ptoma | ic contact; open rp

[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.

Edited 2022-09-18 18:25 (UTC)

[ 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 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.

[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.]

[ "fuck your ghosts, she says. oh, boy. ]

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.

Edited 2022-09-18 21:06 (UTC)

... 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.

Nobody gets easy outs here.

[ 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. ]

Do you believe in ghosts?

This dumb motherfucker...

[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.

[ of that, they're in mutual agreement.

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.]

You wanted to tell me before they did?

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.

Damn right I would.

[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?

[ buzz buzz! from Helpy's nose honks. ]

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.

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.]

I'll try, alright?

[ 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.

[ cough. ew. ]

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?

No, that's not -

[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'm not trying to do anything, Pennywise. I'm just talking to you.

[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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infodump sorry

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