42- Drifting Rooms
"And he made from one man every nation of mankind to live on all the face of the earth, having determined allotted periods and the boundaries of their dwelling place…" – Acts 17:26
Footsteps were unfathomably so soft yet so loud in Sammy's ears as he mindlessly sauntered back into the apartment's hallway. The place was still instinctively unfamiliar, and yet he couldn't take in its simple sights as was normally his way; his wandering companion's cellphone was more than enough to enrapture his full attention. Although the gaping hole of his mask maybe wasn't wide enough to display more than a mouth, it was enough for an audience to see solemn yet disturbed interest in what he held within his grasp.
The black glass lined with thick, pink plastic stared back at him. Almost like a solid, still version of the machine's ink, it seemed like a portal. Sammy certainly knew it was; much of its nature alluded him- as was to be expected when only just beginning to learn about well over half a century of society that had continued without those of the studio- but he comprehended that somehow, someway it collected and archived films from past and present. Seemed to do more than that, too, but that was looking in between the lines of her explanation in the music room, a gentle smile on her lips and eyes glimmering with whimsy as she observed his staring at the screen.
What more could it do, he wondered…as he was unsure how to even turn it on as she had done herself many a time. Sammy allowed his mind to drift even as the revelations and mysteries of the past few moments left his heart aching; it was like a billowing wind had blown through him and he was scavenging pieces of the debris to mold a raft, a place to stand and wait out the waves of sorrow and doubt as he waited for his friend to return.
He could see his hands tighten around the phone, twitching with a slight quiver of dissonance he needed to cast aside before it spread. Yes, she would certainly return. He would just have to weather the storm that came with her absence.
The mask lifted from facing his cupped hands as he passed the threshold of the hall, entering the room she had claimed as her own. It wasn't until now, however, that Sammy finally saw how she had truly tried to build her own sanctuary in this world after everyone else seemed to deny her theirs.
At some point without his acknowledgement, Francine's bag was emptied and spilled out the remnants of her previous way of being, staining the room with nostalgia for her and newness for him. The few items from her past delivered by the ink demon so they may follow her from her old life into the next were scattered across the room's surfaces. His hands and their phone lowered as his chin lifted, taking it all in. Red caught the corner of his eye first- that all too familiar blemished mahogany, the color of her introduction. The prophet thoughtlessly walked to the gurney as upon it rested that strange cloak- that… "hood-ee," as she called it before- the woman had worn when she first ran the halls and confronted salvation. It had been shed like shorn wool but not forgotten, at least not by the sheep. Just as he reached one hand and grasped at the cloth, he recognized the care she had treated it with after inky abuse; the dark tinges of her own body and of the black puddles were much fainter than before, tangible memories almost entirely retracted from reality as she had clearly put effort in washing them away.
Suddenly it was just like when he had held this shirt to his chest days before. Even as he understood it was being tainted again now with his touch, he still didn't want to let go.
Equally abruptly, the shelf in this room began to call for him. And so the phone and the hoodie were tenderly lifted, the former in his left hand and the latter cradled with his right, a sleeve dangling over his arm like she did once in their past.
There was one blaringly obvious object, a picture propped up against a few items left here by the saferoom's unknown previous owner. Fresh paper was so astonishingly bright against the wilting yellow of the studio's; the colors of the boy's portrait upon it simply added to that glare, a missing child poster the woman had kept on her person up till her arrival both acting as a decoration and as a reminder that there were things worth waiting for.
Other things were rested upon the shelves, too, but his eyes slid over each one until he saw a pale gold glimmer; it was different from that of the candles, however- somehow warmer to look at than flames themselves. It was a thin loop of metal with something facetted to it. He didn't recognize it as a clear and sealed glass locket, dried flowers trapped inside that forever displayed what Francine might never touch again.
Surrounded by the woman's aura, it washed over him, held him, and consoled him for his foolishness. Like the small plant in her necklace, the bright hues bloomed around him and speckled his universe with a rainbow he had never seen. As he slowly turned and rested his weight upon the hammock, what Francine had brought with her stood out amid his existence much like she herself did, laying upon his lap and arching over and behind his glossy shoulders. Enveloped by who she had been up until she fell from grace, Sammy finally started to cross over the edge of understanding into why she had run after the demon.
This was her home now, and the least she could do was try to find peace within it. And as his thumb's anxious pressing accidentally lit the phone up once more, Sammy felt this same temptation sink into him.
The clock ticked, the doll watched, and the mask shadowed his vision, but even among the faces of his lord, he was still powerless to the virus of Francine's longing. Riptides dragged him from the shores of memory to sail the unknown.
As she fell, Francine could feel liquid fly past her, striking her skin like a whip and crawling over her face. In the brief moment she was here it was recognized that ink was falling with her too, waterfalls and drips of various sizes and maybe even speeds. Besides her own shriek, little could be heard. What noise there was, however…was poignant.
Haunted whispers. Muted groans. Distant screams.
…None her own.
Just as her own fright ceased blaring so loud just enough for her to recognize this unfathomable reality, Francine witnessed the endless darkness she was plummeting towards cease to exist, silhouettes of floorboards and splintering wood making a ring around a sudden, dim light.
It grew brighter and bigger and brighter and bigger-
The woman groaned upon impact as her cheek hit a surface. Shock momentarily stunned her wits, but soon there was recognition. Something cold was hitting her face, and she felt it weigh her clothes and gently pull them down. Eyelids fluttered and saw her fist in front of her, protecting Alice's photograph from the black that swallowed the lower half of her hand.
Lifting herself up, Francine began to grasp that she had once again been transported by a force totally beyond her comprehension and dropped somewhere new. Damn it- nothing made sense-!
Just as she had begun to lament her frustrations, Francine's soul was taken by the fact that she really, truly, was somewhere else, and the sensations that accompanied her arrival were utter nonsense. She felt like she had fallen forever, the floor broken beneath her feet, rematerialized, only then to open once more for her to enter like it was a wormhole. She blinked and twisted her neck all around her not in observance but in investigation. Of course there wasn't any sign of her entrance, yet again.
This second realm, however, had a different sort of spell about it than the last.
Unlike the lane of candles and the gallery with the guarded door, this place was filled with sound instead of deathly quiet. Cl-cl-cl-cl-cl-cl-cl! Ticking wasn't the right word; it was-
One last turn of the head put a projector into view, her god's most innocent form blinking upon the wall not bathed in light but as a part of it.
She stepped through it, whiteness passing over her eyes until she emerged into a labyrinth. Walls curved and bent every which way, streaming film lighting the tight halls but barely making it visible at all. Her palms rose and gripped over the next corner, unsure what was waiting for her-
Just as she peaked in, she triply as quickly hid away, chest rising and falling and a grimace wiped across her expression in terror. Curiosity being her nature despite every instinct of self-preservation, she repeated her approach to glimpse into the small nook in the wall.
Yes, that was a corpse of one of the monsters she just saw before. Yes, that was a severed heart laying by its side.
She couldn't have sprinted ahead through this never-ending pool fast enough.
The woman saw ink skim over her scuffed shoes once she finally stopped, bending over and holding her knees, panting due to both winded lungs and a panicked mind. Her head lifted, and hair moved out of her sight like a parting curtain to reveal she was sincerely lost.
"As if I wasn't already," she grumbled to herself. But spite couldn't push away alarm, no matter how much she hoped otherwise. No, she couldn't discard what had just occurred with the ink demon, the dread at what it all may mean and why this was being done to her. Air huffed through her teeth in an exhale of both grief and frustration.
Joey.
Joey.
Joey.
She didn't know what that name may imply- what Bendy wanted her to learn from it so shortly before being forcefully dismissed from his presence- but the more she mulled over it, the more it began to pulse…and pulse turned into drive. Even as dread fell upon her shoulders, Francine found herself standing upright once again and marching through this murk to wherever she was intended to be next-
One last step. One final splash as the woman's eyes found familiarity in a land previously unknown.
She recognized that booth.
A Little Miracle Station was placed just around the next bend. She could tell it was vacant, as its door was open and hardly hinged to its base. Almost like something tried to rip it off…
Or someone.
Flitting radiance suddenly fell over her shoulders to the blank wall ahead, showing her that the shadow of an old friend had joined hers. Trembling, Francine shifted her chin to gaze upon the projectionist as she disrupted his domain once again.