Vingt-huit [Coffee and conversation.]
/
Allison's loops started with heating a can on soup for herself and Tom. Then either she or Tom would gather supplies. It fluctuated, which was another thing going on the wall.
The wall, so slowly taken over with theories and ideas, doodles and scratched out thoughts. A canvas slowly filling with grasps at hope.
Tom never wrote on the walls. He never showed interest in it.
But he would draw. Sometimes. Rarely. The most he'd done was a detailed drawing of his mechanical arm to teach Allison how to repair it.
After that? Well. He might add a gear or something. Sometimes a lever.
But today? Today was different.
Allison started her day with getting up from her cot and finding Tom not in his across from her. She stretched her arms over her head and felt a faint growl in her gut. Huh… it wasn't like Tom never made soup before. It'd be nice to wake up to hot food.
As she turned her feet to the floor and stood, she heard the familiar scrape of a damaged pen against rough tiles. Her sound, but not coming from her hand.
"Tom?" She stepped into the room to find him.
The one-armed wolf was sitting on the stool and scribbling furiously at a blank patch of wall, bigger than anything he'd done before. Details to rival schematics showed none other than the ink machine itself. Lines jutted from parts only for gibberish to fill where words and names were meant to go.
He turned to look her way, then gestured with his head to the drawing. When she didn't get closer, he waved with his mechanical arm for her.
Allison's wide eyes marveled at his work. She knew he could draw, but this? A perfect replica of the ink machine that always lowered from above to settle above Bendy's lair. "Tom, this is amazing." The awe seeped into her words, and she felt his eyes on her.
He shrugged and pointed with the mechanical hand at the wall, then wrung the same fist.
She shook her head a little, earning a frown.
Tom poured out a puddle of normal ink from the small well on the desk into his gloved hand. Watching Allison intently, he slammed the inked palm to the drawing of the ink machine.
Thin hands raised in alarm. "Tom, wait-" But she didn't finish.
The wolf smeared his inked hand over the machine in an X over and over until barely anything of the machine was left to be seen underneath. His glove blackened and dripping, he lifted the mechanical hand and wrung it again, eyes searching her face.
"You… you're saying that we need to destroy the machine." Not a question of meaning, but confirmation of understanding. "Where'd you get that idea from?"
The wolf grumbled and held up his hands like a set of glasses.
"... Henry? You… is this about what he saw in the river?"
He nodded once. The pie-cut eyes usually fixed in a scowl stared into her own wide ones. Black, featureless, but so expressive. The mechanical hand rested on her shoulder, the fingers drumming slowly against her bare flesh. He blinked and slid the cool hand gently upwards until he was cupping her cheek.
The gesture so familiar and long-thought lost to the ink. He'd done this when they were human and whole, muscular hand holding her, cradling her face with a rare, honestly pleased smile... Allison's lower lip trembled and she bit it gently. Just to keep herself calm and her hopes from dashing to bits. The horned woman cleared her throat and smiled softly. Hope floated in her chest as she asked, "Tom. How much do you remember? Of us? Of… me?"
He held up his left hand, cold and rigid. He reached for her left hand to hold before tapping her ring finger. Making a fist to lie in her upturned palm, he stared at her calmly, brows low.
Wide eyes trailed down to the metal fist in her hand, heavy and cold but familiar as anything else in this place. The four-fingered hand work by some odd magic, be it ink or sheer willpower. She'd worked on it to keep it functional, repaired it when it seized up or fell limp, knew every wire and wingnut by heart…
But she wished now that she'd paid closer attention to the armor. His hand didn't have a ring finger, but the middle finger was close enough. At the base of its metal digit, close to the joint, was a thin, polished strip of metal. Though brighter than the rest of the hand, the strip had nicks and wear that shown it had been there for quite a long time.
Tears welled in her eyes and a thin hand covered her mouth as it sunk in.
Her sweet, stern wolf had known for far, far longer than she had. Tom, trapped in this animated body that kept him muted and unable to write a single word. Whatever changed inside of him had been enough to let him loose and show her the truth.
"Tom…" Her voice cracked, and she covered her mouth to stifle her sobs. "Oh, god." She'd been afraid of nothing. For nothing.
But the wolf sighed and wrapped her in a hug, swaying on his feet to calm her as she crumbled in his arms.
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"So, we have a balloon for Bertrum, which narrows down…" Henry ran a hand through his hair. "Not much. Who would have a paintbrush or coffee mug?"
"Beats me, little sheep."
Loop three-hundred and twenty-nine was off to a quiet start, it seemed. They'd opted not to stand and chat, taking the piano bench for a change of pace.
"Well, at least we know the paintbrush belongs to a lost one that bangs its head." He pulled the seeing tool from his back pocket and gave it a once-over. "Wanna know something funny?"
"Yes."
A huff of a chuckle. "I was thinking you might have something to do with the hand."
The musician quirked a brow. "Oh, really?"
"You had a green mug on your piano half the time I saw you. But the markings don't match up. No mug on you."
"I brought it from home. Same as the banjo. They're mine." He frowned at his lap, lips pursed. "All the mugs provided here were an ugly tan. Green meant no one could take it and put their mouth on it."
Henry made a mental note to designate a few mugs strictly for Sammy when they got out. "You'll have plenty of mugs to pick from with me."
"Oh, you're different." He waved. "I like you. You could lick my banjo and I wouldn't be mad." He paused and turned to the grinning cartoonist next to him. "I take that back. Do not lick my banjo."
Henry couldn't fight the laugh that bubbled up. "I'm not gonna lick the banjo!"
"Good." He pointed to the seeing tool. "Mind if I get a look with that?"
"Have at."
Sammy took the tool and held it up. The room had no changes, but he spied the tape by the recording booth. "Hmm. Who's that for?"
"What?"
"That tape?" He pointed, lowering the tool. "Who's it for?"
"Susie." Henry grimaced.
"Ah." He knew playing anything from her would get him nowhere. They were so deep into the path that anything he remembered of Susie wouldn't help. Still, the prickling anxiety that raked his spine was hard to ignore. "Oh. This is… Henry?" He glanced back Henry's way. "I might have something." He gestured to his head. Words grew harder when a memory emerged.
"A flashback?"
"Yes. But it doesn't, ah, feel like the ones that knock me down."
The cartoonist made his way over, standing at the ink mans side. "Don't worry. We'll handle this like before."
"Good." But this one felt less like a massive attack on his past behavior and closer to being-
"-awake there, Lawrence?"
The blond lifted his head from his hand, pen sticking from his mouth. He plucked it free and frowned at the older lyricist. "Barely. Haven't had coffee yet."
"Haven't?" Jack poured a steaming mug for himself from the thermos on the counter. "Good thing there's a fresh pot behind me."
Sammy sighed and tapped the pen in a quadrille. "I'll get a cup later. No one's here yet. Can't have a cup of coffee only to have it's magic run out before anyone else starts."
"You could always drink more than one cup? Or get a bigger mug?" The portly man suggested with a smirk.
"I'm already a jittery mess on my best days. A bigger mug might kill me." He tapped the sheet music with a curled fist. "But by all means, let's scare the fresh faces stuck working here." He paused and stifled a yawn. "Not like my sleep-deprived self can muster up a shout at this point in the day."
The mustachioed man scowled. "You slept here?"
"Couldn't leave until this got done. Guess what's still not done?"
"Gonna kill your back doin' that."
Sammy blinked in confusion. "I didn't sleep here at the break table, I slept on a cot in my office."
"Jesus, Sam, you're crazy."
A razor sharp smile that didn't startle Jack at all. "Says the man hiding in the sewers." His gaze fell to the thermos under Jack's arm. "So much for a fresh pot, then."
"This is mine, Sam. The fresh stuff is behind me." He shook his head at the blond as he passed. "See you in the music room."
"Might be a bit. These stupid cartoon songs don't write themselves, you know." Good as Jack was to talk to, the sheet music came first. Tall order for the upcoming toon. Something about a circus come to town. Bendy on a trapeze, another song for Alice Angel… Sammy rubbed tired eyes and moaned. This alone would take him at least the rest of the week to get to a suitable first draft, and the work for the current toon was still underway.
Just… finish one song, then coffee. Taking a breath and taking the pen back into his mouth, Sammy bit down on the wood of the body, tongue grazing the end. A sharp tang of iron and chemicals lanced his tongue. Aw, god in heaven! The nib was in his mouth! He spat the pen to the floor and groaned at the taste of ink that glazed his mouth. It was only a drop! How had it spread so quickly? The blond gagged, the blot of black seeping into his gums and between his teeth. A chemical, spicy patina that burned and made him gag.
He sneered at the offending pen and kicked it under the table. Maybe coffee would get the taste out of his mouth. He reached for the pot-
-and froze, hand still outstretched, reaching for air. Sammy blinked. Just a memory. Just… sepia. "I… Henry?"
The man had him by the outstretched arm, peering over his glasses. "What did you remember?"
"I… did I ever tell you how the ink got to me?"
"No."
The ink man scowled at the seeing tool in his other hand, lowering the outstretched one to focus more on the device. Its bulbs flickered, the glass glowing faintly in gold. "It was an accident. I stuck the wrong end of a pen in my mouth." His smile grew taught and pained. "One mistake, and my life was over in a few months. That's how long it took! A few months!"
"Any clue why this is coming up now?"
A head shake. "No. No idea. I… Jack had made a pot of coffee, and-" His head snapped up to Henry with bright eyes. "We'd been talking about coffee mugs. You don't think?"
Henry tugged Sammy to the tunnel. "If it's Jack, we're gonna have to figure out how to get him to the boats."
"I could get a bucket?"
"Would he even fit?"
"Irrelevant. Could we lift him?"
Henry stopped at the mouth of the tunnel. "Jack?" He called quietly. He didn't want to startle the poor guy. No hat bobbed in the dark ahead. "Jack-"
Sammy grabbed the boards and started ripping them away.
"Sammy, that-" But the movement at the end of the tunnel caught his attention. "Okay. There he is, don't-" He grabbed Sammy's arm as the ink man made to bolt. "Don't chase him. He's already unhappy we're here."
"I… fine. Right." When freedom loomed, his self-control waned.
Henry let go. "We just gotta check him first."
They headed into the sewers.
"I'm kinda shocked I don't have trench foot by now."
"Trench foot?"
"Feet kept wet and cold too long kinda… rot off."
"Good lord."
"I kept my toes, but I saw a few cases in the field."
Sammy blinked, lips pursed and brows up. "You were a field medic, right? Why medic?"
"Didn't wanna hurt anyone."
The two paused at the crates, searching for a hat floating on the ink.
"Jack?" Sammy called out, but nothing happened. "Jack? We need your help. We'll go after you help us."
From behind a crate, Jack slunk out of the dark and paused before the ink man, squinting up at him in utter annoyance.
"Lift your arms for me." Sammy blinked. "Please."
The lump glanced at Henry and back at Sammy, before lifting his arms out of the muck. He didn't really have arms, just mushy flippers.
Lifting the tool, the ink man framed Jack in the odd device and honed in on the small mark on the underside of a flipper. "Henry, he has it."
"He has the mark?"
Jack gurgled and sank down to be almost flat. Whatever they meant didn't ease his muddled mind at all.
The ink man squatted down, giving a tight smile. "Okay… Jack. I need you to do me a favor. Down by the docs where the boats are, I need you to go there. You… have something down there you need to see. It'll help everyone in the long run."
A squishy head shake.
"Please, Jack." Sammy rested a hand to the searcher's shoulder. "Just this once. I need you to leave your tunnel and come to the docks before the village."
But the lump burbled and flattened himself out, leaving a set of eye holes and a hat to stare blankly upwards.
Sammy grumbled and gave the lump a glare, hand withdrawn. "Jack, we're trying to help you."
The lump wasn't convinced.
"Hey, Jack?"
The lump looked Henry's way, growling.
"Think of it this way… are you sorry for trying to crush me with those crates?"
A nod, feeble and nervous and searching for a weapon Henry might have hidden.
"Then… consider coming to the docks an apology."
The lump blinked and gave a slow nod.
"It'll be awhile before we get there, but just keep checking for us, okay? We'll wait for you." Henry gave a soft smile, peering over his glasses.
Jack rose and fell in a sigh, and gave a melted thumbs up before flattening completely and zipping out of sight. His hat went with him like a felted shark fin.
The musician shut his mouth. "How are you able to do that? Just… get people to follow without yelling?"
Henry chuckled. "I'm a dad. Negotiation came with that job."
Sammy blinked. "How many children do you have?"
"Two. Linda had twins."
Amber eyes went wide. "Twins."
He reached out and grabbed Sammy's hand, still smiling. "Let's get Buddy."
Sammy nodded and followed. "Do you want to spend the night in the hideout?"
"Why?"
A scoff. "You told Jack we'd wait for him, but we don't want to make him wait too long, do we?"
"Good point. I don't need a break, do you?"
"We just started!" He grinned at Henry's backside. "I'm sure Buddy would appreciate catching up to Norman sooner than later."
/
Seemed Jack and Norman would be waiting a little longer than expected. Buddy wasn't the hold-up, but the Striker hanging by a rope inside of Heavenly Toys was.
The three of them stared at the angry little monster as it jabbered and kicked.
"Okay. We can safely say Susie's helping us."
"Agreed." Sammy squinted up at the creature. "Though it's unclear why."
Buddy watched the clone with a hand to his mouth. His eyes followed the rope up to the ceiling and down to where it had been tied, far off and away, up the stairs. He grunted and patted Henry's shoulder.
"What is it?"
Buddy pointed to the clone, then the rope. He smiled and took off for the stairs.
"Buddy!" He called out, only to shake his head and take off after him.
The wolf had paused where the rope was tied, bouncing in his boots. But it wasn't the rope he was excited about. It was what sat underneath it.
"Buddy, you can't just take off like that." Henry came to a stop, lungs asking for a break. Running up stairs was never easy.
But the wolf's excitement couldn't be ignored as he pointed a gloved hand to the tape player.
Sammy, who'd followed closely behind and stopped himself by grabbing Henry's shoulder, let go and tilted his head at the wolf. "Well?"
The wolf hit play.
"I don't be seein' what the big deal is. So what if I went and painted some of those Bendy dolls with a crooked smile? That's sure no reason for Mr. Drew to be flyin' off the handle at me. And if he really wants to be so helpful, he could be tellin' me what I'm to be doin' with this warehouse I got full of that angel whatchamacallit. Not a scrap of that mess be a-sellin'! Probably have to melt it all down to be rid of it all."
Sammy frowned at the tape and turned to find Henry giving him the same look. "Henry, I think we found the paintbrush."
A low chuckle from above. "Well done. I didn't think you'd figure it out." Susie cooed from somewhere hidden. "Seems your little wolf is the smartest of you three. Such a good boy, following the obvious path."
Buddy's ears fell back, and he fought the urge to shrink. He knew that voice in ways no one should. He tucked the tape into his overalls and ignored the shaking of his hand as he did.
Sammy scowled, snarl lines wrinkling his nose and brow. Fantastic. "What do you want?" He placed himself before Henry, reaching for the axe at his hip.
"I want to speak with your new savior. We have a lot to go over." The door to the Angel room opened silently. "Come to me, now. Just through the door, Henry." Her voice dropped its soft lilt and sharpness cracked the air. "Just Henry."
The cartoonist sighed and rubbed a hand across his hair. "We're not gonna get anywhere if I don't at least hear her out. We both know that."
The ink man didn't look convinced.
Henry gave a crooked frown. "Sammy. Look for Allison or Tom. They scout the lower levels. I'll get to you as soon as I can. We can meet up before Bendy-Land."
"Why find them?"
"They saw where the paintbrush lost one was. You'll do better as a group."
A small head shake. "I don't like this."
"Me neither. But this might be where I get her to join us."
Sammy's gold gaze locked with hazel. "Keep the axe with you. Who knows what might happen." He pulled the axe free and pushed it into Henry's hands.
The cartoonist pushed it back. "I don't stay dead, and you're-"
"Stronger than I seem, and I've seen Allison with her cutlass. We can handle this." But amber eyes cast a glare at the yawning doorway to the Angel room. "But keep it. For my peace of mind."
Henry swallowed and nodded. "Okay. Just… be safe."
No promises. "You too, my little sheep." The ink man turned to Buddy and motioned for him with his hand to follow.
Buddy frowned Henry's way but followed Sammy closely, the clone grumbling behind him on its leash as it was dragged unceremoniously from the toy room.
Axe adjusted to sit over one shoulder, Henry stepped into the Angel room.
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