NOTES
This is part 2 of 3. Part 3 isn't finished being written yet, so it'll still be some time, but it's worth noting that it'll be significantly longer than these first two parts. This part was, initially, supposed to be longer, but I cut it off at an earlier point where I feel it makes more sense to end on. (in other words, there's a bit of a shift from the tone of this part to the next.)
This is still just a second part of what was supposed to be one giant chapter, so if the ending feels a little unnatural, that's 'cause it wasn't intended to be 'the ending' at all. Yurr.
When I go back and remaster, these chapters will shimmy a bit to stand on their own two feet rather than be three parts of one thing, but in the mean time, huzzah.
This part, along with the previous one, is susceptible to changes if I feel they need to be made for the whole picture of this three-chapter burst to make sense. Of course, this includes grammar or spelling mistakes, but this also means changes to the story as well. If I do decide that I need to edit either chapter's story, I'll edit these notes as well to reflect the change I made, as well as mention something on my discord server.
UPDATE
Someone mentioned that I forgot to take some authors notes out of the middle of the chapter, and that I did. I have, however, decided to keep them in for the rest of the day, on account of that being fucking hilarious.
- Delusional Still -
- Part 2 -
(Remember kids: The easiest way to be popular is to leech off the popularity of someone else.)
-.-.-
...
"I thought this would be more thrilling.."
I side-eye the canine in my passenger seat, unsure what she means to communicate by telling me this. While Roxy is calmly looking out the side of the windshield with a healthy curiosity, that appears to be the extent of her excitement regarding this new experience.
"..The ride?"
"Yeah."
"It isn't like cart racing, if that's what you mean."
"I know." Roxy starts, rotating her head to look outside the passenger window. "I wasn't expecting a race or anything; it's supposed to be careful and calculated, I already know that.. I 'unno, it's just weird. Dunno how to describe it."
"..Want to try anyway..?" I reply, prodding the topic to continue.
I feel like I can guess what she means pretty easily, but asking her to elaborate anyway'll keep the conversation going. Maybe that'll eventually give her the stimulation she's looking for.
"Mm.." Roxanne hums, indicating she's putting her thoughts in order.
"..."
...
"Maybe I just thought it'd feel faster, since we're, like.."
"Since we're actually going faster?"
"Mhm."
"Mm.." I acknowledge, removing a hand from the steering wheel and resting it on the gear shift. "The roads are a lot wider out here on the main street. Maybe it's just the perspective making it feel like we're not going all that fast."
"Maybe. It felt like we were going faster when we were takin' small roads through all the trees."
"We were actually going a good fifteen miles slower, but the nearby trees probably gave our brains a reference to judge our speed by."
...
"There's more to look at on the main roads, though.." Roxanne tranquilly comments, as if she doesn't really care if I heard her or not.
"I guess so.. After you get used to this scenery, I think you start to prefer the trees."
"Mm."
...
..After a moment, Roxy turns her head away from the window to stare at me for a couple seconds.. I can't really interpret what she's feeling since I can only see her in my peripheral..
But, before long, she suddenly leans a good portion of the way out of her seat; stretching as if trying to read my dashboard.
"Wasn't the speed limit in the wood-sy area fourty-five?" Roxanne wonders out loud.
"Yeah?"
"And now we're going fifteen over that?"
"We're going sixty."
"It's fifty-five through here."
...
It took a little effort not to laugh at the childlike innocence she explained that to me in.. It wasn't chiding me, but closer to trying to be helpful by politely informing me of the speed limit, as if I didn't know.
"..Rox, there's zero chance in hell I'm letting you get on my case about speeding."
"..I wasn-"
"You race for a living."
"I 'wasn't' getting on your case, dick. I was just making sure you knew." Roxy huffs, pretending not to enjoy the banter.
"There's no one else on the road. I'd be going faster if it wasn't for the synth squatter in my passenger seat."
"You can 'go' faster, I don't care."
"No- it's not 'cause I think you'd be uncomfortable if I went faster, I just don't want to get caught by a predatory speed trap hiding in the bushes somewhere; despite how entertaining as the police officer's reaction to you would be."
"Aw."
"..The hell does 'aw' mean?" I badger, suspiciously side-eyeing my passenger.
"I thought you meant you were holding back for my safety. Shouldn'tve expected you to express your undying love for me so casually."
"I can go over sixty without putting either of us at risk, wolf."
"Th-"
"If that 'undying love' bit was meant to be a pun, I'm telling Freddy you've been eating all my pillows."
"Going faster is inherently riskier, purple man. Not that I'm against 'risk', as evidenced by my continued affiliation with your sketch-ass."
"That is so absolutely untrue." I reply through a breathy chuckle.
"What is?"
"The speed thing."
"No it isn't."
"Why would going exactly the speed limit make me any safer than if I'm going 3 or 4 over?"
"Speed limits literally exist for safety."
"They do, but matching the speed limit doesn't magically make you safer than everyone else." I begin, shooting Roxanne a slightly cocky, knowing side-glance to let her know she's triggered the 'self-proclaimed intellectual rambler' side of me. "Speed limits exist as a reference for police to use warrant pulling someone over. If someone's driving dangerously fast and obviously putting people in danger, the police can't stop them unless there's a law or 'limit' that the dangerous driver is breaking."
"Yeah? So it's for safety? Like I just fuckin' said?"
"It is, but not for the reasons you were saying.. Speeding is fine, dangerously speeding isn't. You were saying speeding inherently means greater risk, and I'm saying it doesn't, because that's not the purpose speed limits serve."
"That's stupid- If it was just to allow them to pull over stupid drivers, why wouldn't they just make the speed limit like one mile per hour?"
"Probably so the police can't accuse anyone they want of speeding..?"
"So they had to decide on a speed, right?"
"Sure looks that way."
"So they probably decided the speed limits based on what's safest. Like- they probably made the speed limit here fifty-five because they thought any more than that qualified as 'dangerously speeding'." Roxanne explains, using hand motions to accentuate her point.
"What speeds are 'safe' aren't objective; they're dependent on the person driving. 60MPH can be safe for one driver, but unsafe for another."
"Based on fuckin' what?"
"Things like age. It's the reason there are jokes and whatnot about old people going slow on the road."
"You think it depends on how old people are?"
"No- I think it depends on everything that determines whether someone's fully in-control of the vehicle or not."
"What?"
"Sorry, I mean, like.. If you're going so fast that you don't feel like you have total control over the vehicle, then you're going 'dangerous' speeds. Any speed in which you do feel like you're in total control of the vehicle while driving are 'safe' speeds. So if a driver is going sixty miles an hour, but is in total control of the vehicle, then that speed is a safe speed for them to drive."
"Okay..? Soooo didn't the police make the speed limit a speed that everyone would feel 'in total control of the vehicle' while driving?"
"Yes. That's exactly it, actually."
"..What is?"
"Speed limits are set to values in which everybody feels like they're in total control while driving, including the people who think that speed limit is as fast as they can go without feeling like they have less control."
"You lost me."
"I mean like.. Old people, for example, again. The police set the speed limit to what they think even really old people can handle, even though younger people in their prime can likely go a lot faster without feeling any less in-control, so that police are given the opportunity to pull over old people who are obviously going faster than they're comfortable with."
"That sounds corrupt as hell."
"No- it.." I begin, trailing off as I rack my brain for a more sensible way to express things.. "..It's like.. So- you trust me with being able to go sixty-five in a fifty-five, right?"
"Sure?"
"Would you also trust a ninety-eight year old going sixty-five in a fifty-five?"
"Mm, mkay, I see.." Roxanne quietly hums to herself in the passenger seat, all the information finally beginning to shift in place somewhere in her head.
"That's what I mean. The speed limits exist to grant the police capability of pulling people over, and the speed limits were made lower than what most people's max comfort-speeds are so that elderly people, or anyone else who might not be able to drive faster speeds safely, can be encouraged by the police to only drive in a range that they're completely comfortable with."
"That was the most confusing and unhelpful summary I've ever heard; stop talking, I get it already."
"M'kay.."
...
"Well- doesn't everyone drive speeds they're comfortable with?" Roxanne asks after a couple seconds.
"No."
...
"Damn. How compelling."
"Yep."
...
"Mike-"
"To be honest, I was hoping you'd just ask 'why' after I said no, 'cause I formatted my answer to your question in a way that only makes sense if you ask 'why', and I didn't feel like editing the sentence in my head to make it make sense without it."
"I literally have zero idea what you just tried to tell me - that was the least understandable sentence I've ever heard in my entire life. What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"Sorry, maybe I should calm down a bit." I reply through a hint of indifferent snickering. "..Anyway, 'no', people don't exclusively drive at speeds they have total control of, and that's entirely on account of the fact that 'people are stupid'. I know I just droned on about how totally-tubular speeding is, but accidents caused by speeding still happen all the time."
" 'Cause they think they're driving at speeds they're in control over, when they're not?"
"Yeah, usually. Other times people are fully aware they aren't in perfect control, but they think they're immune to consequences, so they put their plot-armor to the test."
"Driving probly' isn't something you wanna 'trial and error'."
"Nope. Sometimes it only takes one mistake.. I run into people who are practically hazards all the time because they think the only thing that could conceivably put people in danger on the road is 'speeding', and that any danger they end up in otherwise must not be their fault."
"You've got a lot to fuggin' say about this, apparently."
"Sorry. No one around here can drive.."
"D'awwww, arright I'll bite. Tell me. Keep goin'." Roxanne coyly teases, inviting me to continue.
"Mmmwell.. Going 'under' the speed limit is *so* much more dangerous than going over, for one.. The risk of getting in a crash while going 5 under the speed limit is multiple times higher than going 5 over, and of course it is, 'cause everyone expects you to either be going the speed limit, or over. Never under. And the number-one thing you want to avoid on the road is being unpredictable."
"Whoof. You are awfully passionate about this, aren't you?"
"It's for the same reason that going an inconsistent speed is also insanely dangerous. Like - when people fluctuate between going the speed limit and going 5 under, it's forcing the people behind them to dedicate far more focus towards reacting and adapting to their constantly swaying speed to avoid rear-ending them, and expecting everyone to adapt to what you're doing for your comfort/convenience is a terrible plan.. If the person approaching you from behind is zoned out, you're getting in a crash. All it takes is one.."
"Mike."
"And people who refuse to adapt are also asking for it too, by the way. If everyone on the same road as you is going 10 over the speed limit, and you refuse to speed a bit too, it doesn't matter if you're the outstanding citizen who's obeying the law; You are the only one going ten miles-an-hour slower than everybody else, and are therefor, 'the hazard'."
"Holy shit, I shouldn't have told you to keep talking."
"Use your blinker, t-"
"Stopp, stop. Stop talking, that's enough."
...
"Sorry."
Roxanne snickers, uncrossing her arms and propping herself up further in her seat.
"You have so much to say over the most random topics, Jesus Christ."
"I haven't really had anyone to vent this too for the last 50-odd years.."
"It certainly sounded like it."
"Sorry."
...
"..That's been happening with you more often lately, hasn't it..?" Roxanne asks, tone suddenly far more curious, lacking much of her fun-having lightheartedness she had just a moment ago.
"..What- me talking a lot?"
...
"Nah- like.. It's topic specific.. You get goin' about one thing, and I can't shut you up."
"Mm.."
"You never used to talk much at all. Now you talk a normal amount with, like, 'me', but that's about it. It's weird seeing you get caught in a self-propelling lecture."
"Maybe I'm just a little more comfortable talking openly."
...
"..Maybe.." Roxanne mutters, not even remotely convinced..
I don't really know what to tell her. My only theory is that I've simply grown more comfortable with her.
...
...
..Though.. Now that I think about it..
..That doesn't really make too much sense, does it.. 'Cause lately-..
...
Oh-
"Hey, check this out.." I begin, lifting my right hand from the gear shift and pointing diagonally out the windshield. Roxanne's already trying to follow my finger to where I'm pointing before I'm even able to get all the words out. "This is the edge of town. See all those houses?"
"..All, like, four of them..?"
"See that one with the standout-red-brick chimney?"
"Two of them have chimneys."
"Yes, th-.. You see the one that's red?"
"Oh.. Yeah?"
"That's Trudge's house."
"What- Really..?" Roxanne perks slightly, peering closer to the windshield for a better look.
"Yeah, practically on the outskirts of the town outskirts."
...
...
..She is.. far more interested in that house than I ever would've thought she would be..
...
"Are they already at Arin's?" Roxy looks over her shoulder at me, taking a hand off the window.
"What..?"
"Or- Cooper's old house? The house Arin Freddy n' Monty are at?"
"You're asking if Trudge is there already?"
"Yeah. And Chica."
"Trudge and Chica weren't going to-.. I'm mostly just going to Arin's so that I can talk to him about future plans, this isn't a get-together or anything; Trudge and Chica have no reason to be there, I don't think.."
"What?"
"Trudge and Chica were never intended to come.."
"Really?" Roxanne asks again, staring out at their house through the window again.
"Yeah..?"
...
...
...
"Mike, I want-.."
"..?"
...
"..I wanna go see Chica - can we just-.. Just drop by? For a couple minutes..?"
"Drop by Trudge's house..?"
"Yeah. It's on the way to Arin's anyway, right?"
"..We're gonna be at Arin's in a few minutes. Freddy and Monty'll be there, too."
"I know, I just.. wanna see them, too."
...
...
I'm a little taken off guard..
..So much submission in the conciliatory way she's asking this favor of me, paired with an almost desperate desire to do something I really didn't think Roxanne would care much about.. All completely arbitrary; out of nowhere..
Roxanne doesn't mind Chica, but she's never been too excited about her before.. Between all the animatronics, Chica's the one Roxanne tends to speak to the most, but even those occurrences are relatively rare.. So, Roxanne openly stating a strong desire to go out of our way to see her for a little, uhm..
...
...
..Roxanne's been trapped at my house for a while now - and in that time she's been forced to acknowledge and cope with everything that happened recently, in addition to everything she learned. The only company she's had to help work her through it is me, and I'm the one who's name was slathered on all of what she saw happen..
...
..Maybe Roxanne hasn't been doing as well as I thought..
...
"Sure hope they don't mind two visitors pulling into their driveway completely unannounced.." I mutter, letting the car gradually roll to a stop before I shift it in park.
"Their house isn't very big." Roxanne comments, curious eyes glamorously reflecting the colors of Trudge's abode back at me.
"It doesn't really need to be - one person lives here."
"Yours is bigger."
"I needed whatever house that was secluded from most other civilization, and the house I got fit the bill; the size is just 'how the cookie crumbled'.. I also humbly inherited money from two business owners. That, y'know, helped."
...
..Roxanne, like a cat, spends the next few seconds sitting pretty in the passenger seat and curiously gazing through the windshield to absorb every detail of Trudge's house. I suppose an 'adventurous' experience like this is new to her, considering most of her life has taken place inside the Pizzaplex walls.
...
I decide to let her take this at her own pace, and turn my head elsewhere until she decides it's time to go in..
...
...
"..M'kay.. Do I look okay?" Roxanne asks after a moment, looking down at herself, then quickly looking up at me for confirmation.
I, however, am too busy staring back at Trudge through a his large dining-room window to give Roxanne the once-over she desires.
...
..I'm not really sure what's going on..
Trudge saw me first, I only noticed him looking at me after he had already been staring for a while.. Since then it's been an off-putting staring content between the two us, and I'm not too sure what to make of it. An expressionless Trudge is kinda uncanny..
...
Perhaps showing up uninvited wasn't the greatest plan..
...
At a total loss of how to respond to his totally emotionless gaze, I turn to glance at Roxanne for a moment, before looking back through the window.
However, by the time I look back at him, Trudge is exaggerating a 'point and laugh' expression at me through the window as if mocking me, before pridefully pacing out of view of the window, and presumably in the direction of his front door.
...
Did h-.. Did he think we were having a real staring contest..? Is that what just happened?
"This place is far cleaner than I ever would have guessed.." I think out loud, standing off to the side while Roxanne politely pulls a chair out from the dining table.
"They call me Mr. Clean" Trudge mindlessly retorts, who's voice is the first familiar song I've heard in far too long. Other than Roxanne, of course.
As soon as we came in, Trudge led us to his 'kitchen', which appears to double as a dining room. As in, there's a decent-size dining table in the middle of the particularly large kitchen. As unconventional as that seems, the room is big enough for it to fit without anything feeling cramped, and it really doesn't seem all that out-of-place. I suppose I have a thing or two to learn about aesthetics.
..Not that I'd have any room to judge, even if I wanted to.. I don't even have a dining table..
I mean - I have the island with barstools, and that creates a dedicated eating area, so it's not like I don't have a place to eat. I just.. Usually prefer to eat on the couch. Though I've regretted that on more than one occasion..
Man, I can't word this in a way that doesn't make me sound like a lazybones, huh..
...
I have a coffee table. That counts towards something.
"What's with the table?" Roxanne asks, making herself comfortable in one of the wooden chairs.
It's, admittedly, pretty unusual to see Roxanne casually initiate small-talk, especially with Trudge.. She must be more starved of 'normal' social interactions than I thought.
"Which table?" Trudge answers earnestly.
"The table."
"This table?"
"What other fuckin' table?"
"It's just a table. Carved from the richest mahogany."
No, it isn't.
"You can cram six people around it if you tried." Roxanne notes, nonchalantly gesturing to the empty spaces.
"Tables are pretty good at that."
"I mean why? You live alone, what do you do with a table like this?"
"Eat."
"Trudge."
"I don't know what you want from me- the table came with the house."
"It's a family sized table."
"What was I supposed to say - 'Give me the house, take the table'?"
"Whatever you say Mr. Clean."
"I clean tables too." Trudge declares, closing the fridge and thunk-ing a water bottle on the table right in front of Roxy, who wastes no time taking it up and reading the label as if it's anything but water. "For a price."
God knows what that means.
I reflexively snag the water lobbed over to me while Trudge makes his way around the table, sitting at the end opposite of Roxanne.
"Thank you.." I mutter, more as an instinctive reaction to being handed something than an earnest showing of gratitude.
"Ayurp."
Ayurp.
...
As the three of us take a moment of solace to sip our drinks, I can't help but acknowledge that Roxanne's doing well with her cuts. She's always conscious of them, which might be a little of a damper on the light-hearted conversation mood, but it means she's cautious of her movements; keeping the fur settled enough to prevent a cut from appearing.
"..Hey." I call out after re-sealing my drink.
"Heyyy~." Trudge.. responds..
"It's quiet in here."
"My 'orb-that-makes-noise-always' is broken."
I don't know what that means. I'm not asking what that means.
"I meant, mm..-" I begin, reminding myself of the etiquette for talking to a wild Trudge. "..I wasn't sure what to expect with you and Chica together in one house, but 'loud' was one of the adjectives I had in mind.."
"Surprise."
"Is she here?"
"Yeah, wanna look?"
" 'Wanna look'? " I parrot, wary of what that means, but nonetheless pushing off the counter to follow the Trudge rising from his chair.
"She's just like, there." Trudge explains(?), lazily pointing through a doorway Roxanne and I haven't explored.
"..Is she okay?"
"Yeah yeah she's fine. C'mere, I wanna show you - it's funny."
"It's funny?"
"I didn't expect it either at first time." He mischievously continues, beckoning me forth as he enters the doorway.
...
..Roxanne and I share a suspicious glance with one another as I walk past; just as I do so, I hear her rising from her chair as well.
...
...
"Y'see her?" Trudge whispers, as if a tour guide on a safari.
"Yes..?"
Sure enough, thar she blows..
It's nothing spectacular, if just a tad unusual. We're poking our heads into the dim living room; the lights are off, but the room is nonetheless pleasantly illuminated through the natural light seeping through the curtains of a few windows.
Somewhat off topic, but despite everything you'd expect, I can't help but compare Trudge's house to that of a loving grandma's.. Clean tan carpet, an easy-on-the-eyes brown couch, old patterned rug in front of said couch, organized shelves bearing the occasional small clay figurine of what look like tiny cartoonish baby-angels. There's no television in front of the couch, but a large window; currently masked with curtains. It's.. almost alarmingly clean and peaceful.. Two adjectives I never would have imagined I'd use on these two..
..Surely there's an explanation, but figuring that out is something for later..
Anyway. Chica.
Chica is laying belly-down across the length of the sofa. Her is face half-buried in two pillows she's naturally hugging with her arms. She is fast asleep.. Sleeping isn't an unusual behavior for anybody, but it is worth mentioning that Chica seems exceptionally happy and cozy atop those cushions..
...
I can't help but stare for a few seconds. Everyone has to sleep, of course, but man.. Chica's good at it, apparently.. Snug as a bug..
...
"Tuckered out.." I lazily comment, tilting my head a bit.
"Sleeping birdy." Trudge responds, probably trying to make a joke somehow..
"She must be beat from your daily dose of shenanigans.."
"Nope. That's 'da catch."
"What is?"
"Chica loves spending all day letting her energy out and running around the Pizzaplex with/after me. Like, sometimes for exercise, or sometimes just 'cause we like running around." Trudge begins, shifting his gaze from the bird to me with a cock-eyed 'listen to this shit' expression.
"That's more or less what I was referring to."
"Y'know what Chica does all day when she comes to my house?"
"What..?"
"That." Trudge quietly announces, pointing at the bird we're all already looking at.
...
"..What do you mean?"
"She gets inflicted with chronic snuggle-bug disease."
"I know less of what you mean than before."
"I dunno - Whenever Chica's here, all she does is happily follow me around for like sixty minute periods before finding somewhere to snuggle up and fall asleep."
..Lifting a brow, I look back up at Chica for a moment..
...
"You mean she doesn't run around and make noise all day, like she does at the Pizzaplex..?"
"Nope. She literally just sleeps. If I'm sitting somewhere, she'll come sleep on me, but if I'm not, she just tuckers out on the couch or something. Then she gets up, trails me or does her own thing for a while, before going right back to sleep."
...
"..Really?"
"I 'unno why it happens. It's cute though."
...
..From the sounds of it, Trudge really is fond of this behavior. Though I suppose he's got plenty to look forward to since the two results of the birds drowsiness are either 'Chica's snuggles up alone' or 'Chica snuggles up with Trudge'..
Still, that's peculiar.. Not what I expected, at least..
...
I stare at the bird a little more, now that this new behavior's been brought to light..
It's, admittedly, hard to imagine someone as goku-get-'em as Chica suddenly turning into a slothful snuggle-bug all day, just 'cause she's in Trudge's house.. I was fully expecting their shenanigans to continue here at full-throttle..
...
..I turn to look down at Roxanne, who's also sticking her head out of the doorway to get a look. She turns her head to meet my gaze as soon as I look at her, though.
...
"How come 'you' turn don't into somniac when you're at my house?"
"Mike."
"It'd be easier than having to stop you from catching my kitchen on fire every two hours."
"I feel like ours is a special case, Mike."
"Mm. That's probably fair.." I concur, looking out into the dimly-lit living room again.
..Our case is about as special as it gets, that's the truth alright..
...
I tilt a bit to look back at Trudge.
Trudge is not there.
Looking up, Trudge is, in fact, standing near one end of the couch, gently messing with Chica's head-feathers until she begins to stir.
Whoops.. I was just wondering where she was, I didn't mean to have Trudge go wake her..
..Well, whatever. No skin of my back, I suppose.
...
I take a step into the living room, standing in a less suspicious position. To, y'know, pretend like we weren't all poking our heads in through the doorway and staring at Chica. A quiet carpet ruffle behind me tells me Roxanne does the same.
...
Following a quiet, barely-conscious grunt, Chica props her head up no more than an inch.
"..Tudg..?" Chica mispronounces through her wobbly grip on reality.
"Hey Chonka. Just letting you know we got friends here, if you wanna say hi." Trudge replies in the most gentle, delicate tone I've ever heard from the likes of him..
"..We've g- um.. Friends.."
...
...
Shortly after, Chica grasps enough consciousness to poke her head over the armrest and hazily peer at Roxanne and I in the doorway. It takes a few seconds to register, but a small puff of energy makes Chica push herself up a bit more.
"Oh..! Friends! Oo- Yay..! Okay..!"
I - hup - a hefty chunk of wood onto my shoulder, watching and waiting for Trudge to do the same.
"You don't mind Chica going outside every now and again, huh?"
"Pff. She ain't a pet." Trudge chortles through a huff of his own, taking two bundles of organized sticks in each hand and approaching my side; signaling me that he's ready to move.
"Yeah - that's not what I meant, sorry. Roxanne says she doesn't really want to be seen out at my house, so I guess I was curious if Chica felt similar."
"Mm, no. I mean - it might be different if we we're talking about a super public area with people everywhere, 'cause that amount of attention might get her antsy."
"That makes sense. 'Suppose this isn't really a 'public area' either.." I note, acknowledging the layout of Trudge's backyard.
It's a good size for how modest the house is. It is, still, on the very edge of town, so while it isn't impossible for passerby's to see back here, it would require them walking some uncommon paths.
A good few dozen meters away stand our better halves. Chica's energetically conversing with Roxanne around a fire-pit, and Roxanne, depraved of 'normal' interactions as it is, doesn't seem to mind talking back and forth with her for a bit.
Since we're here, Trudge decided he could use the manpower to get an otherwise slightly-tedious task done really quick with the help of three other people. Trudge and I are moving some wood from a pile nearby a tiny backyard shed up closer to the fire pit, as if on standby. He says there's no rain in the forecast for the next few days, and in that time he was thinking he'd like to start a fire or two. We aren't starting one now, since Roxanne and I have places to be, but we thought we could definitely use the manual labor to get blood in our muscles and a drive in our hearts.
It's more or less just something to keep our hands busy with while we talk, which is always welcome.
Roxanne and Chica are helping too, I think they just finished what they were tasked with. Roxanne can't be doing anything too intense, since of her whole 'hide the cuts' thing, but I didn't really need to make a case about that since Trudge is fully aware that Roxanne always puts a pompous amount of effort into her appearance, and dirtying it up might have consequences for everyone's good day..
That's not to say she isn't working hard; Rox naturally feels compelled to help when her friends are helping, just like anybody else. No one likes to feel useless, I suppose..
...
"Your house is nothing like I imagined it would be." I admit, making conversation for the walk.
"In a good way?"
"Yeah. It's hard to find anything about your house to nitpick about."
"Cuz' it's clean?"
"Mhm."
"Mmmmpraise."
"..?"
"Thanks; I do like keeping my house clean, but it's been a lot easier since Chica likes to join in when she sees me doing it." Trudge pleasantly reminisces.
"It's almost supernatural how well you two go together.."
"Did you know Chica loves eggs?"
"I knew she liked them; I vaguely remember watching you two cook some."
"Yeah. It's weird."
"It's weird..?"
"She's a chicken."
"She's a humanoid animatronic that poorly resembles chicken."
"She has the brain of a chicken."
"I'm telling her you said that."
"She won't know what it means."
Unfortunately, I'm the first to break, chuckling slightly at how unnervingly true that last statement could be. Immediately after, I catch Trudge chortling under his breath like a child, so I'm not gonna feel too bad.
Chica isn't an idiot by any means; I know damn well Trudge wouldn't call her that outside of a jest straight to her face. Sometimes it's just funny how selective Chica's knowledge can be towards just about anything. She absorbs anything she learns pretty quickly, but it's like Chica was given the least amount of knowledge to start out with when she was 'made'.
Though still, there's something to be said about Chica's emotional receptiveness. It goes far beyond any of ours, and as consequence, sometimes it's hard to get troubles you've been having past her; simply because she outsmarts you into proving that there's something wrong, without even trying.
But, yeah. Chica probably doesn't know what bird-brain means.
...
- "You can tell me..! If that's okay, I mean - but you know me!" -
..Speak of the devil, it's sounding Chica caught on to something, and like Roxanne wasn't able to ward off the birds concern.
...
...
"-there's not.. Chica, I will tell you if something is bad enough I need your help with." Roxanne groans, crouching in front of the fire-put with an assortment of fire-prodding tools.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, you know how I bitch about things. If I'm keeping it to myself, it's for a good reason."
"You don't whine too much..!"
Roxanne laughs condescendingly, providing Chica all the response she needs for the point to get across.
"Well I don't mind it.." Chica huffs, leaning over Roxy at the waist to watch her do whatever she thinks she's doing.
Ah. Nothing a little bit of Michael's refined topic-changing ability won't fix.
"Wolf." I call out upon reaching the other end of the fire pit,
"Gaylord."
"We've gotta head out in a f-" I begin, quickly interrupted by the incessant giggle fit from the man-child next to me.
"I taught her that." Trudge claims pridefully, through his decaying chortles.
"I figured you did.." I respond quietly, turning back to the wolf to finish my thought. "We've gotta head out to Arin's in the next ten minutes or so. I didn't give him a specific time for when we'd be there, but we're nearing the end of the general time I provided."
"Fine." Roxanne acknowledges, rising to a stand. "Finish your job first. I finished mine, go."
"Wanna help me with mine?"
"You're covered in woodchips and dirt."
"Do you want to be covered in woodchips and dirt?"
"I appreciate the offer, lumberjack, but I'd pay your soul if it meant not looking like you in any fashion."
"How much is my soul worth?"
"Thirteen dollars."
"Fuck you." I chime, pleased with our ability turn this into an inside joke.
"What - Arin's?" Chica interjects, standing upright and folding her hands in front of her.
"I need to talk to Arin about some stuff the Pizzaplex. Roxanne's tired of being cooped up with me all day, so this is her little 'outing' for the week."
"Heyy~.." Trudge chirps, notably over the sound of Roxanne mumbling something about not being a dog. "Fun. How's Arin and his group a' gangsters?"
Hahh.. I'm choosing not to answer that..
"I haven't talked to them much outside of a few texts. I'm only heading there for a bit of serious talk."
"We're heading there so I can experience a house other than Michael's for an afternoon." Roxanne rebukes.
"Yes, indeed." Trudge begins, lazily letting the wood fall from his hands and plop next to mine. "We are, in fact, going there for a good time."
Ruh roh.
...
"I don't think Arin's expecting a party.." I argue, poorly, and sheepishly..
"I wasn't either."
Fuck. Yeah, fair enough.
"Mm.. Let me text him first, at least.."
"Okie-doke."
"Wait - who's house are they at?" Chica blurts, as if figuring something out.
"Cooper's. They didn't live together, per se, but Arin was very frequently staying at Cooper's house; usually for work related reasons." I reply, glancing over my phone just long enough to get my sentence out.
"Aww - he's gotta learn to have fun!"
"I don't think Arin minds doing stuff at Cooper's. It's less 'work' for him and closer to 'something to keep his hands busy'."
"You oughta ask Cooper if it's okay, too..!"
"Mm.." I hum, trying not to feel anything towards that statement. "..Mhm.."
...
The keys turn, and the engine pleasantly groans to life.. Just as it begins to settle, the passenger door slams shut with a mighty - tchunk -
"Mannn.." Roxanne exhales, taking a hefty breath while she reaches behind her for the seatbelt.
"Was it everything you hoped it would be?"
"What the fuck is the plan for when people start to ask where Cooper is?"
I reply with a somber chuckle, shaking my head slightly as I shift to reverse.
"This is probably cruel of me, but I've decided to let Arin handle the explanation for that.. I wasn't exactly ecstatic at the idea of coercing him to dwell on Cooper's death, but he seems to want to be the one responsible for the cover-up."
...
"Ugh.. It feels filthy even talking about this.." Roxanne quietly whines.
"Sorry."
"We all- fuckin'.. We all liked Cooper, didn't we? Like, we all thought he was cool?"
"I think so.."
"It feels dirty talking about shit like 'who's responsible for covering up his death'."
"I know, sorry."
...
"I feel like a criminal.."
"You aren't. I am."
"Thanks, Mike. Wrap this car around a tree while you're at it, that'll make me feel better."
"Look, I understand the feeling, but something worse really would have happened if things didn't turn out the way they did."
"It's not super pleasant thinking about how this was the best-case-fuckin'-scenario."
"Mm.."
"Like- you didn't need to kill him, right? He was gonna hurt a kid, that's bad, but like - as soon as the kid left, he wasn't gonna fuggin hurt the kid anymore, you know?" Roxanne somewhat-rants. It isn't a soul-baring confession, but closer to how someone would casually complain about their favorite football team having a bad game.
"Mhm.."
"Or just knock the old man out. He was old, anyone there coulda just restrained him or whatever."
"Mmhm.."
"Or just, y'know, do literally anything else but stab him. Fuckin' anything.. Jesus.."
"Mm.."
...
...
"..I-.. Sorry, I shouldn't-.."
"No- you're perfectly fine, wolf. Nothing wrong with how you feel."
"It's just stupid."
"I kn-"
"You're not stupid - I meant, like, fuckin', y'know, sorry.."
"I get it."
"I know you didn't take it lightly.."
"Rox."
"Sorry."
"Stop sayi-, what are you apologizing for?"
"For apologizing, Mike - I'm fuckin' stupid, you know that, leave me alone."
An amused exhale puffs out my nose as I reach the main street, stopping at the stop-light to turn onto the road.
"You've certainly been a lot more humble recently." I comment, half-kidding.
"It's hard to be proud when you have no idea what the fuck's going on anymore."
"You used to be proud of the little things too, though. Like - you were the king just 'cause you were able to make yourself look nice every morning."
"That's because I'm the only one who knows how to look good in the damn Pizzaplex."
"There you go."
"Whatever, Mike - what do you want from me?"
"Nothing; just making sure you're not going through some wild character development through all this. In the end, you're still gonna be a performer on a stage at the Pizzaplex - I don't wanna be responsible for changing the Roxanne everyone's come to grow attached to for her unique personality.."
"You're always on my ass for being egocentric, and the moment I'm not, you're on my ass for that, too?"
"It's fun."
"Don't hurt yourself trying to get a reaction from me, purple man.."
"Was just commenting on something I noticed, is all. Finally got you your make-up and everything, and you haven't even bragged about it once."
"It's a little bit harder to be all proud of how I look with a murder-mystery in progress, and a walking carcass driving me across town. Kinda goes against, y'know, 'everything I've come to know' and other small things like that."
"Mm, sorry. Well you look nice; noticed you're trying out a new style with the make-up, but it never felt like a natural time to bring it up."
"Thanks.."
...
"..There's also significantly less of it than what I remember you preferring to wear." I note, making the observation for myself as I speak.
"Yeah."
"Why? Trying to make the make-up last so I don't have to call for a re-supply?"
"No. I mean - maybe, I guess that's also nice." Roxanne comments to herself, bringing her hands up to her face as if looking at her make-up through an invisible mirror. "You said I looked good when I looked natural, so I only put any make-up on in spots that would highlight stuff."
"Huh.." I hum, a little flattered by how seriously she takes my dumbass judgement.
"Whatever - I made it look sharp, instead of flashy."
"I see."
"And the zig-zags, 'cause everyone likes the zig-zags."
"Sure.."
...
..Finally shutting the car door, I'm hardly able to glance over in time before our little merry crew decides to make their presence known with an authoritative knock on Arin's front door.
Unbeknownst to such trivial things as 'manners', Roxanne nonchalantly opens the door and walks right in, followed quickly by Trudge and his little bird friend. Within' seconds, I hear them greeted with brotherly - "Heyyy!" 's from both Freddy and Monty. Just as Roxanne walks out of my line of sight, I can subtly see her spirits lift as she catches sight of her friends for the first time in what has to be the longest time she's been separated from them. Of course, that ego of hers masks the intrinsic thrill with a much more tame and casual acknowledgement, but the energy's there.
...
..I can't help but hesitate..
The house is no more significant than mine, but I feel it loom over me, as if it was a skyscraper.
..The recollection of everything that's happened over the last few days swirls in my head.. As soon as I enter that door, it will all be something I have to actively consider, as to help Arin make decisions on where to go from here..
...
..I hope you've come up with something good to tell the animatronics, Arin.. Because we cannot let Monty know Cooper was murdered.. I can't even begin to imagine what would happen. Especially if he knew it was me..
...
My feet move, but the foreboding feelings don't fade. I have a feeling they won't until I get this all over with.
Who knows what that's going to take. I haven't been able to come up with a realistic prediction or plan for dealing with Arin.. Or Freddy..
Funnily enough, Arin's probably going to be the easy part. I have no idea how my first interactions with Freddy are gonna go. Every time I think of him, I'm cursed with the recollection of the confrontation we had.. I effectively threatened him in that corridor we stood in..
...
..I wanna go home..
...
Pff, no I don't.. Even if I did, it'd do nothing but give me more time to stew in these feelings.
This isn't gonna be easy.. Nothing worth doing ever is, I suppo-
"There you are - come in!"
Their voice pierces my trance like an arrow.. I guess I have been taking a while to get in, and the rest of my merry crew left the front door open for me.
Y-, oh..
"..uhm-, me?"
"Yes you, come in before the insects make it inside first. Arin heated up food for everyone~, this is an opportunity for everybody to catch up."
"..ah- Right, yeah. Sorry, Fred.."
I try not to stumble into the kitchen; which, notably, is separated from the dining room via a small interior archway.
I'm still admittedly taken a bit off-guard with how, um.. happy Freddy is.. To be honest, I was expecting a serious spark between our eyes when we made eye-contact, but he beckoned me straight into the house and lead me to the kitchen. It takes me a moment to pry my gaze off the back of the bear's head, but the bustling noises emanating from the room I'm facing quickly grab my attention.
..Sheesh, wow.
Everyone's already here. They're-..
...
..A peculiar feeling bubbles up inside as I make out a key detail in everyone in here..
...
..They're all the happiest I've ever seen them..
I'm frozen like a statue in the kitchen archway, taken aback at just how hearty a room of six people can be.
Nonstop bustling conversation and banter, constant motion as a couple of them navigate around the kitchen to nab whatever they want; it's like thanksgiving all over again.
Roxanne's leaning against the wall nearby with a plate full of food in her hands, already on Freddy's case for disappearing for a few seconds the moment everyone got here. Freddy's pretending to be sheepishly apologizing, but making it playfully obvious how fake it is. Trudge and Chica are standing to the left of Monty, holding plates of their own; evidently 'in line' while the gator grabs what he wants from the hot-plates and crackpots sitting on the counter. The former two are loudly bantering to the latter of why it's a terrible idea for Monty to be 'in front' of anyone in any food line, ever; and the gator's responding with nonsensical remarks about how he 'can't hear them over all the meatballs on his plate'.
..Crockpots, meatballs, some sort of noodles with various sauces around them, a tray of scotcharoos, fluffy rolls, some other casserole type dish I'm unfamiliar with.. These aren't foods you just throw in the oven for five minutes, this is a considerable amount of patiently well-prepared food.
It's almost like the sustained babble and laughter is casting a spell on me; this is all so far from what I was expecting.. I sugarcoat it often, but the reality is that I was dreading this day. I thought it'd be full of uncomfortable conversations and questions I can't answer for, while Roxanne goes out and entertains herself with the rest of the gang for a few minutes.
But it's nothing like that- it's..
...
"Whhups- uhh..! Mikey!" Monty calls out, flinching and catching something in his hands before looking around wildly - eventually finding me standing in the archway.
"What-?"
"Try meatball!" He immediately interjects, doing a dramatic single-legged lunge across the kitchen towards me and holding something downward in his fist, portraying that he wants to give me something.
"..?"
Reflexively, I hold out my left hand underneath Monty's closed fist and allow him to drop whatever it is he has to give.
If I were to have taken not even three more seconds to think about what Monty said, I would have been able to predict that the wet and gooey object he has dropped into my hand is, in fact, a large barbecue meatball.
"I chose da' very best meatball I could find for ya'. It's what I'm good fer'." Monty dismissively comments, undoing his lunge and stretching in the opposite direction to wash his hands in the sink. As he does, Chica starts lightly batting the gator's shoulder to get him to move down the line faster.
...
I peer down, crestfallen at my now barbecue-stained mess of a hand, with a pitiful warm meatball sitting politely in the center of my palm.
I'm fairly certain Monty did not hand me the best meatball he could find and, instead, accidentally dropped a meatball, caught it, and thought the only logical step to take from there was to hand it off to somebody.
...
"Dumbass." Roxanne calls out from a few feet away, briefly interrupting her conversation with Freddy.
"Whoops.." I mutter in response, earning a hearty giggle from the wolf.
"I wouldn't eat that. Who knows where Monty's hands have been."
"..."
..After a few more seconds of trying to telepathically will the meatball from out of my hand, I finally look up to meet Roxanne's gaze.
...
"Throw it in the trash, Mike."
"Where's the trash..?"
"I don't know."
"..."
...
"Mike- I got here twenty seconds before you did, I don't know where shit is."
"Mm."
"Look under th- wAAH!"
I lobbed the meatball at Roxanne.
...
A couple minutes later, not much has changed. Everyone finished going down the line and filling their plate, so I'm finally taking my run around the food court.
Everyone's gradually sifted over to the dining room, with only Freddy and Roxanne still technically in the kitchen. To the right of the archway connecting the kitchen to the dining room, there's a large rectangular hole in the wall with a counter on the bottom, acting as something like a bar. More importantly, it acts like one big window between the two rooms, so conversations between people in each room can still go uninterrupted. i.e. Roxanne's in the kitchen leaning a good portion of her body over the bar and gossiping with Chica about something, who's currently seated at the dining room table.
The conversation and laughter remain.. It doesn't feel any less 'wrong' than it did at first, but.. I suppose it isn't exactly an unpleasant feeling, either.
...
..Pasta and meatballs go together all the time, but it's weird seeing them as different dishes in the same meal.
Oh well. Suppose I'll have to survive somehow with eating both barbecue meatballs and Alfredo individually. What a cruel and unforgiving fate.
...
I mess with the crockpots for a while, filling my plate with no more than a reasonable helping.
..These meatballs are pretty damn big in-and-of-itself though.. I don't really know what a 'reasonable' helping of these things would be.
...
I snag a couple meatballs in the ladle and hover them over the crockpot for a moment; staring at them mindlessly as I carefully deduce the socially acceptable quantity of meatballs..
...
..I've thought the word "meatballs" more in these last ten minutes than I have over the course of my entire life..
...
"The sauce is, ah.. made to have a little kick to it, in case you're deciding.."
The voice makes my mind go blank for a moment, though no more than a second later I turn my head to see the man peering over my shoulder.
Of course, it's Arin - politely standing a step behind and to the right of me with his hands folded behind his back. As I turn to look at him, his gaze also lifts from the ladle to look back at me.
Mm, yeah.. he's seen better days..
He's no less the Arin I know on the professional front, but that's just his personality. It's the lines around his weighty eyes that tell me he hasn't been getting much rest.. He's fatigued, and certainly more vulnerable than he likes to present himself, but I suppose this is as worthy of a scenario as it gets to be a little vulnerable..
...
"..Oh - I don't mind, sorry. Hah - I was just deciding on what the socially standard serving-size of meatballs is." I eventually explain, turning back to the food and serving myself the fated balls of meat.
"I see." He replies standardly, responding well to my effort to keep the talk light.
"Monty and Freddy making it hard to relax?"
"No, they're fine. They handle themselves, for the most part. I'm still catching up on sleep - it, ah.. hasn't come easily, but I've been getting better with each day."
"I understand. Don't push yourself, we have all the power for when the Pizzaplex opens up - we can hold it off for as long as it takes."
"Of course.."
After a few minutes of light conversation with Arin and a couple others, I take my seat at the large circular table fitted in the dining room. It's noticeably large for a normal household, but it adds up pretty well this time. I don't know if Cooper did 'meetings' very much, since that kinda contradicts with what I envision him doing, but I'm sure there were at least a few he had to be a part of as the result of, y'know, owning a stunningly successful business. The large table would make a perfect meeting spot.
Worth mentioning is that the house we're in is actually quite humble, considering Cooper's 'financial' status; which must've been pretty noteworthy, considering how generous he was with pay rates.. It's not 'small' by any means; it's large enough to fit a standard household family, but not more. I suppose an added benefit to this, however, is the 'homely/cozy' feeling you get from less spacious houses.
Anyway, despite the big table, it's not colossal. It's able to fit a majority of everyone, but a couple chairs had to be pulled from god-knows-where to get a spot for everybody. Just about everyone has sat down by now, with the last of the stragglers reaching their chairs amidst their sustained babble with one another.
Roxanne's stood from leaning over the bar and mindlessly navigated to an seat next to me, her girl-gossip with our chicken still maintained.
...
..Maybe I was a little more cautious than I needed to be, regarding Roxanne's cuts.. Even when Roxanne juts enough for one to be briefly visible, they're practically impossible to notice unless you're actively looking for them; which means anyone who isn't aware of the presence of her cuts won't have much reason to notice..
As she lowers in her seat, I mindlessly stare at the top of her snout for a moment.. In addition to the cuts, there was that gnarly bruise Rox got when I mistakenly tossed her to the floor. She covered up what remained of the injury with make-up, stunningly well at that..
...
..Ugh.. I shouldn'tve thought about that, it still makes me feel awful.. I'm sure the pain was practically subdued by the adrenaline she was feeling at the time, but it doesn't make looping the scenario in my head any less brutal.. I was only trying to toss her away from me like I had done several times before, but in the heat of the moment I failed to consider how tough it would be for Roxanne to catch herself when it was her arm that I forced all the momentum onto. Without both arms to properly catch herself, I threw her onto the floor, and Roxanne caught the entire impact with her face. Hard tiled floors make poor pillows, it's no wonder she was dazed.. Th-
Enough, enough, stop it. Everyone's fine, everyone's happy.
I subtly shake my head, dislodging the thoughts and re-focusing on the world around me.
..Thankfully, the upbeat bustling manages to take preface over the bitter thoughts nagging at the back of my mind. I nonchalantly stare at Roxanne for a few seconds to remind myself that she's recovering and (relatively..) happy, making it look like I'm listening in on whatever she's talking about.
...
The other chair next to me opposite of Roxanne's rattles, and I glance over in the midst of planting my elbow on the table and lightly supporting my head with my upright arm.
I find Arin, scooting his chair in with a plate of food sat next to mine. I'm, admittedly, a little curious at his choice of who to sit next to, before reminding myself that we're not in gradeschool.
..Arin still looks a little worse for wear. It's his personality to stay conversationally introverted unless the information being shared is work related or is otherwise important, but watching him stare at his food with heavy eyes as he scoots in makes me think it might be a good idea to drive his mind away from his own head for a bit..
...
"Where'd all this food come from?" I ask nonchalantly, moving to grab my silverware and dig in; fitting right in with the bustling conversation surrounding us.
"Ah - everything set out to eat was made with regular products you can find from the grocery store. Or any general market.." Arin responds carefully, though his speech devolves into more casual practice the further his statement goes on.
"Here in town?"
"Yes, here."
"..There's a mainstream grocery store around here..?" I ask, thrilled with this opportunity to prove how outstandingly oblivious I am to my surroundings.
"It- well.. The 'mainstream' one may be considered just out of town, but no more than a minute or two of driving."
"Huh."
"It's the international one; it was rebranded recently.."
"M'kay.. I hope it's 'just out of town' in my direction, 'cause it's been a unique experience getting regular groceries from small general stores.." I reply, taking my first bite of the food in front of me.
"Ah - I did get the ingredients for this evening from a small group of family-businesses. Though I doubt the quality of the food would have suffered whether or not I bought the ingredients from the corporate business or not. The family-owned shops are just closer, I suppose.. I believe I prefer the quiet of shopping there as well, even if it takes me a moment longer to find everything I need." Arin continues, surely breaking the record for 'longest he's ever spoken to me at one time'.
"The lack of attention is nice. It does mean the store owners are much more likely to remember you, though - which can be a good thing, of course. Or not, if you're trying to remain vague."
"Good connections have always been important in what I do." He casually elaborates, referring to both his position as the 'manager' of the Pizzaplex, and his less-than-reputable history..
"Mm.. Was it you that made all the food, then?"
"Freddy offered support; it was fortunate that your group happened to get here on the later end, things took far longer to prepare than I had anticipated.."
"All the recipes and whatnot were yours, though?"
"Yes, I, ah-.. Figured a larger palette would have a greater chance at appeasing everybody.."
"Neat. Never pegged you as a cook.." I comment, intoning my voice to sound subtly impressed.
"That's a generous term - I've just found myself in possession of a selection of recipes over the years, and recipes work well if you follow their instructions."
"Spoken like, y'know, a cook."
"I'll take your word on that, then.."
THIS PART WAS PASTED AND THE FORMATTING WAS REMOVED, REDO ITALICS AND MAKE SURE EVERYTHING FLOWS THE WAY IT SHOULD. PENIS.
I look out the corner of my eye while Roxanne waltzes into the living room. She looks around for a considerable time to map out the layout of the room like a curious feline.. Monty, Chica and I have already made ourselves comfortable in here, doing whatever it is we choose to do.
The living room is a good size, but a decent portion of the space is consumed by the exceptionally large couches in here. One couch large enough to fit six people lines the back wall, and a shorter one that seems intended for three but could easily fit four lines the wall to
the left of the back couch.
They're fairly close together, with a hefty footrest cushion big enough to act as a small table being well within reach of both couches. Though it's hard to imagine anyone but the people on the very ends of either couch being able to reach the cushion..
On the opposite end of the room, closest to both the entrances to this room, is a neglected fireplace and a sizeable wall-mounted television. The whole room's put together in a way that you could easily imagine a group of rowdy friends watching the super-bowl together in here. Hell, the atmosphere almost makes it seem like that's what this room was intended for..
I guess the 'rowdy friends' part already has its shoes filled, though. That could be contributing to the feeling.
Despite the large couches, Monty and Chica are sat cross-legged on the floor, sitting around the large leg-rest cushion as if it's a table.. It's a little strange, sure, but the living room is carpeted, so I can't imagine they're uncomfortable.
Chica's currently teaching Monty that the key to good fitness is consistency, and that residing here at Arin's is no reason to slack on proper exercise. Monty's taking every word to heart, patting his belly as if resolving himself to burn off all his fat. You know, the fat he inarguably does not have..
I'm not obese in the slightest - hell I even wear button-downs like these constantly just to hide just how abnormally skinny I am - but watching Monty, the supernatural powerhouse of the Pizzaplex, be fueled with the desire exercise even further makes me feel as if I'm lacking in a few departments.. I'm not even sure exercise would do a lot for me, considering my mal-nutritioned appearance was generously granted to me through the use of a Scooper.
..How's that for a weight-loss scheme.. The brochure was tempting, what can I say.
...
Oh. While I just got on Chica and Monty's case for not utilizing the couches, I suppose I'm no better. The living room is directly connected to the dining room, to the point where I can even see a good portion of the dinner table from where I'm standing. There's another doorway directly across from that one which twists and leads down a seemingly uninteresting hallway. Personal bedrooms and whatnot.
Still feeling a little bit of energy from when I was helping Trudge carry the firewood, I didn't really feel an overwhelming impulse to sit down, so I'm simply leaning on the doorway to the hall, peacefully spectating the action taking place in the living room and the room beyond
it..
Roxanne soon sates her desire to explore and finds a spot on the couch to plop down on. I'm only now realizing she has a canned drink of some kind in her hand. While I've gradually lost interest in most sodas over the years, I certainly don't think I'd mind a cold canned cola right about now.
Very soon after Roxanne sits down, Trudge and Freddy carry themselves into the living room, lost in a goofy conversation of their own. I hear Arin working off of his self-proclaimed obligation by putting lids on crockpots and whatnot; not putting everything away, but putting them on 'standby' mode so that all the food will stay relatively warm for the occasional straggler to nab a small snack every now and again. Regardless, I take it as a sign that Arin himself will join us in here shortly.
...
What a gathering this has turned out to be, huh..
I find my gaze effortlessly hovering back to the couches, where Trudge and Freddy have also found themselves a place to sit. For a moment, each small group only continues their own discussions that were happening prior to anyone moving into the room, but it doesn't take
long for Roxanne to sarcastically comment on something Monty says, which results in Chica and Monty's conversation having 'open boarders' for a moment while they respond to Roxanne. Trudge and Freddy, of course, take up on the opportunity to join in on the topic, and in a
matter of seconds, everyone's talking and laughing with each other.
..I notice that Roxanne chimes in every once in a while, but doesn't actually participate in the conversation itself very often. It actually seems like she's perfectly happy that way..
...
I can't help but stare again, watching as Roxy leans back against the couch and occasionally takes a sip from her can-of-whatever; wearing a half-sarcastic, half-genuine and playful smile. She contentedly spectates the conversation happening around her, chiming in only when she has something fun to say.
In other words, Roxanne's happy; taking genuine pleasure in the situation she finds herself in. Her heart as light as a feather.. I don't think I've ever seen Roxanne so content in this company before; the word 'content' doesn't even seem to really do it justice. Like a species,
thriving in their natural habitat.
...
..Watching Rox enjoy her time here so much makes me feel.. bitter..
...
..It's like bringing Roxanne here is the equivalent of letting her go on recess from her prison.. Part of me wants to say it's entirely just because Roxanne's happy to be reintroduced into familiar company.. Another part of me wants to admit that part of the reason she's so happy is because she was desperate to get away from the life I've been forcing her to live recently..
I tried making my home as comfortable for her as I could, but comfort doesn't exclusively come from a clean cushions and warm meals. It comes from any place in which your mind can find peace in being. No matter how you spin it, for her, my home simply cannot be one of
those places..
...
How one associates a location with a feeling is through the things they experience in that location.. Her greenroom has acted as a constant place of escape and commodity, regardless of how many positive and negative experiences she underwent in the Pizzaplex, and eventually, Roxanne associated her greenroom as somewhere that she can always go to at any time to find rest and do other things she personally enjoys.
The garages of Roxanne's raceway are places of solitude during the night, in which she can spend as much time thinking as she likes while keeping her hands busy doing engine work, which she knows she's good at doing. It's a place to be alone, and a place to feel productive.
And now, here at Cooper's old house, Roxanne's been reintroduced to the people she's familiar with.. Even though the location is foreign, the familiarity she feels in her friends makes her feel comfortable and safe. It's a significant positive experience, which inherently means her brain will associate this location with at least one incredibly fond and familiar memory..
These things are all their own unique 'styles' of comfort, but in the end, comfort is comfort. It's something everyone desires, and something many people would fight to maintain..
...
..Maybe that's why this creeping bitter feeling continues to stew in my chest.. This house has already become a comfort zone for her, just from stepping in and seeing her friends.. But, despite how hard I try, my home will never grant Roxanne this feeling of comfort.. Hah, maybe it's jealousy. It's like my efforts never make a difference, while Arin didn't even have to try..
My home is the next thing Roxanne saw immediately following what I can safely assume to be the worst moment of her entire life. All those feelings she had in the moments she regained consciousness are immediately associated with the environment she woke up in. My walls granted her no comfort, as they did not grant her any familiarity. Then, she came downstairs and found me..
..I was not a source of familiarity for her, either.. In her last combined hour of consciousness, I proved to her that she truly knew nothing of who I was. I proved to her that she didn't even know what I was. One moment, I was a strange discolored night-guard with overthinking
issues. The next, I was a murderer, and a zombie; standing in her doorway wielding a crimson-stained knife that was periodically dripping blood onto her floor.
What followed was manic desperation - the worst mental state Roxanne's ever been in.. Then pain, as the shattered glass hit the floor moments before she landed atop it. Then, a fight. Then, agonizing hopelessness as she began to succumb to the blood loss, watching as I turned to leave; taking not only myself, but everything Roxanne has ever known with me.
..Then, finally.. her face against the cold tiled floor, the imprint of my hand around her throat, and her vision slowly fading to black.. all she had left to think about was if she was ever going to wake up again.
...
.I just don't get it.. How she even has the audacity to still call the man who did all of that her 'ally' is so far beyond me that it almost makes me mad.. I almost took everything away from you; I likely would have if I had just managed to get to the lobby doors 30 seconds sooner.. You were saved by a miracle, and the worst part is that there is zero reason for you to think it won't happen again. Hell, it's almost inevitable, I-
Ugh- that's not what we're talking about right now, though. Sorry..
...
Anyway, after I did all of that.. Roxanne was then forced to stay in a house owned by the person who single-handedly brought it all down.. I tried making it comfortable for her so she could rest and recover, but..
..Then we argued.. I refused to apologize for anything short of physically injuring her, then instead of changing the topic and 'being the bigger man', I responded to Roxanne's venomous accusations with bitterness of my own; despite being completely aware of just how out-of-
whack her mental stability was at the time. Then, nightmares. Then, insecurity.
Of course Roxanne's happy to be out of my house and no longer stuck with me for a while. I'd be pretty sick of Mike's shit too if I was in her position.. It's hard to-
"Mike!"
"whh-..?"
I violently snap back to reality. All the sights and sounds around me returning to my conscious thoughts once more.
..I have to subtly shake my head back in working order before I can start looking around for the source of the voice..
...
Of course, my gaze eventually falls on Roxanne, the obvious culprit. She's staring at me from across the room with a coy 'what's your deal?' grin; it seems like she's called my name a few times now, and I only noticed when she practically yelled it at me. No one else seems at-all phased by my name being called out, failing to even break off their conversation to acknowledge it. I suppose everyone already considers Roxanne barking at me to be a completely normal occurrence..
Regardless, I acknowledge her gaze with a telepathic 'What?' communicated through minors changes in my expression. Rox responds quickly with exasperated shake of her head and a chuckle, as if to reply with 'What do you mean 'What'?'. It doesn't take me long to put it together..
mm, shit.. I let my mind sneak up on me again.. Got lured into letting my guard down by the comforting atmosphere, and without realizing it, I slipped off into another one of my 'thinking' fits.. I must've looked strange on the outside, judging by Roxanne's expression.
...
Not much to do or say for myself, I eventually shoot Roxy a sheepish shrug, as if to say 'Whups.'
Roxanne is, evidently, dissatisfied with this answer, as she lowers her snout and sustains a condescending stare, looking at me like she's expecting me to do something more.
..I truthfully don't know what that thing is, though.. Not much for me to do about my thinking fits other than 'snap out of them', and huzzah, that has been accomplished. What more do you want from me?
...
Without a clear 'right answer' to act upon, I only respond with a blank stare. Roxanne sustains her stare for a bit longer, as if she's accusing me of playing dumb..
...
...
"I don't know what you want, Wolf."
"Would you get the fuck over here already?"
"Oh.." I exhale, reluctantly standing from the doorway I was leaning on.
"What's your problem?" Roxanne playfully chides as I make my way over.
"You'll have to be more specific."
"No, I've stopped caring, get over here."
Roxanne firmly pats the cushion next to her on the couch, as if she needed to make it any more clear where she wanted me to sit. In fact, I'm almost tempted to sit on a different part of the couch exclusively because she felt the need to specify.
I don't, though, and soon enough, with enough scooting from Roxanne, I fall backwards on the couch with an exaggerated huff.
"Mmm.. The universal experience and feeling of trying someone else's couch.." I mutter, half to myself. I have to choose my volume carefully to make it clear who I'm talking too, since now I'm practically close enough to the conversation going on with Freddy and Monty n' whatnot to be in the gossip circle.
"You 'OK', shitlord?"
"I'm right-as-rain."
"You should socialize with someone other than yourself while we're here. You clearly don't play nice with you."
"I've been socializing. I just talk most natural when someone else starts talking to me first, so I can work with whatever topic they seem to find conversation-worthy."
"Uh-huh."
"NPC phenotype."
"You're losing it." Roxanne pleasantly hums, turning her head back to the conversation happening nearby.
As she does so, her upper body twists a bit, and a shiny object in her hand is once again brought to my attention.
"Mm.."
...
..Even though I just sat down, I plant my hands on my knees and prepare to push myself to a stand.
Roxanne however, possibly in a delayed reaction to my hum just a moment ago, turns back to look at me right before I'm able to lift off.
"Mike."
"What?"
"Don't fuckin' g-, what did I just tell you?" Roxanne chides, casually grabbing my arm in an incredibly ineffective attempt to prevent me from being able to stand. I do, however, consciously choose to remain sitting, which could be all Roxy was going for when she decided to grab me.
"What about what you just told me..?"
"You didn't 'socialize' at all - you just sat down for thirteen seconds."
"I'm coming back."
"Where are you going?"
"I saw you had a drink and wanted to grab one for myself, but forgot when you asked me to come over here."
"You're getting a drink?"
"Yes, wolf."
...
Roxanne actually ponders this for a second, for reasons I'm unsure of. She lets go of my arm, seemingly as a way of telling me I'm free to leave; taking a mighty fine swig of her canned beverage while she thinks, now that it's been made relevant.
...
"Oh-" Roxy blurts, seemingly just now recalling what she was trying to tell me. "This might've been the last one, sorry. Ask Arin, maybe there's more."
"Alright.. Where's Arin?"
"I don't fuckin' kn- kitchen, probably?"
"Man.. That's a whole fifteen-twenty steps away.." I groan under my breath, only half-sarcastic.
"Okay?"
"I just sat down, and I just came from the kitchen. Mneh."
"..Are you being real right now?"
"Maybe." I exhale, aborting my attempt to stand and leaning back till I 'pomph' against the backrest.
"This might be the most pathetically lazy I've ever see you."
"I just ate enough food for two of me, let me potato it off for a minute.."
"You did not eat enough to be this out of energy, lazy-ass. Get up."
"My stomach isn't the most functional it's ever been."
"That is so an excuse, lardass - Go."
"Well maybe not everyone has a sugary carbonated beverage to energize themselves with."
"Mike."
"Rox."
...
"You get a sip." Roxanne chides, holding out her soda for me to grab and pretending not to have thoroughly enjoyed this interaction.
"Thanks." I ungraciously accept.
...
"A sip, Mike."
"A swig."
"A *sip*, don't-"
- swig -
"M- Fuck you." Roxy chortles, wrenching her beverage from my hand.
"Not in a million years could I tell you what flavor that's supposed to be.." I mutter, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand as if that's gonna make the taste go away.
"You're not encouraging me to be nice to you in the future, you know."
"You should probably know better than to give me things, anyway."
"Whatever." Roxanne hums, briefly glancing towards the conversation going on besides us. "I'm not biting a chunk out of you this time because I'm pretty sure this is the only soda we had left."
"That was the only can I had, I apologize." Arin debuts, having just now walked into the living room with the rest of us.
"Only stock one can of soda in case of emergencies?" I respond with sarcasm that I'm already sure Arin won't build off of.
"I take home any cans in the break-rooms that expire, Cooper liked to drink them.. That does mean your drink is, technically, past its expiration date, but it won't matter. Sodas are almost entirely made of preservatives anyway.."
"Mm. I'm not so sure the great and glorious Roxanne Wolf will stand for that."
"Fuck you." Roxanne casually chirps.
With a satisfied hum, I motion towards the kitchen door and glance at Arin again.
"I might take a water then, if you don't care."
"No, not at all.." Arin reassures, just over the sound of Freddy telling Roxanne to watch her language.
"You have a water filter or do I just use tap?"
"There are water bottles next to the counter, but they aren't cold. The fridge has an ice machine.."
"That's fine, thanks."
Arin nods and steps out of the way for me to gave a straight shot to the kitchen. I push myself standing, but an abrupt thought process stops me from walking anywhere.
...
..Once again, Arin and I naturally look at each other in completely standard fashion, if you exclude Arin's unrest... But I'll admit, there's something different about when I talk to Arin, compared to everyone else.
The scenario is light and fun, and we're enjoying it as well, but when our interactions take place I just can't help but feel something different.. There's not much weight to our eyes, but weight in our gaze; as if the heaviness only exists in the air between my eyes and Arin's, not in them..
...
..Two seconds of silent watching pass between us - more than long enough for the both of us to know what 'the deal' is..
The weight isn't overbearing in the slightest, it's just kinda there.. But I think we both understand it isn't the mass, but the inevitability that causes us to hesitate.
This 'talk' has to happen at some point, and the subtle weight of responsibility isn't gonna go away until it does. We can put it off as long as we want, it really isn't overbearing or anything.. but if it has to happen here today, I suppose there's no reason to let this keep poking at the back of our heads for the duration of our little stay..
...
...
"Hey, since I'm already standing.." I trail off, placing my hands on my hips and letting Arin figure out the rest.
Arin had obviously seen this coming already, but he takes a moment to take a quick breath before responding.
"It'd be wise to get this over with, yes.."
"We'll keep it short. Maybe it'll help clear things up a bit."
Arin courteously nods, likely out of obligation, before tracking past me a step or two.
"Come with me downstairs, so nothing gets overheard."
"Mmm, you have a downstairs huh?" I reply, motioning that I'm ready to follow.
"I'm led to believe the majority of standalone houses have basements.. Does yours not?"
"Mine does. It's nothing special, though. I don't have a real attic, so it's just storage for the most part."
"Cooper occasionally liked to bring bigger projects downstairs so they wouldn't make a mess up here, but otherwise I do the same, provided you count a small selection of boxes 'storage'.."
Look at him, trying his hand at this whole 'small-talk' business. You can do it, I believe in you.
...
- "wh- Mike?" -
Whelp.. At least we managed to make it a good 4 steps towards the hallway-exit of the living room before someone challenged the fifteen minutes of privacy we need for this whole trip to be worth it.
I turn over my shoulder to respond. Naturally, it's Roxanne, staring at us two going off to do something and deciding to make it her issue as well.
"Yep?"
"Aren't you getting water..?"
"I will in a bit. Doing something first."
...
I'm about to turn and keep walking, but Roxanne abruptly scoots herself forward to the end of the couch right when I start to move, seemingly in a successful attempt at keeping my attention.
"..Where are you going..?"
"Nowhere special, I'm coming right back."
"Are you going to 'talk' with Arin..?"
Mm.. Yeahp, red-handed..
"..Yeah. I'll be quick."
...
"..Can I come..?"
...
...
"I'd prefer if you stayed here this time. I'll relay everything important we decide to you, but there might be some personal things we need to talk about."
"Mikee.." Roxanne whines, as if saddened, or disappointed..
"I'm not keeping secrets from you - I promise. It really is just a personal thing."
...
...
"..Tell me what you two talk about.." Roxy huffs, falling back against the couch like a fussy child.
"Alright, alright.."