Filling out the paperwork with Gary took far longer than you had anticipated. You weren't too sure about the usual employment procedures in the food/showbiz/adult entertainment business, but damn was there a lot of contract signing. You skimmed them all of course and nothing seemed too suspicious. You're not exactly an expert in legalize, but nothing seemed like it was going to make you required to whack people or something. They were probably no where near as harmful as all the credit card contracts you had signed, then tried to escape.
After finishing up the last document and another handshake, the doorman and you parted your ways, him returning to the front, and you retiring to your new base of operations. With a smile, you pulled out your new copy of the key and unlocked the door. The room wasn't huge, but it wasn't claustrophobically small either. You took a seat on the surprisingly comfortable chair and looked over all the monitors. Your inkling back in Mama's room had been right; she had about a third more cameras on her feed than you. With how Chica had regarded her, perhaps she was the real security around here.
You were a little disappointed the contracts took so long, since it made you miss Mama's act, but you figured, being open all night, she would more than likely do an encore performance. As the hour ticked along, every 15 or 20 minutes, another girl would come on stage and do an act.
The first one you got to watch was Foxy. She wasn't in her usual pirate attire, but instead it was something more like a leotard and tights, again coated in a fine dusting of jewels and glitter. Her hook was no longer a hook, but instead a hand. She probably could pop it off and exchange them you figured. On stage were various kinds of gymnastics equipment, as well as ropes hanging from the ceiling. Remaining posed and expressionless and silent, the classical music started and she hopped onto the bars, spinning and holding herself up, and flipping onto another set piece after another. You had seen something like this in the olympics, but to see a robot do it was just unreal. In the process, her outfit was coming off, bit by bit, and falling to the stage below. She hung from a bar with one hand, then tore off the remaining costume with the other, leaving her in a thong and black pasties. She posed and twisted along the bars, giving some spectacular highflying views of her lithe, robotic form. She jumped from the highest bar, landing stiff on her feet center stage, her back to the audience. She bent over as far as she could and the patrons at their tables went nuts cheering. She straightened back up and turned, giving a curt bow before the curtains closed. You remained seated, but were indeed giving her a silent standing ovation.
Chica came on next, dressed in another clingy gown. This one hid even less than the last. She took her microphone and sung a sultry song about ways to please a woman. The entire thing dripped with innuendo and terrible dirty puns. She got down on the stage at one point, sitting at the edge and directly singing to a lonely looking fellow with a slice of Hawaiian pizza on his plate, as well as 5 or so empty highball cocktail glasses. He grinned like an idiot while she drew a hand up his chest and to the tip of his chin. He nearly looked like he was going to faint. Her eyes shot from him, to directly at your window. While the customers were none the wiser about the one way mirror, Chica knew. Her lusty expression felt like it was penetrating your soul. She got back up and slipped out of the gown, a shimmering belt of beaded fringe barely covering the expanse of her g-string clad behind. As she shook, the beads shivered and you were pretty sure you did too. She cupped her chest with an arm as she removed her bra and finished her song, apparently going without pasties, or giving the illusion of such, until she left the stage. With another wink in your direction, she was back in the wings. Before the curtain fell, you saw Bonnie scurry out and collect the chicken's dress. She paused when she realized the audience could see her, then the fabric cut her off from your view. You glanced down at your tight, straining pants. How were you going to be able to stand this job if this kept happening every 20 minutes?
A few minutes after Chica's act while taking a moment to kick back, you were startled by a sudden alarm going off on some of the equipment on your desk. Frantic, you scanned the monitors, then found the culprit. A figure in a black trenchcoat and brimmed hat was getting in the backstage through a firedoor! You shot out of your chair and grabbed your maglight. You had never clobbered anyone, but the blood pumping in your system made the idea of it pretty cool. And maybe defending the place from a real life crook would convince Foxy that you had more security prowess than she believed. Without missing a beat, you rushed out of your office and down the hall, ready to work for your job.
You hadn't sprinted like this in a long, long time. You were actually grinning to yourself. You never really questioned why in the world someone was breaking into the backstage of a burlesque pizza parlor, but then again, crime was a senseless act much of the time. Plus, you had to prove you had the stuff to work this job.
While it was probably excessive force, as soon as you laid eyes on the intruder, you rushed and tackled him to the floor like a linebacker. You pulled out your light and shined it on his face. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING BACK HERE?" you asked in your gruffest voice.
The middle aged man, looking terrified, sputtered out, "I-i h-have an appointment! A private pizza party!" He squinted his eyes to avoid the bright beam from your flashlight. You paused. You recognized this man. It took you a moment to fish his face out of your memory, but when it hit you it hit you hard.
"Mayor Nowser…?" you breathed. The man under you flailed at your identification. You got off of him and he scrambled to his feet. He quickly fished into a pocket of his coat and tossed two crisp $100 bills at you.
"You didn't see me." He said, dusting his coat off and heading toward the dressing rooms quickly. You sheepishly grabbed the money and got to your feet. You looked the cash over. It was real alright. Before you could ask anything else of him, he had disappeared from you line of sight. You were about to continue after him, when you felt something cold and metal on your shoulder.
"He always forgets the alarm code for that door," The tall vixen-bot stated behind you, tapping her hook next to your neck. You turned to face her, shoving the cash in your pocket. She regards the action, but says nothing of it.
"You guys do private parties…?" You asked.
She put her weaponized limb back at her side. She was in her default pirate costume again, eye patch and all. You thought it was silly to change out of an outfit then back into one every hour. If you were a performer you'd probably do like Chica and hang out mostly nude most of the time. But that was her decision, and you weren't going to judge it. Foxy responded to your question, "We do them all the time. However, the Mayor is a regular. What he calls a 'pizza party' is something else entirely." She waves at you to follow her as she moves ahead and leads you along.
She suddenly grabs you, luckily with her hand and not her hook, and jumps, snagging her prosthetic on a loop of rope. Some kind of mechanical hum kicks in along the ceiling, and the rope begins to ascend higher. You freak out and squeal like a baby. All she offers to you is a monotoned "Shh." The rope pulls the both of you up to a catwalk, its path branching and offering an overview of the entire backstage area. She dumps you onto the metal bridge and you clamor back into a standing position, holding tightly to a handrail. Fuck, you forgot you're afraid of heights. She moves along the catwalk and once more motions you to follow.
Quietly, you make your way along, above the darkened backstage. Foxy suddenly stops and points her hook down. You look in that direction to see you're directly above the main dressing room. There's no ceiling, so everything going on within is visible, sort of like a game of The Sims. You squat down, bracing a rail, to get a better look.
The Mayor is seated on a beaten up couch in the corner of the room, and on his lap is Chica, in one of her lavish outfits, laughing softly at something the politician said to her. She's got her arms around him and after whispering something to him, she kisses his cheek. The man kisses her back and cops a feel of her rather pronounced bosom. She playfully swats his hand and calls him naughty, you think you hear, insisting 'ladies first'. She gets her hands on his belt, and you're pretty sure you've seen enough. You glance up at Foxy, and she looks equally done with the scene going on below. Before you get an eyeful of the Mayor's cock, the animatronic beside you takes you back to her makeshift elevator.
Once you're on the floor and out of earshot, you have all sorts of questions. "Are they…? Do they…?" You stammer.
"Yes. Weekly at least."
"And he pays for it…?"
"In bribes to the owner as to not release the footage, yes."
"Do all of you...?"
"No, just Chica. She enjoys it, and it makes the owner money, so Mama has no reason to tell her no."
You stay silent for a moment, and Foxy starts to walk away. You're tempted to stop her, but your mind can't possibly think of anything to ask, at least not anything you deemed fit to ask a lady you just met, regardless of occupation, and being a furry robot.
"I will remind him to use the code when he leaves," she says as she makes her exit, "He won't forget." She pauses and cranes her head back unnaturally to give you a solid stare. "By the way, your tackle could use some work. You need to use your shoulders more."
You nod, then drag yourself back to your office. At least you didn't see the Mayor dicking a robot chicken today, but you probably wouldn't be so lucky in the future.
In the next few hours, you were lucky to finally catch Mama herself doing her act or three. They were all very much classical sorts of affairs, a fact that was apparent to even you with your highly limited knowledge of the art of burlesque. In her first entrance onto the stage, the curtain opened, and in her hands were two huge, white feathered fans. As she danced, she always remained decent via them, fanning them about and teasing as she stripped. Her level of professionalism was quite apparent. Somehow, no matter how provocative it got, there was always a certain air of class about her. The feelings you felt stir up in you from her acts were your most shameful ones of the night. Then there was the bubble popping act, which just about threw your brain into a fit. You needed to get up and walk around, and maybe dunk your head in a sink of cold water. You got up and grabbed your trusty flashlight. You hadn't done a walk around security check yet, so now was as good of a time as any.
You walked backstage, strolling along and getting some blood back into your legs. You poked your head into a storeroom for a moment, then paused. You could have sworn you heard soft singing. Curious, you decided to investigate. You creep in slowly as to not make a sound with your bootfalls. The room was filled with surplus props and costumes and sets, some of them looking pretty ancient.
As you got deeper, the singing was a little louder. Around a corner, you saw a little light on, like a single bulb. You snuck a quick peek. In the middle of the room was Bonnie. She appeared to be wearing one of Chica's gaudy outfits. It was quite a bit loose fitting in the chest region, the fabric drooped and showing more than a little of her small, but perky cleavage. Just the opposite was the case for her hips, their width pulling the fabric rather taught, just a step below it staining on the seams. She had a spare, unplugged microphone, and was singing one of the songs you had heard earlier from the owner of that dress. You had to admit, while Chica had a nice voice, Bonnie's was just… gorgeous. You get lost in her little act as she inches the shoulders of the dress off. With barely a bust to catch it, the top half of the entire dress falls down, gathering at her waist. You had wondered if the robots here had nipples, and now you had your answer. The answer was yes. Embarrassed by the behavior of her wardrobe, she quickly snatched the top hem and pulled it back up.
You were about to leave when your clumsy foot knocked over a large metal bucket on the floor, prompting the rabbit to squeak in surprise and hide. You decided it was time to come clean. You step out of the shadows. "It's okay, it's just me." You say in her direction. You see an ear and a large pink eye peek out from her hiding spot.
Very softly she mumbles, "M-mike?" You nod and she steps out. Both hands are clinging to her dress top still, tighter than ever. She doesn't meet your eyes. "D-dont… Don't tell Chica… I-i'll put it back right now.."
You come closer and she scoots back a little, prompting you to stop. "No, it's okay, I'm sure she won't mind, I won't tell her." Maybe changing the topic would help calm her down, "H-hey, you… You have a really nice singing voice."
She looks directly at you, a glow of a blush on her face. "N-no… It's not that good… I-"
You will not stand for this adorable robot not accepting a nice compliment. "Don't put yourself down, I'm being honest! Heck," You lower your voice a little, "I think you're better than Chica." Her ears perk up and her eyes brighten a little.
"You… You really think that..?" A little smile forms on her face.
You nod enthusiastically, "Yeah, you'd really knock em dead on stage!"
Her smile droops suddenly into a frown. Looks like you hit a sore point. "No.. No… people…. P-people don't want to see me on stage." Her eyes drift from you again.
You move closer to her, and she doesn't recoil. You're frowning now too. "Why would you think that?" you ask.
Bonnie looks back up at you, her mouth wibbling a little as she clenches the fabric in her hands a little more. She stays quiet for a few beats, then softly talks, "B-before I came here… I… I was in a band and it m-made lots of people happy… But something inside of me broke and got stuck and… And I couldn't move my a-arms and b-body anymore. No one wanted to fix me… b-but they still kept me on s-stage. Everyone else could move, but I was j-just… s-ss-stuck there… People got mad and yelled that I was ruining the show, b-but I couldn't help it.. I wanted to move for them… I.. I wanted to make them happy… But… All the mean things they said.. a-and s-stuff they threw a-at me…." You had no idea mechanically how, but tears were dribbling down her furred cheeks. She brought up a paw and wiped at them.
Thinking on the fly, you put an arm around her shoulders. She doesn't pull away, and instead pulls in, crying into your shoulder. You pat her a few times and she continues, muffled by your shirt. "I k-know I'm h-here to dance and sing and I… I don't wanna disappoint Mama…" She trails off, her little sobs making your heart goddamn break.
You add in your other arm and make this into a hug. This seems like a hugging kind of a situation. "Mama still loves you I'm sure, no matter what you do. I mean, she's really nice and understanding," Bonnie's arms go around you, clinging tightly. You pat her a couple more times. "I've been through a lot too."
She was calming down. A minute or two passed, and the hug remained resilient. You just keep your arms around her, petting her back comfortingly while the sadness dissipates. Her crying stops, and she just lets you hold her. Eventually she speaks, "M-mike… I'm sorry…"
"No, I understand how it is sometimes. Sometimes you just have to cry it out." She give a little smile at how kind you are, and you can't help but flush a little. She parts from you and is about to say something, when she suddenly catches that her arms, which had been hugging you, were no longer holding the fabric that was covering up her top half. Her eyes look alarmed as she throws her arms over her chest.
The bunny cries out a "S-SORRY" before bolting away, the crashing of her bumping into things following her out of the store room.
You stand there for a second, thinking about the moment you two had shared. Your brain concludes 'sad but adorable' as the proper description for it. If there's anything you need to accomplish at this job, it's getting that robot the stage recognition and confidence she deserves. After all, it's a matter of family now, right? Satisfied by that little shot of determination to your system, you head on your way to finish your patrol.
In her dressing room, the mistress of the building smiled to herself, watching her latest addition making his rounds on her bank of security monitors. She had been hooked on them ever since he had arrived, which was all normal procedure for whenever a new face came around to fill in the night shift. Calmly and purposefully, she picked up the folder Gary had delivered to her room while she was on stage last. She now had the time to poke through it. The contracts were all signed and everything was in order.
The bear pulled herself to her dainty feet and approached a finely decorated file cabinet, tucked behind an old fashioned changing screen in the corner. She thumbed through the files within, settling on the S section. She withdrew an already thick folder, labeled 'SCHMIDT, MICHAEL' and brought it back to her sitting area. She combined the two folders, shuffling through the one she had extracted the most. Documents of fingerprints, medical records, school records, a list of former addresses, girlfriends, family members and other interesting things flashed by Fredrica's eyes. Of course, Mike hadn't submitted any of that to her, but finding information in her position was not at all difficult. She had read everything twice over well before they had met face to face.
While perhaps this level of research was invasive to some degree, she had to know the sort of personality she would be bringing into her den. So far, she assessed several things, through his file and his actions she had witnessed. Michael was not that smart. She didn't mind or hold it against him. In fact, some of the best people she knew weren't all that intelligent. While he lacked a lot in the wits department, she was quite surprised by his level of compassion. The little thing with Bonnie was just fantastic. But best of all, he was willing to be a follower. Loyalty was the main thing she had desired in a replacement for Randolfo. Poor, poor Randolfo. While he fit the bill for his lack of connections/people that would miss him, he lacked compassion and, ultimately, loyalty. Now, he lacked far more than that.
But it was no time to bring up such a bitter flavor. She tapped the side of the stack of papers on her thigh, setting them all to the same position, then stowed them away in the folder. The robot figured it was time to tell Daddy all the good news.
Fredrica took a hold of the antique brass and mother-of-pearl phone receiver and dialed his number. As the first one in her databank, it was always the easiest to remember. Though it was nearing 6 am, closing time for the theatre, she knew for a fact that he was awake already. After a few rings, the other side picked up.
"Hello Sugar Daddy," She cooed in her relaxed, smooth voice, "I wanted to let you know about Michael. He has done spectacularly for his first night. He already tackled the Mayor and is on the way of gaining trust from the girls. I think he might be the one that finally brings Bonnie on stage."
The voice on the phone responds curtly, "Very good, report to me tomorrow night on him. Daddy loves you."
She smiles warmly, "And Mama Bear loves you too~" The animatronic hangs up and watches her cameras as her new little darling says his goodbyes to Gary at the door. He's rubbing his eyes, but he looks happy. He had a lot to meet in this job, but she had a good feeling.
Mama took a pen, and on a pad of paper made a single tally mark, giving her usual half-lidded smile.