling swollen and sloshy and full, she brought the microphone to her mouth and started to sing.
I was an awfully shitty writer. All that stuff you see from 2015 was back when I was a washed up girl with crazy ideas with no way to convey them. Still, it's nice to see how far I've come. Wha'd'ya think?