NOTES
Once again, I don't have much to say for myself. I rewrote large chunks of this chapter multiple times, just to try and come up with something I was happy with. The result is decent, I'm pretty sure, but I've come to realize that my struggles for writing this chapter was due to lack of experience writing anything like it, so I had a hard time with the flow, word choice, personalities, just about everything.
With enough trial and error, however, I managed to scrape up something I didn't despise.
On top of that, though, the week's been stressful, and the next one is bound to be as well. I promise the content will not stop coming, though, and there should be zero reason for the next chapter to take another 4-5 days to come out like it did this one.
Alright, with my bitching and excuses out of the way, enjoy.
Cellars and Feathers: part II
Trudge and I stare at Chica's door like we're the the last in line at death row.
It didn't come as much of a surprise to either of us that Chica was able to lock herself away in her room before Trudge could reach her, given that she's the 'athletic' one and all. As passionate as we were about chasing her, the idea of confronting her seems to have knocked the fight out of us real quick.
I know Trudge wouldn't be able to get in Chica's room if she had 'locked' it, but the two of us also know that the night guard is provided full access to anywhere in the Pizzaplex, so we can't even make excuses to go do something besides confront her.
Not that we would, honestly.. Chica needs this more than we do.
I take a deep breath, taking some comfort in knowing that I wouldn't be alone in trying to resolve this endeavor. I turn to look at Trudge, noting his apprehensive expression. Trudge isn't great at talking with people outside of playful energetic atmospheres, and I just don't have much experience in general, but maybe the two of us can make something happen-
My 'psych-up' train of thought is interrupted when I see Trudge's eyes light up.
"Mike!" He turns to me, anxiously, but now hopeful.
"Huh?"
"I have an idea! You go talk to her!"
I was kind of relying on you doing most of the talking, bucko.
"We should both talk to her, shouldn't we?"
Trudge starts taking a few steps back.
"I was thinkin' that might overwhelm her, but I've still got an idea! Just talk to her for like, 10 minutes! I'll be back before you know it-" Trudge finishes as he turns around to jog back the way we came.
Before I can think of any new excuses to protest, Trudge is gone from my line of sight.
I turn back to the door and stare at it with even more uncertainty than before. Trudge is probably right thinking that both of us barging into her room at once would overwhelm her, but I feel like he would have been the better choice between us to be the one to 'talk'.
As much as I want to stand here and revel in the discomfort in the situation, Chica's only getting worse in there. I guess I'd better get to work.
Even after finishing that thought I still found myself hesitating, but before long my keycard was up to the reader, and the door slides open next to me.
I thought I'd have a little extra time to prepare since Chica's door was so quite and unnoticeable, but I should have considered Chica was hypersensitive to just about everything right now.
I enter just in time to see Chica's head snap towards her door from the mirror on her desk. It looks like she was in the middle of trying to calm herself down. Maybe it would have been a better choice to wait a bit longer, now that I see the adrenaline rushing back through her body once again.
"Wait-! Waitwaitwaitwaitwait!" Chica shakily pleads.. She's doing worse than I thought. The chair she was sitting in a moment ago almost toppled over as she stood.
She isn't pale anymore, instead steadily growing redder, either from the embarrassment or from starting to cry. Thankfully, I think it's the former, as Chica hasn't had very much time to recover from being shocked.
"Chica-"
"NO! No! N-not right now! I can't do this right now!"
"Wait, just-"
"I-I'm sorry! I'm sorry- I was just-..!"
I can't get through to her, she's panicking.
"Mike! Mike listen I-I was-! N-No one ever goes down there, a-and the guests all leave different-!"
"Chica, I'm not-"
"D-Don't tell anyone! Please! I was just trying to-"
"CHICA!" I yell, causing her to physically recoil.
Sheesh, maybe I took it a bit far by yelling. I convinced myself that yelling would overpower her babble and get her attention, but I'd be lying if I was a little bit fed up with being interrupted for the fourth time.
Chica froze again, like she's a puppy who's tail I stepped on. I didn't yell all that loud, but now that I think about it, I don't think I've yelled at anyone for years. Maybe that's why it had the stopping power it did.
"Listen, Chica. I promise neither of us are mad, we were just.. We just didn't expect it."
I don't know if that was the right choice of words, it seemed to have the opposite effect than the one I desired.
"B-But you.. T-Trudge saw me-.." Chica weakly mumbles, more to herself than to me.
"You're not in trouble."
She stands there and stares at the floor.
"Wh.. What is Trudge gonna say?"
"I don't know, probably something like I'm saying now."
"What I was doing was weird.. T-Trudge is gonna think I'm weird..!"
I can't say it wasn't weird, but that doesn't mean much between all of us.
"We're all weird."
"N-No we're not! I-I'm weird! Trudge thinks..! Trudge thinks I'm weird..."
All her sentences slowly fade out as she retreats further into her mind, I'm not sure I'm making any progress.
"Trudge doesn't think you're weird."
"Y-Yes he does! He saw me-! He saw me doing the w-weird thing!" She repeats, having trouble naming what she was doing in the basement.
"We did, but we all do weird things, you're no different."
Chica hugs herself, unconvinced and avoiding eye contact. I'm not sure I'm too convinced either, I need to change the subject to something I can back up.
"Chica, why were you eating out of the trash?"
She winces upon me finishing my sentence.
"I-I'm just-! I was hungry!"
"If you're hungry, one of us could have made you some pizza or something."
She shakes her head defiantly, building the courage to get defensive.
"I always eat pizza! It's.. It's gross! I see how the robots make it!"
"You don't like the pizza?"
"N-No! So when I see people walk in with-! With so many different f-foods and stuff..!"
Her courage starts to fade as she nears confessing what she was doing downstairs. I think I get it.
People come in with fast food from time to time, or granola bars that parents give to their children if the parents don't feel like buying the unreasonably priced mediocre pizza. Chica must've wanted to try some after getting sick of pizza, and scrounged up the remains of outside food from the trash.
"That.. Makes sense. Why haven't you told anyone you were tired of the food here?"
"It felt wrong.. This is like, the only place I have anything to do with y'know.? I'd feel bad making s-someone go out and get food for me when there's food here already.."
"I understand."
I take a second to stare at the floor myself.
"Trudge and I can bring you food, then. No one besides us will know if you want."
Unexpectedly, she visibly gets anxious again at the mention of Trudge.
"...Trudge is gonna hate me.."
"Trudge doesn't hate you, he'll never hate you."
"He saw me-... I-I was doing something wrong, and bad.."
"That's alright, good people do bad things sometimes."
"But I was weird.."
"We're all weird."
"But I'm-! Ugh, stop saying that!" She suddenly barks with aggression I'd never expect from the likes of her. "You guys aren't weird!"
"Trudge and I are about as weird as it gets."
"I was eating trash!"
"We don't need to eat trash to be weird."
I internally cringe, that probably wasn't the best choice of words either.
"..S-So I'm extra weird 'cause I do eat trash!"
"You're not going to eat trash anymore, since we're going to get food for you."
"But you guys never d-did stuff like that! You guys aren't weird! Stop saying that!"
"I'm purple."
"T-That's okay! That's just a natural skin color!"
That almost made me laugh, but the situation prevents me from doing so.
"No, it isn't. Being purple is weird."
"No it's not!" She almost yells. Why is she so insistent to make herself the exception?
"Chica-"
"No!" She interrupts, hitting her desk in a childlike fit. She doesn't weigh very much, and isn't very strong, so I don't think hitting the desk earned her the result she was hoping for.
"Y-You're not weird, Mike!"
"I am. There's nothing wrong with being weird."
"Y-Yeah-huh! If people think you're weird, they don't play with you!"
"That separates good friends from fake friends, it lets you know that people you hang out with are genuine."
"B-But you're not-..! T-Trudge is-..!"
Chica chokes on her words, failing to come up with a rebuttal. Finally, she just stomps lightly and crosses her arms like a kid throwing a temper tantrum.
"Ugh! No! You're not weird like me! Nothing can make me think you're weird! Not even-!"
This isn't going anywhere. Time to make some questionable decisions.
I quickly untuck my shirt from my belt, and lift up the entire uniform before Chica can comment. As I'm lifting, I can see Chica freeze in reaction to what I was doing, and then freeze a second time upon realizing what I was getting at.
I was showing her the gigantic, disfigured, disgusting scar that runs up my entire torso. The one I received as a result of the scooper. Though my skin was starting to get less and less purple as time continued, the tissue around the gaping scar wound is still a vibrant and disgusting shade of purple, making it very obvious where the source of my skin color comes from.
The skin next to the scar is bent inward, as if the skin was getting sucked into the wound. It was all stitched up and everything, so it wasn't like she was staring at an open wound, but the injury looks nightmarish nonetheless.
I'd be lying if I said this was the greatest idea I've ever had. I'm already stumped on how I intend to explain it's origins, but at least it got my initial point across. Maybe I should let my shirt down soon, if Chica stares at it any longer I think she might actually pass out.
"This is why I'm purple. This is weird. I am weird."
"...M...Mike... W-What was-?"
"It was an accident that happened a long time ago, I'm perfectly fine now, so don't worry about it."
"I-It.. It went up your w-whole.."
Might've unintentionally derailed this conversation.
"It's weird, right?"
Chica looks at me in the eyes, still processing, but also trying to think of a response. Defeated, she eventually looks down and nods.
"Do you hate me?"
"H-Huh?"
"Do you hate me?"
"No! I wouldn't-! I-I could never hate you!"
Ha. Got her. I grin at her perhaps a little arrogantly.
"Well then you've got to come to terms with the fact that no one hates you for doing something weird either."
Chica's eyes glaze over for a second as she runs through the process of what she just admitted.
"I, um.."
"Alright?"
"..Okay.."
"Trudge doesn't hate you."
"..."
"Chica."
"Really?"
"Really."
"O-Okay.."
"Are you alright?"
Chica takes a moment to think about it.
"I think I'm okay.. Sorry for running away, I was just, y'know.."
"It's alright, you were just embarrassed."
"Yeah.." Chica agrees, folding her hands politely in front of her and staring at the floor again.
...
"Where's Trudge?" She asks after a moment of silence, seemingly just now noticing that the two of us weren't together anymore.
"He said he had an idea and ran off somewhere, he should be around soon." I respond, not entirely sure of my answer. Trudge didn't give me a lot to work with.
"He runs a lot."
"You run a lot."
"I'm supposed to run!" She defends with more playful energy than before. I think that's a good sign.
"I guess so." I concede.
...
"M..Mike?" Chica calls out timidly.
"Mhm?"
"What, uhm.. How'd you get hurt?"
"It was just an accident from a long time ago, nothing worth talking about."
"I think it's worth talking about!"
Ruh roh, people aren't supposed to call me out on my bullshit.
"It happened with a machine, at a place I worked at a while ago. I got close to something I know I wasn't supposed to get closed to, and paid the price for it." I finish, patting my belly where my scar was the worst.
Chica eyes the part of my belly that I'm patting.
"..Did it hurt?"
"Only for a moment."
"Are you okay?"
It takes some real strength to prevent myself from giving her a sarcastic answer.
"I'm fine, it was a long time ago."
"Does it still hurt?"
"Not at all." I respond. I'm sure that's a result of the nerves being ripped out of my body.
"Even when you touch it?"
"Even when I touch it."
"Can I touch it?"
"I'd rather you not. It doesn't hurt, but it still feels weird."
"Oh.."
Actually, I just didn't want Trudge to burst in here and see the scene of Chica poking at my chest. Where the hell did that man go?
"CHICAAA!"
A recognizable cry echos from outside the room, quickly followed by Trudge's sloppy and soaked appearance.
"Trudge!?" Chica immediately cries upon seeing Trudge in the state he's in.
"It was raining!" He gasps for air. I think he sprinted the entire way here. "I needed something from my car."
"You said you'd be gone for ten minutes." I casually accuse, moreso just asking for an explanation for where he's been.
"Sorry! I went back to the kitchen to make a pizza, but I couldn't figure it out. Those robots kept getting in my way." Trudge finally pushes himself from off his knees and stands straight up. "Chica!"
"I-I'm sorry! I was doing a weird thing! B-But I was just-!"
"Eat!"
Before Chica could finish babbling a defense, Trudge shoved something into her arms.
"Huh?"
Chica recedes to reveal that Trudge had given her an absolutely abhorrent amount of candy. Literally two arms worth.
"..Is all of that candy? You got that all from your car?" I ask, once again asking for further elaboration.
"Yep! I don't like candy all that much."
"Really?"
"Nope! Sweet things are tasty, but I get sick of them really quick."
"Then why did you have some in your car?"
"I went trick-or-treating."
"Oh, for holloween?"
"Yep!"
"Without liking candy?"
"Yep!"
"...Why?"
"I like trick or treating."
"How old are you?"
Trudge exaggerates a gasp in response to my question.
"You can't be too old for holidays! There were tons of adults trick or treating!"
"How old are you?"
"I'm not telling!"
"Were all the other adults with children?"
"I 'unno, probably."
"Did you get any comments for being an adult trick or treating by yourself?"
"I 'unno, probably."
How does this man function.
Thankfully, the other person finds this situation just as ridiculous as I do.
"Wait-! Candy is bad for you!" Chica butts in, as if pizza or trash food is any better.. I understand she's the 'healthy' one, but she's not the brightest when it comes to enforcing that idea.
"Yep." Trudge responds confidently.
"So I can't eat this!" Chica conceded, holding her arms out for Trudge to take back the candy.
"I'm not taking it back."
"What do I do with it then!?"
"Eat it."
"It's bad for you!"
"So is like, everything!" Trudge states, putting his hands on his hips defiantly.
"But what if I get fat!"
"You won't get fat, you run everywhere!"
"But what if I get fat anyway!"
"I'll roll you around, then."
"If I get fat then-" Chica immediately laughs and fails to finish her sentence once she recognizes how ridiculous Trudge's last statement was. "That'll set a bad example!"
The banter between them doesn't seem to be resolving in any way, and I'm getting exhausted just from listening to it.
I take a couple steps towards the door and give those two one last once-over. Trudge is smirking proudly at his attempt at humor, and Chica is playfully giggling along. It feels like there were a few topics left undiscussed throughout this entire epidemic, but for the time being, they're happy. Chica's no longer panicking, and Trudge doesn't think of Chica any less. I think I can call this one a victory.
Making use of Chica's unusually quiet door, I manage to sneak out unnoticed, and walk out into the corridor. I don't stand there for long however, as I find myself immediately gravitating to the nearest wall and using it for support.
Finally getting the chance to breathe, I close my eyes let out a gigantic sigh.
At least this job's never boring, though sometimes I wonder if it would be better if it was.
My night has barely started, and I feel like I'm about to conk out. Chica's always been a little dramatic, but that entire situation took it right the hell outta me. I don't know how well I handled everything, or if I made the correct choices, but at the end of the.. 'hour'.. Everything turned out alright.
I'll have to hold true to that promise of bringing Chica something to eat. I can't believe she never told anyone how she was feeling. Sigh.
Whatever, I don't think I can continue to dwell on this without exhausting myself even more than I already have.
Heh. Maybe if I'm lucky, Freddy will let me lay around in his room again. I think tonight I'll just give the place a quick look over the cameras and chill for the rest of my shift. It'll be nice to 'take the night off' per se.. Although all I'm really doing is skimping out on my responsibilities.
Welp. They aren't gonna skim themselves, so I guess I should get moving.
I take one last deep breath and open my eyes to start navigating the pizzaplex.
Or at least that's what I would have done, if Roxy's face wasn't four inches from mine upon opening my eyes.
I'll admit, I jumped this time. I wasn't expecting that.
"Mike."
"..Uh-huh?"
"Where. The. Fuck. Have. You. Been."
Uh oh.
"I've been busy with Chica and Trudge, sorry."
"I was waiting in my room for an hour, dumbass! Why didn't you text me?"
It takes me a moment to realize she meant over the watches, and not over actual text on my phone.
"Oh. I forgot."
"You forgot."
"I forgot."
"I'll kill you, Mike."
I'd chuckle if I wasn't so wiped.
"Hey, Rox, can we just-"
"Stop calling me Rox."
"No. Can we just skip the makeup tonight? I've already had a long night, and my shift has barely-"
"No."
Before I can even finish my sentence, Roxy has grabbed my shirt and is dragging me along behind her.
Sigh.