[TOY] Plaything

[skinstealer]

POLKA DOT: We-
POLKA DOT: We should go after Roulette!
FATALE: What?!
POLKA DOT: I SAID, WE SHOULD-
POLKA DOT: WE SHOULD GO AFTER ROULETTE
FATALE: YEAH-

 

The wind is howling.

TIMOTHY: I don't know-
TIMOTHY: We shouldn't s-split up!
FATALE: I can go-!
TIMOTHY: No! No, you-

 

Even in the blizzard, you can just barely make out Fatale giving Tim a death glare through her snow-covered glasses.

TIMOTHY: You'll get hurt!
TIMOTHY: Please, don't-
FATALE: R-roulette is my FRIEND, I have to-!
CROSSBONE: I'll go.
 

All of you are startled by the gravity in your girlfriend's voice, everyone turning to look at her.

CROSSBONE: I know what it's like to be an electronic in the cold!
CROSSBONE: None- none of you have experience with that.
CROSSBONE: I'll catch up to it and help treat any injuries.
CROSSBONE: Just- keep going forward, and we'll meet up.
POLKA DOT: But-!!!
CROSSBONE: Please...

 

She leans in, just barely able to talk directly to you and you and you alone.

CROSSBONE: Please, Polka.
CROSSBONE: I can do this.
CROSSBONE: Take care of the others. We'll be okay.

 

You screw your eyes shut and nod.

POLKA DOT: I love you.
POLKA DOT: Come back okay.
CROSSBONE: I love you too...
CROSSBONE: I promise.

 

She looks back up at the others, Fatale looking conflicted-

-before nodding as well.

FATALE: ...Good luck.
CROSSBONE: I'll need it.
TIMOTHY: Stay safe...

 

She takes a step away from the group, tensing up before starting to trudge through the snow...


and out of sight.



You try to ignore the pit of dread in your belly.

POLKA DOT: ...shelter. We should find shelter.
POLKA DOT: It's...just gonna get colder.
POLKA DOT: Don't wanna freeze to death out here.
FATALE: ...yeah.

 

She looks deeply uncomfortable, something that makes you feel worse. It's clear Tim's debating on comforting her, but you can't waste any time right now.

POLKA DOT: We keep going forward. That's the direction they're both going.
POLKA DOT: With any luck we can...find a cave or something.
TIMOTHY: ...I'll lead.
TIMOTHY: I've got the longest range weapon, and can scout ahead if we need to.
TIMOTHY: ...that okay, Fatale?

 

Fatale looks away, nodding. Her glasses are almost completely frosted over now.

TIMOTHY: Stick with Silk Ribbon. I'll be right ahead.
FATALE: ...yeah.

 

Her voice almost gets swallowed by the sounds of the storm, but the three of you take up your new positions, beginning your long walk.





You're surrounded by white. Seeing Fatale's black coat and Tim's red scarf is all you can cling to as the three of you walk, three toys alone in a horrible snow-buried world.

It goes on forever. The snow is cold and harsh against your cheeks, tear-paint coming up at the corners of your eyes.

You swear that even in the loud din of the storm, you can hear Fatale sniffling.


You don't even realize just how dissociated you are from everything until the wind hits, slamming Fatale into you- the two of you clutching at each other for dear life as it slices into your rubber skin. You can't tell if it's left actual gashes, frost, anything, but you hear a noise-


A startled, cut off canine yelp

-before you realize that the red scarf is nowhere to be seen.

Vanished.

Taken from you.

Fatale starts to shake, looking around frantically.

FATALE: Tim?!
FATALE: TIM-

 

You're just as panicked.

POLKA DOT: TIM, WHERE ARE YOU-?!
 

No answer.

 

Tim splutters, tumbling and rolling in an incomprehensible mess through the snow. He can't tell where he's going, where any of his limbs are, everything's all screwed up-

When he finally gets a grip, scrambling around in the snow and desperately trying to get on his knees-

He realizes just how far he's been pushed away from the group. Or- how far it feels. They're not there. He can't see a single thing, or hear anything over this wind-

TIMOTHY: FATALE?
TIMOTHY: RIBBON?
TIMOTHY: HEY!


 

His voice sounds hoarser the louder he yells, barely able to hear himself over the howls.

TIMOTHY: H-HEY! HEY, PLEASE-
TIMOTHY: ANYONE-


 

He chokes back a whine, getting to his feet and-


-tripping over a piece of wood rubble.


He remains on the ground for a few moments before raising his head.


A burned building sits before him, so close to him and yet still invisible just before he got moving.

TIMOTHY: M...maybe...they found shelter here...
TIMOTHY: M...mm...

 

The scottie dog gets to his feet, paw on his sword as he walks through the wreckage. It's been burned down a long time ago, since reclaimed by the snow. Even areas covered by patches of leftover ceiling have the snow blowing in, no proper cover to be found anywhere.

And then, by the outer wall-

He sees a bulkhead, leading to a basement- somehow uncovered.

TIMOTHY: H...hah....
TIMOTHY: I...if they didn't find this...
TIMOTHY: They probably will, later-

 

He kneels, opening the doors with little issue. Thankfully unlocked.

The stairs heading down feel ominous as he lowers himself in, closing the doors behind him and entering the dark.


He's able to fumble around the wall before finding a light switch, a single lightbulb in the corner of the very large basement turning on. There's others, but they're all burned out...

There's stuff down here, but it's mostly boxed, not a person or remnants of anyone having been down here- at least not in a while- to be found.

TIMOTHY: ....

 

Tim collapses to his knees.

TIMOTHY: ...please...please be okay.














 

You can't find him. You don't know how far you've walked, but you've lost Tim entirely.


To say you're panicked is an understatement.

Fatale is hanging onto your coat sleeve, all prior worries about touch lost. She's desperate to keep close to you, her body shaking even through her thick coat.

POLKA DOT: C-cmon! We-
POLKA DOT: We should-
POLKA DOT: Shelter. We should find shelter!
FATALE: O-okay!

 

You can't help but wonder what could be happening to Cross right now. If she's-


No, you can't think about the possibility of her not being alive. No way.


You shake the thoughts of your dream away, of her screen going dim.


No.

Not now.

Fatale squeezes you, snapping you out of it.

POLKA DOT: ...sorry. J-just-
POLKA DOT: Let's go.

 

The two of you walk carefully, linking arms and trudging through the knee-high snow. How it got that deep is beyond you, but you need to keep moving....




Fatale sees the cabin first, letting out a loud yelp and pointing with her free arm.

FATALE: L-LOOK-!
POLKA DOT: I see it, I see it-

 

Hope buds in both of your chests as you race towards the shack door, flinging it open-

...only to see nothing at all, but a dark abandoned room.


You're panting, trying to avoid from crying out in frustration.

FATALE: ...h...he'll be okay, right?
FATALE: He'll...he had to have found somewhere.
POLKA DOT: ...

You close the door, hitting the lights and dropping your backpack by a log couch.

The pillows throw dust everywhere as you sit, Fatale watching you lean back and cover your face with your wings.

FATALE: He'll...
FATALE: He'll be okay, right?


 

You can't answer.

There's not enough to say.











Snow buffets the metal chassis, even under layers.


Each step makes heavy divots in the snow.








Roulette comes to a scattered thicket of trees,
making its way in between them all.

It checks behind itself once.
And again.

Making sure no one can see.









The leaking dam in its head finally gives way.

It loses its strength.
Its legs go numb as it falls to its knees.
Its lens shuts, and shuts tighter.
Black-iridescent oil droplets roll from the center of the lens, staining the snow below in muddy colors.
One of its claws covers its eye to try and stop the flow, even now.
While the other squeezes at the side of its head, hard.

It tries to keep upright, but its posture heaves like a sapling in a thunderstorm.
Grey smoke sputters out the sides of its head.
It falls forward fully; half-sprawled, half-curled up on the snow-covered forest floor.
The robot is quiet during the whole affair, wary of being heard.
Near-silent, sniffling sobs the only aural indication of its condition.

The blizzard kicks on in earnest,
burying the robot quickly.
Its head and shoulders stay unstuck, though, only thanks to the overheating core behind its camera lens.


can't
I can't die here I can't
Devo and Fatale and the rest
they'll come looking they'll get hurt they won't Recover from losing me but I
can't
I can't. i can'ticant get up

get up. get Up
move your legs. Move. MOVE

Its body won't respond, entirely out of its control.

 

Stuck balled-up and sobbing in full overheated breakdown.

what do you have to whine about
what RIGHT do you have to lie here and cry
if you could have just Kept It Together a LITTLE longer
it was ALMOST OVER, i was almost THERE
YOU are the one who dug this hole for yourself by Being You
do something right for once in the stretch of nothing you call a Life and MOVE
get UP get up

please get Up
i have to I Have to

Its legs attempt to prop it up enough to rise.
The thicket protects it from the worst of the blizzard, but only barely.

It isn't enough.
Its legs don't have enough feeling; from the blizzard or the overheat, or both.

It rises a few inches only to collapse back into the snow.



lie here and die then
burden the ones you love with a wound that wont ever go away
from discovering your frozen corpse later
or worse. never once knowing what happened to me
theyll blame themselves. you did that to them
maybe one or more of them will die out here searching for me
no matter what all ive done is made more harm inevitable
couldnt keep it together

It lies still.
Too tired and too numb to cry.

i should have never made it out of the toy store

Its thoughts grow hazy.
The world grows dull as cognition fails.

sorry i couldnt
sor ry
i miss devo

i m iss

i miss den n y


There's the sound of footsteps crunching in the snow.

 

Crossbone stands over the robot, her chest heaving.

CROSSBONE: S...shit...
CROSSBONE: I-
CROSSBONE: It's not too late, I've-

 

She kneels, her own head fuzzy as she starts to brush as much snow off of Roulette as she can.

CROSSBONE: Fuck, fuck-

 

Roulette is barely moving, but still alive.

Its fans whirr from cold, its lens hardly open at all.
Some of its claws open and close slightly on occasion, servos grinding from the effort.

It doesn't seem to process that she's there at all.

CROSSBONE: O-okay, this is-
CROSSBONE: I'll! I'll carry you-

 

She heaves the bot into her arms, belly down to keep its backpack from pulling it down. Cross hears a quiet, glitchy grunt from the half-frozen robot as it's lifted.

CROSSBONE: N-no one is-
CROSSBONE: No one is dying on my watch!

 

The virtual pet begins to shuffle through the snow, taking slow steps through the woods.

Not long after she's started walking, she spots oddly-shaped hedges and lattice structures with dried-out vines along them.

A garden, she realizes.



She picks up the pace, startling as the all-encompassing silhouette of a giant manor blots out most of her view.

CROSSBONE: S...shelter....

 

She lets out a strained beep of relief, speeding up as much as she can with the heavy robot in her arms.

Cross finds difficulty making her way up snow-hidden stone steps, but manages to make it to the top.

She props Roulette enough onto one arm to reach under them with the other in order to pull the thankfully-unlocked door open.



Inside, the relief from the storm gives an instant boon to her faculties.
She fumbles her occupied arm for a light switch and manages to find one, switching on a dusty glass chandelier overhead.

Cross finds herself in a stone-and-carpet foyer that leads in many directions, including up to a second floor via a curved stairway.

She's hardly swiveled her head before she spots a cozy, albeit gaudy living room;
comfy-looking couches, and an unlit fireplace.







You can suggest for Polka, Tim, and Cross.