Just wanna say, every time I hear Roxy, I wanna give her a hug.
This is the closest hug I could give her.
"You are the best in this, Roxy."
A particular gray wolf tells her reflection, staring deep into the amber eyes. She imagines all the little kiddies, screaming her name and cheering her on as she performs on the stage. She can imagine the smiles on their faces, the awestruck looks and glee that she is their favorite.
"You are the one and only, Roxanne Wolf."
But her eyes quickly wander away. Her gaze starts looking over herself. She imagines all the eyes on her, picking her apart with every single gaze she gets, dismantling her down bits by bits to reveal the core, to reveal who she truly is.
And she can feel her body tremble at what she sees.
"You are… everyone's favorite. Everyone L… Loves you…"
No.
Everything is off.
Her hair isn't curly enough.
Her smile isn't kind enough.
Her stance isn't great enough.
Her green streak is off putting.
This is all wrong.
She snaps her head to the side, as if she just got suckerpunched.
She couldn't bear what she was seeing.
She is no one's favorite. Nobody wants her.
She staggers away from the mirror.
She is a fool.
Then, she runs over to the window that reveals her to the eyes outside. She pulls the curtains over until she can't see outside anymore, effectively cutting herself off from the world.
She doesn't even need to turn around and look at where she is backing into. Her body moves on instinct until her back touches the familiar wall. She slides down into the corner that puts her the furthest away from anything that could reach her, the furthest from the door and the window, and out of sight from the vent above if any prying eyes decide to crawl around there.
She pulls her knees up and wraps her arms around her legs before burying her face into them hard.
'I am not good enough.'
She can feel her breaths shortening.
'No one loves me.'
She forces the sob down, stopping it from escaping her lips.
'I am good for nothing.'
How many times has this happened? How many times had she shut herself off from the world? How many times had she broken down in her corner?
How many more times does she need to scream at herself to do better just to be barely competent?
But how? How can she ever match with Freddy and the rest? They're magnificent, each and every one of them. Monty is the better musician compared to her (and the instrument he's playing only has four strings!), Chica is a lot more attractive than her, and Freddy… he's the star of the show! He's just great at everything. The whole thing is named after him!
And her…? What does she have to stand next to them?
'Why would an incompetent dream of such a thing?'
Why did they even make her in the first place? Why is she grouped up with them? Why put someone incompetent like her on the same platform with the giants?
She tried so damn hard, doing her very damn best, to live out the dream… But she can't. She… She's not the right person for the job. The shoes are too big for her to fill in.
She can't take it anymore.
Then, she hears footsteps.
She gasps, body stiffened.
The footsteps are not coming from outside. No, they're in her room.
They're heavy, not signifying their weight but more of the way they walk: lax, almost shuffling, yet she could tell the swaggering in them steps, something akin to swashbuckling.
And they are exuding absolute confidence.
It's the complete opposite of hers.
She has memorized the footsteps of everyone in this facility, so she could stop her tears before anyone could find out. She doesn't want anyone to see this vulnerable side of her. She's already incompetent, she doesn't want to add pathetic into the mixture.
Whoever this person is, they are someone new, someone she has never met before. She has never met someone who sounds so confident just from their footsteps. Even Monty can't match it and that guy has his chest puffed 24/7.
The footsteps stop right in front of her. She doesn't look up. She only curls tighter, pressing her face further into her knees.
"Get out of my room," she threatens. Her voice is quiet, thankfully not quivering, but at least she sent the message across. She doesn't want to deal with how they got in; she just wants them out now.
"Ah canno' do tha', lass," the person says with a heavily thick accent, so thick she can barely understand it. Judging by the masculinity in their voice, it's definitely male. It's gravelly too, almost as if he's… aged, elderly… experienced.
"What're you doing in my room?" she asks instead, growling her words out because she is sick and tired and feeling unhappy.
"Tha' be da question ye askin', lass?" the person asks back coyly, not answering her question. She growls again, thoroughly upset and she is not in the mood to deal with his crap.
"What else should I ask? You're in my personal space."
"Ah ain't 'ere fa naw reason," he answers just as quickly as before, still with that gravel voice of his.
She huffs but doesn't bless the person with any more words. She has enough. If she can't shoo him away, she'll just ignore him and pretend he doesn't exist.
"Go' stage frigh'?"
She feels her body grow cold.
"Nay, tha' ain't it," he continues, sounding intrigued, as if he's starting to figure her out. "Ye be wonderin' how ye be next t' 'em laddies on da stage. Ye seein' yeself ain't worthy t' be unda da same gleam of the sun."
One word after another, he's hitting the nails straight on the head.
One word after another, it feels like a stab to her heart.
Just how does he know?
"Foolish thoughts, lassie. Comparin' yeself ta othas be da boo'strap draggin' ye down t' Davy Jones' locka."
"You don't know what it feels like standing next to the greats!" she retaliates hotly, shouting at him even though her voice is muffled by her legs.
"Oh Ah knoh i' ve'y well," he responds back even quicker, voice deeper and slower than before as if to emphasize every word. "Me mateys rode their own vessel, w' sails so grea' 'em casted shadows onto Ah, and Ah had me own co'e t' si' bah. E'ery moon cycle, Ah watched 'em performed t' 'em kiddies, made 'em happeh in ways Ah could naw."
She finds herself relaxing her grip.
That sounds… similar to her current predicament.
She… understands that feeling.
So he knows… from experience?
"Bu' ye lassie be quite da fool, wantin' t' be who ye ain't ye be."
"But they are so much greater," she replies. The heat in her voice is now gone, replaced by the defeated tone.
"In wha'?"
"In everything!"
"Is tha' so?" He asks mockingly, accompanied by a sniff of disdain. She can feel her blood boiling.
Does this guy think she's a child?!
"Yes I do think so, damn it! They're just… They're just that great!"
"Den answa tis riddle o' ol' bones. Wha' ye have yer mates don't?"
"Nothing."
"NAY!" he suddenly shouts very loudly, causing her to jolt out of surprise. "Ye possess sumthin' special nay dwellers e'er treasa, naw e'en da greates' pirate t' e'er lived could hold in dis hand o' mine!" he suddenly starts, voice loud and extravagant as if he is telling a story.
"What are you saying?" she tries asking but he rolls over her words without pausing.
"Be da se'en seas conquered by Ah, fleets sank bah me own hand, or e'en da battles agains' sea monstas could e'er lead me t' da ches' full o' gold! Fa such magnificen' treasa belongs t' da one and only… ye."
She feels her hair stands just by that single word at the end, directed at her.
The way he said it, she feels it.
There is so much weight and power to his words.
"Ye knoh wha' it be?" he asks with a gentler tone, voice soft compared to his monologue earlier.
Does she know what it is?
"…No?" she answers hesitantly. For some reason, it causes the person to chuckle.
"Ye said it earlia, lassie. Ye possess da treasa o' Roxanne Wolf," he reveals, as if it's the answer to the secret of the universe.
"…What?"
"Tis tale o' mine be truth, lassie!" His extravagant voice returns. "'Em fights agains' da Kraken pro'en fool t' dwellers o' doubts! Da tentacle bastard wished it could swallow more than dis hand o' mine! Or lack there o', HAH!"
"What do you mean? I don't understand."
"Wha' be there t' no' understand? Answa me tis. 'Em ye friends be named Roxanne Wolf?"
"No."
"'Em be wolf o' tinted gray?"
"No."
"Dem be play what ye play?"
"No."
"Den wha' be da problem, lass? Wha' cause da ship t' rock when da wa'es can mo'e naw stone?"
"Because they are them."
"Jus' as ye be ye."
Just as she… is herself.
"…But…"
"Ye ain't 'em landlubbers," he cuts her off before she can get another word out. "It coz ye be yeself an' 'em landlubbers ain't ye too. 'Em can't be ye coz ye already yeself. 'Em kiddies looked a' ye coz ye be ye. Ye be 'em favorites coz ye be ye. Ye ain't anyone else, ye ain't anybody else. Ye be yeself. And 'em kiddies love ye fa it. Tha' ye be Roxanne Wolf. And tha' be wha' da grea' Roxanne Wolf be."
The fact that she is herself is why she is great.
"'Em landlubbers ride their own waves, conquering mighteh tides. But ye, lassies, be tra'ersin' grea' waters ri'alin' tha' o' da greates' pirate himself." His voice has turned very soft, the gentlest she has ever heard coming from him. "Ride ye own wa'es. Ne'er follow da shadows o' othas. Cast ye own from da ligh' shinin' down upon ye. Be it small, be it mighteh, it ain't matta. Ye be making shadows from ye own light."
Her own spotlight.
She does her own spotlight, separate from the others. They may share a stage, but they have their own spotlights.
She has her own spotlight.
And she will astound the world under the limelight.
"Do you think… I could do it?"
"Aye! Be' me own gold teeth ye can do it!"
She takes a deep breath, and then slowly releases it. She takes one in more, and releases it again, feeling easier the second time around. She can feel her grip has significantly lessened.
He's right.
He's damn right.
She ain't Freddy.
She ain't Chica.
She ain't Monty.
She's herself.
She's Roxanne Wolf.
"Aye, tha' da spirit, lass," she hears the person say. There is so much pride in his voice and makes her chest feel warm.
For the first time since… forever, she feels… lighter. She feels… better. She feels like… she can do it.
"My ancestors are probably laughing at me right now. But I ain't letting that stop me."
For some reason, that makes the person burst out a loud laughter, but it doesn't sound mocking.
"Ye ain't needin' t' worry 'bou' tha', lassie. If me say so meself, ye ancestas be smilin' down on ye!"
"How can you be so sure?"
"Da high tides ne'er lie!"
She finds herself letting out a chuckle. It's quiet and airy but it's a genuine chuckle.
He's… weird, but not something she is unfamiliar with. He's a performer, most probably a storyteller. She can tell.
He probably tells awe inspiring stories to children.
"Well, if ye e'er doub' yeself, jus' 'memba tis words o' mine…"
Something firm lands on her head, causing her to stiffen at the sudden contact. It ruffles her hair.
He's… petting her head.
It's… comforting.
Finally, she pulls her face away from her knee. She slowly looks up, finally seeing the person in front of her for the first time since he mysteriously appeared in her room.
She is greeted by a lone golden yellow eye and fur deep crimson red in color.
But the things that stand out the most are his toothy grin (so he does have gold teeth) and the crease at the corner of his left eye.
"Ol' Foxy be proud o' ye, Roxeh."
.
"Roxy!"
She gasps, head shoots upward as she startles awake. She looks around, utterly confused before her eyes land on a foreign color in her room.
The orange bear, standing by the door, looks at her with eyes full of concern.
"Ah, hey Freddy. What's up?" she asks as she gets up from her corner as nonchalantly as possible. She runs a hand over her cheek and silently sighs in relief when it feels dry.
"Soundcheck is in thirty minutes. Have you forgotten?" he asks back.
"Oh, yeah. It must've slipped my mind."
"Let us go then, shall we?"
"Yeah."
He turns around, about to exit through the door but he pauses for a moment. He looks back at her, still with his concerned look. She can't help but roll her eyes.
Always the care bear that he is.
When she walks over to him, he finally leaves. Before she exits her room, she glances in once more.
There are no signs of life inside.
She was alone the whole time.
Then…
Who… was that?
"Roxy?"
"Yeah, yeah. I'm coming."
She shuts the door behind her with a click. Freddy is patiently waiting for her.
"Are the others there?" she asks him as she begins to walk to where the stage is at. Freddy quickly follows beside her.
"Yes, Chica and Monty are there… for now."
She can't help but snort.
Those two can't be left alone unattended. Chica will rummage through every garbage within her reach and Monty will wreck everything within his sight.
They better hurry then.
"You seem different today."
Her steps falter for a split second. Seeing how Freddy isn't saying anything, he must've not noticed.
"Is that so?"
"It seems so."
As they are making their way to the stage (which is a long way away), her eyes land on a gigantic poster of themselves on the wall. Her steps slow down until she comes to a complete stop. She barely registers that Freddy stops right next to her as well. If she were to spare him a glance he would have that typical concern look on his face again, but she has something else in mind.
She looks… great.
She possesses something no other ever treasure, not even the greatest pirate to ever live can hold it in his hand.
"Have you ever wondered if your ancestors are smiling down at you?" she asks out of nowhere.
"I have never put too much thought into it," Freddy replies.
She rides her own waves, traversing great waters rivaling that of the greatest pirate himself.
She turns to the bear, the mascot, the brand, the face of the company.
She gives him a toothy grin, confident.
She is Roxanne Wolf.
And she is the best.
"Well, I can be very sure that mine does."
Ol' Foxy be proud of ya, Roxeh.