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[ as soon as she's in, the heavy security door slams shut. Mike's leaning against the wall, clearly counting down the seconds on his Freddy Fazbear™ wristwatch. shame. five more seconds and he could've gotten out of all this. ]
You're really fucking stubborn, you know that?
[ the office is tacky, cluttered ... the fewer questions asked, the better. and there's always Helpy standing on the desk, waving excitedly at his new friend when she arrives. ]
[Rather predictably, Gen spins around with her lighter struck the moment that door slams into place, but she doesn't actually make any move to attack. He did that just to creep her out, didn't he? Asshole...
Gingerly closing and pocketing her lighter, Gen turns and gives the office a slow once-over before stepping in deeper.]
Yeah, and you're really fucking weird.
[All the empty-eyed animatronic heads make her skin crawl. She actually starts to reach out toward the Fredbear torso before withdrawing her hand with a frisson of fear, but then it occurs to her how much satisfaction she probably just gave Mike with that movement so she gives it a light shove and turns her back on it.]
This place is a... [Her gaze falls on Helpy and she just looks slightly pained that one of them should be so cute. Not today, Satan.] ... scratch nightmare, this place is a fucking fever dream.
[ noooo waaaay, the guy with purple skin wearing a paper bear mask and an "Eggs Benedict" nametag is weird? perish the thought. ]
Were I a normal human being, you'd be long gone by now.
[ Helpy, regardless of any situation, always looks ecastic and eager to prove his namesake. the tiny dumbfaced robobear looks over at his creator, and Mike - resigning himself to this accursed fate for the hundredth time that day - gestures vaguely towards the desk. and Helpy takes that as his cue to go dig out what Gen is here for out of an old, dusty file folder from a stack on the desk. give him a minute, it's a lot of old paperwork here. ]
Try not to get too excited. [ adding, begrudgingly. ] I wasn't in many family photos, so this is all I have. And I'm this close to tossing it in the shredder.
... yeah, you're right. [She probably doesn't mean it the way that he does, but it's still true. She'd have no interest in him at all, of any kind, if he were just a random 50 year old dude who owns a creepy kid's restaurant.] And be honest, you're flattered I want to know anything about you. It gives your sad old ego a little stroke.
[Watching Helpy chug around the desk so cheerfully just makes Gen look even more pained - she's obviously, visibly fighting the urge to be charmed by him, like an anti-cat person coping with a kitten curled up asleep in their lap. Appreciating cuteness is weakness and yet...]
"Family photos..." [Said with a slight mockery of his accent.] There's a concept. Did even shitty families take those back in the day? [If she sounds bitter, that's because she is - for all the evidence that Michael's father was an absolute monster, at least he apparently got his family together to take nice pictures. That means he must have wanted someone in the family around.]
[ just because she's right doesn't mean he has to admit to it. ]
Hmph. [ just a non-committal grumble in response. begrudgingly okay sure she's tolerable and maybe it's kind of nice to talk to someone who'll talk back that isn't spouting pre-recorded family friendly catchphrases or gargled ghostly screaming and chanting it's me it's me it's me-- but that's all besides the point, which is she's rude and annoying and makes fun of the way he speaks. which is rude. and annoying. ]
They do when they have a public image to maintain. [ which was always dear ol' dad's highest priority, and that meant that Mike hated it. on top of everything else he hated about the man. so it's no surprise that when Helpy finally does dig out a wrinkled, faded scrap of something and bounds over excitedly to Gen to show her, it's ... well. ]
... [ sighs. just get it over with. ] Well, have fun with that.
[Gen almost, almost thanks Helpy as she takes the picture, but then she gets a hold of herself. It's a robot. She's not letting herself get sucked into the madness here.
The picture itself causes her eyebrows to shoot up, and she glances back and forth between it and Mike in his current form several times.] Huh. So I was right. [With that cryptic statement, she hands the picture back to Helpy and gives Mike an innocent smile.]
[ Mike tilts his head back against the wall, rolling his odd purple eyes while Helpy takes the mugshot back to put it back where he got it from. this is the worst. this is the absolute worst. she's doing this on purpose just to piss him off. he knows that, she knows he knows that. nothing good can come from this. whatever she'd say, whatever she's thinking, it's only going to further frustrate and annoy him. and yet.
[He's so wonderfully predictable sometimes. Gen can't help but laugh at the high drama of his response, but there's something... not quite kind, but at least a bit warmer in the sound of it. Or maybe just more genuine, not so much for effect as usual.]
I was just thinking awhile back, that based on... what's left of your face, you probably weren't bad looking before all that shit happened. 'Cause I mean, all fuckin' things considered, you're still not bad.
[If Mike showed any arrogance about his appearance, present or past, Gen would roll her eyes and leave. If Mike got really weird about the compliments, something like explosive rage or sadness or any huge emotional reaction, Gen would leave out of pure self-preservation instinct.
But instead he gets quiet and flustered and then flatly tries to usher her out, and that actually stirs up a somewhat warm feeling inside her. Lashing out at kindness is understandable (and more her style, if she's honest), but just bluescreening because it's so unfamiliar is a bit heart-wrenching.]
I could. [She brushes aside some food wrappers on his desk to make room for her to sit, one leg crossed demurely over the other. Did she actually expect to make this offer when she came into his office? Not really, but she has to admit that the possibility was on her mind - honestly, the possibility is what started this whole thing.
She doesn't wear seduction all that comfortably but at least she knows she has youth and attractiveness on her side. They're just things that she's had to protect for most of her life, not offer.]
I could leave, but I gotta say, you don't have much imagination when it comes to what I could do here.
[ Mike's not an idiot. he knows what she's aiming for, what she's trying to get at - just because his body's dead, doesn't mean his mind is. and it's not as though Gen's the only one who'd ever used their looks to their advantage. it's just been considerably longer since Mike has (and that was a habit he quickly fell out of once the whole "you look so much like your father!" thing started gaining traction.)
he makes a mental note to take apart Helpy later. those candy wrappers certainly aren't Mike's. little shit. ]
I have plenty of imagination. [ bitter? incredibly. this isn't fair. ]
And I have no use of your "services." [ he nods towards the office door, scowling, arms crossed. there isn't much bite to his words, though. true, he's still taken aback by the whole ... this. it's left him a fair bit unsettled and awkward. the only thing he really knows how to do in this situation is to be an ass about it. ] Get the fuck out of my office.
[Ooooh, that choice of word. "Services." It's so obviously deliberate and yet it crawls right under Gen's skin, prickling with the familiar heat that demands retaliation in the form of flames. She balls her hands up so tight that her nails carve the shape of half-moons into her skin and reminds herself that she's got a sweet deal here, that the only other options are homelessness or back to Xavier's, weighing Mike's life and livelihood against her wounded pride with all that unhinged rage as plain as day on her face.]
I've got some bad fucking news for you, Mike. [Her voice is thin and hoarse from the strain of keeping herself together. She climbs down off the desk and storms right up to him but stops just short of jabbing a finger against his chest - pointing will be good enough, she thinks. He doesn't deserve any contact at all.] All this... isn't what's keeping you from getting fucked. Enjoy knowing from this point forward that it's all your fault, and bitching about it really does make you no better than an incel.
[She needs to burn something. She needs to burn something.]
I'm leaving for awhile. Lock me out and I burn this place to the fuckin' ground, then pin it on you in case you really are part cockroach.
[Okay. With that said, she can walk out of the office and head for the service door of the restaurant. She's saved enough face.]
[ he opts out of saying anything. just keeps his grumpy posture and glares at her while she tantrums and storms out of the office (Helpy's the one opening the door for her, of course.) bullet dodged, he figures. it's not like she would've meant any of it. she'd just give up the facade the moment he'd start to fall for it, point and laugh at him for being a fucking idiot, for daring to think someone would actually--
ugh.
Mike shoos Helpy out of his office with a resounding "piss off," and slams the door shut. that's where he'll be when-- if Gen decides he's worth the time and energy to bother talking to again. she will find that the little white dumb bear-bot seems to be following her around instead, however. he's very annoying, feel free to kick him. ]
[Immediately upon stepping out the service door, she sets the contents of one of the restaurant's dumpsters alight and texts Mike a picture of the fire with a smiley face. It shouldn't be too hard to put out as the garbage was only taken away the day before - just closing the lid would probably ensure that it burns out safely.
The next morning, Gen actually does return. A strong smell of smoke lingers around her but it's a pure woodsmoke smell, nothing too chemical or sweet, so it's hard to say exactly what she's been up to. Her clothes are smudged with dirt, her ponytail loose and mussed, and she has one cheerful Helpybot sitting on her shoulder. They went on an adventure!!
Although she has become strangely fond of the little guy, she still stops at the door to Mike's office and kicks it several times with her steel-toed workboots.]
[ left on read. he's not about to give her the satisfaction of getting pissy over a dumpster fire (the ultimate parody of his after-life at the moment, which okay, he can appreciate that.) there's no communication from Mike at all the entire night.
Helpy, on the other hand, is thrilled. that's the furthest away from the restaurant he'd ever been, he had so much fun!! they explored, they saw things!! if he was programmed with a voice, he'd be nonstop chattering about how much fun he had. but even still, the bear-bot seems happy to be "home," and since it's before opening hours, he has to use his special security code to open the door. inside, it's just the usual maintenance-bots cleaning and prepping for the day. and the security door shut tight, as expected.
no immediate response after the door kicking, either. just a long pause, like the person on the other side is really debating whether or not it's worth it. then the sounds of someone having a difficult time getting up from a squeaky office chair, the clinking and clattering of precision metal tools dropping onto the desk, footsteps shuffling towards the door. another pause.
the door finally does clunk open. Mike's there, paper bear mask hiding his face. Helpy waves happily, leaps from Gen's shoulder to latch himself onto Mike like a monkey. almost knocks the zombie man off his feet. but he stays quiet, not uttering a word. it's maybe five seconds of silence before the office door slams shut again. ]
[So that's where they're at, huh? She offers him something he very clearly said he wanted and thought he'd never find, and offers it out of pure interest and curiosity in where things might go, and it gets her the accusation of being a whore and now the Business Face. So has this completely reset whatever... whatever they built up to this point?
Lesson learned. Maybe. Probably not. Lesson learned until the next time.
Dodging bots left and right, Gen goes to her backstage home to grab a few things and then heads to the bathroom for a quick sink bath before work. There's a YWCA nearby that she hits up for a free shower about once a week but mostly this is how she gets clean - a cloth, a bar of soap, some dry shampoo, and a bathroom sink. Since the sinks aren't hidden behind any kind of stall door, this could lead to an escalation of some kind or another between them if Mike happened to walk in on her almost entirely naked.
If he stays in the office, they probably won't cross paths until the day is over and Gen emerges from the kitchen with an entire birthday cake that had to be sent back because of a decoration error by one of the bots. She sits down with an extra-large soda, a fork, and that entire cake and prepares to make sure it doesn't go to waste. She may be a psychopathic flame demon, but she can still sulk with the best of them after being rejected.]
[ unsurprisingly, Mike doesn't emerge from the office. Helpy does, since he essentially runs the show while his creator tends to stick to more of the financial and operations side of things, so he excitedly waves at Gen as he exits the office shortly before opening time, before getting to work. and it's business as usual for the day, patrons in and out, loud snotty children running around everywhere, evening animatronic concerts. pizza here, cake there. it's not until long after the closing announcements are made, when the helperbots are cleaning up and all the lingering customers are long gone, that the heavy office door clunks open again.
Helpy scurries over quickly as Mike steps out, paper bear mask still covering his face. he bends down awkwardly and gives what looks like a few scraps of old paper to the little bear, and sends him over to where Gen sits with her cake. Helpy, always happy to be given a task, bounds over to Gen as excited as ever, while Michael remains by the office door.
there's definitely an obvious shift in his demeanor. he might actually be sulking. old cranky zombie man in his fifties sulking like a teenager getting scolded for crashing the car. or at least, that's how it appears. ]
...
Look. [ here we go. ] If you're leaving, which I won't be at all surprised by, I'll need some sort of mailing address for your final paycheck. Vacation pay, severance, all that shit. Should have enough to carry you for a while.
But, if you're sticking around, for some unfathomable reason ... figure you should probably know a few things first. So you don't do something else you'll regret.
[Gen has no idea what she was expecting but this... isn't it. She glances down at Helpy just to give her someplace neutral to direct her gaze and accepts whatever the bear has brought to her but doesn't look it over just yet.
(She may pet Helpy's smooth metal head, but she'll neither confirm nor deny the accusation if it's ever made.)
That's a generous offer to some kid who sleeps in his storage room and washes some dishes for room and board. It suggests that he understands the gravity of the bind she's in as a young mutant with no official schooling on the books after twelve years old, something she never really thought he cared about, never mind considered all that closely. And - he does sound somewhat guilty, which Gen really isn't used to after she's thrown a fit.]
Keep talking. [She even sets down her fork to show that she's really, truly and honestly paying attention.] I'll decide after.
[ good thing Helpy doesn't talk, otherwise he'd start running around the restaurant to all the helperbots shouting she pat my head!!
well. okay. so they're doing this. it's for the best, isn't it? she should know. yeah. ugh.
so what Helpy ended up bringing over to show Gen, it turns out Mike was lying. he actually does have some very old photographs. they're just hidden away. they're very old and worn, tears around the edges and crinkles throughout. two of them look like candidsnapshots, another what appears to be an attempt at a family photo. notably, they're torn half-photos, as it appears someone's torn himself out of each picture. and even more notably, the imposing authority figure in the family photo's had his head torn off. really the only thing kept in relatively good condition despite the obvious age is the two smaller children in each.
here we go. ]
Those are my siblings.
[ he feels panic rising in his dead and hollow chest. feels like his stomach would be twisting if he had one. good thing he can hide behind a dumb-looking mask. ]
You should know what happened to them. [ ... ] What I did to them. Before you reconsider me as a possible fuckbuddy.
[That's actually a spirit she can relate to and get behind: tearing heads off pictures, removing yourself or someone else or just altering the past however you can to pretend you didn't destroy everything. She looks at the pictures for a long time, a deep frown twisting her lips and furrowing her brow.]
If you're about to tell me you killed them... [Gen's voice is uncommonly soft.] ... I already know I won't judge you for that, so just. You don't have to drag all the skeletons out, alright? Have you somehow missed the fact that I'm a psycho too? It doesn't matter, I don't give a shit about family or morals or anything but surviving the rest of the assholes we're stuck with.
[She picks up her fork again, but only to stab it viciously into the center of the cake.]
You're still alive - or close enough - so you matter, but fuck your ghosts.
[That may have veered from reassuring to deeply insulting at some point. Here's hoping it doesn't lead to another sulk stand-off.]
Maybe it doesn't matter to you, but it does to me.
[ and okay, sure, not having to worry about judgement for being a baby sibling killer makes the rest of this conversation a little easier. but not worrying about Gen judging him doesn't mean that Mike doesn't carry the heavy guilt with him. ]
You don't want all the skeletons, that's fine. I'm less inclined to divulge them to a bratty punk teenager calling herself a "psycho" like it's an edgy Hot Topic badge of fucking honour.
[ weird to be told he matters, but since it's being said by said edgy teenager, he'll try not to think much of it. ]
Anyway. [ right, back to business. if she doesn't want to hear the details, doesn't want to hear Mike's fucked up excuses and explanations for what he's done, maybe that can be saved for another conversation. or for later in this one. see if everything else will make her bail out first. ] It's less so what I'm responsible for, and more ... everything else you should probably know if you're going to want to stick around.
... alright. But don't say I didn't give you an easy out.
[She's sitting on that "edgy Hot Topic teenager" shit for now. Once Mike has confessed all his sins, maybe she can give him a taste of her body count. For now she pulls her fork free and digs back into the cake, her chin propped on her other hand.]
Come and sit, at least? I'm not gonna mount your fucking lap or anything.
[ look, he stands by his word. give him a cane (he could use one) and he'll start shaking it at her, call her a whippersnapper and everything. ]
Helpy. [ whistling ] Get over here.
[ little bear-bot quickly hurries over, always eager to prove his namesake. Mike disappears into the office for a moment, then he hobbles back out with a heavy leather-bound file folder in tow. Helpy holds his arms out, Mike drops the folder-- it's clearly heavier than the robobear expected and he gets promptly flattened, papers and loose bolts scattering about. he's fine.
he leaves Helpy to gather everything up while he drags his zombie ass over to where Gen's waiting, but he doesn't sit down. sitting down is hard okay. soon enough Helpy is joining them, carrying the folder that's much bigger than himself, and trying his damndest to toss it up on the table. ]
... you don't actually have to go through everything, I'll give you the cliffnotes.
[Gen grabs the file from Helpy so quickly that it's rather obvious she's been watching him make his way over with some concern. Once she's retrieved the file, she also boots Helpy up to sit beside her since Mike insists on standing.
Okay, she's definitely becoming attached to a robotic teddy bear in the absence of any warm (or even tepid) human companionship.]
"Helpy." [Before things get serious, Gen can't help but toss in a little barb at Mike's expense.] That's the best name you could come up with?
[With that, she opens the folder and begins her journey into the most demented family business ever conceived. There's none of her usual eyerolling and cynicism this time, no wry "it do be like that sometimes" attitude that suggests they're fellow veterans of life's hardships - nothing but pure horror as the pieces she's completely unequipped to process come together in front of her.]
The pirate fox is named "Foxy," the fuck do you want from me?
[ don't actually answer that. he's just trying to keep the traditional Fazbear naming conventions alive here.
the file folder is more than deserving of such a horrified expression. the contents therein are the entirety of thirty plus years of Michael's personal investigations into the Afton family and the Fazbear Inc. franchise. it's stuffed full of newspaper cutouts from the 1980's (much like the family photos, every picture featuring a certain someone also has his head torn off, whether it's newspaper articles or other photos relevant to what notes they're pinned to,) all the excitement of the brand's initial outings. and all the controversy, the mystery, and the deaths. oh, so many deaths. coverage and cutouts of poor Elizabeth's accident, little Evan's tragic final birthday party, the infamous "Bite of '87" incident, the missing children. various old and tattered blueprints, some of animatronics, some of other devices (Gen can probably put two and two together with that one.) there are many scribbled notes in various deranged styles, some of which definitely isn't Mike's handwriting, detailing someone's personal descent into utter madness with bizarre theories and justifications for horrid acts, claims of discovering immortality and necessary sacrifice. disgusting stuff.
scattered about are also random sketches and doodles, which definitely are Mike's. you know, to lighten the mood.
bringing it right back down are Michael's own deranged ramblings in between all the zombie detective work, deluded rants about ghosts and lost souls, a fully detailed account of the state of his body and what he's managed to piece together about how he functions, his suspicions of being cursed mixed in with notes of "experiment??" here and there. pages are splattered and stained with what looks like dark ink or oils. it's not a fun read and Mike's half expecting her to push it away, despite Helpy very happily pointing at pictures and red pen markings of "IT'S ME" and the much newer blueprints/design notes of the Rockstar animatronics on Mike's stage like it's a picture book for toddlers. oddly enough, anything about Helpy's design or programming code seems to be entirely absent. ]
[A hollow whisper as she skims William's notes. "Discovered" immortality? Sure, mutations that create immortality as a result of how they work are rare, but they definitely existed in the 80s and there were definitely people William could've sought out. Never mind that they were pushed even further into the shadows of society back then, he still could've found a way to understand everything he'd seen without resorting to mass child murder.
While her words are typically harsh and dismissive, her expression and tone make it clear that she knows she's learning about a profound tragedy, not just one guy's stupid mistake.
Some of the blueprints actually make her wince and recoil in her seat. Luring? Storage tank?? And yes, the scooper causes her skin to itch in that familiar way. The horror touches her more deeply than the loss of family, which could probably be expected, but she's also starting to figure out how intimately the two are linked... and when Mike asks his question, Gen looks up with something very rare shuttering her expression: caution.]
I don't really believe in anything, but I can be convinced.
Mike still isn't sure if he can properly explain his father's madness. immortality when you're a mere human and not a mutant is, apparently, desirable to some. he'll never understand it. certainly not to this extent. but the heavy, packed folder is enough to get the point across, hence bringing it all out in the open in the first place. Gen is the only other person to see that folder. ]
So.
Why do you think I'm showing you all this?
[ it's a little hard to tell what Mike's thinking with the mask covering his face, but his tone is at least a little more somber, a little more serious. ]
The dead kids... you said old animatronics still show up here sometimes, attack the restaurant or whatever.
[Goosebumps rise on her skin as she checks all the visible windows with nervous little glances, her heart suddenly beating a bit too fast. This feels like the moment in a horror movie when the spookies suddenly make their first real appearance after sneaking around in shadows for the first act.]
Wrong. [ Helpy honks his nose, making a buzzer sound. ]
You and I both know that if a haunted animatronic drops from the ceiling with a thirst for blood and charges at you in a blinding rage, you'd set it ablaze before it had a chance to screech.
[ and while that might be a point in her favour, that's still not the reason, so Mike gestures towards the folder again. ] Guess again.
[Quietly, without much actual satisfaction. The night's taken too weird of a turn for satisfaction. She glances over the clippings and notes again but only one other option comes to mind, and she's not that fond of it.]
Best I can figure... you're trying to get rid of me without having to kick me out, and this is meant to convince me that you're as crazy as your dad and I'm not safe here with you. Warmer or colder?
Loathe as I am to admit it, if I really wanted you gone, I never would've offered you to stay here in the first place. [ and yeah okay ouch that comparison stings, because it's the complete and utter truth and Mike hates that. madness is genetic, he knows he takes after his father in more ways that just appearance. but that too is not the reason. ]
One more guess. [ ... shrugs, ] Or I can just tell you. But that's less fun.
Ugh, fine... [it's more of a relief than Gen wants to admit to herself, knowing that Mike isn't scheming ways to get her out of here without having to take responsibility for her fate.] You told me in the spirit of open and honest communication because you just respect me so darn much.
Wow. [ buzz! buzz! buzz! followed by Mike's irritated "Helpy, cut that out." sheesh. ] I'll pretend you never said that.
The actual reason I'm showing you all this-- [ he points a gloved finger at the folder again, you know for emphasis, ] --is not only to show you all the shit I'm putting up with, but also to you show you the shit I do not tolerate.
I am surrounded by death. I've known nothing but the absolute worst humanity has to offer, not just in my own family. It's all I've known, for all my life and afterlife. [ and now he takes the bear mask off, snarling as he points a finger accusingly in Gen's direction, an eerie purple glow in his animatronic eyes. ] And here you come waltzing in, bitching about to get your way, storming off and setting dumpsters on fire like a toddler having a temper tantrum when you don't get your way, calling yourself a little "psycho" like that's something to be fucking proud of! You think you have the right to demand anything you want from me, you treat my generosity - which I'm deeply regretting - like a free ticket to be an utter hellion, because surely the lonely zombie man will jump at the opportunity to mack on the first pair of tits to present themselves in thirty years.
Death follows you, Firestarter. It covers and consumes and reeks around you. [ do you believe in ghosts? want to tell him all about that body count now? ] Maybe you can't see them, but I sure fucking can. And if you think I'm going to risk what little I have left just so you can obliviously lead more of them to my front door, you're sorely mistaken. You're no psychopath, you're just a little shit.
So either grow the fuck up, or get the fuck out of my restaurant.
[Gen's spine very visibly stiffens throughout Mike's rant, her back rigid and her shoulders squared but not for a fight - she's bracing herself against the onslaught, which means some of it is clearly getting through.
Her parents were shitty, there's no denying that, but not so much in the "harsh disciplinarian" direction. Rather, they hardly seemed to care that she existed beyond going through the bare minimum steps to keep her alive (and even those quickly waned once she could get around on her own two feet and reach something to shove in her mouth for sustenance). She's very used to her antics being ignored until there's a possibility that they could harm others, at which point the hammer comes down and she's reprimanded for daring to break her invisibility. It's almost like no one cares unless she's fucking up as big as possible.
And that really would make her a walking teen stereotype... if she hadn't been left homeless before she was even technically a teenager.]
I've been fighting for my life. [Quiet and tense, very defensive, but not outright angry.] Maybe I've gotten used to some bad shit along the way and I don't know how to let it go, but I never got many other options.
[At this point it feels like her options are to wear her identity with pride or to apologize for herself, and the latter is just too weak. There's no way. Still, she can't deny that staying with Mike has been way better than Xavier's in a lot of ways, and he's not trying to force her into some great moral shift or anything. He's just telling her to cut the shit.]
[ if he's being honest, he was expecting her to shout back at him, maybe set a table on fire and storm out. so the fact that she opts to stay, still defensive but at least admitting that some of her behaviours need a little curbing. so ... okay. they've reached something of an understanding. Mike's made his point very clear, Gen's made hers, so.
now what.
to say he's not prepared for this side of the conversation is an understatement. Mike knows he's in no position to be someone's moral police. he's not here to tell Gen what to do, what's right and what's wrong, or that she needs to turn her life around and make something of herself before she ends up like him. she'd just laugh at him. Mike would laugh at himself. fuck, this would be so much easier if she just yelled at him and ran off, then he could just yell back and slam the doors and be done with this. fuck's sake. ]
This is the only warning you get. [ one final wagging of his finger, for emphasis. but it seems he's reached his lecturing limit and now he's exhausted. preaching sucks. then he's strapping his mask back onto his head, one the side this time so he can see. he just doesn't want to carry it. ]
I've got work to do. [ Mike retreats to his office, grabbing the toolkit off his desk, before hobbling back out on his rusty animatronic legs. he'll be heading towards the stage area, some of the actual animatronics are in need of a tune-up. their performance was off today. ] If you eat the entire cake, I won't bill you for it.
[She's similarly quiet and uncertain for a long time, just working her way through a bit more of the cake and listening to Mike move throughout the restaurant with his strange, heavy-footed gait. He didn't expect her to accept any of what he said, she didn't expect him to take her word that she would, or even could, improve her behaviour. Even his final "or else" doesn't carry any real bite and that leaves Gen feeling nervous, not reassured.
Helpy jumps down from beside her to rush after Mike and offer more assistance, and the pang of loss she feels at his sudden absence knocks the wind out of her lungs. Jesus, is this why Mike surrounds himself with beaming mechanical nightmares? Because they actually feel like safer companions than other people? And is she learning to relate to that? She suddenly misses the two friends she coldly cut out of her life for the ultimate betrayal of dating each other and making her the vestigial organ of the group... and yeah, maybe she's missed them all along, but feeling it so sharply because a robot bear prefers its creator to her is a bit much.]
Hey Mike...? [Even though she has to lift her voice to carry over the sound of his work, it still sounds soft and cautious. This can't sound like a demand. She has to make it clear that she's asking for a favour, something she knows she's in no way owed.] Would you make me a robot like Helpy sometime?
[ there's a custom made lift backstage. every Fazbear Entertainment Inc. brand show stage has wooden stairs at each side, and stairs are the worst when you can barely walk along flat even ground. it took ages to put together, several failed prototypes and test runs, but now Mike can hobble back there and press a few buttons, grab the railing, and up he goes. slowly but surely. he tried an adjustable speed motor, once. big mistake.
once he's up on stage, he nudges Rockstar Bonnie's arm out, palm up. the toolkit is placed on the animatronic's open hand, holding it steady. then he gets to work, opening up panels and chest pieces, tinkering with wires and knobs, little zaps and sparks every so often. Helpy, as is his namesake, helps out by holding flashlights or handing over tools, and occasionally grabbing a screw or bolt that pops loose and falls to the floor. Mike stays mostly silent, save for a bit of cursing under his breath, or telling Helpy what part to grab. and then Gen asks that question, asks for that favour, and everything pauses for a moment.
hmm. ]
And what makes you think you can afford one of my personal creations? [ he does sign her paychecks, after all. but there's no real bite to his tone, which means it's probably safe to assume he's at least considering the idea. and Helpy certainly looks excited at the prospect of having a fellow robo bearcub friend. ]
... [ sigh. ] I might be willing to entertain the idea of a good behaviour discount.
[When Mike starts out by blustering about the high cost of his work, that usually means he's inclined to back down and admit that it's possible he might indulge her, and... yep, there it is, like clockwork. Slightly warmed by this shift in his temper, Gen gets up from the booth with her drink (but not the cake, she needs to digest for awhile before she can tackle it again) and moves to sit on the stage steps. There's no flirtation in her posture this time - she's tired from a night without sleep and a day full of work and tension, and the careless splay of her limbs makes that very clear.
There may be a profound well of neediness beneath all her sharp, warning edges, but it's not all sexual. It's not even primarily sexual. That's just the safest offer for her to make once she trusts someone.]
You could make it a spybot, have it inform on me so you know if I break our deal. Like, I didn't even hurt anybody last night 'cause I didn't know if Helpy had cameras in his eyes or whatever - right, Helpy? I just burned some condemned houses, right? [She's telling the truth, which the pure woodsmoke smell she brought home also seems to verify.] So have one tail me all the time.
[ mumbling under his breath, "fuck's wrong with you, jaysus." maybe she really does have a very wrong impression of the kind of person Mike is. sure, he's fucked up beyond a reasonable doubt, he might have something of a skewed and warped view of the world around him and maybe not the strongest moral code, but come on. what kind of person uses spybots, plants secret hidden cameras to spy on people, that's just weird man. ]
You're serious? [ he doesn't turn around, just keeps working on ol' Freddy's inner workings. shakes his head a little bit. not that "just burned some condemned houses" is much better, but still. ] I've got far better things to do with my time than spy on you.
[ ... ] So you're saying that if you knew Helpy doesn't have cameras in his eyes, you would've been looking for someone to hurt?
[Well, it is how she made things sound, right? Apparently it'll take awhile for her to stop compulsively gassing herself up as this crazy, badass fire demon in a misguided attempt to impress or intimidate Mike. And that sucks because she doesn't even like admitting her more emotional drives even to herself.
She sighs heavily, then starts again:] If you must know, having the company just... made me feel better. So the urge backed off a bit.
[ the thing with intimidation is, know your target. while he doesn't doubt that Gen can put up plenty of a fight, that she could certainly frighten any normal person with her pyro prowess, it takes quite a bit more than that to frighten or intimidate someone like Michael. if she's not an enraged sentient murder-happy animatronic or dear ol' pappy, he's not going to be swayed by any of her edgy teenage threats. ]
Hmph. [ "company," she says. ]
Is that supposed to help convince me to spend my time and effort building you a helper-bot of your own? The notion that if I don't, you'd simply be too lonely and bitter that you just can't help setting a family of four ablaze?
Won't be any points in your favour if you try to pawn the blame for your actions on me, Firestarter.
I don't give a shit how your "mutation" or whatever the fuck works. [ Freddy sparks a bit when a wire's reattached, voice glitching as he starts uttering the first lyrics of "Happy Birthday!" before Mike smacks the bear in the nose and it shuts down again. look, he's a functioning zombie, sometimes weird shit just happens and you just gotta deal. ]
What I asked was, if you're not under constant surveillance and left to your own devices, all you'd want to do is roam the streets setting everything on fire without a care in the world?
... no, and also fuck you, and also you're a fucking idiot because how would I have survived one goddamn day as a homeless kid if that was the case? The cops would've sniped me within the week and gotten special commendations for it. I'm not a flamethrower in a meat suit, jesus christ, there's a personality in here too.
[Her mood's curdling a bit again, but at least this is just their usual back and forth bitching instead of something more serious. She takes a calming moment to finish off her drink before answering, then lobs the disposable cup into a nearby garbage bin.]
That's what I was trying to explain. I get the urge to burn shit but it has to be set off, it's not a constant compulsive thing. And you talk like I'm some kind of serial killer but I just don't value some stranger's life over my own if they force me to make the choice, that's all. It's not for fun.
[ or, y'know, she could've said that in the first place.
but it does put everything into better context and that's something, at least. he would've had her give that lighter to Helpy for safekeeping if she was just a ticking time bomb. not that it'd stop her from just going out to get a new one, but it'd get the point across, he thinks. but she's really just a brat, in the end. not a serial killer - he knows serial killers. ]
I knew he was a spybot! [She lets out a bellowing laugh of vindication.] Don't worry though, lil guy, you're still alright with me.
I gotta ask, though... [Here she turns her attention back to Mike.] ...if you don't trust me as far as you could throw me, why did you let me stay here? 'Cause you always say you never would've done it if you thought this or that about me, but that sounds like a pretty low opinion you've been carrying around.
He's not a spybot, he inspects the vents for intruders.
[ and the camera only works if Mike personally activates it and it has a special super-powered ghost lens for recording spooks and it's a whole bunch of technological bullshit mumbo jumbo he doesn't nearly have enough time or patience to explain anyway-- ]
And as for you, [ he doesn't turn around to look at her, just gestures in the direction her voice is coming from with the wrench in his hand, ] ... let's just say I'm not always known for making wise decisions.
[ or maybe he just liked the idea of talking to someone who didn't reply with children's folk songs for once, who really knows tho it is a mystery~~ ]
Oh, he's security. Sorry for the accusation, Helpy. [Hopefully Mike enjoys hearing that apology because she'd never give one to an actual human being.
Mike's answer doesn't quite make sense, if only because he's still making that decision every single time he doesn't just throw her out, but... that fact just gives her another warm little feeling in her chest. There's something he likes about her, she's sure of it. He's just too much of a cranky bitch to say it outright.]
Alright, I'm going to bed. [She stands up with a long, indulgent stretch and even more indulgent yawn, then goes to grab her cake and stash it far in the back of a stock fridge in case Mike was serious about billing her for it. Once she's back out at the side of the stage, she adds:] Just give me a few minutes first if you need to come back for anything, alright?
[Her bedroll is tucked beneath the big table that holds both the lighting and sound boards since it's all pre-programmed, and she got his permission to clear out the bottom level of some utility shelving (under his supervision) for her few possessions. Once she's changed and hidden away for the night, Mike can generally come and go as necessary without disturbing her sleep too badly.]
[ it's something. Helpy's appreciative of the gesture, at least. and as long as Gen doesn't bother asking about what kind of intruder the little bear-bot keeps an eye out for, all the better. ]
Uh-huh. Sure.
[ Mike-speak for "goodnight or whatever I guess."
of course, since he doesn't sleep, Mike remains working throughout the night, and leaves Gen to her rest. he's mostly on stage, but sometimes retreating to the office. it's relatively quiet at night in the restaurant, without the loud snotty children or the constant noise from the arcade machines and songs from the animatronics. nope, just the sounds of heavy shuffling footsteps, metal tinkering and paper shuffling, and occasional cursing because it's Mike and these blasted robots are frustrating as fuck sometimes.
though if Gen's a light sleeper, or just happens to wake up after a few hours, she just might happen to overhear bits and pieces of a hushed conversation. Mike's talking to someone, sounds like, but his voice is the only audible one. maybe a phone call? hard to say. it might not be anything, but Gen might be able to pick up on some context clues here and there, and she'll definitely hear her name mentioned. wonder what it could be about, hmm. ]
[Gen's a light sleeper that can also slip back into sleep without much trouble, a skill developed during years of watching her own back in squats and alleyways that now allows her to get adequate rest no matter what Mike gets up to throughout the night.
Hearing him speak more than two words at once is strange, though. Is someone here? No, just Mike speaking and pausing, speaking and pausing - yeah, sounds like a phone call. She's about to doze back off when she hears her own name and her eyes pop back open.
Immediately, she's up and out from under the table and creeping toward the back room's door. She eases it open a crack but instead of risking a squeaky hinge by opening it wide enough to sneak through, she just listens at the slim little gap for now.]
[ it ends up not being a phone call at all. it might be a little difficult to see from Gen's current perspective, but if she can manage it, she'll spot Mike up on stage. except he's laying flat on his back. Helpy is visible up there as well, sitting on stage beside Mike and happily kicking his little bear feet like a hyperactive toddler. is that who Mike is talking to? maybe.
his voice is definitely quite hushed, like he is trying to keep the conversation quiet and private enough that a sleeping pyromaniac teenager wouldn't wake up and listen in. oh well. ]
Yeah, yeah, I know. [ Mike gestures vaguely with one hand, as though brushing off a suggestion from an invisible source. ] It was a shitty answer. The fuck else was I supposed to say?
[ there's another pause, then Mike is speaking quietly again. ] No, obviously not. I wouldn't actually kick her out. [ ... ] No- no no no, fuck's sake, no. [ ... ] No. She'll only stick around for however long she wants, then she'll leave on her own. Won't fucking matter what I say.
[ ... ] Yeah, I know. [ Helpy shuffles over and flops down on Mike's chest. ] I'll miss her, too.
[What should have the greatest impact: Mike is hallucinating the other half of this conversation, which he seems to believe he's having with Helpy.
What does have the greatest impact: He'd miss her if she left.
There's suddenly a tight, snarled ball of... something in her chest, so tight that it hurts to breathe. She backs away from the door with a hand over her mouth, the expression beneath it half wince and half smile. Part of her wants to walk right out there and demand that he say it to her face, but what's the point? He'd just get defensive again - and so would she.
Oh no. What's happening here?
Gen doesn't actually leave the room until about 4 am, an inhumanly early morning partially caused by how early she went to bed but mostly caused by Mike's words rattling around in her brain. She tends to change out of her pyjamas before showing her face but that's a bit too much to ask at ass o'clock in the morning, so Mike gets to see the utterly terrifying oversized t-shirt she wears as a nightgown when they eventually run into each other.]
[ the conversation does continue for a while after that. there's long pauses between Mike's half-answers, but it does reveal a side of him that he's so far concealed beneath a grumpy and aggressive outer surface. nothing is outright confessed to - mostly because Mike doesn't even know what the fuck any of this is in the first place to be confessing anything - but it's ... something. maybe Gen is less of an annoyance than he'd made her out to be.
whenever Gen does emerge for the morning, Mike is off stage. there's some noise coming from the kitchen instead, the deep fryer's going strong. a bit early, strange. but maybe he's working on something else, as he so often is.
as soon as Gen passes by the kitchen order counter, there's a shout-- ] Head's up! [ --and then there's a powdered mini donut flying at her face. whether or not she catches it, it's that ridiculous sleep shirt that gets him snickering. ]
[How dare he launch projectiles at her before the sun's even up? Gen blinks down at the donut on the floor, then up at Mike and his sharp smile, brushing some powder off her cheek as she regards him with half-awake eyes.
And then, because she's not properly awake and thus can't pull her guard up around her as quickly, she blushes from her hairline to the collar of her nightshirt when the memory of his words comes back. It's incredibly rare for Gen to blush because of her body's strange relationship with heat, so this is far from a subtle reaction to seeing the same dude she sees every day.]
Shut up. [Not an order so much as a pitiful whine, followed by:] Please tell me there's coffeebots I just haven't met yet.
[ an interesting response, for sure. hard to really tell if Mike takes note of it or not, since he's very much focused on a Project at the moment apparently. but there might be a little pause, a slight tilt of his head, as though trying to consider or notice something being a little different, a little unusual. interesting. maybe. maybe not. who knows? ]
Obviously. Not a breakfast joint, but some weird fuckers like coffee with their pizzas. [ Mike whistles, Helpy scurries over. there's some gesturing, then Helpy's bounding over to some sort of puzzling control panel in the back. within moments there's a Staffbot wheeling its way out of the kitchen towards Gen, this one appearing to have some sort of touch screen on its chest plate listing various types of coffee drinks. please don't set it on fire. she'll just have to push a few buttons to order - yes the Staffbot has a coffeemaker in its chasis, no it's not high quality premium beans, but it's coffee what more do you want smh ]
[It's an actual, honest to god coffeebot. Mike's so weird, but Gen's not about to complain about it now. She picks up her donut and brushes off the side that touched the floor, then takes a bite while she works out her order - something with espresso and a lot of cream, plus some chocolate for an added boost.
Once she's got a decent-sized paper cup of piping hot mocha in her other hand, she wanders into the kitchen to observe Mike's work. Everything about her is a bit softer when she's this tired, from her posture and expression to her voice and choice of words:]
... why are you making donuts in the middle of the night?
[He's livelier than usual too, isn't he? Not quite cheerful, but closer than she's seen. It's - endearing.]
[ the passage of time doesn't really mean all that much to the cursed immortal dead man, let's be real. he doesn't sleep, so there's all that extra time and not much else to do with it beyond mess around in the workshop, office, or kitchen. which is one of the many reasons the menu never stays the same for long. anyway. point remains that it's not the middle of the night, it's early morning, and Mike absolutely will be pedantic about it. ]
Fifth anniversary this Saturday. [ back to the donut-making process he goes. it's slightly awkward with his relative immobility compared to a normal living chef, so there's flour and powdered sugar everywhere and the splash zone around the deep fryer is something to note if Gen wants to avoid hot oil splatters. the mini-donuts certainly aren't pretty, he can't shape them into perfect donut circles, but how they look isn't exactly important. ] Trying to come up with a few ideas to celebrate with.
[ is that why he's a half-degree more chipper than usual? hard to say. ] Coffeebot's a prototype, by the way. If you end up poisoned, I take no legal responsibility.
Yeah, yeah, everything here might kill me if shit goes wrong, I'm used to it. [Gen doesn't mean to brush off Mike's rather catastrophic history with shit going wrong and killing people in restaurants - it's more of a sign that she trusts him infinitely more now that she knows he enjoys her presence here and would miss it if she left. Or, you know, died. So obviously he'll be more careful about risks to her life than he lets on.
At least, that's how Gen now sees her position here. She's fine with continuing to drink her coffee and even finds herself surprisingly proud when she hears that Mike's been at this for five years. Shows how valuable his odd skillset can be when it's not being wielded by a total nutjob.]
Hey, you may be a zombie cyborg, but it sounds like you're also the only person in this franchise's history that knows how to run a fuckin' restaurant. Nice. [Yes, those are her congratulations. She'll try to do something for him on the actual day, but god only knows what form that gesture might take. She certainly doesn't yet.]
Anything I can do to help? Once I'm, y'know, conscious and all.
Please stop making this sound a hundred times cooler than it actually is. [ "zombie cyborg?" that'd be rad as fuck. but no, he's a ratchedy rusted rotting corpse. at least a zombie cyborg would be able to walk up stairs or jump over things. or have gatling guns in his arms. that'd be sweet.
... anyway. ]
Once you're conscious, you can taste-test. [ the hardest part about food experimentation and trying new menu options is being unable to tell whether or not it actually works. suffice it to say, he wastes a lot of money on ingredient sampling. and printing costs. Mike gestures towards his donut attempts on the counter - chocolate, strawberry jelly-filled, cinnamon sugar. they're all fully cooked and he followed the recipes exactly, so taste-wise they're probably fine. but the shapes ... they don't look the most appetizing. Mike tries, but. janky animatronic hands. ] Again, no legal responsibilities if you choke and die.
[She laughs quietly, the sound of it almost indulgent, and shakes her head.]
My bad, I didn't mean to make you sound cool. Super false advertising.
[The coffee tastes fine so far, as does the donut he hurled at her face, so she's totally up for the taste testing job. She moves in closer to take a look at what he's made so far, and he may notice that the hissing droplets of oil that hit her skin don't seem to bother her at all - in fact, they don't even leave little disc-shaped spots of red on her skin. Gen truly cannot be burned.]
Not gonna lie, dude, they look like dog shit. Why don't you make the batter and filling and shit and I can put them together.
[ well he walked right into that one, point for Firestarter. ]
It's hard, okay? Fuck's sake. [ Mike just gestures vaguely with his hands. he doesn't take the comment personally - maybe he would've a few decades ago, when this was new and he was extremely bothered by everything he could no longer do, even simple tasks and his regular hobbies. but he's had a long time to accept that this is just how he is, and not being able to make pretty donuts is hardly something to get pissy about. ]
Got any ideas for different flavours? [ might as well get input from someone who can actually eat things. Mike hobbles over towards the opposite counter, where his messy stash of donut ingredients are scattered about, so he can get started on the next batter batch. ] Nothing weird, but like. Good-weird, maybe. I dunno.
[She raises her hands with her palms up in a gesture of truce.]
So if it'll be easier for me, then get me to do it. I won't demand a raise or anything. I... should probably put on clothes first, though.
[Definitely some shoes, at the very least. She's gonna get Mike shut down by health violations if she starts cooking now. She tucks the rest of her donut into her mouth and washes it down with a mouthful of coffee, then considers the other flavours in front of her.]
Churros? Boston cream? I'll think about it while I'm getting dressed. [As she walks away, she can be heard muttering quietly to herself:] Pizza and soda and now fuckin' donuts, and I'm already getting so fat... pretty soon he'll have to blast a hole in the wall and roll me outta here if he changes his mind...
[In truth, she was so skinny when they first met that she's just added a layer of softness to her frame, but - teen girls gonna teen girl.]
[ Mike makes a half-hearted attempt to glare at her, as though barking orders at her is something he does on a regular basis - maybe sometimes, but for the most part Gen can fuck around as she pleases, as long as the dishes are washed and put away before opening hours, it's more or less free reign. he knows all too well what strictly governed households are like, knows all too well the urge to rebel and cause shit just to cause shit. at most he gets snippy at her when she gets snippy at him, but there's a conscious effort involved in not bossing her around. whether that's because it genuinely means something or if he'd just rather not piss her off and have to build a fire extinguisher into Helpy, hard to really say for sure.
"health violations," pah. if any health inspector actually did a visit on the restaurant, they'd have far more concerns about the corpse cooking in the kitchen than they would the teenaged hired help wearing ugly sleepshirts. weird how one's never showed up even once, huh? if he's going to inherit anything from his father, at least shady business tactics come in handy when you're trying to avoid being seen. ]
Terrible suggestions. Truly awful. [ at least, Mike vaguely recalls not liking Boston cream, so he's just gonna assume they're still shit. he watches Gen saunter off, shakes his head. girls. he sighs, starts up the next round of batter - most of the kitchen is automated, so mixing and incorporating is easy when machines are doing most of the work. he does call out after her as she leaves, ] Do be careful, if you Violent Beauregarde yourself out of here, I'm absolutely charging you for damages to the doorframe and the structural integrity of the building.
[ he teases. that's what you're supposed to do, right? right. ]
[She stops to wink at him through the opening with the order counter, then continues on to her backstage hidey-hole. When she re-emerges, she's got her spinny hat and Cherries Flambé nametag on because why not? They're technically working, right? Looks like some of his unusually whimsical energy might have rubbed off.
Her "work clothes" are just different combinations of her everyday clothes because she has so little to her name - she most often wears a simple dress, sometimes with leggings underneath, because her jeans feel a shade too casual if she has to leave the kitchen for something. In this dress, combined with her apron and heavy-duty workboots, she looks like a proper employee. And maybe she's just a dish washer, but choosing this life for herself and earning her keep does give her a sense of pride.
Raking her hair back into a ponytail with her fingers, she steps back into the kitchen.] Alright, just try to shoot this idea down - funnel cakes. You can't, right? Funnel cakes are so easy, made of all the same shit, and they're instant fuckin' happy. You can thank me for saving your donut idea later.
[ he might be getting a little too accustomed to being called "Pennywise," maybe a little bit. there's a chance he might be snickering quietly to himself, a chance that Gen might catch him muttering under his breath in a gruff and raspy tone, "they all float down here." maybe. he might be thinking about getting a tiny yellow rainjacket for Helpy. could be fun for Halloween or something.
the automated donut-batter-makers are doing their automated donut batter making, and Mike leans against the counter until Gen returns. dress code isn't exactly something he's a major stickler for, as long as it all jives with the pizzeria's aesthetic. and Mike's not exactly a fashionista himself. but hey, she wears the hat, she gave herself a goofy nametag. everything works out. ]
... [ Mike was going to scoff, but. hmm. he taps a finger to his chin, considering. funnel cake. theme park food. circus animatronics. huh. ]
That might actually work. [ Helpy starts doing an excited celebratory dance on the kitchen floor. ] Could save the donut idea for later.
Of course it will, I'm a genius. And I may not demand a raise for this but I'd better at least get a bonus.
[She's grinning, ponytail now in place, and reaching for one of the powdered jelly donuts to give it a try. All it took was knowing that Mike actually likes her company and suddenly Gen feels like she's bantering with her only real close friend back at Xavier's, Bobby - except that she made the profound mistake of falling head over heels for Bobby and while she may flirt with and even proposition Mike, that's not happening.
That's not happening again with anyone.]
Why not connect the donuts to coffeebot's big debut? Cake and soda for the kids, coffee and donuts for the parents. They're not that bad - [Except that the jelly donut turns out not to be very structurally sound, so she's soon got her face and hands and a fair amount of the floor covered in sweet strawberry goop with a hint of powdered sugar.] - agh fuck, damnit, I just went to the laundromat -
[Welp. That's her headed to the sink to clean up as best she can.] Helpy, wanna get a bot to take care of the floor? And you, no more fuckin' jelly donuts!
now there's a problem. Mike has been a jerk and a bully nearly all his life. he's never bothered to hide this fact. and the thing about jerks and bullies is, when an opportunity to be a jerk and a bully presents itself, it's just not physically in him to resist. Gen's agitated and huffy, made a mess of herself, and her back is turned. and there's a handful of sticky jelly-filled donuts within arm's reach. they're right there. Gen's over there.
Mike reaches for a donut, while Gen's ranting and not looking. he holds it out on his palm so that it's aiming directly for her. and promptly punches it with his other fist, spraying another little splurt of strawberry jelly across Gen's back.
he then immediately drops the squished donut on a very unassuming and unprepared Helpy and props his now very messy (definitely not with jelly) hands on his hips, scolding the little bear-bot who definitely was responsible for the whole thing. ] Helpy! That's not very nice of you at all.
[She hears the loud splat rather than feels it since none of the jelly hits her skin, but she still knows exactly what just happened. This is bully against bully, after all, even if Mike hasn't seen much of that side of her yet.
Without turning around, she speaks in a strained monotone that obviously wants to rise with both annoyance and amusement:]
You... really should've thought about how shitty it'll be to scrub jelly out of your gears before you did that.
[Because the moment she does turn around, the game is on. She snatches a bunch of the jelly donuts and just hurls one right at his face, knowing full well that he'll find it harder to shield himself or escape or do much of anything but take the assault. She does hesitate for a moment, just in case he decides to call the whole thing off, but she's braced and ready to keep throwing.]
['Wasting your time', says the voice behind him. It certainly seems that way, with a swing and miss going on the scoreboard. The sounds that greet the attempt don't seem friendly. Must there be trouble? Can't we all just get along? Warren puts on hand on his hip, looking at the bunny. He then makes a second attempt, except he merely sticks his other hand inside the image to wiggle his fingers like a child in a sandpit. Hm. It's cold.]
I imagined you had tried,
[Perplexed, disappointed, but not exhaustively surprised, Warren turns back to face the weary voice.]
but I am not you.
[It was a slim chance anything would happen but hey, it cost nothing to try.]
Well, who wants to go first? Step up, don't be shy!
[This is loudly addressed to any and all spirits, Warren turning in a slow circle like a ringmaster.]
this is my only mildly concerning child spirits icon
[ far more times than he could ever count. punch, kick, tear at, scream until he just couldn't anymore. the fucking thing never moves. just stands there. honks. he hates it so much. he's never truly going to escape him. a curse far worse than being stuck in his own dead body forever, for sure.
"i am not you," sure rub it in. you're still in my head, fuckwit. he'll sit back and watch, like usual. see what happens when one of the littler ones approaches. or at least, he watches for as long as he can, which isn't very long before he's ducking his head down in his arms. hard to look.
the weepy little spirit draws closer to the headspace stranger, ever so curious. they're just as quiet as honky shadow rabbit over there, only speaking in whispers. asking why is he here, are you with the bad man, we're watching the rabbit together. why are you here? ]
[Warren might've said that but it wasn't intended to hurt him. Different approaches make for the best strategy meeting. If at first you don't succeed try something new, fool! Or in this case, someone new.
The wee one is brave, and Warren says so. Among other child-appropriate praise. How good they are to keep Eggs company when he feels sad. How strong and kind to stay together. I want to help, he says in a whisper like theirs, because my bad, scary father made me play with sweet children just like you, too.
If he can touch these heartbreaking siblings Warren will sit on the floor and gather them up in his arms like puppies. He can't exorcise these ghosts. He doesn't know if this commiseration is all for nothing.]
Have I ever told you about the time I devoured my sire?
[Casual. A fishing pond story, from the tone of his voice. A storybook reading, nothing more.]
[ oh, no no, no no they whisper. the purple man is bad too. they aren't here to keep him company, they're not watching over him. they're making sure he knows what he did, too. they're making sure he never forgets, never gets his final rest, never a moment's peace. because they're always there.
eggsy might've become used to their presence by now, after thirty some-odd years. but he still flinches at the reminder, still hides his face in something so much stronger than shame. genuinely wishing he had a stomach to throw up with. such as it is.
but, enough about eggs. the brave (so brave!) one gathers close first, appearing to sit on the checkerboard tile floor below, though it's more of a ... floating-sit. slowly, the others begin to approach as well. there's seven of them in total. five of them surround the stranger, eager to listen to storytime. the other two remain hovering closer around ol' eggsy in the back, their shapes a little more defined than the five amorphous ones. familiarity, it seems. but ignore them. tell the little ones the story. they haven't had storytime in years. ]
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Thank you for calling Freddy Fazbear's Family Fun Center! We are regrettably unable to answer your call at this very moment, due to unforseen circumstances such as satisfying customer expectations, animatronic maintenance, or taming unruly ghosts in the rafters. Please leave a detailed message about your compliment or complaint, as well as your name and contact information, and we will contact you at our earliest convenience, if we deem your message deserving of a response in the first place. Thank you for calling, and have a Faz-tastic day!
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and i always want something more when someone tries to withhold it so you might as well make this easier on yourself
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any around the restaurant?
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If I show you, you have to shut up about it for the rest of the century.
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deal!
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Office. If you're not here in 15 seconds the door's locking and you'll miss your chance
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[She's there in 10, peering in with uncharacteristic caution before taking a step inside.]
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You're really fucking stubborn, you know that?
[ the office is tacky, cluttered ... the fewer questions asked, the better. and there's always Helpy standing on the desk, waving excitedly at his new friend when she arrives. ]
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Gingerly closing and pocketing her lighter, Gen turns and gives the office a slow once-over before stepping in deeper.]
Yeah, and you're really fucking weird.
[All the empty-eyed animatronic heads make her skin crawl. She actually starts to reach out toward the Fredbear torso before withdrawing her hand with a frisson of fear, but then it occurs to her how much satisfaction she probably just gave Mike with that movement so she gives it a light shove and turns her back on it.]
This place is a... [Her gaze falls on Helpy and she just looks slightly pained that one of them should be so cute. Not today, Satan.] ... scratch nightmare, this place is a fucking fever dream.
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Were I a normal human being, you'd be long gone by now.
[ Helpy, regardless of any situation, always looks ecastic and eager to prove his namesake. the tiny dumbfaced robobear looks over at his creator, and Mike - resigning himself to this accursed fate for the hundredth time that day - gestures vaguely towards the desk. and Helpy takes that as his cue to go dig out what Gen is here for out of an old, dusty file folder from a stack on the desk. give him a minute, it's a lot of old paperwork here. ]
Try not to get too excited. [ adding, begrudgingly. ] I wasn't in many family photos, so this is all I have. And I'm this close to tossing it in the shredder.
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[Watching Helpy chug around the desk so cheerfully just makes Gen look even more pained - she's obviously, visibly fighting the urge to be charmed by him, like an anti-cat person coping with a kitten curled up asleep in their lap. Appreciating cuteness is weakness and yet...]
"Family photos..." [Said with a slight mockery of his accent.] There's a concept. Did even shitty families take those back in the day? [If she sounds bitter, that's because she is - for all the evidence that Michael's father was an absolute monster, at least he apparently got his family together to take nice pictures. That means he must have wanted someone in the family around.]
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Hmph. [ just a non-committal grumble in response. begrudgingly okay sure she's tolerable and maybe it's kind of nice to talk to someone who'll talk back that isn't spouting pre-recorded family friendly catchphrases or gargled ghostly screaming and chanting it's me it's me it's me-- but that's all besides the point, which is she's rude and annoying and makes fun of the way he speaks. which is rude. and annoying. ]
They do when they have a public image to maintain. [ which was always dear ol' dad's highest priority, and that meant that Mike hated it. on top of everything else he hated about the man. so it's no surprise that when Helpy finally does dig out a wrinkled, faded scrap of something and bounds over excitedly to Gen to show her, it's ... well. ]
... [ sighs. just get it over with. ] Well, have fun with that.
[ yeah, it's a mugshot.
funny how he looked dead behind the eyes even before he was actually dead, huh. ]
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The picture itself causes her eyebrows to shoot up, and she glances back and forth between it and Mike in his current form several times.] Huh. So I was right. [With that cryptic statement, she hands the picture back to Helpy and gives Mike an innocent smile.]
That wasn't so hard, was it?
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...
[ this is the worst. ]
... ugh.
[ Mike tilts his head back against the wall, rolling his odd purple eyes while Helpy takes the mugshot back to put it back where he got it from. this is the worst. this is the absolute worst. she's doing this on purpose just to piss him off. he knows that, she knows he knows that. nothing good can come from this. whatever she'd say, whatever she's thinking, it's only going to further frustrate and annoy him. and yet.
and yet. ]
Right about what.
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I was just thinking awhile back, that based on... what's left of your face, you probably weren't bad looking before all that shit happened. 'Cause I mean, all fuckin' things considered, you're still not bad.
And I was right. You were hot as fuck.
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but leave it to Michael to be a jerk about it in the end. he does eventually respond, deadpan, somewhat dumbfounded. annoyed all the same. ]
Gee. Thanks.
[ compliments are weird, okay. ]
You can leave now.
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But instead he gets quiet and flustered and then flatly tries to usher her out, and that actually stirs up a somewhat warm feeling inside her. Lashing out at kindness is understandable (and more her style, if she's honest), but just bluescreening because it's so unfamiliar is a bit heart-wrenching.]
I could. [She brushes aside some food wrappers on his desk to make room for her to sit, one leg crossed demurely over the other. Did she actually expect to make this offer when she came into his office? Not really, but she has to admit that the possibility was on her mind - honestly, the possibility is what started this whole thing.
She doesn't wear seduction all that comfortably but at least she knows she has youth and attractiveness on her side. They're just things that she's had to protect for most of her life, not offer.]
I could leave, but I gotta say, you don't have much imagination when it comes to what I could do here.
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he makes a mental note to take apart Helpy later. those candy wrappers certainly aren't Mike's. little shit. ]
I have plenty of imagination. [ bitter? incredibly. this isn't fair. ]
And I have no use of your "services." [ he nods towards the office door, scowling, arms crossed. there isn't much bite to his words, though. true, he's still taken aback by the whole ... this. it's left him a fair bit unsettled and awkward. the only thing he really knows how to do in this situation is to be an ass about it. ] Get the fuck out of my office.
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I've got some bad fucking news for you, Mike. [Her voice is thin and hoarse from the strain of keeping herself together. She climbs down off the desk and storms right up to him but stops just short of jabbing a finger against his chest - pointing will be good enough, she thinks. He doesn't deserve any contact at all.] All this... isn't what's keeping you from getting fucked. Enjoy knowing from this point forward that it's all your fault, and bitching about it really does make you no better than an incel.
[She needs to burn something. She needs to burn something.]
I'm leaving for awhile. Lock me out and I burn this place to the fuckin' ground, then pin it on you in case you really are part cockroach.
[Okay. With that said, she can walk out of the office and head for the service door of the restaurant. She's saved enough face.]
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...
[ he opts out of saying anything. just keeps his grumpy posture and glares at her while she tantrums and storms out of the office (Helpy's the one opening the door for her, of course.) bullet dodged, he figures. it's not like she would've meant any of it. she'd just give up the facade the moment he'd start to fall for it, point and laugh at him for being a fucking idiot, for daring to think someone would actually--
ugh.
Mike shoos Helpy out of his office with a resounding "piss off," and slams the door shut. that's where he'll be when-- if Gen decides he's worth the time and energy to bother talking to again. she will find that the little white dumb bear-bot seems to be following her around instead, however. he's very annoying, feel free to kick him. ]
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The next morning, Gen actually does return. A strong smell of smoke lingers around her but it's a pure woodsmoke smell, nothing too chemical or sweet, so it's hard to say exactly what she's been up to. Her clothes are smudged with dirt, her ponytail loose and mussed, and she has one cheerful Helpybot sitting on her shoulder. They went on an adventure!!
Although she has become strangely fond of the little guy, she still stops at the door to Mike's office and kicks it several times with her steel-toed workboots.]
Hey. Come get your bear.
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Helpy, on the other hand, is thrilled. that's the furthest away from the restaurant he'd ever been, he had so much fun!! they explored, they saw things!! if he was programmed with a voice, he'd be nonstop chattering about how much fun he had. but even still, the bear-bot seems happy to be "home," and since it's before opening hours, he has to use his special security code to open the door. inside, it's just the usual maintenance-bots cleaning and prepping for the day. and the security door shut tight, as expected.
no immediate response after the door kicking, either. just a long pause, like the person on the other side is really debating whether or not it's worth it. then the sounds of someone having a difficult time getting up from a squeaky office chair, the clinking and clattering of precision metal tools dropping onto the desk, footsteps shuffling towards the door. another pause.
the door finally does clunk open. Mike's there, paper bear mask hiding his face. Helpy waves happily, leaps from Gen's shoulder to latch himself onto Mike like a monkey. almost knocks the zombie man off his feet. but he stays quiet, not uttering a word. it's maybe five seconds of silence before the office door slams shut again. ]
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Lesson learned. Maybe. Probably not. Lesson learned until the next time.
Dodging bots left and right, Gen goes to her backstage home to grab a few things and then heads to the bathroom for a quick sink bath before work. There's a YWCA nearby that she hits up for a free shower about once a week but mostly this is how she gets clean - a cloth, a bar of soap, some dry shampoo, and a bathroom sink. Since the sinks aren't hidden behind any kind of stall door, this could lead to an escalation of some kind or another between them if Mike happened to walk in on her almost entirely naked.
If he stays in the office, they probably won't cross paths until the day is over and Gen emerges from the kitchen with an entire birthday cake that had to be sent back because of a decoration error by one of the bots. She sits down with an extra-large soda, a fork, and that entire cake and prepares to make sure it doesn't go to waste. She may be a psychopathic flame demon, but she can still sulk with the best of them after being rejected.]
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Helpy scurries over quickly as Mike steps out, paper bear mask still covering his face. he bends down awkwardly and gives what looks like a few scraps of old paper to the little bear, and sends him over to where Gen sits with her cake. Helpy, always happy to be given a task, bounds over to Gen as excited as ever, while Michael remains by the office door.
there's definitely an obvious shift in his demeanor. he might actually be sulking. old cranky zombie man in his fifties sulking like a teenager getting scolded for crashing the car. or at least, that's how it appears. ]
...
Look. [ here we go. ] If you're leaving, which I won't be at all surprised by, I'll need some sort of mailing address for your final paycheck. Vacation pay, severance, all that shit. Should have enough to carry you for a while.
But, if you're sticking around, for some unfathomable reason ... figure you should probably know a few things first. So you don't do something else you'll regret.
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(She may pet Helpy's smooth metal head, but she'll neither confirm nor deny the accusation if it's ever made.)
That's a generous offer to some kid who sleeps in his storage room and washes some dishes for room and board. It suggests that he understands the gravity of the bind she's in as a young mutant with no official schooling on the books after twelve years old, something she never really thought he cared about, never mind considered all that closely. And - he does sound somewhat guilty, which Gen really isn't used to after she's thrown a fit.]
Keep talking. [She even sets down her fork to show that she's really, truly and honestly paying attention.] I'll decide after.
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well. okay. so they're doing this. it's for the best, isn't it? she should know. yeah. ugh.
so what Helpy ended up bringing over to show Gen, it turns out Mike was lying. he actually does have some very old photographs. they're just hidden away. they're very old and worn, tears around the edges and crinkles throughout. two of them look like candid snapshots, another what appears to be an attempt at a family photo. notably, they're torn half-photos, as it appears someone's torn himself out of each picture. and even more notably, the imposing authority figure in the family photo's had his head torn off. really the only thing kept in relatively good condition despite the obvious age is the two smaller children in each.
here we go. ]
Those are my siblings.
[ he feels panic rising in his dead and hollow chest. feels like his stomach would be twisting if he had one. good thing he can hide behind a dumb-looking mask. ]
You should know what happened to them. [ ... ] What I did to them. Before you reconsider me as a possible fuckbuddy.
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If you're about to tell me you killed them... [Gen's voice is uncommonly soft.] ... I already know I won't judge you for that, so just. You don't have to drag all the skeletons out, alright? Have you somehow missed the fact that I'm a psycho too? It doesn't matter, I don't give a shit about family or morals or anything but surviving the rest of the assholes we're stuck with.
[She picks up her fork again, but only to stab it viciously into the center of the cake.]
You're still alive - or close enough - so you matter, but fuck your ghosts.
[That may have veered from reassuring to deeply insulting at some point. Here's hoping it doesn't lead to another sulk stand-off.]
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Maybe it doesn't matter to you, but it does to me.
[ and okay, sure, not having to worry about judgement for being a baby sibling killer makes the rest of this conversation a little easier. but not worrying about Gen judging him doesn't mean that Mike doesn't carry the heavy guilt with him. ]
You don't want all the skeletons, that's fine. I'm less inclined to divulge them to a bratty punk teenager calling herself a "psycho" like it's an edgy Hot Topic badge of fucking honour.
[ weird to be told he matters, but since it's being said by said edgy teenager, he'll try not to think much of it. ]
Anyway. [ right, back to business. if she doesn't want to hear the details, doesn't want to hear Mike's fucked up excuses and explanations for what he's done, maybe that can be saved for another conversation. or for later in this one. see if everything else will make her bail out first. ] It's less so what I'm responsible for, and more ... everything else you should probably know if you're going to want to stick around.
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[She's sitting on that "edgy Hot Topic teenager" shit for now. Once Mike has confessed all his sins, maybe she can give him a taste of her body count. For now she pulls her fork free and digs back into the cake, her chin propped on her other hand.]
Come and sit, at least? I'm not gonna mount your fucking lap or anything.
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[ look, he stands by his word. give him a cane (he could use one) and he'll start shaking it at her, call her a whippersnapper and everything. ]
Helpy. [ whistling ] Get over here.
[ little bear-bot quickly hurries over, always eager to prove his namesake. Mike disappears into the office for a moment, then he hobbles back out with a heavy leather-bound file folder in tow. Helpy holds his arms out, Mike drops the folder-- it's clearly heavier than the robobear expected and he gets promptly flattened, papers and loose bolts scattering about. he's fine.
he leaves Helpy to gather everything up while he drags his zombie ass over to where Gen's waiting, but he doesn't sit down. sitting down is hard okay. soon enough Helpy is joining them, carrying the folder that's much bigger than himself, and trying his damndest to toss it up on the table. ]
... you don't actually have to go through everything, I'll give you the cliffnotes.
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Okay, she's definitely becoming attached to a robotic teddy bear in the absence of any warm (or even tepid) human companionship.]
"Helpy." [Before things get serious, Gen can't help but toss in a little barb at Mike's expense.] That's the best name you could come up with?
[With that, she opens the folder and begins her journey into the most demented family business ever conceived. There's none of her usual eyerolling and cynicism this time, no wry "it do be like that sometimes" attitude that suggests they're fellow veterans of life's hardships - nothing but pure horror as the pieces she's completely unequipped to process come together in front of her.]
infodump sorry
[ don't actually answer that. he's just trying to keep the traditional Fazbear naming conventions alive here.
the file folder is more than deserving of such a horrified expression. the contents therein are the entirety of thirty plus years of Michael's personal investigations into the Afton family and the Fazbear Inc. franchise. it's stuffed full of newspaper cutouts from the 1980's (much like the family photos, every picture featuring a certain someone also has his head torn off, whether it's newspaper articles or other photos relevant to what notes they're pinned to,) all the excitement of the brand's initial outings. and all the controversy, the mystery, and the deaths. oh, so many deaths. coverage and cutouts of poor Elizabeth's accident, little Evan's tragic final birthday party, the infamous "Bite of '87" incident, the missing children. various old and tattered blueprints, some of animatronics, some of other devices (Gen can probably put two and two together with that one.) there are many scribbled notes in various deranged styles, some of which definitely isn't Mike's handwriting, detailing someone's personal descent into utter madness with bizarre theories and justifications for horrid acts, claims of discovering immortality and necessary sacrifice. disgusting stuff.
scattered about are also random sketches and doodles, which definitely are Mike's. you know, to lighten the mood.
bringing it right back down are Michael's own deranged ramblings in between all the zombie detective work, deluded rants about ghosts and lost souls, a fully detailed account of the state of his body and what he's managed to piece together about how he functions, his suspicions of being cursed mixed in with notes of "experiment??" here and there. pages are splattered and stained with what looks like dark ink or oils. it's not a fun read and Mike's half expecting her to push it away, despite Helpy very happily pointing at pictures and red pen markings of "IT'S ME" and the much newer blueprints/design notes of the Rockstar animatronics on Mike's stage like it's a picture book for toddlers. oddly enough, anything about Helpy's design or programming code seems to be entirely absent. ]
Do you believe in ghosts?
Re: infodump sorry
[A hollow whisper as she skims William's notes. "Discovered" immortality? Sure, mutations that create immortality as a result of how they work are rare, but they definitely existed in the 80s and there were definitely people William could've sought out. Never mind that they were pushed even further into the shadows of society back then, he still could've found a way to understand everything he'd seen without resorting to mass child murder.
While her words are typically harsh and dismissive, her expression and tone make it clear that she knows she's learning about a profound tragedy, not just one guy's stupid mistake.
Some of the blueprints actually make her wince and recoil in her seat. Luring? Storage tank?? And yes, the scooper causes her skin to itch in that familiar way. The horror touches her more deeply than the loss of family, which could probably be expected, but she's also starting to figure out how intimately the two are linked... and when Mike asks his question, Gen looks up with something very rare shuttering her expression: caution.]
I don't really believe in anything, but I can be convinced.
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Mike still isn't sure if he can properly explain his father's madness. immortality when you're a mere human and not a mutant is, apparently, desirable to some. he'll never understand it. certainly not to this extent. but the heavy, packed folder is enough to get the point across, hence bringing it all out in the open in the first place. Gen is the only other person to see that folder. ]
So.
Why do you think I'm showing you all this?
[ it's a little hard to tell what Mike's thinking with the mask covering his face, but his tone is at least a little more somber, a little more serious. ]
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[Goosebumps rise on her skin as she checks all the visible windows with nervous little glances, her heart suddenly beating a bit too fast. This feels like the moment in a horror movie when the spookies suddenly make their first real appearance after sneaking around in shadows for the first act.]
You wanted to tell me before they did?
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You and I both know that if a haunted animatronic drops from the ceiling with a thirst for blood and charges at you in a blinding rage, you'd set it ablaze before it had a chance to screech.
[ and while that might be a point in her favour, that's still not the reason, so Mike gestures towards the folder again. ] Guess again.
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[Quietly, without much actual satisfaction. The night's taken too weird of a turn for satisfaction. She glances over the clippings and notes again but only one other option comes to mind, and she's not that fond of it.]
Best I can figure... you're trying to get rid of me without having to kick me out, and this is meant to convince me that you're as crazy as your dad and I'm not safe here with you. Warmer or colder?
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Wrong again.
Loathe as I am to admit it, if I really wanted you gone, I never would've offered you to stay here in the first place. [ and yeah okay ouch that comparison stings, because it's the complete and utter truth and Mike hates that. madness is genetic, he knows he takes after his father in more ways that just appearance. but that too is not the reason. ]
One more guess. [ ... shrugs, ] Or I can just tell you. But that's less fun.
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The actual reason I'm showing you all this-- [ he points a gloved finger at the folder again, you know for emphasis, ] --is not only to show you all the shit I'm putting up with, but also to you show you the shit I do not tolerate.
I am surrounded by death. I've known nothing but the absolute worst humanity has to offer, not just in my own family. It's all I've known, for all my life and afterlife. [ and now he takes the bear mask off, snarling as he points a finger accusingly in Gen's direction, an eerie purple glow in his animatronic eyes. ] And here you come waltzing in, bitching about to get your way, storming off and setting dumpsters on fire like a toddler having a temper tantrum when you don't get your way, calling yourself a little "psycho" like that's something to be fucking proud of! You think you have the right to demand anything you want from me, you treat my generosity - which I'm deeply regretting - like a free ticket to be an utter hellion, because surely the lonely zombie man will jump at the opportunity to mack on the first pair of tits to present themselves in thirty years.
Death follows you, Firestarter. It covers and consumes and reeks around you. [ do you believe in ghosts? want to tell him all about that body count now? ] Maybe you can't see them, but I sure fucking can. And if you think I'm going to risk what little I have left just so you can obliviously lead more of them to my front door, you're sorely mistaken. You're no psychopath, you're just a little shit.
So either grow the fuck up, or get the fuck out of my restaurant.
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Her parents were shitty, there's no denying that, but not so much in the "harsh disciplinarian" direction. Rather, they hardly seemed to care that she existed beyond going through the bare minimum steps to keep her alive (and even those quickly waned once she could get around on her own two feet and reach something to shove in her mouth for sustenance). She's very used to her antics being ignored until there's a possibility that they could harm others, at which point the hammer comes down and she's reprimanded for daring to break her invisibility. It's almost like no one cares unless she's fucking up as big as possible.
And that really would make her a walking teen stereotype... if she hadn't been left homeless before she was even technically a teenager.]
I've been fighting for my life. [Quiet and tense, very defensive, but not outright angry.] Maybe I've gotten used to some bad shit along the way and I don't know how to let it go, but I never got many other options.
[At this point it feels like her options are to wear her identity with pride or to apologize for herself, and the latter is just too weak. There's no way. Still, she can't deny that staying with Mike has been way better than Xavier's in a lot of ways, and he's not trying to force her into some great moral shift or anything. He's just telling her to cut the shit.]
I'll try, alright?
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now what.
to say he's not prepared for this side of the conversation is an understatement. Mike knows he's in no position to be someone's moral police. he's not here to tell Gen what to do, what's right and what's wrong, or that she needs to turn her life around and make something of herself before she ends up like him. she'd just laugh at him. Mike would laugh at himself. fuck, this would be so much easier if she just yelled at him and ran off, then he could just yell back and slam the doors and be done with this. fuck's sake. ]
This is the only warning you get. [ one final wagging of his finger, for emphasis. but it seems he's reached his lecturing limit and now he's exhausted. preaching sucks. then he's strapping his mask back onto his head, one the side this time so he can see. he just doesn't want to carry it. ]
I've got work to do. [ Mike retreats to his office, grabbing the toolkit off his desk, before hobbling back out on his rusty animatronic legs. he'll be heading towards the stage area, some of the actual animatronics are in need of a tune-up. their performance was off today. ] If you eat the entire cake, I won't bill you for it.
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Helpy jumps down from beside her to rush after Mike and offer more assistance, and the pang of loss she feels at his sudden absence knocks the wind out of her lungs. Jesus, is this why Mike surrounds himself with beaming mechanical nightmares? Because they actually feel like safer companions than other people? And is she learning to relate to that? She suddenly misses the two friends she coldly cut out of her life for the ultimate betrayal of dating each other and making her the vestigial organ of the group... and yeah, maybe she's missed them all along, but feeling it so sharply because a robot bear prefers its creator to her is a bit much.]
Hey Mike...? [Even though she has to lift her voice to carry over the sound of his work, it still sounds soft and cautious. This can't sound like a demand. She has to make it clear that she's asking for a favour, something she knows she's in no way owed.] Would you make me a robot like Helpy sometime?
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once he's up on stage, he nudges Rockstar Bonnie's arm out, palm up. the toolkit is placed on the animatronic's open hand, holding it steady. then he gets to work, opening up panels and chest pieces, tinkering with wires and knobs, little zaps and sparks every so often. Helpy, as is his namesake, helps out by holding flashlights or handing over tools, and occasionally grabbing a screw or bolt that pops loose and falls to the floor. Mike stays mostly silent, save for a bit of cursing under his breath, or telling Helpy what part to grab. and then Gen asks that question, asks for that favour, and everything pauses for a moment.
hmm. ]
And what makes you think you can afford one of my personal creations? [ he does sign her paychecks, after all. but there's no real bite to his tone, which means it's probably safe to assume he's at least considering the idea. and Helpy certainly looks excited at the prospect of having a fellow robo bearcub friend. ]
... [ sigh. ] I might be willing to entertain the idea of a good behaviour discount.
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There may be a profound well of neediness beneath all her sharp, warning edges, but it's not all sexual. It's not even primarily sexual. That's just the safest offer for her to make once she trusts someone.]
You could make it a spybot, have it inform on me so you know if I break our deal. Like, I didn't even hurt anybody last night 'cause I didn't know if Helpy had cameras in his eyes or whatever - right, Helpy? I just burned some condemned houses, right? [She's telling the truth, which the pure woodsmoke smell she brought home also seems to verify.] So have one tail me all the time.
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I'm sorry. "Spybot?"
[ mumbling under his breath, "fuck's wrong with you, jaysus." maybe she really does have a very wrong impression of the kind of person Mike is. sure, he's fucked up beyond a reasonable doubt, he might have something of a skewed and warped view of the world around him and maybe not the strongest moral code, but come on. what kind of person uses spybots, plants secret hidden cameras to spy on people, that's just weird man. ]
You're serious? [ he doesn't turn around, just keeps working on ol' Freddy's inner workings. shakes his head a little bit. not that "just burned some condemned houses" is much better, but still. ] I've got far better things to do with my time than spy on you.
[ ... ] So you're saying that if you knew Helpy doesn't have cameras in his eyes, you would've been looking for someone to hurt?
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[Well, it is how she made things sound, right? Apparently it'll take awhile for her to stop compulsively gassing herself up as this crazy, badass fire demon in a misguided attempt to impress or intimidate Mike. And that sucks because she doesn't even like admitting her more emotional drives even to herself.
She sighs heavily, then starts again:] If you must know, having the company just... made me feel better. So the urge backed off a bit.
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Hmph. [ "company," she says. ]
Is that supposed to help convince me to spend my time and effort building you a helper-bot of your own? The notion that if I don't, you'd simply be too lonely and bitter that you just can't help setting a family of four ablaze?
Won't be any points in your favour if you try to pawn the blame for your actions on me, Firestarter.
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[This paranoid motherfucker.]
But of course I don't blame you. That's not how the mutation works, it's not just straight ahead "fuck around and find out."
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That's not what I asked.
I don't give a shit how your "mutation" or whatever the fuck works. [ Freddy sparks a bit when a wire's reattached, voice glitching as he starts uttering the first lyrics of "Happy Birthday!" before Mike smacks the bear in the nose and it shuts down again. look, he's a functioning zombie, sometimes weird shit just happens and you just gotta deal. ]
What I asked was, if you're not under constant surveillance and left to your own devices, all you'd want to do is roam the streets setting everything on fire without a care in the world?
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[Her mood's curdling a bit again, but at least this is just their usual back and forth bitching instead of something more serious. She takes a calming moment to finish off her drink before answering, then lobs the disposable cup into a nearby garbage bin.]
That's what I was trying to explain. I get the urge to burn shit but it has to be set off, it's not a constant compulsive thing. And you talk like I'm some kind of serial killer but I just don't value some stranger's life over my own if they force me to make the choice, that's all. It's not for fun.
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[ or, y'know, she could've said that in the first place.
but it does put everything into better context and that's something, at least. he would've had her give that lighter to Helpy for safekeeping if she was just a ticking time bomb. not that it'd stop her from just going out to get a new one, but it'd get the point across, he thinks. but she's really just a brat, in the end. not a serial killer - he knows serial killers. ]
Helpy's camera is in his bowtie, by the way.
[ just putting that out there. ]
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I gotta ask, though... [Here she turns her attention back to Mike.] ...if you don't trust me as far as you could throw me, why did you let me stay here? 'Cause you always say you never would've done it if you thought this or that about me, but that sounds like a pretty low opinion you've been carrying around.
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He's not a spybot, he inspects the vents for intruders.
[ and the camera only works if Mike personally activates it and it has a special super-powered ghost lens for recording spooks and it's a whole bunch of technological bullshit mumbo jumbo he doesn't nearly have enough time or patience to explain anyway-- ]
And as for you, [ he doesn't turn around to look at her, just gestures in the direction her voice is coming from with the wrench in his hand, ] ... let's just say I'm not always known for making wise decisions.
[ or maybe he just liked the idea of talking to someone who didn't reply with children's folk songs for once, who really knows tho it is a mystery~~ ]
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Mike's answer doesn't quite make sense, if only because he's still making that decision every single time he doesn't just throw her out, but... that fact just gives her another warm little feeling in her chest. There's something he likes about her, she's sure of it. He's just too much of a cranky bitch to say it outright.]
Alright, I'm going to bed. [She stands up with a long, indulgent stretch and even more indulgent yawn, then goes to grab her cake and stash it far in the back of a stock fridge in case Mike was serious about billing her for it. Once she's back out at the side of the stage, she adds:] Just give me a few minutes first if you need to come back for anything, alright?
[Her bedroll is tucked beneath the big table that holds both the lighting and sound boards since it's all pre-programmed, and she got his permission to clear out the bottom level of some utility shelving (under his supervision) for her few possessions. Once she's changed and hidden away for the night, Mike can generally come and go as necessary without disturbing her sleep too badly.]
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Uh-huh. Sure.
[ Mike-speak for "goodnight or whatever I guess."
of course, since he doesn't sleep, Mike remains working throughout the night, and leaves Gen to her rest. he's mostly on stage, but sometimes retreating to the office. it's relatively quiet at night in the restaurant, without the loud snotty children or the constant noise from the arcade machines and songs from the animatronics. nope, just the sounds of heavy shuffling footsteps, metal tinkering and paper shuffling, and occasional cursing because it's Mike and these blasted robots are frustrating as fuck sometimes.
though if Gen's a light sleeper, or just happens to wake up after a few hours, she just might happen to overhear bits and pieces of a hushed conversation. Mike's talking to someone, sounds like, but his voice is the only audible one. maybe a phone call? hard to say. it might not be anything, but Gen might be able to pick up on some context clues here and there, and she'll definitely hear her name mentioned. wonder what it could be about, hmm. ]
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Hearing him speak more than two words at once is strange, though. Is someone here? No, just Mike speaking and pausing, speaking and pausing - yeah, sounds like a phone call. She's about to doze back off when she hears her own name and her eyes pop back open.
Immediately, she's up and out from under the table and creeping toward the back room's door. She eases it open a crack but instead of risking a squeaky hinge by opening it wide enough to sneak through, she just listens at the slim little gap for now.]
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his voice is definitely quite hushed, like he is trying to keep the conversation quiet and private enough that a sleeping pyromaniac teenager wouldn't wake up and listen in. oh well. ]
Yeah, yeah, I know. [ Mike gestures vaguely with one hand, as though brushing off a suggestion from an invisible source. ] It was a shitty answer. The fuck else was I supposed to say?
[ there's another pause, then Mike is speaking quietly again. ] No, obviously not. I wouldn't actually kick her out. [ ... ] No- no no no, fuck's sake, no. [ ... ] No. She'll only stick around for however long she wants, then she'll leave on her own. Won't fucking matter what I say.
[ ... ] Yeah, I know. [ Helpy shuffles over and flops down on Mike's chest. ] I'll miss her, too.
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What does have the greatest impact: He'd miss her if she left.
There's suddenly a tight, snarled ball of... something in her chest, so tight that it hurts to breathe. She backs away from the door with a hand over her mouth, the expression beneath it half wince and half smile. Part of her wants to walk right out there and demand that he say it to her face, but what's the point? He'd just get defensive again - and so would she.
Oh no. What's happening here?
Gen doesn't actually leave the room until about 4 am, an inhumanly early morning partially caused by how early she went to bed but mostly caused by Mike's words rattling around in her brain. She tends to change out of her pyjamas before showing her face but that's a bit too much to ask at ass o'clock in the morning, so Mike gets to see the utterly terrifying oversized t-shirt she wears as a nightgown when they eventually run into each other.]
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whenever Gen does emerge for the morning, Mike is off stage. there's some noise coming from the kitchen instead, the deep fryer's going strong. a bit early, strange. but maybe he's working on something else, as he so often is.
as soon as Gen passes by the kitchen order counter, there's a shout-- ] Head's up! [ --and then there's a powdered mini donut flying at her face. whether or not she catches it, it's that ridiculous sleep shirt that gets him snickering. ]
Wow. That's hideous.
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And then, because she's not properly awake and thus can't pull her guard up around her as quickly, she blushes from her hairline to the collar of her nightshirt when the memory of his words comes back. It's incredibly rare for Gen to blush because of her body's strange relationship with heat, so this is far from a subtle reaction to seeing the same dude she sees every day.]
Shut up. [Not an order so much as a pitiful whine, followed by:] Please tell me there's coffeebots I just haven't met yet.
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[ an interesting response, for sure. hard to really tell if Mike takes note of it or not, since he's very much focused on a Project at the moment apparently. but there might be a little pause, a slight tilt of his head, as though trying to consider or notice something being a little different, a little unusual. interesting. maybe. maybe not. who knows? ]
Obviously. Not a breakfast joint, but some weird fuckers like coffee with their pizzas. [ Mike whistles, Helpy scurries over. there's some gesturing, then Helpy's bounding over to some sort of puzzling control panel in the back. within moments there's a Staffbot wheeling its way out of the kitchen towards Gen, this one appearing to have some sort of touch screen on its chest plate listing various types of coffee drinks. please don't set it on fire. she'll just have to push a few buttons to order - yes the Staffbot has a coffeemaker in its chasis, no it's not high quality premium beans, but it's coffee what more do you want smh ]
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Once she's got a decent-sized paper cup of piping hot mocha in her other hand, she wanders into the kitchen to observe Mike's work. Everything about her is a bit softer when she's this tired, from her posture and expression to her voice and choice of words:]
... why are you making donuts in the middle of the night?
[He's livelier than usual too, isn't he? Not quite cheerful, but closer than she's seen. It's - endearing.]
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[ the passage of time doesn't really mean all that much to the cursed immortal dead man, let's be real. he doesn't sleep, so there's all that extra time and not much else to do with it beyond mess around in the workshop, office, or kitchen. which is one of the many reasons the menu never stays the same for long. anyway. point remains that it's not the middle of the night, it's early morning, and Mike absolutely will be pedantic about it. ]
Fifth anniversary this Saturday. [ back to the donut-making process he goes. it's slightly awkward with his relative immobility compared to a normal living chef, so there's flour and powdered sugar everywhere and the splash zone around the deep fryer is something to note if Gen wants to avoid hot oil splatters. the mini-donuts certainly aren't pretty, he can't shape them into perfect donut circles, but how they look isn't exactly important. ] Trying to come up with a few ideas to celebrate with.
[ is that why he's a half-degree more chipper than usual? hard to say. ] Coffeebot's a prototype, by the way. If you end up poisoned, I take no legal responsibility.
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At least, that's how Gen now sees her position here. She's fine with continuing to drink her coffee and even finds herself surprisingly proud when she hears that Mike's been at this for five years. Shows how valuable his odd skillset can be when it's not being wielded by a total nutjob.]
Hey, you may be a zombie cyborg, but it sounds like you're also the only person in this franchise's history that knows how to run a fuckin' restaurant. Nice. [Yes, those are her congratulations. She'll try to do something for him on the actual day, but god only knows what form that gesture might take. She certainly doesn't yet.]
Anything I can do to help? Once I'm, y'know, conscious and all.
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... anyway. ]
Once you're conscious, you can taste-test. [ the hardest part about food experimentation and trying new menu options is being unable to tell whether or not it actually works. suffice it to say, he wastes a lot of money on ingredient sampling. and printing costs. Mike gestures towards his donut attempts on the counter - chocolate, strawberry jelly-filled, cinnamon sugar. they're all fully cooked and he followed the recipes exactly, so taste-wise they're probably fine. but the shapes ... they don't look the most appetizing. Mike tries, but. janky animatronic hands. ] Again, no legal responsibilities if you choke and die.
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My bad, I didn't mean to make you sound cool. Super false advertising.
[The coffee tastes fine so far, as does the donut he hurled at her face, so she's totally up for the taste testing job. She moves in closer to take a look at what he's made so far, and he may notice that the hissing droplets of oil that hit her skin don't seem to bother her at all - in fact, they don't even leave little disc-shaped spots of red on her skin. Gen truly cannot be burned.]
Not gonna lie, dude, they look like dog shit. Why don't you make the batter and filling and shit and I can put them together.
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It's hard, okay? Fuck's sake. [ Mike just gestures vaguely with his hands. he doesn't take the comment personally - maybe he would've a few decades ago, when this was new and he was extremely bothered by everything he could no longer do, even simple tasks and his regular hobbies. but he's had a long time to accept that this is just how he is, and not being able to make pretty donuts is hardly something to get pissy about. ]
Got any ideas for different flavours? [ might as well get input from someone who can actually eat things. Mike hobbles over towards the opposite counter, where his messy stash of donut ingredients are scattered about, so he can get started on the next batter batch. ] Nothing weird, but like. Good-weird, maybe. I dunno.
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So if it'll be easier for me, then get me to do it. I won't demand a raise or anything. I... should probably put on clothes first, though.
[Definitely some shoes, at the very least. She's gonna get Mike shut down by health violations if she starts cooking now. She tucks the rest of her donut into her mouth and washes it down with a mouthful of coffee, then considers the other flavours in front of her.]
Churros? Boston cream? I'll think about it while I'm getting dressed. [As she walks away, she can be heard muttering quietly to herself:] Pizza and soda and now fuckin' donuts, and I'm already getting so fat... pretty soon he'll have to blast a hole in the wall and roll me outta here if he changes his mind...
[In truth, she was so skinny when they first met that she's just added a layer of softness to her frame, but - teen girls gonna teen girl.]
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"health violations," pah. if any health inspector actually did a visit on the restaurant, they'd have far more concerns about the corpse cooking in the kitchen than they would the teenaged hired help wearing ugly sleepshirts. weird how one's never showed up even once, huh? if he's going to inherit anything from his father, at least shady business tactics come in handy when you're trying to avoid being seen. ]
Terrible suggestions. Truly awful. [ at least, Mike vaguely recalls not liking Boston cream, so he's just gonna assume they're still shit. he watches Gen saunter off, shakes his head. girls. he sighs, starts up the next round of batter - most of the kitchen is automated, so mixing and incorporating is easy when machines are doing most of the work. he does call out after her as she leaves, ] Do be careful, if you Violent Beauregarde yourself out of here, I'm absolutely charging you for damages to the doorframe and the structural integrity of the building.
[ he teases. that's what you're supposed to do, right? right. ]
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[She stops to wink at him through the opening with the order counter, then continues on to her backstage hidey-hole. When she re-emerges, she's got her spinny hat and Cherries Flambé nametag on because why not? They're technically working, right? Looks like some of his unusually whimsical energy might have rubbed off.
Her "work clothes" are just different combinations of her everyday clothes because she has so little to her name - she most often wears a simple dress, sometimes with leggings underneath, because her jeans feel a shade too casual if she has to leave the kitchen for something. In this dress, combined with her apron and heavy-duty workboots, she looks like a proper employee. And maybe she's just a dish washer, but choosing this life for herself and earning her keep does give her a sense of pride.
Raking her hair back into a ponytail with her fingers, she steps back into the kitchen.] Alright, just try to shoot this idea down - funnel cakes. You can't, right? Funnel cakes are so easy, made of all the same shit, and they're instant fuckin' happy. You can thank me for saving your donut idea later.
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the automated donut-batter-makers are doing their automated donut batter making, and Mike leans against the counter until Gen returns. dress code isn't exactly something he's a major stickler for, as long as it all jives with the pizzeria's aesthetic. and Mike's not exactly a fashionista himself. but hey, she wears the hat, she gave herself a goofy nametag. everything works out. ]
... [ Mike was going to scoff, but. hmm. he taps a finger to his chin, considering. funnel cake. theme park food. circus animatronics. huh. ]
That might actually work. [ Helpy starts doing an excited celebratory dance on the kitchen floor. ] Could save the donut idea for later.
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[She's grinning, ponytail now in place, and reaching for one of the powdered jelly donuts to give it a try. All it took was knowing that Mike actually likes her company and suddenly Gen feels like she's bantering with her only real close friend back at Xavier's, Bobby - except that she made the profound mistake of falling head over heels for Bobby and while she may flirt with and even proposition Mike, that's not happening.
That's not happening again with anyone.]
Why not connect the donuts to coffeebot's big debut? Cake and soda for the kids, coffee and donuts for the parents. They're not that bad - [Except that the jelly donut turns out not to be very structurally sound, so she's soon got her face and hands and a fair amount of the floor covered in sweet strawberry goop with a hint of powdered sugar.] - agh fuck, damnit, I just went to the laundromat -
[Welp. That's her headed to the sink to clean up as best she can.] Helpy, wanna get a bot to take care of the floor? And you, no more fuckin' jelly donuts!
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see.
now there's a problem. Mike has been a jerk and a bully nearly all his life. he's never bothered to hide this fact. and the thing about jerks and bullies is, when an opportunity to be a jerk and a bully presents itself, it's just not physically in him to resist. Gen's agitated and huffy, made a mess of herself, and her back is turned. and there's a handful of sticky jelly-filled donuts within arm's reach. they're right there. Gen's over there.
Mike reaches for a donut, while Gen's ranting and not looking. he holds it out on his palm so that it's aiming directly for her. and promptly punches it with his other fist, spraying another little splurt of strawberry jelly across Gen's back.
he then immediately drops the squished donut on a very unassuming and unprepared Helpy and props his now very messy (definitely not with jelly) hands on his hips, scolding the little bear-bot who definitely was responsible for the whole thing. ] Helpy! That's not very nice of you at all.
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Without turning around, she speaks in a strained monotone that obviously wants to rise with both annoyance and amusement:]
You... really should've thought about how shitty it'll be to scrub jelly out of your gears before you did that.
[Because the moment she does turn around, the game is on. She snatches a bunch of the jelly donuts and just hurls one right at his face, knowing full well that he'll find it harder to shield himself or escape or do much of anything but take the assault. She does hesitate for a moment, just in case he decides to call the whole thing off, but she's braced and ready to keep throwing.]
capcha escape
['Wasting your time', says the voice behind him. It certainly seems that way, with a swing and miss going on the scoreboard. The sounds that greet the attempt don't seem friendly. Must there be trouble? Can't we all just get along? Warren puts on hand on his hip, looking at the bunny. He then makes a second attempt, except he merely sticks his other hand inside the image to wiggle his fingers like a child in a sandpit. Hm. It's cold.]
I imagined you had tried,
[Perplexed, disappointed, but not exhaustively surprised, Warren turns back to face the weary voice.]
but I am not you.
[It was a slim chance anything would happen but hey, it cost nothing to try.]
Well, who wants to go first? Step up, don't be shy!
[This is loudly addressed to any and all spirits, Warren turning in a slow circle like a ringmaster.]
this is my only mildly concerning child spirits icon
"i am not you," sure rub it in. you're still in my head, fuckwit. he'll sit back and watch, like usual. see what happens when one of the littler ones approaches. or at least, he watches for as long as he can, which isn't very long before he's ducking his head down in his arms. hard to look.
the weepy little spirit draws closer to the headspace stranger, ever so curious. they're just as quiet as honky shadow rabbit over there, only speaking in whispers. asking why is he here, are you with the bad man, we're watching the rabbit together. why are you here? ]
omg babies~ -w-
The wee one is brave, and Warren says so. Among other child-appropriate praise. How good they are to keep Eggs company when he feels sad. How strong and kind to stay together. I want to help, he says in a whisper like theirs, because my bad, scary father made me play with sweet children just like you, too.
If he can touch these heartbreaking siblings Warren will sit on the floor and gather them up in his arms like puppies. He can't exorcise these ghosts. He doesn't know if this commiseration is all for nothing.]
Have I ever told you about the time I devoured my sire?
[Casual. A fishing pond story, from the tone of his voice. A storybook reading, nothing more.]
they just need a lil nap and some vengeance
eggsy might've become used to their presence by now, after thirty some-odd years. but he still flinches at the reminder, still hides his face in something so much stronger than shame. genuinely wishing he had a stomach to throw up with. such as it is.
but, enough about eggs. the brave (so brave!) one gathers close first, appearing to sit on the checkerboard tile floor below, though it's more of a ... floating-sit. slowly, the others begin to approach as well. there's seven of them in total. five of them surround the stranger, eager to listen to storytime. the other two remain hovering closer around ol' eggsy in the back, their shapes a little more defined than the five amorphous ones. familiarity, it seems. but ignore them. tell the little ones the story. they haven't had storytime in years. ]