47- Found
"…But whoever listens to me will dwell secure and will be at ease, without dread of disaster." – Proverbs 1:33
On a shore of wood with waves lapping black stood not one pair of shoes but two. Her set stayed dry while facing those which opposed her, the ink washing around his soles and then pulling back, dancing and tickling immortality at his toes; it seemed to mirror something- unsteady breathing, a racing heart…and the washing in and out of these extreme emotions with each passing second.
Who knew that a peaceful conclusion could still be so utterly dreadful.
This discomfort only grew and grew until it was like the pipes were humming with the vibration of upset, of change, of destiny thrown upside down.
Finally, after basking in each other's absurd splendor, someone had to do something.
That someone was Francine, and that thing was a simple step forward.
It came at him like a tidal wave.
Almost simultaneously, the man flinched back, hand curled at his chest and its elbow thrown behind him. Francine's reaching hand pulled back the smallest fraction, surprised and unsure as she witnessed his fear, his shoulders raise up and down in heavy anxiety and complete and absolute terror wiping across his face until the expression upon it seemed to shake.
Her brow furrowed as she looked upon the being she had finally found, after fighting so hard to finally confront him one way or another.
But the shattering of a spell still breaks it nonetheless.
"Y…you're Joey…!" It was such a bizarre mixture of both stating the obvious and reciting the impossible. It made her feel weightless inside, as if releasing a secret locked deep in her soul so that it could spread through the air for only two to hear and know.
Again, this gentle exhalation seemed to whip back at him. The old man blinked furiously, eyes darting back and forth, mouth gaping with neither breath nor words.
She was uttering something totally magical, and they both had very, very different understandings of what this magic could mean. It was like watching someone carefully, reverently wipe the dirt and grime off an ancient tome; he knew what she had uncovered.
And as each second passed, the man seemed to begin to grasp where he was and the fact that he was, indeed, talking to another person.
"…That I am," Mr. Drew admitted after an eternity of ponderance.
And an equally awkward, stunned huff of a laugh came from her throat. It was ridiculous how mundane this dialog was on the surface- hardly a step above "how are you?" "I am fine." And yet…
And yet such mere words were so, so much, as if their simplicity also meant purity of meaning and purpose.
It was the most human conversation possible. And that's what they were.
...Human.
So impossibly human to one another.
And that's why even though she had so much to say, so much to ask, there was one thing above all else that seemed to be a courtesy hard-earned:
"…I'm Francine."
His weary, wide-eyed gaze lingered up to meet hers, having looked desperately anywhere else up until this. And suddenly…he shifted.
Melted, even.
His shoulders fell, and hands kept anxiously to his chest began to do the same, his stance becoming less ready to run. From what? That eluded her at the moment; she was merely soaking in his very existence.
He either couldn't let go what he had to say or there was nothing that could be spoken. But something about the way his bronze eyes glistened, the way he looked at her-
"Why were you hiding?"
It was so sudden that it made him jump once again, but was it really? Francine watched as the ginger's sight flickered over her, and she felt her expression steel. The shock of this reveal wasn't gone, but it was beginning to blur her journey here less and less. And now one recognition of humanity was followed with another-
The logic of all that had brought her here…or rather the lack thereof. So much had happened. Pipes broke open to flurry their contents. The floor fell apart to try to take her to God knows where. And the whole time, the ink demon seemed to be there just as a tease.
She couldn't believe that studio itself had fought just to keep her from…from just a-!
He looked so small in front of her now, so scared. Of what?
She didn't grasp that it was of her.
Now the tides were licking the heels of a table. She wasn't sure if it was there before, but that was the least of her questions. The wanderer and her hesitant host sat across from one another, the sides of his palms rested onto the surface. She blinked and the walls seemed just a bit closer; an vastly wide ballroom empty of all but a floorboard shore and an ocean of ink now seemed to move the visible sides just a bit closer to her shoulders, but maybe that was just her anxiety.
Looking forward at the top hat-wearing man made her second guess second guessing.
"…You're right my dear."
Even though Francine had been hoping he'd talk, it still made her gasp.
"My name…my name certainly is Joey Drew." Elbows now on the table, he folded his hands in front of the lower half of his face; he seemed to peer right into her soul. "…Although you figured that out on your own very well."
A honey tongue to match his honey eyes; no one could have ever guessed he hadn't talked to someone like this in decades…except for a look about him.
Yes, Francine could tell how much trepidation there was for this moment.
"I haven't heard it-" An unwilling pause as words seemed to trip in his throat. One hand became a fist and he briefly, politely coughed into it.
An old habit from when he was of a society worth being polite to, one without the loneliness of ink and never-ending life.
"-…in a long time."
He was almost embarrassed- no. That wasn't the right word.
He was…hollowed.
And just as he was finding difficulty finding words, she was finding difficulty figuring out where to begin.
She didn't know how much he knew, but she…could only guess it was very, very much. More than she. Just as she asked herself with Bendy, she wondered again- what do you ask someone who may very well know everything?
Finally, somewhere.
"How long have you been here?" A quiet question. A beginning. Just as she had begun with Sammy who knows how far back in her new past, she found her voice softening in necessity, breathlessness, and deep down…a kindness. A kindness she wished to have, so that is what she gave- hoping to receive it in return.
The look on his face made her stomach churn.
His eyelids lowered and somehow Mr. Drew in all his wretched solitude seemed even more cracked at the seams.
"…Far too long, my dear." Lips parted slightly and eyes closed, as if the weight of time was dripping like rain collecting on the brim of his hat until it fell down the middle of his face. "Far too long," he said again in a whisper, almost as if he himself needed to hear it twice to accept it.
It was now that Francine knew- or rather was reminded once again- that these people lived through far more than she could ever understand. This reality suddenly muted her- and suddenly strengthened him.
"My darling, I…I am aware there's a lot you would care to ask me." Gaze upon her again, shadow sliding across his eyes as he titled his head upward, more firm in facing her. "You don't have to-…" Yet another pause, an exhale nearly silent yet from somewhere deep, deep inside, like he was exhaling the dust from years of silence. A swallow ran down his neck in preparation for the inevitable.
"You don't have to be so gracious to this old man, Frankie." He shook his head with a begging sort of vulnerability as candlelight shined over his quivering irises. Then in the most haunted, the most aching of voices, he conceded:
"I'll tell you everything."
Everything.
The word echoed through her entire body until she began to shiver. It drifted above his head and gave him an aura- an emanation of something entirely otherworldly.
Truth. Truth was…paranormal to Francine now, after having chased it so long. This is what she wanted; this is what she had struggled for; and yet it was so, so unbelievable for it all to end with the woman simply sitting down with an enigma that wanted to make it all known, for it all to just fall into her lap.
She would soon learn that just as she was nearly in pain with all the revelation, so was he with having to confront it alongside her.
"This…is…"
The shadow slipped off his nose as he titled his chin up, weary as he recognized the environment of his own evils.
"This is all my fault. All of it." He waved his hand up, gesturing to the tall ceiling woven by pipes and glued with ink. "There's no one to blame but me."
Fear flashed over her face; he could see it, and although he knew he was deserving…she could see his hurt nonetheless.
"Not on purpose, of course," Joey added quickly to disrupt any racing thoughts, "…but I don't think that matters much anymore."
And his face was again hidden behind his daintily placed hands, titled slightly away to gaze past her in calm mortification. "…I can't believe I was so blind."
And for some reason, her own hand came to her face- maybe hiding herself from the dawning wave of emotions. It couldn't stop her though.
"Joey…what did you do?"
He couldn't even meet her eyes, she noticed; she began to wonder if it was because he didn't want to or because he simply couldn't.
"Someone I loved…very, very deeply- like family- left me alone. And I thought…" Eyeballs seemed to gloss with tears, but they did not yet come. "I thought I could fix it."
Silence never felt so loud as he took in another breath.
"I couldn't, and…I didn't. The-…the ritual I preformed took not just me as its prize, but…my entire studio with it." So, so hushed with his own horrors "…And everyone inside it."
Every opening of her face widened in an awful sort of awe. She had momentarily guessed that Joey had caused all this, but…that was when she thought he was the demon. The fact that he was only a man made it…so, so much more sickening.
And real.
The hand at her face began to shake uncontrollably, but even so, Joey decided to go on.
"And no matter how much I beg, it won't let us go." Francine saw his eyes press shut with strength far beyond necessary, as if he was trying to not to see it anymore as visions of his actions burned into his mind. He began to mutter:
"The gushing…the ink…everywhere…choking…taking…flooding…swallowing…I…I never wanted-"
His knuckles clenched.
"I never wanted this." As if he was not only trying to convince her but himself. "…But at the same time, I suppose I did."
And indeed, Francine had been scared since the moment they sat down that this world might have been the machinations of someone who actually thought that this curse was a good thing to have. Suddenly, the battle for sincerity of this universe was not external but internal. She needed to decide. She needed to pick how to feel about the man who took everything from her and everything from all of these people.
Maybe it was desperation for herself. Or maybe it was true empathy, but either way…
His fingers, unlike those of every other being trapped in the studio, felt warm in her touch.
Joey twitched in surprise, a gaze round with disbelief falling upon the young woman, and despite her own incredulity…she had unconsciously been preparing for this since the moment she entered the studio. It wasn't a handhold of comfort, but rather a plea for him to lead her to the truth.
"How did it happen?"