[TOY] Plaything

[skinstealer]

test (ignore this)

[skinstealer]

You have to think on this one.

POLKA DOT: Hmm.
POLKA DOT: Can I just use your answer?
CROSSBONE: Huh?
POLKA DOT: My girlfriend turning into a big...skeleton monster, with flames and wolf claws!
POLKA DOT: That's pretty damn spooky.
POLKA DOT: ...but I'm excited for it, too.
POLKA DOT: It's gonna be cool.

 

It's hard to see her pixel character through the snow, but she lets out a shy beep you've come to associate with blushing.

 
CROSSBONE: S-silly...
POLKA DOT: If you want a non-gay answer, dreams.
POLKA DOT: They're scary, sure, but can be super awesome too.
FATALE: Wild thing to say after last night...

 

Her tone is amused, but bitter. You flinch, a bit.

 
POLKA DOT: S...sorry.
POLKA DOT: Was more thinkin' of stuff, like, me being a pirate once.
POLKA DOT: Not...dreams like that.
TIMOTHY: It's okay-
TIMOTHY: I know what you meant.
TIMOTHY: ...still, I wonder if...they'll get worse, or something.
CROSSBONE: I! Do not want to think about that right now.
POLKA DOT: F-fair enough!
POLKA DOT: Uh....Fatale.
FATALE: Mm.
POLKA DOT: What do you do for, uh, hobbies?
FATALE: Bold question to ask someone who's barely been in the outside world for the past year.
POLKA DOT: ...maybe stuff you want to do, then.
FATALE: Hmm...

 

The red-tinted bear thinks to herself, rubbing her elbow as she walks.

 
FATALE: I...am not sure.
FATALE: There are things I'm curious about at Laurie's, I suppose...
FATALE: ...
FATALE: Things I wish I could do, if things were different.

 

She shoots a side glance at Tim, who immediately starts looking nervous.

 
TIMOTHY: D-
TIMOTHY: Do you want me to cover my ears, or something? I-
TIMOTHY: It can be a secret between you and the o-
FATALE: No, no. We're having a truce, now.
FATALE: You can hear.

 

Her glance turns skyward, squinting as some flecks of snow fall on her glasses.

 
FATALE: The idea of putting on performances as a job...I can see why it appeals to Devo.
FATALE: A chance for us to explore and express how much knowledge we have in intimate departments.
FATALE: What I would give to be on a stage...
FATALE: ...
FATALE: ...with Devo.
FATALE: But we share a body.
FATALE: If we were to put on a performance together, it would require...preamble, special fliers, what have you, that out us and our situation.
FATALE: And then who knows what would happen? Maybe people would laugh. Mock us.
FATALE: Who on earth would find this sort of thing appealing.

 

The bitterness returns, more spitting than before.

 
Everyone is quiet.

 
FATALE: ...I suppose we can think about it, though.
FATALE: Something to entertain in our mind.
FATALE: Someday, we may even share those thoughts outside of dreams.
FATALE: ....
FATALE: My turn to ask a question.

 

She takes a deep "breath".

 
FATALE: Roulette-

 

The bot hardly moves its head.

 
FATALE: What, ah-
FATALE: What...do you want to do, when we're home?
FATALE: ...after all this.

 

Its fans suddenly kick into overdrive.
Snowflakes melt on its 'cheek'. You can feel the heat from where you're standing.

 
ROULETTE:  . . .
ROULETTE: ...I'm  n     N-

 

Its voice glitches, turning to static.

 
ROULETTE: nN-N-o t-tttsts-
ROULETTE: u-SsS-ure.

 

Roulette stumbles.
It stops walking.

 
Fatale's the next to stop, peering over at it with a concerned expression.

 
FATALE: ....Roulette?
FATALE: Are you okay?

 

It stares forward at nothing.

 

ROULETTE: ...concerned.
ROULETTE: About the creature we saw before.
ROULETTE: It-
ROULETTE: The commotion as it moved may have stirred up others nearby.
ROULETTE: If that's the case, then we-
ROULETTE: Then it- It- May be our best-
ROULETTE: We need to make sure other creatures won't be coming from that direction.
ROULETTE: If their numbers are high, which is likely, given the amount of noise the giant creature caused,
ROULETTE: Then it would be beneficial for us to have someone to warn the rest if a group of creatures are headed towards us.
ROULETTE: I will make my way further west and walk north in parallel with you all.
ROULETTE: Once I am absolutely sure it won't be an issue, I will make my way back.

 

The bot pivots, beginning to walk in that direction.

 
FATALE: Are-
FATALE: Roulette, someone should go with you-
ROULETTE: No.

 

It states bluntly, with more confidence than you've heard from it before.

 
ROULETTE: It will be more efficient if I go alone.
ROULETTE: If I need to warn everyone, I can make my way back easier that way, with less chance of being seen myself.

 

It trudges its way to the treeline.

 
No one moves, watching it go. The snow seems to obscure it faster than you'd have guessed it to.

 
The snowfall blanketing the air around you is denser now than you realized, filtering your vision like television static.
By the time you blink again, you can't see a single trace of Roulette.

 
FATALE: Shit...
TIMOTHY: ...I'm sure it'll be okay, Fatale.
TIMOTHY: Might...have needed some space.
POLKA DOT: It's, like- the strongest of us here. It'll do fine out there.
FATALE: ...
FATALE: I hope so.

 

Even with your reassurance...


You can't help but play back Roulette's words about leaving in your head.


...it said it'd wait til this is over.
....right?


Cross takes your hand, snapping you out of it.

 
CROSSBONE: ...cmon.
CROSSBONE: If we don't keep moving, it's going to end up far ahead of us.
CROSSBONE: We don't want to get separated further....

 

You steel yourself and nod, the four of you starting to trudge forward.


Fatale's the first to speak up.

 
FATALE: I'm moving my question to Timothy.
TIMOTHY: E-eh?
FATALE: What are you going to do when we're back?
TIMOTHY: ...

 

The scottie dog has to think about it.

 
TIMOTHY: Get to know you all, I guess.
TIMOTHY: As- as much is comfortable.
FATALE: ...
FATALE: Hm.
TIMOTHY: ...it's...important to me to make this work.
TIMOTHY: So I'm going to read! A lot of books!
TIMOTHY: And figure this out?
FATALE: Hmmmmmmm.

 

This time, you sense a slight smile in her voice.

FATALE: We'll see.
CROSSBONE: Oh, you might be able to look up stuff on multipets-
CROSSBONE: I can give you some recommendations!
TIMOTHY: O-oh! Thank you!
FATALE: It would be helpful...
TIMOTHY: Well! That means it's your turn, Willow.
CROSSBONE: Okay...let me have it.
TIMOTHY: Hmmm...
TIMOTHY: Gotta think...oh!
TIMOTHY: What's the first thing you're going to do as a monster?
CROSSBONE: Oh, easy.
CROSSBONE: I don't know what it is, but something tells me everything is just going to be...better, sensory-wise.
CROSSBONE: So I think I'll find the best place to eat in town and have a nice dinner.
CROSSBONE: Maybe even take some back to wherever Silk Ribbon and I are staying.

 

You have to hide a smirk, an unsaid meaning just for the two of you. Nothing to expand upon, not with everybody else here- but...

POLKA DOT: It'll be a date.
CROSSBONE: So, Ribbon, it's your-

 

Frigid wind stabs its way through your coat in a sudden gust, sending a shiver through your vinyl.
Everyone flinches, the group's trek halted suddenly as the weather becomes more ferocious.
It's difficult to keep your eyes open as the snow batters you.
You think Cross might still be talking, but you can't hear her at all.

It doesn't seem to be letting up, either.

You kick yourself for not noticing how bad things were getting.
It's a blizzard.

[knux400]

First priority is regrouping with Roulette. If it hasn't been that long since it left, there should be tracks leading away from the group at the point it left from. Backtrack until you see it split off, then follow it as quick as you can.

If that fails, the next priority is finding shelter. Any large solid object that's big enough for the four (or five, hopefully) of you to hide behind will work to break the wind, and depending on the situation, it might be possible to set up additional walls or heat sources.

If there's no adequate shelter nearby, get into a group huddle and wait until the storm dies down a bit before you resume walking. You'll lose heat more slowly that way (do toys have body heat???) and it'll prevent anyone else from getting lost. Fatale probably won't be too comfortable with it, but it's much safer than being separated, and her and Tim can be on opposite sides of the group hug if it's really an issue.

And if the storm doesn't die down soon and all else fails, then... just keep going forward, I guess. Roulette said it would meet us up ahead, and it does work better alone. We just have to trust it.

So to recap:
-Plan A is to find roulette
-Plan B is to find shelter
-Plan C is to huddle in place and wait out the storm
-and Plan D is to continue forward regardless

[MarxzVulpez]

I think we need to make/find a shelter first
I'm very worried about Roulette but cold is very very dangerous, and our visibility is getting increasingly worse. If any of us goes off looking for Roulette now, they would very likely get lost as well and potentially worse.

[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.

[knux400]

POLKA: "Cro- Tim had just as much training and prep time as everyone else. If we're okay, then he's okay. We just need to rest and regroup until the storm dies down. We'll all get through this."

CROSS: First things first, get Roulette to the nearest couch and lay it down. Then try and get a good look at it to see how much damage it sustained from the cold. Make sure to talk to it as you do so- it may be conscious, but unresponsive. Don't leave it until you're sure it's stable.

ALL THREE: Above all, try to stay calm. It sucks, but panicking isn't going to help here. Try to take stock of the situation and search the area for anything useful. We can't search for anyone else nor can we assume anyone's searching for us, the storm is just too much to be out in right now. Once things calm down, we can think about finding each other, but right now it's time to hunker down and wait.

[ThreadLurkingComorant]

Seconding.

[MarxzVulpez]

seconding Knux as far as Cross/Roulette goes, make sure it's safe and comfortable then check surroundings, maybe see if there's a way you can set up/fortify the Room or make it a base of operations while Roulette is recovering

Show ContentSpoiler:

or in case anything or anyone else is in this mansion

As for Tim/ Polka and the Bears uhh I guess get ready to be here for a bit? Check what all you've got around even though the spaces are small, maybe polka should check if Fatale's still fronting? And from there well... perhaps conversation to pass time? Insight on what Tim's thinking?

[skinstealer]

The basement floor is cold under Tim's knees, even through his snow pants. He's trembling, his thoughts racing with all of the possibilities.


Fatale...I...I just met her, and I couldn't keep her safe-
I know that she- she doesn't like me, but-
She...Devo...all of them, I need to protect them!
I can't let them get hurt, but I-
I couldn't. I was just blown away like a fucking ragdoll.


He clenches his stuffed paws into fists, banging one against the hard floor with a pathetic "whumph".

TIMOTHY: I'm...I'm so-
TIMOTHY: I couldn't do anything...

Tears start to stream down his cheeks, embroidery gushing out into long dangling threads.

TIMOTHY: They mean e-everything to me, and I'm-
 

The scottie dog clutches at his scarf, bringing it to his face and muffling a pained scream.


It hurts-
This hurts more than- more than anything-
I love Devo, I love-
I don't know Fatale, or-


The hug he gave Scout last night comes to mind, soft and intimate...unfamiliar, but just as warm as the ones he gets from Devo.


I...I'm going to miss out on meeting all of them...
Even...even the shadowy guy, I wanted to try and- to try and be his friend-


He lets out another strangled sob, his shoulders heaving as he gets it all out.


S-silk Ribbon too, I just- I let her down, she's gone too!
My b-best friend, gone just like that, and I was- I volunteered to protect both of them, and I couldn't do a single thing.
Why the fuck am I-
Why did they have to put their trust in me?
I'm just a m-mistake...


It takes a while for his sobs to end, the dark basement making it impossible to tell time.



...but it does stop, leaving the dog feeling empty.


He raises his head up slowly.


...if they're...if they're okay, and we don't all fucking die out here-
I should look for supplies.
...make myself useful.


Tim sluggishly hefts himself up to his feet.
The dim lightbulb overhead doesn't illuminate much in his little corner of the basement,
but there's still enough to properly search.


Most of what he finds are wooden crates, which he's entirely unable to open on his own; all of them shut tight.
Against a nearby wall he spots a plastic-wrapped mattress. Testing it with his paw, it feels softer than he imagined it would.
He pulls it over and flops it down in his corner, glad to have somewhere to rest in the cold basement.
Finally, when looking across one of the crates, his paw brushes against a little book, which he promptly picks up.


It's a half-finished booklet of crosswords, a little pencil still threaded into the metal loops at its top.


...great.
At least I can. Do. Something.


He sets himself down on the mattress and pulls out the pencil with a strained sigh, starting in on one of the puzzles.



...most of it's already filled out. There's just two words left.

TIMOTHY: Plush innards, 8...8 down...
TIMOTHY: Starts with a P-

 

He rubs his snout into his hand, still shaky.

TIMOTHY: ...polyfill. Of course it's polyfill.



 

It's some time before he sets the book down, his head pounding and chest aching. He can barely take the sheer amount of noise in his head, driving him absolutely crazy.

TIMOTHY: ...fuck this.

 

Laying back on the mattress is all he can think to do, closing his eyes and praying as hard as he can that his mind quiets.



Sleep comes for him.

 

---

 

You watch as Fatale paces around, unsure of what to say at first.

POLKA DOT: It's-
POLKA DOT: If we made it somewhere, I'm sure the others...I'm sure they did too.
POLKA DOT: Tim's trained just like the rest of us.
POLKA DOT: So's Cross, and so's Roulette.
POLKA DOT: ...

 

You're not sure how much you believe your own words, pulling your wing down your face. Thoughts about what could have happened to all of them won't leave you alone, and you're holding back every bit of panic in your body.


But Fatale needs someone right now, her whole body trembling.

POLKA DOT: We just have to wait out the storm and we can find them.
POLKA DOT: ...okay?

 

She sniffles.

FATALE: ...o...okay.
POLKA DOT: Here, just...

 

You sigh, patting the spot next to you on the couch.

POLKA DOT: Sit for a sec.

 

The bear hesitates before taking a seat, pulling her knees up to her chest.


You stop to check her cheeks- yeah, still red.

POLKA DOT: Just to check...it's Fatale right now, right?

 

She looks startled, but nods.

FATALE: I...I'm just-
FATALE: I'm just scared.
FATALE: I don't...I don't want to die out here...
FATALE: And I don't want anyone else to die either-
POLKA DOT: Nobody's gonna die.
POLKA DOT: We're....we're just gonna....wait out the storm.
POLKA DOT: ...yeah.


 

Fatale pulls her knees in closer, and the two of you grow quiet again. The wind's still howling outside, but at least it's quieter in the lodge itself.

POLKA DOT: ...you gonna be okay if I look around a bit?
FATALE: ...yeah.
FATALE: I'll...I'll manage.
POLKA DOT: Okay...hang tight.


 

Checking the room, you find a door you hadn't noticed before and push inside.


At first glance, it's a little hallway,
but after turning the light on, you realize it's a kitchenette with two burners, a little sink, and some cabinets.
You save checking them for now, spotting two more doors right next to each other.


Beyond one is one of the tiniest bathrooms you've ever seen in your life, though it somehow manages to contain a standing shower.
Past the other is a cozy bedroom, with two bunk beds across from each other.
Good to know you've both got a nice place to sleep.


With that done, you rifle through the cabinets in the kitchenette.


You don't find much, the place apparently almost cleaned out.
But, you do find some canned food on the highest shelf.
Pulling them down, you check the labels.


...They're canned PB&J Sandwiches, and a canned cheeseburger.

FATALE: ...ew.

 

You nearly jump out of your skin, letting out a strangled squeak.

POLKA DOT: F-fucking- scared me-
FATALE: ...sorry.
FATALE: Just...didn't want to be...alone.
 

Her voice sounds so soft, even more than when she was crying at the campsite. She's looking down at the ground, shuffling her feet, rubbing her elbow.

POLKA DOT: Well...we've got some bunk beds to sleep in.
FATALE: Oh...that's good.
POLKA DOT: And a cold, canned cheeseburger.
FATALE: ...snrk.

 

She can't help but snicker a little, getting you to smile.


Well...maybe....we'll be able to hunker down.
Yeah.
We'll make it.

 

---

 

Cross heaves Roulette over to the closest couch she sees, letting out a long beep of exertion as she sets the robot down carefully.

CROSSBONE: Gotta get you warm...

 

She turns to the fireplace- relieved to see that the unlit flame within is just like the party's campfire, plastic with a little light inside. Sure enough, there's a switch on the bottom, easily flicked to get the heat and light going.

CROSSBONE: O...okay. Step one down.
CROSSBONE: ...should probably just...

 

She rushes back over to the couch, getting behind it and straining as she scoots it more towards the fire, as close as she can get it while still leaving room to move.


Time to play nurse...
Think back to what you had to deal with while homeless.


The virtual pet steps back in front of the couch, looking the robot over.


Roulette is still barely moving, though its lens is open a little, focused on nothing in particular.
It's difficult to see much with its clothes on, but she does notice frost built up at its neck joint, likely the same for its other joints as well.
Even its lens is coated in a layer of frost.


It's no wonder it isn't moving much, the ice probably isn't giving it much room to.
Not only that, but the progression of the freezing seems a lot faster than she remembers dealing with herself;
likely because Roulette is mostly metal rather than having a plastic shell.


Okay...
I should try to get some of that frost off.
The ice is bad, but hopefully it didn't get in too deep...
...

I should probably take its coat off, get a better look at things.


She wrings her hands a little before starting to prop it up, removing its scarf with as much care as she can muster. Its hat comes off next, laid to the side with the scarf.  Its coat requires a bit more work, Cross having to work around Roulette's stiff, frozen joints. She makes sure the clothes are all tucked away to the side, before she lays it back down flat.


It's immediately concerning, seeing just how frosted-over Roulette's limbs and joints are,
though she can tell the ice is already starting to melt as it's gotten warmer.
Luckily, there doesn't seem to be much in the way of serious or long-lasting damage, as far as she can tell.


Roulette's lens lazily looks up at her, though she can't tell how much it can see with the ice, especially being so out-of-it.

CROSSBONE: H...hey, Roulette...
CROSSBONE: ...
CROSSBONE: I don't know if you can hear me, but...
CROSSBONE: I got you.

 

She looks around the immediate vicinity, letting out a grateful chime as she spots a pile of throw blankets.

CROSSBONE: Time to get bundled up...

 

The vpet cautiously wraps one around the bot, making sure it's completely surrounded.


It's a few moments of studying the robot before Cross sighs, getting no response.

CROSSBONE: ...I should go make sure this place is safe.
CROSSBONE: I'll be right back.

 

Thankfully, the living room looked to be fairly closed off from the rest of the manor, with only one entrance,
although it's rather wide and entirely open without any kind of traditional door.


Her careful eye spots a handle, just next to the opening.
She walks over and tugs on it, finding it to be a wide, foldable privacy screen of sorts.
She pulls it all the way across, locking it in place at the other side, and pushes some nearby furniture against it for good measure.

CROSSBONE: ...okay!
CROSSBONE: Okay.

 

She looks over her shoulder, calling back to Roulette.

CROSSBONE: Place is all locked up now!
 

To her surprise, the bot has stirs now, attempting to sit up.
It promptly fails, letting out a quiet grunt as it flops back against the couch.

ROULETTE: . . . W i llow...?
CROSSBONE: Roulette!

 

She rushes over, kneeling by the bot's side.

CROSSBONE: How do you feel?

 

It ignores her question, or possibly doesn't hear it.

ROULETTE: Where are the others?
ROULETTE: ...Is everyone safe...?
CROSSBONE: ...

 

She glances away.

CROSSBONE: I don't...know for sure.
CROSSBONE: The storm got really bad, and I went out to get you.
CROSSBONE: ....
CROSSBONE: If we found shelter, there has be other places for them to go.
CROSSBONE: ....

 

Her shoulders shake slightly, but she keeps it together.


Roulette stares into the fireplace.

ROULETTE: . . .
ROULETTE: ...I should not have...wandered off.
ROULETTE: I shou-
ROULETTE: ...You would not be here with me if I hadn't.
ROULETTE: I... apolog- I...cannot keep saying that as if it makes a difference.
ROULETTE: ...You are here because of me. I have no excuses.

 

Cross doesn't make eye contact, still.

CROSSBONE: It...when I found you, it looked like you'd been having a hard time.
CROSSBONE: I get it...
CROSSBONE: Just...don't beat yourself up for it, okay?
ROULETTE: ...hard time?
 

 Shit, maybe that's too personal.

CROSSBONE: W-well, um...
CROSSBONE: It, um-
CROSSBONE: Looked like you had been...crying.

 

Her pixel character shimmies uncomfortably.

CROSSBONE: I...won't tell the others, if you don't want me to.
CROSSBONE: N-not that anyone would judge!
CROSSBONE: Just...privacy.
 

It visibly sinks into itself as its posture droops.

ROULETTE: ...you-
ROULETTE: ...should not have had to, see that.
ROULETTE: I ap-
ROULETTE:  . . .
ROULETTE: ...I will do my best to make up for...all of this.
ROULETTE: We will find the others.
ROULETTE: ...Here, I can...try to patro-l-

 

Once again, it can't manage to sit up.
It strains, servos crunching with ice, but it only ends up back down on the couch.
It says nothing.


Cross places a hand on Roulette's shoulder, gentle.

CROSSBONE: ...rest.
CROSSBONE: It's...no use going out while it's this bad.
CROSSBONE: We'll both just end up totally iced over.
CROSSBONE: We should be safe here, so....
CROSSBONE: Let's...stay put.
ROULETTE: ...Thank you.
ROULETTE: I'm sorry.


 

---

 

You and Fatale sit on one of the couches, staring directly at the canned cheeseburger, set on a side table. It had been a while since you'd looked around, the sun had fully gone down, and neither of you had been talking much- but now a topic has arisen.

FATALE: ...what if I paid you to eat it.
POLKA DOT: Mmmm.
FATALE: I'm just saying, it'd be a way to pass the time.
POLKA DOT: I dunno. Feels...so wrong.
FATALE: The texture would be awful.
POLKA DOT: And it'd be cold.
FATALE: Would you eat it with a fork, or with a spoon.

 

You shudder.

POLKA DOT: Eueuueuegh.
FATALE: Hehe...

 

It's nice to see her perk up a bit, even if it's only for a moment- though the two of you are startled by the sound of the wind, slamming against the side of the cabin.


...at least, you're pretty sure it's wind.


Fatale gives you a sideways glance.

FATALE: Does it...?
POLKA DOT: ...yeah.
POLKA DOT: Sounds...weird.
FATALE: Maybe...someone's out there, looking for us!
POLKA DOT: Hold on, we should-
POLKA DOT: We should listen carefully before we make any big moves, okay?
FATALE: Okay...

 

The two of you sit in silence, listening to wind, wind, and more wind-


Until you make it out.


A single voice.


Singing.


Polly, Polly, Pooooollly-


You let out a strained squeak, almost a wheeze.

 

It can't be-

FATALE: ...Polly?
FATALE: Is that-
FATALE: Like, a nickname that Wil-
POLKA DOT: Nope. Noooope.
POLKA DOT: B-but, you heard it-
 

She nods, her eyes wide.

POLKA DOT: O...okay. I'm not-
POLKA DOT: I'm not going crazy-
 

Your wings are shaking as you get up off the couch.

FATALE: W-wait!
POLKA DOT: I just-
POLKA DOT: I just want to look outside-

 

Far in the distance past the cabin's clearing,
obscured by trees and heavy snowfall,
you spot two yellow lights projecting sideways into the snow, moving along in sync with each other.


In any other context, you'd mistake them for the headlights of a car,
but there's no way anyone could be driving in this condition, let alone without a road.


Looking at them makes dread well up in the pit of your stomach.

 

---

 

Curly...

Tim's eyes widen with a start, his whole body tensed up.

The name had come to him in a horrible- it had to have been a dream, right? It sounded distant, so it must have been his imagination.

...

No way it was real.

He sits up slowly, letting himself re-acclimate to the waking world. It had to have been an hour since he'd fallen asleep, judging by the groggy feeling all over, like a nap ended too early.

Cuuuurly-

This time, he jumps, hearing the word loud and clear.

...I'm-
I'm hearing things. I'm just stressed.

Where's my little girl?

His whole body feels ice cold, every part of him locked up. The feeling grows worse and worse before he lays back down, pulling his scarf over his head and covering his ears.

No such thing as ghosts, or anything like that. Nope. I'm just really fucking stressed and hearing things.

Sleep takes him after what feels like an eternity-








Only for the dog to yelp, startled by the sound of something slamming the unlocked bulkhead doors.

 

---

 

Cross's pixel character stirs, wiggling back and forth and emerging from her little on-screen futon as she wakes up. It's always hard sleeping outside of her normal cycle, and her internal clock tells her that only an hour has passed since she and Roulette had fallen asleep on their respective couches.


The first thing that hits her is the feeling of anxiety creeping through her whole body, a deep dread that makes her feel like she's going to be sick.

CROSSBONE: H...hah....
 

She grips at her chest, feeling a horrible pain in her buttons-


The same kind of pain she had felt when they broke on the streets, the feeling of something worming inside and touching her electronic guts.

CROSSBONE: Haghgfh....

 

She hunches over, audibly making pained beeps as she tries to get it together.

ROULETTE: ...Willow.

 

She turns her head to the robot.



Its lens is wider than she's ever seen it, looking at the barricade.

It's open.
Wide enough for a person to fit through.

They both can see out past it, into the pitch black of the rest of the manor.

 

Still alive?

 

A voice comes from out in the dark.


Roulette is on its feet, scythe drawn in an instant.
It can hardly stay upright, though.


It's shaking.

ROULETTE: Did...did you...hear...?

 

Cross nods, immediately scrambling for her hatchet.


When she speaks, her voice is very quiet, though made wavering by the fear and sickness in her chest.

CROSSBONE: I...I should handle this.


 

It'll kill you.
Run.

 

A different voice whispers into Cross' ear.


Roulette jumps, swiveling back.

ROULETTE: I...I-I wouldn-
ROULETTE: I-
CROSSBONE: S-
CROSSBONE: S-show yourself!

 

She yells out into the dark, raising her hatchet at the void ahead.

CROSSBONE: I w-won't-
CROSSBONE: I won't fall for it!
ROULETTE: It-
ROULETTE: I...don't know if- if-



 

Shhhhsh-sh.

 

The voice in the dark comes again.
Something about it makes Cross' plastic crawl.


Roulette backs all the way to the wall this time, its electronics shuddering as they attempt to rev up but can't manage it.
Oil is leaking from its lens, a faint whimper coming from its speaker.

 

It's alright.
You can cry if you need to.


Come here.

[knux400]

Uhhhhhhhhh what the fuck.

Okay. Running is probably not an option here, given the storm is still going strong and Roulette is still partially iced up. You're going to have to fight these things... or negotiate, I suppose, but that doesn't seem likely.

TIM: Try to reposition so there's some crates between you and the door, then draw your sword and wait. Better to engage that thing here where there's cover rather than try to come to it.

POLKA: You and Fatale need to spread out. If there's only one bad guy, it'll have to divert its attention between the two of you, which should make it a bit easier to handle.

CROSS: Unfortunately, you've got the toughest job out of the three. There's no way Roulette is going to be able to fight in its current state, so focus on getting between it and the creature.

Whatever any of you do, DO NOT APPROACH THE CREEPY VOICE.

[ThreadLurkingComorant]

Seconding avoiding creepy voices. Look for evidence of physicality, don't give it any sort of invitation. From what old rumor goes, these types of things look for you to acknowledge them.

Cross: Tighten your defenses. Look for all exits and limit the amount of ways things can get in on you or separate shit.

[Guest]

This may not be something anyone can run from. The pairs should stick together, try and keep each other focused and safe and out of the grasp of whatever this is-

And don't go outside into the snow. That's out of the frying pan, into the fire.

Same for Tim. but being alone with something that seems... to know too much--

hold onto the thoughts of your friends. They still need you.

[palencorgi]

OOPS that last post was me i forgot to log in

[skinstealer]

You back away from the window, gesturing for Fatale to join you.

Another sound cuts through the dark, a deeper voice- growling and snarling.

Devo, my Devotion....
Where did you go?
You can't hide from me forever.

Fatale makes a strangled sound, taking more than the few steps back you suggested. She's already with her back to the far wall, her chest heaving.

FATALE: He's-
FATALE: He's found us-
POLKA DOT: C-calm down-

 

Polly, where are you?
We never finished our job!
Don't you remember?

 

Your ribbon feels like it's choking you.

POLKA DOT: We-
POLKA DOT: We need to spread out-
FATALE: Don't l-leave me alone with him!

 

Her voice comes out shrill, desperate.

Come here.

The words seem to boom, shaking both of you to your core- it's both voices at once, feeling out of sync and distorted.

The lights outside seem to come closer.

POLKA DOT: I-if we spread out-
POLKA DOT: It won't be able to focus on both of us-
FATALE: Where are we supposed to go, Ribbon?!

 

She's practically screaming now, grabbing at her chest and gripping it tight enough to bunch her coat fabric in her fist.

Be a good girl and come here.

Fatale lets out a strangled noise before collapsing to her knees, covering her ears.

One more down.

You hear Daemon's voice as clear as day, shaking you to your core.

It'll be a quick slice.

Fatale's cheeks tint black.

Isn't it something when they burst?

You feel the weight of a bat in your wings.

 

---

 

Tim scrambles to his feet, every part of him screaming to run, to get out of here-

Curly, don't you want to be my little girl-?

He snatches up his sword as he dives behind a crate, narrowly avoiding cutting himself on the blade in the process.

TIMOTHY: Shit, shit-

 

Another slam on the bulkhead, Tim's head pounding along with it.

I thought you cared about me-

The scottie dog lets out a whimper, covering his muzzle with his scarf.

Don't let her hear you, don't let her hear you-!

My Cuuuurly girly.
I know what you need, you need me to take care of you...

 

The door will hold. It'll hold, it has to hold-

I...I need to get through this.

For Devo, and Silk Ribbon, and- and Fatale, and Roulette, and Cross, and all of the others-

I need to-

CURLY

 

---

 

Roulette is shaking hard enough for its parts to sound loose.

It trudges forward regardless, going for the privacy screen.
But, its legs fail, and it catches itself on the couch, looking barely mobile still.
The bot tries to prop its scythe on the floor in order to stand back up, but it isn't going well.

CROSSBONE: R-roulette! You need-

 

She's struggling with her own words, her hands shaking.

CROSSBONE: You need to let me do this-!

 

With an extended, distorted beep, she pushes past the weight pooling in her legs- as if she herself was feeling frost creep up them- and getting to the door opening.


The void hangs in front of her.

ROULETTE: Don-
ROULETTE: Don't...get close, I can-
ROULETTE: I can-
 

You need to listen to me. I'm trying to keep you alive.


The second voice speaks into her ear again.

 

It's dangerous.
More dangerous than the rest of you.
Remember what Polka Dot said?
It's the strongest of you.
You've seen how it fights. You know it is.

ROULETTE: Willow-
CROSSBONE: Rou-
CROSSBONE: Roulette is my friend!

 

She grips the side of the door, her hands trembling. She can feel the grease and grime of digging through trash all over her fingertips.

It is? You don't even know who it is.
Faysal isn't someone you're safe around.

Cross can hear that Roulette has managed to stand behind her.

ROULETTE: I can-
ROULETTE: Let me handle th-

 

Why do you think it doesn't want you to be by the exit?
It doesn't want you to leave.

ROULETTE: That is Not-
ROULETTE: Denny, pl-

 

Oil streams from its lens.

ROULETTE: I wouldn't-!

 

And if it's Really your friend,



Then why did it try to kill your girlfriend once already?



Roulette stops moving.
Its aperture is open wide.

 

The exit is open.
You have an advantage.
It'll be stalled in just a moment.
While you can,

 

RUN!

ROULETTE: . . .
ROULETTE: I. W.

 

Don't worry.

The first voice comes from behind Roulette.
It tries to swivel, to swipe its scythe in that direction.
But it can't move fast enough to even try.

I still love you.
I always will.

Its arm twitches upward as it gasps loudly and stumbles away.
As if it'd knocked something off itself.

It freezes, sickle vibrating in its claws.
Its head sparks and sputters.

You poor thing.
It's good I found you.

 

Roulette's shoulders wrench upwards, its elbows nearly pushing together.
The motion throws its stance off entirely.
Its sickle clatters to the floor.

 

I've got you.

 

It squirms like vermin caught in a snare.
Oil stains its wet clothes as it trembles, its parts heaving.

ROULETTE: ...o-oNn-n me-e-on-m-me-!

 

Come on.
Why the tears?
You could look a lot happier that I'm back.

Give me a smile.
I can always tell when you smile.

You look so Cute.

 

Its aperture shuts, hanging in an awkward standing position.
As if it's being held there.
Oily tears continue on regardless.

ROULETTE: -OnMe-on-n-nmm-e-ePle-ea-s-s-s

[Guest]

Fight back. Face your fears. Support each other where you can. Prove you're more than your past.

Give 'em hell.

[knux400]

ALL THREE: These voices can't be real- or at least, they can't possibly belong to who you think they belong to. There's no way in hell any of your abusers would be able to track you down all the way out here in this blizzard. It's probably some kind of fear monster thing that's using your bad memories against you. It's tough, but try to ground yourselves. Find something in the room you can count, or a texture to rub against. Focus on what you can see rather than what you can hear. Nothing's physically attacked you yet, so you might not be in as much danger as it seems. The first thing you need to do is calm down, and the second thing you need to do is find the source of the voices and shut it down.

POLKA: The shadow bear, Devo's fourth system member, is being dragged out by whatever trauma bullshit is happening. Try to calm Fatale/Shadowbear down, but keep your distance. See if you can get them to focus on finding the source of the noise rather than what the noise is saying to them.

TIM: The bulkhead doors are unlocked, so unless this thing just doesn't know how doors work (and I'm almost certain that whoever it is you're having flashbacks about can operate a simple door, so that's another point for this being some kind of trick), it doesn't make any sense for it to still be banging on them like that. Try and take a peek to see what's going on.

CROSS: Try to reassure/comfort Roulette as best you can. The voice isn't real, and you're definitely not leaving. See if you can approach it and verify that there's nothing physically touching it- there shouldn't be, but I'm not sure what else "on me" could mean.

[skinstealer]

It can't be real. There's no way this is real.
Daemon can't get me.
They're not here.
And-
Whoever's- whatever's- taunting Fatale- no, it's the shadow guy now, it's- they can't be here either.
We. We need to calm down.

You take a deep breath before slowly approaching the black-tinted bear, trying to ignore the feeling of your bat still heavy in your wing.

It would be so easy to solve the problem-

You whip around towards the window, your beak gritted into a grimace.

POLKA DOT: CAN it!

 

The bear startles, scrambling for his knife and holding it out at you.

POLKA DOT: N-
POLKA DOT: Not you. I just don't-
POLKA DOT: I don't want to take any more shit from whatever's out there.

 

The bear's shoulders are heaving, as if even getting his next words out is a tremendous effort.

????: You have to let me out there.
????: I can-
????: I can kill him.
POLKA DOT: Uh-
POLKA DOT: I don't-

 

Going to finish the job, Devotion?

The bear says nothing, his eyes narrowing.

You couldn't last time.

????: I did plenty.

 

Black-eyed little freak.

????: This time I'll take more than your-!

 

You have to put your wing on his shoulder as he tries to get up to his feet, knife clutched desperately in his paw. Every part of him is shaking, and the look he gives you when he realizes you're holding him back is full of cold, raw, malice.

????: Let me go.
POLKA DOT: Dude, whatever is out there-
????: I KNOW what's out there-
POLKA DOT: It's not him, man!
POLKA DOT: There's no way Daemon and your guy-
????: Saddler.
POLKA DOT: There's no way that Daemon and Saddler could both be out there.
POLKA DOT: In the middle of nowhere?
POLKA DOT: In the middle of a blizzard?

He glances away.

POLKA DOT: Nothing's attacked us. We're just hearing shit.
????: I can feel him-
POLKA DOT: Feeling shit too, sure, but nothing's hurt us.
POLKA DOT: Don't go running out there when it's probably just a weird fucked up fear monster thing!
POLKA DOT: ...that'll probably just try to eat you.
POLKA DOT: You'd be dying for nothing, man.

 

He squeezes his eyes shut, squeezing the handle of his knife.

My Devotion, ohhh, my sweet Devotion-

????: ...alright.
POLKA DOT: If it makes you feel better, we can watch the window or some shit.
POLKA DOT: I'd be surprised if it didn't have something to do with that light.
????: ....

He doesn't say much, simply shuffling over to the side of the window, staying at a point where he can look out, but whatever's out there can't see in.


You watch his hunched posture, every part of him locked in and ready to spring into action if the light gets close enough.

Jeez....

When you sit down with him, you do your best to remember your own words.

It's not Daemon.
It's not Saddler.
It's just a stupid fucking animal.
We're fine.


We're fine.

 

---

 

The bulkhead slams.

Tim has his eyes squeezed shut, braced for the end.

I'm going to die here, I'm going to die here because she finally found me and she's going to punish me and-

Devo's face flashes in his mind- no, Fatale's. He left her alone. She's still in danger-

I c-can't give up!

Curly, what's gotten into you?

The plush lets out a rough growl, a far deeper sound than the soft voice he'd been using since arriving from the Store.

TIMOTHY: You know d-damn well what's gotten into me...
TIMOTHY: You won't leave me alone!

 

You're going to make such a mess of things!

It hits him just as the bulkhead slams again.

Wait-
She used to say that word for word-
Why would she repeat that exact wording now?
It's-
What if it's not her?
Why hasn't she opened the door?

Tim tries to collect himself, wiping away the tear embroidery on his cheeks and rubbing his paws against the mattress, feeling the weathered quilted texture.

Think back to my books.
Aftercare. Aftercare- grounding. This is bad. This is a bad situation, but maybe- maybe that'll help.
Touching things. C-counting things.

CURLY, where is my LITTLE GI-

TIMOTHY: Y-you're not real.
TIMOTHY: You're not real, and I'm-
TIMOTHY: I'm going to get out of this and find Fatale.
TIMOTHY: And I'll bring her, and everyone else in the party, back home safe.

 

His voice drops to a pained whisper.

TIMOTHY: I promise.
 

---

CROSSBONE: R-roulette, I don't think it's-

 

She approaches slowly, shuffling even with the feeling of her legs being so, so horribly icy cold.

CROSSBONE: I don't think it's real, it's okay-
CROSSBONE: I'll just-

 

The virtual pet lightly waves her hand around Roulette's shoulders- nothing there, just air.

CROSSBONE: N-nothing there, see?

 

Roulette's lens is clenched tightly shut, 'tears' leaking through.

ROULETTE: I-I can, I Feel th-

 

The bot is Yanked to the side away from Cross, like a puppet, still looking like it's being held.

Still waiting on that smile.
Perk up a little.

The bot's legs drag uselessly along the floor.

ROULETTE: I feel it I STIL-L Feel it-t-

 

Its core can't even seem to heat up properly, though it's trying; still too iced over.

CROSSBONE: H-hang on-!

 

Cross lunges foward, wrapping her arms around the robot and digging her heels into the ground.

She feels resistance to the motion, something trying to pull it away.

But it's weak, unable to fight against her, and soon ceases entirely.

Roulette is practically vibrating;
from the cold, from using far too much of what little energy it has left, and out of fear.



It can't speak, and doesn't or can't Move.
Instead, trembling in her arms, too scared to open its lens.
Trying to wait for the ordeal to be over.

CROSSBONE: I-
CROSSBONE: I've got you!
CROSSBONE: I'm not going anywhere!
CROSSBONE: You're-
CROSSBONE: I'll keep you safe, o-okay?

 

Roulette is too overwhelmed to reply, or to Think much at all.

You're falling right into what it wants, you know that?
As soon as you let your guard down around it, you're dead.

You should've seen what it did to Polka in the toy store.

CROSSBONE: Who-
CROSSBONE: I don't care!
CROSSBONE: R-roulette is here now, and that was then-
CROSSBONE: If P-polka thought it'd be an issue, she would have told me!
CROSSBONE: I just! I just have to trust in that!

You'd risk her life for That Thing, then?

The bot goes limp.

ROULETTE: I deserve it, I d-d-es-erv-v-v-
ROULETTE: You aren't Sa-fe with me. No one is-z-s.
ROULETTE: Y-You should've, left me ou-t-T-t There-
CROSSBONE: Roulette's not a thing!
CROSSBONE: Roulette-
CROSSBONE: Roulette is my friend!
 

Her voice comes out extremely stern at that, a harsh beep escaping her.

CROSSBONE: And I'm not going anywhere!
 

---

 

The light seems to move in circles- pausing for a few moments in the distance, seemingly turned away from you...

Your bear companion still says nothing, having been dead silent aside from a few low growls when the voices start up again. He hasn't let go of that knife for a single second, and you have to wonder whether his paw's gone numb from gripping it that hard.

Even so-

It does not approach further.

Polly, you're dealing with the enemy! He's just going to backstab you...

You glance over at the bear, trying not to feel freaked out when you catch him staring right back at you.

POLKA DOT: ...you're not my enemy.

 

He just keeps staring, his gaze fierce.

POLKA DOT: I'm not about to listen to a stupid monster voice, alright?
POLKA DOT: I know you're not going to stab me.
????: ....

He lets his gaze go back to the window, seemingly satisfied with your answer.

Fuck...I just hope Roulette was right about this guy being chill...

The voices continue, little clips of memories mixed in with goading, taunting about the situation...but they fade, bit by bit.

And eventually-

The light seems to bob away, wandering off.

With it, the voices leave as well.

It's dead silent.




You don't know how long it is before either of you speak.

????: It's gone.
POLKA DOT: You sure?
????: The feeling I had-
????: Saddler t-
????: ...it's gone.
????: It'd be stupid to say we're safe, but it's gone.

 

He gets to his feet slowly, keeping an eye on the window as he does.

????: I'm going to fucking sleep.
POLKA DOT: ...eh?
 

You half expected him to stick around here all night.

????: If it's a dumb animal like you said-
????: I'm not dealing with it.
????: Bunkbeds in the other room, right?
POLKA DOT: Yeah, but-
????: I'm taking one.
????: You sleep out here.

 

You blink, your beak hanging open slightly.

????: I don't sleep in the same room as other people.

 

He's already well on his way over, not leaving you room to input.

????: Deal.
POLKA DOT: O....okay.
POLKA DOT: Ssssure.

 

It's just you alone in the room now, and you can't help but desperately wish someone, anyone, would give you a nice hug.

...in the morning I'll find Cross and the others again.
I have to.

The couches aren't the most comfortable, but the one you settle on will just have to do.

...goodnight, me.

You close your eyes, and slip away.

 

---

 

Tim can't fully remember the lyrics to the song he's currently looping in his head, but god damn if he isn't trying. He's got his sword in his lap and his eyes squeezed shut, doing everything he can to focus on the here and now, and on that catchy song on the radio he and Devo thought was the stupidest thing in the world-

Just gotta make it through this. I gotta hear that really dumbass song again. I gotta- I gotta show it to Fatale, and Scout, and even the shadowy guy-

I gotta show all three of them that I've got what it takes to support them!

When he opens his eyes back up-

There's no more slamming.

Maybe a bit of the voice, but just....in the distance, unintelligible.


Whatever was tormenting him is gone now, leaving him in the cold basement.

I....I-

TIMOTHY: I did it.

 

It comes out as an awestruck whisper.

TIMOTHY: I...I did it!
TIMOTHY: It didn't get me!
TIMOTHY: I can still-

 

He has to resist jumping to his feet, knowing it would send his sword flying.

TIMOTHY: I can still make it!
TIMOTHY: I just gotta get through til morning-

 

It's probably still late, though...

He does get to his feet now, but slowly- edging his way over to the bulkhead stairs, tiptoeing over-

And locking the bulkhead.

Won't catch me making that mistake twice...now this place is a proper bunker.

Returning back to his makeshift bed, he realizes just how tired he is-

-and sleep comes for him before he has the strength to object, the dog passing out into a dreamless slumber.

 

---

 

Cross refuses to let go of Roulette, praying with all of her little circuitboard heart that this is all going to be okay-

-and then she realizes.

...I don't feel as cold anymore.

She wiggles one of her feet, letting out a surprised beep when it doesnt feel as frostbitten, not even close.

CROSSBONE: R-roulette!
CROSSBONE: I think it's going away!

 

It's barely conscious, at this point, having exhausted itself far beyond its limits in all the ordeal.

I'm still here.
It flinches, still.
But the voice is fading out, its volume lowering.

I Always am.
You know I'll find you again, don't you?
I'll be back for you, love, don't worry.

Soon enough.






It's gone.

Roulette still hangs in her arms.




Its voice is quiet.
Glitchy. Defeated. Spent.

ROULETTE: ...I don't think I can move...
ROULETTE: ...I apologize...for everything...
CROSSBONE: H...hey...
CROSSBONE: It's okay...

 

She slowly starts moving the bot back over towards the couch, hauling both of their bodies onto it with a flop.

CROSSBONE: I got you.

 

Its half-open lens can't bear to look at her. Too ashamed.

ROULETTE: ...your kindness is wasted on me.
ROULETTE: ...but I appreciate it...all the same.

 

It sprawls out onto the couch.
Roulette tries to adjust itself.
Its joints move a little.

Then, it hitches,
buzzes,
fizzles.
Power glitching, shutting off,
before clicking back on.

Unable to move, still.
Only able to Speak.

CROSSBONE: ...

 

...overload.
I've been there before...
Only real thing we can do is sleep it off...

CROSSBONE: We...should both rest.
CROSSBONE: Whatever was here is hopefully gone now...

 

Even so, she gets up slowly, starting to look over the room with hatchet in hand.

...nothing, not even in any of the nooks and crannies.

The virtual pet closes the barrier tight, blockading it to be extra sure.

CROSSBONE: ...you'll feel better after you sleep, with any luck....
ROULETTE: . . .
ROULETTE: ...Are you, alright. After all that.

 

...am I alright?

It's the first time the thought had occured to her during this whole mess.

She had spent the entire incident entirely focused on saving Roulette, on keeping it safe. Nothing to regret, not by a long shot-

But she's aware of her shaking hands, now. Maybe they were always shaking, and she just didn't notice, maybe it was just the question that did it-

CROSSBONE: ...gotta keep moving, right?
ROULETTE: ...can I help, at all?
CROSSBONE: I-
CROSSBONE: I'm not-
CROSSBONE: ...maybe, I don't know, I'm not...good at letting people help me.
CROSSBONE: Pol- Ribbon's the only one I've let do that since I showed up here.
CROSSBONE: On, a like-
CROSSBONE: Close...friendship level.
CROSSBONE: ....
CROSSBONE: ....but, um...
CROSSBONE: Something...she does with me, when I need it...
CROSSBONE: ...this is going to sound really stupid.
ROULETTE: I'm sure it isn't. You can tell me.
ROULETTE: ...I can't move.
ROULETTE: All I'm good for in this moment, is listening, and speaking.
CROSSBONE: That's all you'd really need...
CROSSBONE: ...
CROSSBONE: So I have, these, like-
CROSSBONE: Toys, in my head, in my screen-
CROSSBONE: Like, the objects, not people...that I can play with.
CROSSBONE: ...I like going through them and seeing what sounds they make.
CROSSBONE: They have, like, different little chimes...
CROSSBONE: And I like it when Ribbon tells me which ones she likes best.
ROULETTE: ...That isn't stupid. Not at all.
ROULETTE: I can do that.
ROULETTE: ...I would not trust my opinions, though.
CROSSBONE: What is there to "trust?" Like-
CROSSBONE: It's just seeing what a friend likes.
CROSSBONE: Not, objective review or anything...
ROULETTE: ...sorry.
ROULETTE: I am happy to help with that, though.
ROULETTE: Feel free.
CROSSBONE: Okay, s-so...
CROSSBONE: This one's a little trumpet....






 

Cross isn't sure how many of her little pixel toys she goes through, but eventually she feels her eyes getting heavy, unable to keep herself from letting out a big yawn.

CROSSBONE: I should probably hit the hay-

 

She glances over at Roulette.

It's already out cold.

Snoozing softly.
At some point it'd managed enough motion to pull a blanket and pillow up for itself.

Cross' pixel character smiles, and she can't help but let out a gentle, pleased chime.

CROSSBONE: ...thank you, Roulette.

 

She scoots over to her own couch, starting to get comfortable and let her eyes close...

She hears something rustle.


A little creak.

She can't tell if she'd fallen asleep or not, or if it'd only been a few moments.
Or if she's dreaming.



Regardless.
She opens her eyes to find


the barricade being
gradually, slowly slid open, little by little.

She's on her feet in an instant, hatchet in hand.

The snouted face of a creature, pokes in from the dark...fairly close to the floor.
Lime green and black stripes.
Some kind of...weasel-ish? Shape? She thinks.

It sniffs the air, creeping in cautiously,
its...Wheels having trouble on the house's floor.

It spots her,
locking eyes momentarily.

It looks frightened, but doesn't move yet, watching her.

Wait...
The thing from earlier?
I think Roulette fed it snacks...


She gets on her knees, setting her hatchet aside and keeping her voice soft.

CROSSBONE: H...hey, little thing....

 

It backs up a step, as she leans down.

Then cautiously enters,
still sniffing about,
still keeping an eye on her.



It doesn't come near her,
its nose apparently drawing it to the sleeping robot on the couch by the fire.

Cross stays frozen, watching carefully.

...I've got my hatchet in case things go bad. I'm fast.

It sniffs a few more times.

Then, its front wheels reach up.
It's surprisingly nimble, for how it looks, startling her as it leaps up atop the couch with Roulette.

Somehow, this doesn't wake the bot.



It looks the bot over, as if expecting more treats.
But seems to realize it's sleeping...you think, anyway.

It paws at its chest with a wheel.
But, gives up.



It glances over at her again, watching her warily,
as


it begins to settle itself atop the Roulette's torso,
cozying up.

It looks tired, too.

Cross gets up slowly, approaching with care.

I'll just pick it up and gently move it somewhere else-

As her hands hover over the car, though-
The creature bristles up, eyes wide.
Ready to run.
Or, potentially, attack.

Its gaze is glued to her hand.

It's warm.

...maybe it can stay there. For now. It might help with the overload...

With a sigh, she trudges back to her couch....and falls promptly back asleep.

As she makes her way back, it settles again.

It keeps its eyes on her,
until they slowly close.

It falls asleep, snoring atop Roulette.

The fire warms up the room, as the storm begins to die down outside.

 

---

 

You wake up in a start, as if expecting something horrible right upon your throat-


-but it's just the cabin, daylight streaming in through the window.

Outside, it's pure white- but you're relieved to see that it's no longer snowing. It's a perfectly sunny day, the heaps of snow on the ground sparkling, completely undisturbed.


It's as if the storm never even happened.

 

---

 

Tim rouses from his sleep with a groan, having spent the night with his plastic sword jabbing into his side.

Thank god these things don't hurt unless you mean them to...

There's no sounds outside. It's probably day, judging by how groggy he feels.

...only one way to find out.




 

---

Cross beeps awake.
Feeling relatively well-rested, despite it all.

One of the weasel's ears twitches at the sound. But it seems to still be Mostly asleep.
Roulette is moving a little more, seeming to be in the gradually process of waking up, but still out of it at present.

....we made it.


What does your party do now?

[knux400]

CROSS: If Roulette is conscious at all, do your best to softly inform it that the car weasel from earlier is now sleeping on its chest. We don't want either of them freaking out and causing a fuss.

POLKA: See if Shadow Bear is up, but be very, very considerate of his space. Knock before entering (even if the door is open) and be as gentle as possible.

TIM: Put your ear against the bulkhead first, and if there doesn't seem to be any noise, unlock it and open it slowly.

ALL THREE: If you guys have a compass or something that can tell you what direction you were heading in before, it's time to get that thing out- or just use the sun. The blizzard definitely covered everyone's tracks, so there's not going to be a way to get back together right away, so the next best thing is for all of you to continue forward and hope the narrative is done with this 'split the party' bullshit.





So, uh. That was a lot??? There is a metric ton of stuff to unpack there, and I think it might be best to wait until everyone's home safe before we even try to digest any of that. Or until the narrative forces us to, which honestly is equally likely. What's important right now is that everyone's safe and (physically) unharmed.

[skinstealer]

You slowly get yourself off the couch, cracking your back before making your way sluggishly over to the cabin's bedroom.

The door's shut tight, and you hesitate while raising your wing up to it.

...he seemed...irritable. Easy to agitate.
But Roulette says he's cool, so-
Maybe...it'll be fine if I just-

 

You knock, screwing your eyes shut as you hear rustling behind the door-

It opens.

POLKA DOT: G-good morning!

 

You open your eyes.

Red cheeks.

FATALE: ...mmmgh.
POLKA DOT: Oh! Oh, uh-
POLKA DOT: Fatale, right?
FATALE: Y-yeah....
FATALE: ...what happened last night?
FATALE: I remember blacking out, and I woke up in bed...
POLKA DOT: U...uh....
POLKA DOT: Well-!
 

She narrows her bead eyes at you.

FATALE: You dealt with him, didn't you?
POLKA DOT: He! He wasn't all that bad!
POLKA DOT: He seemed more agitated than anything dangerous-
FATALE: You're lucky to be alive!
FATALE: You'd have done better tying him up or something- he could have killed you in your sleep!
POLKA DOT: No, he-
POLKA DOT: He just went to bed after the monster or whatever left.
POLKA DOT: Just...tired.
POLKA DOT: ...I didn't feel like he wanted to hurt me.
FATALE: ...hmph.
FATALE: Well...I am glad you're alive.
FATALE: Both in the cases of him and the monster.
FATALE: ...it didn't injure you? Or break in?
POLKA DOT: No, just...scared the shit out of both of us.
POLKA DOT: Felt some weird stuff too, but...it didn't attack.
FATALE: ...I wish I could ask Scout what it is.
FATALE: He would probably know...

 

Her voice is soft, forlorn.

She shakes out of it quickly, however, her eyes determined.

FATALE: We should get out there as soon as possible.
FATALE: ...the rest of our party needs you, after all.
POLKA DOT: Hey, they- they need you too. All of you.
FATALE: Please. Emotionally, yes.
FATALE: Physically, I am well aware of our status as dead weight.
FATALE: ...however, we also do have a compass.
FATALE: Due north, correct?
POLKA DOT: Think so...
FATALE: We head that way and look for landmarks.
FATALE: ...does that sound okay?
POLKA DOT: Works for me...let's eat and head off.





 

Tim sits there for a few moments, going over things in his head.

...okay. I don't- I don't remember which way we were going. That's really bad.
But I need to find the others. I don't want to leave them alone to have god knows what happen to them-
Shit, this is bad. Okay.
I'll eat something and go.

The scottie dog's jerky breakfast tastes dull and bland after the night he'd just had, any tastiness overridden by the sheer exhaustion weighing on him. Maybe he's just too dead to detect any flavor, but more than anything, he just hopes it's not an indicator of narrative fuckery-

Wait!

TIMOTHY: That's it!
TIMOTHY: S...surely...surely the narrative would find it dramatic if we reunited!
TIMOTHY: That would lead to the best story, right?
TIMOTHY: It'd be pretty crummy if I just survived that to die alone...
TIMOTHY: I just have to keep going! And- it'll-
 

...when has the narrative ever had my best interests in mind?
That whole thing in the Toy Store, the voices I heard-

....


....

No. I met my friends and made it to Laurie's.
I need to believe in something. Even if it's directionless for now.
I need- I need to have conviction!
And then I'll get where I'm going!

He finishes his jerky, tucking the empty bag in his pack before slinging it over his shoulders, grabbing his sword, and heading for the bulkhead.

Tim takes a moment to steel himself-


-unlocks the door-


-and hauls the doors open as best as he can with his shoulder, holding his sword tight.


They slam open with a crash, nearly scaring him out of his wits. Snow spills in from the outside, having fallen overnight in the storm. Spluttering, he makes his way out-


Nothing but clear white snow, completely untouched.

...here I come.









Cross gets up slowly, tiptoeing over to Roulette and the little car.

CROSSBONE: ...Roulette.

 

She keeps her voice quiet, but audible.

CROSSBONE: There's- your little friend is back. And on you.

 

The weasel is awoken by her voice, lifting its head to watch her warily.

It takes Roulette a while to do the same, at first just attempting to adjust itself.
The bot tries to roll to its side, but can't manage it with the car-weasel's extra weight.

ROULETTE: ...mmn...

 

Its lens barely opens, coming immediately face-to-face with the car.
Its lens Widens.

CROSSBONE: I-it's okay! It didn't hurt you at all!
CROSSBONE: I think it just, likes you!

 

Roulette looks slowly to its side, noting Cross, then back to the weasel.
The car is unmoving, looking back at Roulette with an impossible-to-read face.

ROULETTE: ...It is...still a wild animal.
ROULETTE: ...I won't assume anything. Let me...

 

It ever-so-slowly shifts itself towards the edge of the couch.
The weasel glances about, at first attempting to move enough to stay on the couch,
but eventually relenting and hopping to the floor.

It moves around to the other side of the couch, away from Cross, but still watches Roulette.



The bot stands, letting out a grunt of strain, holding to the couch.
It reaches over, snagging its scythe, which is promptly has to use to keep itself upright.

Roulette glances out the window.

ROULETTE: ...daylight. And looks like the blizzard has cleared up.
ROULETTE: We should try and regroup with the others.

 

It hobbles towards the door; clearly unsteady, but managing not to fall.
The car follows along.

ROULETTE: . . .
ROULETTE: I'm sorry, I do not have food for you.

 

The weasel keeps looking at the bot, occasionally glancing back at Cross.
Roulette sighs.

ROULETTE: ...this could be a problem.
ROULETTE: I imagine it expects food. It could become agitated and attack later if not given any.
ROULETTE: Or attack someone else later, for similar reasons.
ROULETTE: ...Or just steal more food from other people.
ROULETTE: I should have been more careful.
CROSSBONE: ...that is tricky...
CROSSBONE: Maybe...hmm....
CROSSBONE: Do you think it plays fetch?
CROSSBONE: We could throw something outside and book it.
CROSSBONE: ...kinda mean, but...
ROULETTE: It's fast enough that I doubt that would matter.
ROULETTE: And I do not want it to end up trapped in here.
ROULETTE: ...I'll try and think of something.

 

Roulette pushes the furniture out of the way of the sliding door, instantly exhausting itself in the process.

As it holds itself up on the wall, it stares out into the entryway.

ROULETTE: ...Willow.

 

Cross rushes over, fearing the worst.

CROSSBONE: Y-yeah?
CROSSBONE: Do you need help?

 

It doesn't look at her.

ROULETTE: ...I know it makes no difference.
ROULETTE: But I apologize for...everything yesterday.
ROULETTE: You should not have had to come find me. I should not have done what I did.
ROULETTE: And.
ROULETTE: ...all the things you...heard-
CROSSBONE: ...don't worry about it, okay?
CROSSBONE: I won't tell anyone about what happened if you don't want me to.
CROSSBONE: ...and I meant what I said.
CROSSBONE: Whatever went down between you and Polka...
CROSSBONE: I know her well enough at this point to know that if it was an issue, she would have said something about bringing you along.
CROSSBONE: And from what I can tell, she thinks pretty highly of you, so...
CROSSBONE: ...water under the bridge, okay?
ROULETTE: ...I appreciate it.
ROULETTE: But I think it's a bigger issue than that.
ROULETTE: ...You don't need to deal with any more of that, though.
ROULETTE: I'll do my best not to make any of this a problem.
ROULETTE: You barely know me. Me being your responsibility shouldn't have happened.
ROULETTE: I will do my best not to trouble you again, or...Polka, for that matter.
ROULETTE: I will handle and conduct myself better, as much as I'm able to.

 

It makes its way out of the living room, heading for the front door.
The car-weasel rolls along after it.

Cross stands there for a moment, steeling herself....before following suit.

It clutches the front door when it reaches it,
trying to disguise that it's holding onto it for support.

ROULETTE: ...and.
ROULETTE: ...thank you. For not letting me die.
ROULETTE: Devo, and the rest, did not need that weighing on them.
CROSSBONE: ...no one wants that for you, Roulette....
CROSSBONE: ...let's get back to them, alright?
ROULETTE: ...I'll get you back to her.

 

It opens the door, stepping out into piles upon piles of snow,
which immediately become difficult for the still-recovering bot to maneuver in.
It pushes forward regardless.

ROULETTE: ...we were on our way north.
ROULETTE: So, based on the sun's location...that way.
ROULETTE: ...I moved west and walked in parallel with you all, before, but I don't know which direction this manor is in relation.
ROULETTE: Do you remember which direction you went?
CROSSBONE: ...more west, I think.
CROSSBONE: It wouldn't be a bad idea to follow which direction the trees get thicker in, I think.
CROSSBONE: Hallowed Wood being the goal, and all.
ROULETTE: We can. But we also want enough of a field of view to spot the others.
ROULETTE: Northeast is likely our best bet, then.

 

It stumbles, and recovers.
The car nudges its leg, though the bot tries not to give it attention.

ROULETTE: Ready, Willow?

 

She nods, keeping a close eye on the bot.

CROSSBONE: Ready when you are.
CROSSBONE: ...let me know if you need help, okay?

 

It already seems to be stubbornly pushing itself beyond its limits.

ROULETTE: I appreciate it. I'll handle it.




 

The snow easily comes a quarter up your leg as you trudge through it, grateful for your snowpants. The trees are definitely getting thicker, and all you can really hope for is that the others are heading the same direction...

Fatale seems to be struggling through it, her expression furrowed and scrunched.

POLKA DOT: ...you holding up okay?
FATALE: I-I'm!
FATALE: I'm great-!
POLKA DOT: You don't have to lie.
FATALE: Not in the mood to bitch, believe it or not...
FATALE: Let's just keep moving.



 

It feels like an hour, maybe two, who even knows, passes before you see it.

A flash of red, to your east.

You squint.

Red, black, and white.

It freezes as you look over, shaking Fatale's shoulder for her to look.

FATALE: ...oh my god.

 

The shape starts running at you-

-and you run back towards him.

TIMOTHY: R-RIBBON!
TIMOTHY: F-FATALE!

 

The two of you slam together in a big hug, both of you shaking and trying not to cry.

POLKA DOT: Oh my god, I-
POLKA DOT: You blew right away-
TIMOTHY: You're okay, you're both okay-

 

He lets go after a moment, rushing over to Fatale.

It's clear he wants a hug, but he hesitates, unsure how to handle the situation.

Fatale rolls her eyes, relenting.

FATALE: ...come here.

 

She opens her arms, Tim wrapping his own around with a delicacy that surprises her.

TIMOTHY: ...I'm so sorry.
TIMOTHY: I- you were going to try and trust me-
TIMOTHY: And I left you alone.
TIMOTHY: I'm...I'm so sorry.

 

His shoulders start shaking again, Fatale giving him a light, awkward pat on the back.

FATALE: Please.
FATALE: I'm not about to blame you for the worst storm I've ever seen.
FATALE: Give me some credit.
TIMOTHY: I-

 

Tim pulls back, wiping his eyes and nodding.

TIMOTHY: ...okay. You're right.
TIMOTHY: I'm just- I'm so relieved you're okay...
POLKA DOT: I mean, same here! Sheesh...
FATALE: ...

 

Fatale pulls away, rubbing her elbow.

FATALE: Do...you think Roulette and Willow are okay?
POLKA DOT: ...they have to be.
POLKA DOT: Just.
POLKA DOT: They gotta.




 

The three of you start trudging further north, the light filtering in through the canopy overhead just enough to have a good idea of where you were going. There's not a lot of conversation, everyone too exhausted to even go into the night prior...and fearful of the status of the other two party members.


Your party reaches a clearing where the trees thin.


Far to the east, you spot an odd-looking, large figure.

You squint.



Two figures.
One hold the other up by the shoulder as they walk in tandem.

You practically drop your backpack in order to run, Fatale and Tim following behind as best as theye can with their packs still on.

POLKA DOT: WILLOW!
FATALE: Is that Roulette?!
POLKA DOT: I-I think so!
TIMOTHY: Fuck, is it okay-?!





ROULETTE: ...Willow.

 

The camera-bot gestures the virtual pet towards the east horizon.



There's a sense of relief in its voice.
Though, it doesn't seem entirely eager.

The car-weasel, meanwhile, keeps itself hidden behind the bot.

CROSSBONE: Oh my-!

 

Cross doesn't drop Roulette or speed up, simply letting out a string of loud beeps and lashing her chain tail around.

CROSSBONE: H-HEY! WE'RE OVER HERE!

 

You're practically falling over yourself as you stumble in front of them, taking a minute to catch yourself before realizing that you cannot immediately go for the hug move while Roulette's being propped up.

POLKA DOT: I...I knew you two would be okay.
CROSSBONE: I promised.

 

Roulette notices the lack of hug and pulls away from Cross, using its scythe to hold itself up.
Allowing the two to do so.

You squeak one in, giving Cross a huge squeeze.

Fatale's caught up in the meantime, rushing over to Roulette.

FATALE: I-!
FATALE: I'm so glad you're okay-

 

The bot nods, unable to drum up much excitement in its exhausted state.

ROULETTE: I...am. Very, very glad you are alright.
ROULETTE: I am sorry I left. I cannot apologize enough.
ROULETTE: It was extremely foolish of me, and I put...you, Willow, everyone in danger-
FATALE: You're back now!
FATALE: Don't do that again, but-
FATALE: ...I'm...just glad you're back.
FATALE: I was scared that- I was scared that our last conversations would have been-

 

She turns away, slightly.

FATALE: ...I didn't want you to die having hated me.

 

It finally, properly looks up.

ROULETTE: ...I have never hated you. Any of you.
ROULETTE: I Never Could.
ROULETTE: ...please...please don't think that.

 

Oil pools at the edges of its lens, barely visible,
unable to hold back all of the emotions that'd been building.

FATALE: I'm-
FATALE: I'm sorry-
ROULETTE: You do not owe me an apology.
ROULETTE: You did Not do anything wrong.
ROULETTE: I-

 

It tries to take a step forward, and loses its balance, barely managing to catch itself with its scythe.
Its repositioning inadvertently reveals the weasel-car hiding behind it.

Fatale's eyes widen-

-but she prioritizes helping Roulette back up, choosing to squint over its shoulder at the car and give it a clear warning sign.

The car squeezes itself up behind Roulette's legs, eyes wide.

It lets out the tiniest growl at Fatale; brief, and clearly frightened.

ROULETTE: Sorry-
ROULETTE: It. Followed me. It hasn't Stopped following me.
ROULETTE: I don't want to antagonize it.
ROULETTE: ...I have been doing my best not to give it affection or food or, anything, hoping it will leave.
ROULETTE: But it-

 

The car nudges against the bot's leg.

ROULETTE: ...it does not want to leave.
ROULETTE: I am not sure what to do.
FATALE: ...it didn't attack you?
FATALE: Or try to steal again?
ROULETTE: No.
ROULETTE: It-

 

Roulette struggles to speak, looking at the ground.
Embarrassed, maybe?
It's always difficult to tell.

ROULETTE: Slept.
ROULETTE: ...On....me.
ROULETTE: I assumed it might've been cold, but.
ROULETTE: I had nearly frozen to death, I wasn't warm.
ROULETTE: And I was just next to a fireplace. It could have laid down beside the couch instead, closer to the fireplace.
ROULETTE: ...I assume it's still just waiting for food. I have no idea.
TIMOTHY: ...maybe it likes you?
FATALE: Wait, you-
FATALE: You nearly froze to death?

 

Her eyes go wide.

CROSSBONE: I helped where I could, but...
CROSSBONE: I'm really glad that I found it.
ROULETTE: It-
ROULETTE: Sorry. I should not have phrased it like that.
ROULETTE: It wasn't that dire.
ROULETTE: And Willow helped tremendously.
ROULETTE: You do not need to worry.
ROULETTE: Is everyone else alright?
ROULETTE: We should keep moving, if everyone's ready.

 

Cross seems to consider saying something, but sighs.

CROSSBONE: Heading north more is our best bet. We're almost there.
FATALE: Let's get on with it, then...
TIMOTHY: I'm in favor. We can talk on the way.
POLKA DOT: Lemme just get my bag...

 

You head back to get your backpack, hauling it on....and going on your way with the rest, finally reunited.



You are now back in control of Polka Dot. There's a lot to talk about...

[ThreadLurkingComorant]

You should convey a bit of where your mind is at right now for sure, get everyone to re-calibrate their brains and nerves. A lot of weird fucked up shit happened over the course of the blizzard as well. share some thoughts on that. Honestly wouldn't hurt to take quick inventory to know what your limits are for continuing your venture.

[knux400]

Keep an eye on the car-weasel. Roulette said it was following it, but let's see how it responds to having three more people around.

[skinstealer]

POLKA DOT: ...hohkay.
POLKA DOT: We just...went through a lot.
FATALE: No shit.
POLKA DOT: We gotta, like- we gotta take inventory. Status check.
CROSSBONE: I'm right with you on that...I'm just glad we're all here, but...
CROSSBONE: I don't know if I could forgive myself if any of you bit the dust...
TIMOTHY: Well...I'm honestly okay, all things considered.
TIMOTHY: Sore? Yes. Very yes.
TIMOTHY: Getting blown away by the wind, was, uh- I wouldn't recommend it.
TIMOTHY: But...I was able to find shelter and stayed in there. I was safe.

 

He looks a bit...unsure of that.

TIMOTHY: No injuries aside from bruised pride and the biggest anxiety attack I've ever had.
TIMOTHY: ...which, I'll take that.
FATALE: ...I'm glad you're okay.

 

Fatale looks equally reserved about saying it, but her words come off startlingly genuine, considering her overall opinion on the dog. Tim's ears perk up, just as surprised as you.

FATALE: Don't let it go to your head.
FATALE: Our allyship is a work in progress.
FATALE: ...but I do want to try. So...
FATALE: Good job on not dying.
TIMOTHY: Thanks, Fatale...
 

He sounds immensely relieved.

TIMOTHY: I wanted to get back to y'all, no matter what.
TIMOTHY: All of you! We've got a mission and everything!
TIMOTHY: And...I wouldn't want to lose my friends.
CROSSBONE: I really, really appreciate that, Tim...
CROSSBONE: You all, are just...
CROSSBONE: I'm really glad we're a team.
CROSSBONE: I...didn't get injured either, I think.
POLKA DOT: ...you think?
CROSSBONE: Well, I mean-
CROSSBONE: The cold's not great for my circuits.
CROSSBONE: But we were able to get a fire going once we found shelter.
CROSSBONE: ...nothing I haven't dealt with before, anyhow...

 

Your chest hurts a bit at that...even with how close you'd grown to your girlfriend, she doesn't...talk about the homelessness thing much.

You both wish you knew more, and are too scared to ask.

POLKA DOT: I'm so, so glad you're okay...
CROSSBONE: Well!
CROSSBONE: I've come too far to die, I think...
CROSSBONE: I'm not even a monster yet.
CROSSBONE: And, like Tim...I wouldn't want to lose you all...
CROSSBONE: ...you're the first friend group I've ever had.
CROSSBONE: I appreciate that more than I can properly express...

 

Reaching over to give Cross a small back pat is enough to make her beep in appreciation, your chest feeling all warm and fuzzy even from the small gesture.

POLKA DOT: Got your back, okay?
CROSSBONE: I know.
CROSSBONE: ...more than anything, I know that you all do, after that.
FATALE: ...we'll try.
FATALE: I had...an EVENTFUL night, but we're no more fucked over than we usually are.
TIMOTHY: ...are you okay?
FATALE: ...eh.

 

She shrugs.

FATALE: Not great. Body hurts.
FATALE: But with the amount of walking and stress...it's expected.
FATALE: Nothing I can't tank...

 

Tim doesn't exactly look reassured by this, his expression wracked with worry.

FATALE: ...you don't need to look at me like that.
FATALE: When I say I'm fine, I mean it.
FATALE: I'll say when we need to rest.
CROSSBONE: ...is that sooner, rather than later?
CROSSBONE: G-genuine question.

 

Fatale nods.

FATALE: I've probably got another hour or two in me.
FATALE: Enough time to reach sunset.
POLKA DOT: Fuck, is it that late already?
FATALE: Narrative seems to want to give us the afternoon early, judging by the sun.
FATALE: ...as if it wasn't enough of a prick.
TIMOTHY: We did meet back up, though...
FATALE: I guess.
FATALE: You won't catch me giving it any credit.
POLKA DOT: ...pretty sure I'm totally uninjured, too.
POLKA DOT: It's...

 

You shake your head.

POLKA DOT: It's weird.
POLKA DOT: I can go into it more, I-
POLKA DOT: I have so many questions about what happened.
POLKA DOT: But we gotta-

 

Behind the four of you, Roulette trips, landing in the snow.
It does its best to hurriedly get back to its feet, but is clearly having trouble, its scythe not cutting it for leverage.
The car-weasel looks on with an inscrutable expression.

It dawns on you that you and the others had picked up the pace naturally as you got into the discussion.
The bot had likely fallen while struggling to keep up.

POLKA DOT: Oh, shit-!
POLKA DOT: Roulette, are you-

 

Fatale is already rushing past you, getting to its side.

FATALE: Let me help-
ROULETTE: I am, fine I-

 

It barely manages to lift itself up with its scythe.

ROULETTE: I only stumbled.
ROULETTE: No need to worry.
FATALE: But-
FATALE: That was not a stumble.
FATALE: You shouldn't downplay that!
ROULETTE: ...It isn't an issue.
ROULETTE: Apologies for the distraction. We can keep moving.
FATALE: I-

 

The bear huffs, rubbing her paw against her cheek.

FATALE: ...okay.
FATALE: But you need to tell us how you're holding up. We all already did it.
ROULETTE: I am fine.

 

The bot looks anything but fine.
It's hardly walking with its own strength, still using its scythe as a walking stick.
On closer inspection, there are clear signs of damage even on what little you can see of it - its 'face' has spots where the metal looks to have nearly warped, likely from extreme cold.
Its lens also seems like it's having some trouble moving.

ROULETTE: As I said, we can keep moving.

 

Fatale clearly isn't buying it- and no one else is, either.

The bear stays by its side, ready to support it if need be.

FATALE: ...yeah.
FATALE I need to slow down too, anyway.
FATALE: So I'll walk with you.
FATALE: And that's that.
ROULETTE: There's no need for-
ROULETTE: ...Cross looked me over before.
ROULETTE: There was some frost building up, it melted, I am fine.
ROULETTE: You do not need to worry.

 

Everyone looks at Cross, the vpet's pixel character starting to sweat.

CROSSBONE: I, uh-!
CROSSBONE: I mean!
CROSSBONE It was rough on both of us! But-
CROSSBONE: I did warm it up. And helped it get rest.
CROSSBONE: ...
CROSSBONE: Just...tell us if it gets bad again, okay?
FATALE: It's already-
CROSSBONE: Fatale-
CROSSBONE: I...I know. I get it.

 

Her voice goes quiet.

CROSSBONE: I'm worried too.
CROSSBONE: But...Roulette is tough.
CROSSBONE: It got through a lot last night. We both did.
CROSSBONE: We can get a little further and then camp, and we can all rest some more.
CROSSBONE: ...you included.

 

Fatale huffs.

FATALE: Fine.
FATALE: But I do need to walk slower.
FATALE: So you're stuck with me anyway.

 

Roulette keeps its head down towards the snow as the group resumes walking, now at a slower pace.

POLKA DOT: ...
POLKA DOT: We...should probably talk about what actually happened, last night.
POLKA DOT: We got injuries down, sure, but-
POLKA DOT: It was...
FATALE: Terrible.
FATALE: You don't have to beat around the bush.
POLKA DOT: ...yeah.
TIMOTHY: ...I could go first, then.
TIMOTHY: I...yeah.
TIMOTHY: I got blown away, and I couldn't find any of y'all.
TIMOTHY: I managed to find this- this burned down house.
TIMOTHY: Too beat up to shelter in at first, but I found the basement bulkhead.
TIMOTHY: Unlocked, thank god.
TIMOTHY: Shitty down there, but there was a mattress. Fucking, crossword puzzle.

 

Fatale snickers.

FATALE: You did a crossword?
FATALE: In the middle of this mess?
TIMOTHY: Yeah, well!
TIMOTHY: ...I didn't get to for long.

 

Fatale shuts up.

TIMOTHY: There were- these voices.

 

Your body goes cold.

TIMOTHY: Voices of- someone I used to know, I think.
TIMOTHY: Toy Store stuff.
TIMOTHY: It-
TIMOTHY: It was terrifying. And there was something p-pounding on the bulkhead doors.
TIMOTHY: Something wanted to get me.
TIMOTHY: ...and it knew the worst way to do it.

 

You do your best to pipe up, your squeaker feeling dry.

POLKA DOT: We...heard that too.

 

Tim whips his head around.

TIMOTHY: You what?
POLKA DOT: Yeah. The voice thing.
POLKA DOT: Me and Fatale found a cabin, and tucked in there- it actually wasn't too bad, at first...
POLKA DOT: But like you said- the voices.
POLKA DOT: We saw these...searchlights, outside.
POLKA DOT: Like they were looking for something.

 

You feel a little shaky, recounting it.

POLKA DOT: It didn't get close like yours did. W...whatever it was.
CROSSBONE: ...do you think it was a monster?
FATALE: Had to have been.
FATALE: ...I want to ask Scout, when I get a chance.
FATALE: Or...hopefully he'll come out himself, and you can tell him.
FATALE: If anyone knows, he will.
CROSSBONE: ....
CROSSBONE: Do you think it was the same monster?

 

No one speaks.

FATALE: ...we were pretty far apart, I think.
FATALE: It, took us a while to reconvene...
FATALE: ...if it was one thing...
FATALE: It'd. Have to have some way of getting around fast.
FATALE: Or-
FATALE: Some...sort of...narrative- time thing.

 

She looks like her head is going to fizzle out at the concept.

FATALE: ...whatever it was, it was awful.
FATALE: Drew out the shadowy guy, which-
FATALE: I am very glad he didn't do anything stupid.
FATALE: Stuff with Saddler pisses him off more than anything.
FATALE: ...not that I can blame him there- but he doesn't have to be so uncouth about it.
TIMOTHY: ...
TIMOTHY: ...you...heard Saddler?

 

Fatale looks away.

TIMOTHY: Fatale-
FATALE: It's fine.
FATALE: It's...fine.
FATALE: Nothing we haven't heard in nightmares.

 

Roulette glances up at Fatale.
It moves a little closer to her, though doesn't seem to know what to say.

Fatale allows it-

-even leaning on it slightly, just for a moment.

You almost miss it, but you just barely hear her whisper "thanks".

The bot nods in reply.

It's quiet again.

FATALE: ...well, don't let me kill the vibe.
FATALE: I'm sure Willow and Roulette have things to say too.
CROSSBONE: ...yeah.
 

She shuffles, rubbing her elbow.

CROSSBONE: We....I rescued Roulette.

 

She does not elaborate on how.

CROSSBONE: I managed to find this old, abandoned mansion. It had a fireplace, so we got setup there.
CROSSBONE: I helped tend to Roulette for a bit, and we both tried to sleep, only for something to show up.
CROSSBONE: I swear it- I swear it DID get in. And lurked in the darkness.
CROSSBONE: But even with the voices...
CROSSBONE: ...
CROSSBONE: It never approached.
CROSSBONE: We felt these horrible feelings, too.
CROSSBONE: But-
CROSSBONE: It never came at us. I don't know what to think.
 

Roulette doesn't speak.

It's Fatale's turn to give Roulette a concerned look.

ROULETTE: . . .
ROULETTE: ...I am sorry that I couldn't do more to help during that, Willow.
CROSSBONE: I-!
CROSSBONE: Roulette, we were in it together...
CROSSBONE: Please, please don't worry about that...

 

Her tone sounds...genuinely upset.

CROSSBONE: You're being so hard on yourself...
CROSSBONE: ...we all care about you, you know?
 

The bot seems genuinely taken aback at the response, its lens widening.
It avoids looking at her, shoulders scrunching inward.

ROULETTE: ...Ap... Apologies.
ROULETTE: I did not mean to upset you.
ROULETTE: I am sorry if I did not word that well, or if that was inappropriate to say.
ROULETTE: I appreciate that you care about me.
CROSSBONE: It's not- it's not inappropriate.
CROSSBONE: It's just...
CROSSBONE: I dunno.
CROSSBONE: You can lean on us a little bit, you know?
ROULETTE: You have all been through plenty, and you have plenty more to worry about.
ROULETTE: I want to carry my weight and contribute.
ROULETTE: I should be the last of our concerns.

 

Cross doesn't press the issue, giving a little sigh.

ROULETTE: ...Apologies.

 

No one speaks for a bit, the air incredibly awkward.

You clear your throat again.

POLKA DOT: ...did anyone lose anything? Like, any resources gone?
TIMOTHY: I ate some jerky.
FATALE: Some food here as well.
CROSSBONE: ...we forgot to eat.
CROSSBONE: Probably...going to do that as soon as we camp.
ROULETTE: ...We should be doing well on supplies, then.
TIMOTHY: Nothing got seriously lost...that's good.
TIMOTHY: Could have been a lot worse.
TIMOTHY: N! Not that it wasn't TERRIBLE-
TIMOTHY: ....sorry. I'm...bad at this.
POLKA DOT: ...we're alive.
POLKA DOT: We can work with alive.

 

Fatale nods, saying nothing more.

The car-weasel had apparently drifted away from the others at some point,
becoming noticed again upon its return.

As before, it sticks close to Roulette, although it keeps on the bot's other side so as to be as far away from Fatale as possible.

Fatale glances over, just subtly enough as to not startle it.

FATALE: ...is that thing going to follow you forever now?
ROULETTE: ...I do not want to antagonize it.
ROULETTE: I have not fed it and don't plan to, I have not even touched it save for...what I mentioned before.
ROULETTE: I have no idea why it's still here. I imagine it still wants food.
ROULETTE: Sooner or later, I am sure it will realize I do not plan to feed it, and-

 

It brushes against the bot's leg, looking between Fatale and Roulette.
Roulette does its absolute best not to look at it, its lens closing fully.

CROSSBONE: ...I think it likes you.
ROULETTE: . . .
ROULETTE: ...I am sure it wants food.
ROULETTE: That, or...it...might be a social animal that tends to live in a group with others of its kind.
ROULETTE: It's become separated, so it...is fixating on me as a replacement.
ROULETTE: In either case, it likely needs to be around its own kind.
FATALE: Another time where we could really use Scout...
FATALE: If we keep doing adventures, we're going to get him to keep a goddamn bestiary.
ROULETTE: Has he looked into monster research? I am sure there are books on the subject.
FATALE: Obsessed with it.
FATALE: I'm sure we have a ton back at the apartment- he always forgets to return them to the library, by the look of it.
FATALE: ...but that's completely unhelpful now, and I don't think he had the chance to pack any.
ROULETTE: That's alright.
ROULETTE: ...I am worried about this one following me and becoming displaced from its home.
ROULETTE:  . . .
ROULETTE: ...The last thing I want is for harm to come to it because it became attached to me.

 

It goes silent a few moments.

ROULETTE: ...Apologies.
ROULETTE: Scout's info would be useful if he were around, yes.
ROULETTE: Not a necessity.
ROULETTE: It will work out.

 

Roulette idly glances to the others as silence sinks in once more, hoping desperately that someone else has words to fill the dead air.

Cross takes the challenge, musing to herself in an attempt to raise the mood.

CROSSBONE: ...the trees are getting thicker, I think.
CROSSBONE: Which means we're probably getting closer!
CROSSBONE: Which begs the question...
CROSSBONE: What lays ahead in a spooky toy village?

 

She sounds...legitimately excited.

CROSSBONE: Curses aside!
CROSSBONE: Do you think people will be cool there?
CROSSBONE: Or like, will there be toys like me?
CROSSBONE: What kind of food do they eat, do you think...

 

The vpet looks expectantly at the rest of you, clearly wanting someone to theorize with her.

CROSSBONE: Or, yknow! Any topic is fine.

[knux400]

"Well... huh. I honestly hadn't thought about it. If they are some kind of spooky village, then there might be more Halloween toys around! Or just, y'know, ones with spooky motifs in general. It's hard to say, really."

[dediles]

I don't think I can really make any kind of predictions on that. like, all the weird shit we've seen so far already has me baffled. This village could be anything at this point and I wouldn't be surprised.

I do hope they have some decent food, though. got fucking spoiled working as a cook. Honestly just really want to indulge in creauture comforts we don't have with us.

[skinstealer]

POLKA DOT: ...huh.
POLKA DOT: Guess I haven't thought about it all that much.
POLKA DOT: Not sure what to predict, but...yknow, it's gotta be spooky.
POLKA DOT: Maybe even SCARY!

 

You wiggle your wings at Cross, who can't help but giggle.

POLKA DOT: Think it'll be, like...Halloween toys, maybe.

 

You aren't even sure what that word means. It just- comes to mind, and feels right. Your party seems to understand it just fine, no one questioning it at all.

CROSSBONE: That's what I think too...
CROSSBONE: I feel like I'm close to that.
CROSSBONE: It's just the right thing, in my mind.
POLKA DOT: Gotta be people who are like that too, then.
POLKA DOT: Real creatures of the night!
FATALE: Well, I'd like them to behave if nothing else.
FATALE: "Creatures of the night" or otherwise, if anyone bites me, they'll be in trouble.
TIMOTHY: What if they have to bite people?
FATALE: ...what kind of toy has to bite people?
TIMOTHY: I-I dunno!
TIMOTHY: Yknow, just-
CROSSBONE: Oh, a vampire for sure.

 

Fatale and Tim both turn to look at her.

CROSSBONE: In the legends, they suck blood out of peoples' veins. But-
CROSSBONE: Not many toys have blood, or veins for that matter.
CROSSBONE: So legend has it, vampiric toys bite and devour whatever innards they can get...
FATALE: ...
FATALE: ..........
FATALE: ...........you are really bad at selling this as a cool adventure.
CROSSBONE: Vampires ARE cool!
CROSSBONE: Stuck between the urge to feed...and the urge to be a part of society...
CROSSBONE: Knowing that having a lover means holding back from devouring them...

 

You can't help but blush a bit at that.

Does she want to-

FATALE: Do you want to be one of those?
CROSSBONE: Oh, no.
CROSSBONE: As romantic and tragic as it sounds, vampires are more brooding than my goal.
TIMOTHY: And that would be...?
CROSSBONE: Werewolf. Easily.
POLKA DOT: ...what's a werewolf do?
CROSSBONE: They change shape...from a normal toy one day, to a monster the next.
CROSSBONE: Legends say it has to do with moon phases...but not everywhere has those.

 

She points up to a small break in the treetops, patches of sky visible. The sun's been setting over the course of the conversation, enough to notice the lighting change- but now you're starting to see tiny stars come in, far smaller than the cartoony shapes you'd seen back in the city. More like...glitter.

CROSSBONE: Hard to see now, it's not super dark yet...
CROSSBONE: But the Hallowed Wood stars are like dust.
CROSSBONE: Glowing, haunting dust...and the moon has a twisted face.
FATALE: Lovely.
CROSSBONE: Isn't it?

 

Fatale just gives a tired stare. Cross is entirely unbothered, her mind clearly elsewhere.

CROSSBONE: ...we forgot to eat.
CROSSBONE: Probably...going to do that as soon as we camp.
ROULETTE: We should-

 

Roulette's voice comes from behind the group.
You turn to find it lagging behind some again, even at the slower pace you'd been walking.
It struggles to speak as it does what it can to keep up, despite clearly looking exhausted.

ROULETTE: It's... getting dark.
ROULETTE: We may want to consider, set-
ROULETTE: Setting up camp.
POLKA DOT: Oh, shit-
 

You and Fatale rush to its side, Fatale visibly worried.

POLKA DOT: Can you-
CROSSBONE: I can set up camp!
CROSSBONE: Tim, can you help?
TIMOTHY: R-Right!
 

With the two of them fast at work, you turn to Roulette.

POLKA DOT: You, uh, hanging in there?

 

It stops walking, leaning forward as it props itself up with its scythe, arms shaking with its grip.

ROULETTE: I am. Fine.
ROULETTE: It is getting dark, I do not think it would be. Safe. To have us.
ROULETTE: To have-

 

It has to take a moment to steady itself, as if catching its breath.

ROULETTE: Not safe to be wandering in the woods at night, I imagine.
ROULETTE: That's all.
ROULETTE: I am fine.
ROULETTE: You do not need to worry about me.
FATALE: ...you know that's bullshit.
FATALE: Cmon. If I have to suck it up and be honest about this stuff, so should you.
ROULETTE: ...I am sorry if I worried you.

 

It does its best to stand up straight.

ROULETTE: I could keep going, but we are stopped either way.
ROULETTE: So, you do not have to worry.
ROULETTE: Apologies if I worried you.
FATALE: Roulette.

 

Her voice is sharp, enough to make you flinch.

Its lens shuts, head flicking downward and away from her as the bot winces, nearly stumbling.

ROULETTE: ...I-
ROULETTE: I do not... know... what you want me to... say.
 

Fatale screws her eyes shut and sighs.

FATALE: ...you nearly died yesterday, from what I can make of this whole thing.
FATALE: Stop refusing help.
ROULETTE: I didn-
ROULETTE:  . . .
ROULETTE: ...I. Am here.
ROULETTE: I am not refusing help when there is none needed.
ROULETTE: We are stopped, we will be resting, it will be alright.
ROULETTE: It-
ROULETTE: ...I do not want to hold us up more than I have to.
ROULETTE: We are nearly there, from how it seems, so we should have plenty of time to arrive tomorrow.
ROULETTE: It will be alright. You don't have to worry.
FATALE: ...fine.
FATALE: But I'm sticking with you tonight.
 

The car-weasel is trembling behind Roulette's legs, staring wide-eyed at Fatale.

ROULETTE: ...come again?
FATALE: Devo would kill me if you were alone after all this.
FATALE: And...
 

She glances away slightly.

FATALE: ...you're my friend.
ROULETTE:  . . .
ROULETTE: ...You are my friend, too.
ROULETTE: But, it is not at all necessary.
ROULETTE: And, I sleep better when alone.
ROULETTE: Besides that, the car could potentially hurt you or steal from you if you stay in my room.
ROULETTE: I do not want that.
FATALE: I'm not scared of the car.
ROULETTE: It isn't about being scared.
ROULETTE: It may not be safe.

 

She peers over at it.

FATALE: Do you know better than to give me trouble?
FATALE: Because I think you remember earlier.
 

It scrambles to hide on the other side of Roulette, out of view again.

ROULETTE: Fatale, please don't scare it-
FATALE: ...is it your pet?
ROULETTE: No, it isn't, but it-
ROULETTE: It is still a wild animal. It could hurt you. Or any of us.
ROULETTE: It managed to wrap you up with its tracks last time. It could do the same again, or worse.
ROULETTE: ...And, it's an animal. I do not-
ROULETTE: I don't want it to be hurt, or afraid. It does not deserve that.
ROULETTE: ...Please.
ROULETTE: I am sure it will leave on its own eventually, and if it doesn't, we can find a way to help encourage it to do so when we get to our destination.

 

Fatale sighs again.

FATALE: ...alright.
FATALE: I will stay a respectful distance away.
ROULETTE: You don't have to stay away, just be respectful of it.
ROULETTE: Either way, it is not a good idea for you to stay with me tonight; nor is it necessary.
ROULETTE: I will be fine.
FATALE: I-
TIMOTHY: Tent's up!

 

Roulette glances over, looking to you and Fatale.

ROULETTE: We should get some rest.

 

It strains a moment, before managing to start walking again, heading for the tent.
The car stays close, nearly tripping Roulette in its attempts to hide behind it.

TIMOTHY: I'm-
TIMOTHY: I'm sure it'll be fine out there.
TIMOTHY: It's a wild animal.
ROULETTE: ...I know.

 

It turns back around.

ROULETTE: ...Fatale, if it would help, I can stay for a little while.
ROULETTE: But I d-

 

Mournful whines come from the tent entrance.

Roulette's lens opens wide.

As it swivels to look, paw indentations can be seen moving against the tent entrance as the car-weasel scratches to get in.

It nearly falls getting back to the entrance, shaking claw on the zipper, only for it to stop itself.

It tenses up, struggling.

CROSSBONE: ...I mean...
FATALE: Welp. It's attached.
FATALE: ...go ahead and let it in, Roulette.
FATALE: It can join our little dinner. Or something.
ROULETTE: I shouldn't.

 

It whispers.

ROULETTE: It's a wild animal.
ROULETTE: This is better for it.
 

It closes its lens tight.

ROULETTE: I shouldn't. I shouldn't. I-
 

Oil-like 'tears' build up around its lens.








It yanks the zipper open.

The car-weasel is inside instantaneously, barreling into Roulette and knocking the bot onto its back.

It whines, burying its snout against Roulette's chest, occasionally pacing about only to flick back to the bot; as if checking that Roulette was still there.

The bot can't help it, finally placing a claw along its back, petting the car-weasel,
who seems to gradually be calming down.

ROULETTE: ...sorry.
ROULETTE: I sh-
ROULETTE: I really. Should not be-
CROSSBONE: ...what's one more to the party?

 

The car-weasel finally flops atop it, looking down at Roulette.

ROULETTE: It. We can sort things out when we reach...
ROULETTE:  . . .
ROULETTE: I can... figure something out.

 

The bot squirms for a moment, straining.

ROULETTE:  . . .
ROULETTE: ...I cannot get up.

 

Tim gets up, stopping Fatale from doing it first.

TIMOTHY: It's probably still scared of you...
FATALE: ...hmph.

 

He takes a little piece of jerky as he approaches, offering it in his paw.

TIMOTHY: H-hey, buddy...
TIMOTHY: We're not gonna hurt you...

 

It takes a little while before the car smells it, flicking its head up to the jerky.

It nearly reaches for it, but seems wary of Tim.

It does, however, follow Tim along enough to get off of Roulette, allowing the bot to get up.

Roulette barely manages to stand back up on its own.

Tim leads it slowly back to the fire, Fatale sneaking around the fire the other way to go help Roulette back over.

Roulette takes a seat near the fire, doing its best not to fall in the process as the car finally snatches the jerky from Tim.
The weasel makes a hasty retreat, not starting to eat the jerky until it's sat back next to Roulette.

Fatale returns to her spot as well, practically falling into a heap.

FATALE: ...alright.
FATALE: Dinner!
CROSSBONE: Dinner!!!

 

Everyone takes out their food, the group munching their subpar tasting rations with varying degrees of vigor.

FATALE: ....
FATALE: S'weird.
TIMOTHY: ...what is?
FATALE: The werewolf thing.
CROSSBONE: O-oh?
 

Cross immediately looks self conscious.

FATALE: Why do they change with the moon?
CROSSBONE: Oh, I mean- that's legends.
CROSSBONE: Toy lycanthropes seem to have varying causes.
CROSSBONE: No two cases match in entirety!
CROSSBONE: Sometimes they even differ based on places' magic rules.
CROSSBONE: And really- werewolf is a misnomer.
CROSSBONE: There can be were-anything at all.
POLKA DOT: So...a wereduck.
CROSSBONE: Sure!
TIMOTHY: Or a were...dog.
CROSSBONE: Mhm!
FATALE: Werebookcase.
CROSSBONE: ....
CROSSBONE: Well-
FATALE: You said anything.

 

You notice out of the corner of your eye- you could have sworn everyone was settled in, but Roulette's not eating.

Do...I say something? I don't-
I don't think it'd appreciate attention right now.
No spotlight.
B-but...
It's gotta eat...

You are staring for an uncomfortable amount of time now.

Roulette doesn't seem to notice,
though the car-weasel is staring back at you.

You tilt your head a little, hoping the...weasel...car...thing...will somehow, somehow tell Roulette to eat some fucking food.

It tilts its head back.

You try the other direction, opening and closing your beak in a subtle chewing motion.

It tilts its head the other direction.

Fuck's sake.

You get more exaggerated-

FATALE: ...what the hell are you doing?

 

Roulette looks over.

POLKA DOT: NOTHING
 

It looks confused, but soon glances back toward the others.

TIMOTHY: ...are you not eating, Roulette?

 

oh thank god

ROULETTE:  . . .
ROULETTE: ...No appetite, at the moment.
ROULETTE: Apologies.
ROULETTE: Anyone can have my share if they want it.
CROSSBONE: ...when's the last time you ate?
ROULETTE: ...I do not tend to eat all that often.
ROULETTE: It's never been an issue.
FATALE: ....
FATALE: I could get Devo to fact check that.
ROULETTE: Fatale-
ROULETTE: It... really is not an issue. Please.
POLKA DOT: Maybe we sh-
FATALE: I don't like being a dick to you about this, Roulette!
FATALE: But you need to eat!
FATALE: And you need to rest!
FATALE: Do you think any of us here want to lose you, because you wouldn't have dinner or let somebody help you?
FATALE: Hell-
FATALE: If you won't eat, I won't.
TIMOTHY: F-fatale-
FATALE: I'm serious.

 

She crosses her arms.

The car-weasel lets out a frightened growl at Fatale, but the bot quickly calms it down.

ROULETTE: Fatale, I am-
ROULETTE: I am not starving myself, I am not going to die from missing a meal.
ROULETTE: I understand that you're worried and I appreciate it.
ROULETTE: But y-
ROULETTE: ...you are being a little over-protective, and I think it's because you are afraid of losing me.
ROULETTE: I can understand that, if that's what it is, but this... this is not helping.
ROULETTE:  . . .
ROULETTE: ...Apologies.



ROULETTE: I also-

 

Its lens closes.

ROULETTE: I have... food issues... at times.
ROULETTE: I did not want to bring it up, and I do not want to get into it; I had been handling it fine.
ROULETTE: But I Cannot eat right now, and I need you to trust me on that.
ROULETTE: ...Apologies.
ROULETTE: I do not want to upset you.
 
 

Fatale blinks, taken aback.

FATALE: ...
FATALE: ......alright.

 

She rubs her face against her paw, averting her eyes.

FATALE: ...sorry.
ROULETTE: ...It's alright.
ROULETTE: I know you were concerned.



ROULETTE: Are you alright?
FATALE: Yeah.
FATALE: S'fine.

 

She gets back to munching her jerky.

The bot looks like it's about to say something, but decides against it.

You glance between them, unsure what to say. Neither Tim or Cross chip in as well.

The rest of dinner is silent.











It's after dinner, now.

People are resting around the fire- but a little scattered around. No one's outside of the range of the fire's warmth, but they've settled into their own spaces to take a breather.

Tim is the closest to the fire, warming his paws. He looks relieved to be somewhere safe, especially after last night. You know by now that he likes being cozy, and a conversation with him would be really present right now...

Cross isn't too far away either, having gotten up and grabbed a book from her bag. A  glance over reveals an illustration of some kind of monster, quickly hidden as she flips through pages. ...maybe she's looking for werewolf trivia?

Roulette is resting against one of the tent's dividing walls, still not too far from the fire. The car-weasel is resting just beside it, its head in the bot's lap as it receives behind-the-ear scratches. The bot seems a lot more relaxed than earlier.

Looks like everybody's calmed down-

Your eyes meet Fatale, who...while her expression looks pretty much identical to someone trying to get a nice moment of peace...

Her knees are up to her chest, the the same pose as you saw earlier, after the weasel car fight. You don't know if that's a bad sign, or just how she sits...for all you know, that could just be how she chills. You'd seen her do that last night, but that's...not a great sample size.

...you also don't know if you're even up for finding out which one it is.


But...hanging out with someone would be nice. You need to unwind too, after all...

[knux400]

Just... verify briefly that Fatale is okay. If not, then we can hang out with her for a while. If she is okay, or she doesn't want company, we can sit with Cross and learn about werewolves. And maybe take a pit stop to see if the weasel is receptive to petting.

[ThreadLurkingComorant]

Hang out with bear! Keep it kinda low energy to gauge things but do it.

[SHIVERS]

Fatale...could probably use some company.
If she's not sick of me already, hah...


You waddle on over, sitting down and shuffling next to the bear. She looks over at you without moving her head, her expression tired.

POLKA DOT: ...you okay?
FATALE: Why wouldn't I be?
FATALE: I'm fine.
POLKA DOT: I dunno, the whole-

 

She huffs before you can finish, burying her muzzle deeper into her knees.

FATALE: Please.
FATALE: I'm not so petty towards Roulette that I'll prioritize my pride during a fuck-up that significant.
FATALE: If anything, I'm...tumbling thoughts around in my head, as Devo would say.
FATALE: Trying to assess mistakes, and the like.
FATALE: Make some kind of improvement.
FATALE: ....

 

Fatale glances away again.

POLKA DOT: ...but that's not all, right?
FATALE: ..............
FATALE: You wouldn't get it.
POLKA DOT: I mean-
POLKA DOT: You could try me.

 

You try giving her a reassuring smile, to which she just sighs.

FATALE: It's this sense.
FATALE: I can feel it around the edges.
POLKA DOT: The...edges-?
FATALE: I told you you wouldn't get it-
POLKA DOT: No, I'm listening, just-
POLKA DOT: Yknow, you gotta explain it if I'm gonna get it.

 

Another huff.

FATALE: Okay. Fine.
FATALE: Around the edges.
FATALE: The edges of my consciousness. Of being "awake".
FATALE: When I'm not "out", it all goes dark.
FATALE: I don't know what happens. I am alive, but alone.
FATALE: My grip on- I don't know whether "reality" is the right word.
FATALE: But my grip on being present, it's...tenuous, at best.
FATALE: I take every step with the expectation that it may go away in an instant.
FATALE: And that I may not be able to come back.
FATALE: ...
FATALE: Like before. Swallowed by the dark.
POLKA DOT: But-
POLKA DOT: You came back now, right?
POLKA DOT: And you've been doing things! Meeting people!
POLKA DOT: Hanging out!

 

She shakes her head.

FATALE: I'm not discounting that.
FATALE: But as it stands- I have no way of knowing whether the encroaching...mind...void...or, whatever it is, will take me away for good.
FATALE: ...and I feel it.
POLKA DOT: Around the edges?
FATALE: Exactly, yes.
POLKA DOT: ....
POLKA DOT: So...you're worried you're not gonna come back if you get, uh- taken away?
FATALE: It's impossible to say. I came back this morning.
FATALE: ...but I can feel the pull.
FATALE: Someone else wants to be here. Or...is compelled to.
POLKA DOT: ...can you tell who?
FATALE: No. Not a clue.

 

You lean over, squinting at her. The bear backs up.

POLKA DOT: Accents are still red, so...
FATALE: ...I suppose that...reassures, a little bit.
FATALE: ....
FATALE: I...just hope it doesn't-

 

She shakes her head.

FATALE: I've run my mouth plenty.
POLKA DOT: You sure?
FATALE: ...I appreciate you listening to this much, at least.
FATALE: We don't talk about these things. At least- I can surmise, gauging from peoples' reactions.
FATALE: It...makes me feel like we're some kind of alien, sometimes.
FATALE: From a completely different planet. Speaking a different language.
FATALE: So. You doing this much helps.
POLKA DOT: ...glad to help that much, at least.
FATALE: Mm....
FATALE: You...shouldn't let me keep you up, though.
POLKA DOT: Yeah...you're gonna go hang with Roulette, right?

 

She looks a bit nervous, all of a sudden.

FATALE: I'd like to...
FATALE: But....
POLKA DOT: But?
FATALE: It said I was worrying too much.
FATALE: ...
FATALE: Maybe I should- I don't know.
FATALE: ...would you be willing to stay with it?
POLKA DOT: H-huh?!
FATALE: Well!
FATALE: I don't know!
FATALE: You! You managed to help me out-
FATALE: ...maybe you could help it too.
POLKA DOT: Wh-whoa, I mean-

 

...
Roulette and I-
I-
Are we...close? We barely know each other-
But...
....
..............
I...


You screw your eyes shut for a second and nod.


I want to talk with it more.
Good a chance as any. Worst that could happen is it says no.
...right?

POLKA DOT: I can...ask.
FATALE: Really?
POLKA DOT: Yeah.
POLKA DOT: I'd...like to know it better.
FATALE: Thank god...
FATALE: I owe you one, okay?
POLKA DOT: We don't even know if it'll agree to this yet.
FATALE: Still...thank you.

 

You get up slow, helping the bear out with a wing. She's shaky, still tired from the nightmarish past day or so you've had.

You swear you can feel her give your wing a brief squeeze before letting go- but it's so brief, you could just be feeling things.

Walking over to Roulette feels fairly nervewracking, even with it resting not too far away.

Roulette's lens is half-closed, resting comfortably with the car-weasel, which is practically in its lap at this point.

The weasel's eyes are closed,
its breath slow and easy,
torso rising up and down.



The car opens its eyes,
and looks up as you approach, prompting the bot to raise its head as well.

ROULETTE: ...Silk Ribbon.
ROULETTE: Did you need something?
POLKA DOT: I, uh-
POLKA DOT: I wanted to ask if you'd be cool, with, like-
POLKA DOT: Me and Fatale swapping.
POLKA DOT: She-
FATALE: I want to keep watch.

 

You blink at her.

FATALE: ...and give you some space.

 

Roulette looks between the two of you.

ROULETTE: It...isn't-
ROULETTE: I do not need anyone staying in my room with-
POLKA DOT: I know.
POLKA DOT: But...
POLKA DOT: I dunno. We've...we could talk.
POLKA DOT: God knows there's enough going on lately, huh?
ROULETTE: I-

 

It's quiet a few moments.

ROULETTE: Fatale.

 

It calls over.

ROULETTE: Would it help you feel better if Silk Ribbon stays with me?
FATALE: ...yeah.
ROULETTE: Will you be alright?
FATALE: Yeah.
FATALE: A good night's sleep will help us both.
ROULETTE: ...Alright.

 

It looks to you.

ROULETTE: Are you sure you are up for it?
ROULETTE: You do not have to do this for me.
ROULETTE: I imagine you would be more comfortable sleeping with Willow.
POLKA DOT: Oh, maybe...but...
POLKA DOT: I'm gonna give her a big kiss on the screen and hold her hand all day tomorrow as a compromise.
POLKA DOT: She'll get it.
ROULETTE:  . . .
ROULETTE: ...If you are absolutely sure.
ROULETTE: It isn't necessary, but I still appreciate it.
ROULETTE: ...Actually, I should take care of something.

 

It tries to sit up.

The car turns and just looks at it, trying to settle back into its spot, despite the robot clearly trying to get up.

ROULETTE: Well...
POLKA DOT: ...you really might be stuck with that thing, Roulette.
ROULETTE:  . . .
ROULETTE: I worry about that.
ROULETTE: I do not think it would be good for it.
ROULETTE: ...I will figure something out.
ROULETTE: ...In the meantime, do you have any jerky?
POLKA DOT: I should back in my section...I'll go grab some.
POLKA DOT: Snacks for the sleepover.
POLKA DOT: ...or more specifically, the weasel.

 

A slight, tired chuckle comes from the bot, almost startling you.

ROULETTE: ...I appreciate that.
ROULETTE:  . . .
ROULETTE: ...I very much hope it is not bad for it to be eating.
POLKA DOT: Sure doesn't slow it down...
POLKA DOT: Hang tight.

 

It nods.
As you leave, it looks over to Fatale.
You just barely catch the conversation.

ROULETTE: I am not upset at you. At all.
ROULETTE: I worry that you are worrying about that, but I might be worrying for nothing, I often am.
ROULETTE: ...If you need me, please let me know.

 

Fatale's voice is quiet, but...appreciative.

FATALE: ...you too.











 

Cross is deep in her book, barely noticing you when you walk up.

POLKA DOT: Heeeeey babe-
CROSSBONE: ....

 

Her pixel character peeks up.

CROSSBONE: That's the "possibly in trouble" voice.
POLKA DOT: No! No-
POLKA DOT: It's the "I may be having a sleepover with Roulette" voice.
CROSSBONE: ...really?
POLKA DOT: I-I know the timing's off-

 

You nearly jump as she suddenly reaches forward and grips your wings with a pleased beep.

CROSSBONE: No! This is perfect.
CROSSBONE: Roulette needs somebody for sure!
CROSSBONE: We can cuddle at any time, but-
CROSSBONE: It needs support! And it-
CROSSBONE: ....

 

She seems to stop herself for a moment.

CROSSBONE: I dunno!
CROSSBONE: It'd probably-!
CROSSBONE: I think you should do it.
POLKA DOT: You really sure...?

 

Your girlfriend nods so vigorously you swear her pixel character starts tumbling around in her screen.

CROSSBONE: Good luck!
CROSSBONE: I believe in you!
POLKA DOT: ...it's a sleepover.
CROSSBONE: Yeah, and you'll be great at it!
POLKA DOT: God, you're a nerd.

 

You pat her on the head and give her a little kiss, letting her recollect her book from its unseemly place on the floor.

POLKA DOT: ...thanks.
CROSSBONE: I will redeem consolation snuggles.
POLKA DOT: Didn't expect any less.

 

You make your way back over after scooping up your sleeping bag and some jerky, making sure to get enough to please the weasel car.
Hopefully.

POLKA DOT: Alright, let's get this party started.
ROULETTE: Feel free to just take out one piece and hold it up, so I can...stop being under it.

 

You set your bag down and pick out a piece with a flourish, wiggling it over the weasel.

The weasel cautiously looks up, eyes widening.

It's hesitant to take it, but does move off of Roulette.

...Only to then snap up the jerky quicker than you can blink.
It tries to rush back over to its spot atop Roulette, only to see that the bot is now standing up.

After a moment of processing, it whines quietly at Roulette, with jerky in its muzzle.



Roulette, still moving with the sickle as a walking stick, turns back to look at the car as it follows along.

ROULETTE: I know.
ROULETTE: You can rest again when we're in my room.

 

It glances over at you.

ROULETTE: Give me a moment before you come in?
ROULETTE: You could check in on Tim, maybe. ...If he is not asleep yet.
POLKA DOT: Yeah! I'll go say gnight to him.




 

You give an awkward wave before making your way over to your canine companion, still by the fire.
The warmth immediately puts you at ease- and so does his sleepy expression.

POLKA DOT: Hey there.
POLKA DOT: You're looking cozy.
TIMOTHY: Surprised I can feel like it, after everything...
TIMOTHY: But I think I'm just happy to be with y'all again.
TIMOTHY: No more being separated for me! That's for sure.
POLKA DOT: ...I missed you too, man.

 

He looks up at you with an appreciative expression, reaching over and giving you a surprise hug.

It's warm, as expected- but just right, too.

You close your eyes and hug him back, squeezing him tight.

POLKA DOT: No more being separated for me either.
TIMOTHY: And when we're in that damn place-
TIMOTHY: We're going to have a proper complaining session.
POLKA DOT: One of our bitchy nights?
TIMOTHY: Yes. And I'm not holding back.
POLKA DOT: They might not have good coffee to go with it like Laurie's.
TIMOTHY: I don't even need it. I'll go off without any assistance!
TIMOTHY: ...And then we'll laugh and cry about it.
POLKA DOT: Yeah. Just like before.
POLKA DOT: And, you know...
POLKA DOT: I'm gonna go hang out with Roulette tonight.
TIMOTHY: Huh!
POLKA DOT: Yeah. Sleepover time.
POLKA DOT: But, yknow-
TIMOTHY: Willow gonna be lonely?
POLKA DOT: Probably. At the very least, she's going to want to talk werewolves with someone.
TIMOTHY: Hmmm....
TIMOTHY: Hmmmmmmm...
TIMOTHY: Well, I suppose I'd be up for the challenge. The very real challenge of werewolf facts.
POLKA DOT: Thanks, Tim.
TIMOTHY: You got it.

 

Another hug.

POLKA DOT: ...alright, Roulette.

 

You pause outside of its curtain, giving Fatale- sitting a little ways away, but not much- a nod.

POLKA DOT: You ready for me to come on in?

 

It opens the way for you.

ROULETTE: Yes, if you're sure.

 

It makes its way back in, laying - nearly falling - onto its sleeping bag.
The weasel instantly plops down atop Roulette.

You drag your bag in and shuffle it into a good position, plunking down yourself.

POLKA DOT: ...sup.
ROULETTE:  . . .
ROULETTE: ...I have no idea at this point.
ROULETTE: I could not tell you if I tried.
ROULETTE: ...Yourself?

 

The tent's light dims as the fire reduces itself down to LED-glowing embers, just enough to keep the tent warm.

POLKA DOT: ...




 

H...
How am I doing?
What's up with me?




You realize you've barely thought about it- at least, not enough for what you should be doing.




There's-
There's a correct amount for that, right?
Of thinking about this kind of thing?
Ah, fuck-




You throw your wings into the air in an exaggerated shrug.

ROULETTE: ...Understandable.


 

The air is quiet.
Owls add noise to the night.
You feel stillness. For the first time in...you aren't sure how long.

ROULETTE: ...Polka.
ROULETTE: I need to tell you something.

 

Uh oh, am I-
....
................
...Polka?


Your eyes widen, frozen.

POLKA DOT: Y-you, uh-
POLKA DOT:  Hm!
ROULETTE: ...I apologize.
ROULETTE: I found out your name, through-

 

It's quiet again, thinking.

ROULETTE: You heard voices, as well?
ROULETTE: That-
ROULETTE: ...whatever it might've been.
ROULETTE: Caused that. Correct?
POLKA DOT: Oh, t-

 

You exhale.

POLKA DOT: Voices. Right. Last night.
POLKA DOT: Okay.
POLKA DOT: I don't-
POLKA DOT: I don't know what I was anticipating there, but-
POLKA DOT: I don't think any of us came outta that unscathed.
ROULETTE:  . . .
ROULETTE: I do not want to talk much about what I heard.
ROULETTE: It is not your issue, I do not want to trouble you with it.
ROULETTE: But-

 

It stumbles over its words.

ROULETTE: ...I found out your name.
ROULETTE: When-

 

Its lens closes.

ROULETTE: One of the voices.
ROULETTE: One I know.
ROULETTE: ...told...Willow.
ROULETTE: ...that-
ROULETTE: ...that-t...

 

Its voice chokes up.

ROULETTE: ...that I...
ROULETTE: ...tried...to...
ROULETTE: ...kill. ...you.
ROULETTE:  . . .
ROULETTE: ...So. Willow knows.
ROULETTE: I thought...I thought you should know.
ROULETTE: ...I apologize.

 

...



...oh.


You feel deep dread in your chest.

POLKA DOT: I-I mean-
POLKA DOT: She knows, it-
POLKA DOT: Like I kind of-
POLKA DOT: ....
ROULETTE:  . . .
ROULETTE: ...oh.
ROULETTE: ...she...she knew it was...me?
POLKA DOT: No! I mean-
POLKA DOT: She knows I a-attacked first, right...?
ROULETTE: It-
ROULETTE: I do not think that's an issue either way.
ROULETTE:  . . .
ROULETTE: ...after this is over, I-
ROULETTE: I will. Not trouble either of you again.
 

Its voice drops to nearly a whisper.

ROULETTE: I am sorry that you became so wrapped up in my life, Polka.
ROULETTE: Truly, truly, sorry.
POLKA DOT: ...d...don't-
 

You rub your face into your wing.

POLKA DOT: Roulette, cmon-
POLKA DOT: You're not-
ROULETTE: You don't need to...reassure me.
ROULETTE: I appreciate it.
ROULETTE: ...I am ready to stop being an issue.
ROULETTE: We are nearly to our destination.
POLKA DOT: Do you re-

 

You lower your own voice, trying to sound more concerned than frustrated.

POLKA DOT: Do you really think that anyone wants that, though?
POLKA DOT: No one thinks of you like that. Literally no one.
POLKA DOT: Everybody here sees you as a friend.
POLKA DOT: Not an issue.
ROULETTE: ...I do not think any of you think of me that way.
ROULETTE: None of you would think that of anyone.
ROULETTE: That does not make it untrue.
ROULETTE: ...But I know we will not agree on this. And that is alright.
ROULETTE: Apologies. For bringing it up.
ROULETTE: My issue, not yours.
POLKA DOT: ...
POLKA DOT: What would make it feel right, to you?
POLKA DOT: You not being an "issue", I guess.
ROULETTE:  . . .
ROULETTE: I do not think you should hear me say it.
ROULETTE: We do not have to have this conversation-
POLKA DOT: ...
POLKA DOT: Alright.
POLKA DOT: But-

 

You start getting comfy, trying to ignore the weird feeling in your chest.

POLKA DOT: ...know that things don't have to be that way, I guess. I dunno.

 

Things go quiet, again.

For a little while.

ROULETTE: ...I think-
ROULETTE: I imagine. A lot. Especially lately-
ROULETTE: ...all of you, here together.
ROULETTE: On this trip, together.
ROULETTE: And-
ROULETTE: Afterwards, when you are back, as well.
ROULETTE: Willow, looking how she wants to. You, by her side.
ROULETTE: Fatale, Devo, the others, happy with Tim. Hopefully.
ROULETTE: All of you, a group of friends, some more than that.
ROULETTE: Together. Happy.
ROULETTE: And-
ROULETTE:  . . .
ROULETTE: I am not there.
ROULETTE: But no one is worried about me.
ROULETTE: No one is concerned, no one is taking time out of all that they're dealing with to...deal with me instead.
ROULETTE: No one has to worry.
ROULETTE: ...I did not almost kill you.
ROULETTE: ...I simply-
ROULETTE: ...was not there.
ROULETTE: Am not there.
ROULETTE: Am not...here.
ROULETTE: And those I love still found each other. And have each other.


ROULETTE:  . . .


ROULETTE: ...and the world is wonderful again.






 

It reaches up, rubbing its lens.

ROULETTE: ...apologies.
ROULETTE: I...
ROULETTE: ...sorry.
POLKA DOT: ...
POLKA DOT: And what if people do miss you?
ROULETTE: ...I can no longer fix that.
ROULETTE: The damage has been done already.
ROULETTE: I have done the things I've done.
ROULETTE: And. You know me. And I am here.
ROULETTE: ...I cannot take it back.
POLKA DOT: Missing you's not damage, though.
POLKA DOT: ...
POLKA DOT: ......there's somebody who hurt me pretty bad, I think.
POLKA DOT: It was. I don't remember it much.
POLKA DOT: I think it was looking out for me- back in the store.
POLKA DOT: Cared a lot about me. I cared a lot about it too.
POLKA DOT: But-
POLKA DOT: I was still in that situation with Daemon.
POLKA DOT: A lot of people would probably go "why didn't it get you outta there?"
POLKA DOT: ...And I don't remember if it did or not.
POLKA DOT: But I-

 

...where is all of this even coming from? It's not-
It's true, but I've never-

POLKA DOT: I remember the way it would pat me on the back.
POLKA DOT: Or tell me to keep going.
POLKA DOT: ....
POLKA DOT: No matter what it did.
POLKA DOT: I'm glad I have that still.
POLKA DOT: ...sorry.

 

It listens. Nodding along.

ROULETTE: I am glad that you have that, too.
ROULETTE: Willow and Tim are very close with you, I know.
ROULETTE: And I am happy that you and Fatale are becoming friends. I can tell she trusts you. It makes me happy to see.
POLKA DOT: But-!
POLKA DOT: You're-
POLKA DOT: You're like that, too.
 

Roulette doesn't respond.

POLKA DOT: You are.
POLKA DOT: ...
POLKA DOT: I'm glad I have that.
POLKA DOT: This stuff. With you.
ROULETTE: ...I do not see it.
ROULETTE: But, I appreciate it all the same.
POLKA DOT: ...hope you will someday, then.
POLKA DOT: Before you go and do something stupid like...not existing in our lives.
ROULETTE:  . . .
ROULETTE: Try...not to worry.
ROULETTE: Things will work out as they should.
ROULETTE: ...You should rest. It has been a long day.
POLKA DOT: ...yeah.




 

...with you in them.







You can feel yourself slowly, slowly drifting off.

 

The hands pull Fatale back.

It's not until she starts drifting to sleep that they get their grip in, grazing their fingers against her skin and peeling her away from the waking world.


There I go.
Maybe this'll be it.
No more outside world.
Drowning.
Forever.


A hand clasped over her muzzle, the bear closing her eyes.


I don't want to see it.
At least let me suffocate in peace.


The hand on her snout turns to tar, and then another. She splutters as if she had a mouth, eyes snapping back open-


Wh-
What t-
This isn't right!


There's a horrible sensation all over her body as more tar drenches her from above, the substance somehow pulsating and strangling her.


let me out let me Out LET ME OUT-


As soon as the screaming in her head reaches a crescendo-

Something grabs her by the neck, a clawed paw gripping it to the point of squeezing all of the stuffing out of that section.

FATALE: P-please-

 

Her voice barely comes out through the tar.

Her limp, understuffed body is yanked up high-

-and then down again, slammed onto the ground hard enough to splatter and spray the black muck off of her, letting her see again.



When she gets her bearings, she looks up and sees him.

Her voice comes out dripping with venom.

FATALE: Oh, it's you.

 

The tall, shadow-tinted bear stands with a slouched posture, his eyes wide and....fearful.


An act, no doubt.

????: ...something bad is going to happen.
FATALE: Says the brute that tossed me across the room!
????: No, it's-
????: You don't understand.
????: Something bad is going to happen.
????: I-

 

There's-

Distress, there.

Legitimate distress.

????: I don't know if I can stop it this time.
FATALE: Stop WHAT, exactly?!
FATALE: The only thing you're stopping is us having a normal life!

 

A tinge of- no, he didn't feel pain. He caused it.

????: Normal's never been an option.
????: Not for you. Or me. Or any of us.
????: You should know that by now.

 

She raises her voice to protest-


-and the hands take her to the inky black.

 

You open your eyes.

You're on a table.

At first you wonder- why am I on a kitchen table?


Oh, shit. Maybe this is-
Maybe this is a sexy dream.
Fuuuck yes. Cross is gonna be so happy when she hears ab-


You hear a clink next to your head.


....?


When you turn, you see a little roller cart. Weird thing to have next to a kitchen table-

....

When you see the large craft knife sitting there, you realize that this is not the sexy kind of cannibalism dream.


oh fuck


There's a hum across the kitchen- and you can't make anything out. It's too foggy-

You try to sit up, and you find your body restrained. There's ropes now- they weren't there before. Where-


You can hear someone approaching- but everything about them is so blurred, just like the rest of it.
Their voice is distorted, like hearing it through a filter.

????: ...hm.
????: An interesting traveler.
????: Bold, to enter my woods.
????: I suppose this will give me some good practice...

 

They pick up the blade, tapping it against your bare chest.

????: There are others just like you.

 

The blade plunges in.

Tar gushes from the wound, coating the table as you're split open.

Somehow, you don't die. You just watch, unable to move an inch of your body.



You just watc-

 

You awaken to growling.
Growling mixed with whines.

You look over, trying to get your bearings.



The car-weasel is on the floor, Roulette's hand in its muzzle;
pulling, growling, whimpering.

You immediately scramble to your knees, torn between being scared for the poor thing and wanting to rescue Roulette's hand.

POLKA DOT: H-hey, chill-!

 

It yelps, giving one last attempt at pulling Roulette over.

Failing that, it scrambles to the corner, eyes wide.

It looks at Roulette.
Then, races, out of the room, tracks appearing as it does so.

The curtain flies back in the process, and you watch as it barely manages to swerve to avoid the bear sleeping in the common room,
causing a ruckus enough to wake them up.

????: W-
 

Your panic only sets back in as you notice the bear's voice, and-
Black eyes and cheek patterns.


Shit-


Unsure of whether to be worried about what Fatale said last night or-


I gotta get Roulette up, something's-


The weasel takes a moment, bumping against the exit to the tent with a whine.

It tries again, and its tracks rip straight through.

It's gone.



Roulette groans, sitting up, clutching its chest; apparently still not anywhere Near 100%.

It glances around.

ROULETTE: ...Did...?
 

The bot reaches over, finding its sickle and using it to stand.

POLKA DOT: Something's up-
POLKA DOT: Somethin-
????: Something's wrong.
 

You nearly shriek as the black-accented bear shoves his head inside without warning.

????: Get up. Get up, get armed. Now.
????: I'm getting my knife.
????: Willow and Tim are waking up. Go.
ROULETTE: I- I have my-
ROULETTE: Please tell me what's happening-
ROULETTE: Where did-

 

He's already gone, the sound of a pack being rummaged through paired with loud cussing.

POLKA DOT: Fuck this shit-
POLKA DOT: Roulette, make sure he doesn't fucking die or something-!
 
 

There's an ungodly howl punctuated by cackling, cascading laughter, loud enough to shake the entire tent.

 

You swear you can hear Daemon in the cacophany.




Roulette's aperture is wider than you've ever seen it.

It backs away from the edge of the tent, trying to figure out where the noise is coming from.
The bot drops its voice low.

ROULETTE: ...Polka. Move. Now.
POLKA DOT: MOVING-!

 

You're already racing out towards your section, slamming directly into Tim.

Before you can react, your hammer is shoved into your hands. Tim's eyes are burning- fear, rage, something so powerful that you can't make it out.

His voice comes out strained.

TIMOTHY: It found us.

 

Roulette is already by the ripped entrance of the tent, sickle raised.

It looks unsteady, despite its attempts otherwise.

You can barely catch a glipse of Cross-


oh thank god she's oka-




Before there's another awful, awful sound, the plastic tent's top ripping open as if it were molded and solid and fabric all at once.


The fire is out, and yet you can see in the dark-

 

[image description: a terrifying, looming monster's head, its face flower-like and resembling a raggedy ann plush's.
its features are hard to distinguish in the dark, but its eyes cast floodlights down towards the viewer]

 

Its eyes are like piercing floodlights, moving and twisting with its head motions.
Its doll-like face is immediately belied as you see it open a hidden maw, tar dripping from the mouth tucked under its smiling mask.

It opens its mouth wide as it howls again, spilling tar all across the entrance of the tent, drowning it.




You can't form a cohesive thought.






All you have is terror.

Someone steps in front of you, gently moving you back, shielding you.

Roulette.

Its sickle kicks back low, before

slicing upwards at the beast, arcing all the way to its left like a pendulum's swing.

A large cut forms across the beast's face, dripping fresh tar, soaking Roulette.
It flicks its head back, clearing its lens.



The beast shrieks, tossing its head left and right and splattering more and more everywhere- Tim just barely dodging getting smacked in the face.

TIMOTHY: Sh-SHIT
????: WATCH YOURSELF

 

Roulette's head suddenly looks to its left, where its swing had ended.

Its shoulders drop,
as if the beast isn't there.

Its lens now looks panicked.
At what, you can't say; it isn't looking at the monster.

Its head swivels, looking over the rest of you, the rest of the tent -
before its gaze returns to the same spot as before.

POLKA DOT: Roule-!

 

The beast lunges forward, nearly managing to grab Cross in a single bite- your girlfriend narrowly dodging.

You hear Daemon's key, clicking and clicking with every gnash of its teeth.

It doesn't hear you.
Roulette's lens seems to pale; unfocused.
Tar fizzles across its head, its arms.

Its sickle slips from its claw.

Roulette drops to its knees,
and collapses to the floor.

????: FUCK

 

The bear backs up fast, his muzzle crumpling into a snarl.

????: DON'T LET IT TOUCH YOU
TIMOTHY: ALL WE HAVE IS MELEE FUCKING WEAPONS
????: I KNOW THAT

 

You can barely hear either of them. Your head is ringing. The clicking won't stop. The key turns.




Roulette is down.







But you aren't.

 

Show ContentTeam Status Text:

TEAM STATUS

ALL PARTY MEMBERS' STATUS = INCOMPREHENSIBLE

TERROR OVERTAKEN ALL PARTY MEMBERS

ROULETTE CONSUMED BY TAR

There is a ragmirror looming over your party. It towers above all of you.

The floor is soaked in bubbling tar.

Show ContentImage Stats:

[knux400]

...Okay.

Let's address things one at a time here.

First of all, the fear/trauma shit. We're hearing Daemon again, and I'm just assuming everyone else is hearing their voices from before. They're not who you think they are, they're some kind of weird fear aura thing that this giant monster is creating. Granted, I'm not sure how much of an improvement the giant monster is over everyone's personal traumas, but focusing on the here and now should help at least a little.

Second, Roulette. It really, really sucks, but you're going to have to leave it until the fight is over. There's no way you can drag it to safety without touching the tar and leaving yourself open to both physical and mental attacks. Just... hope that the raggedy beast ignores it now that it's been immobilized.

Third, actually fighting this thing. If we can't touch the tar, we need weapons with as much reach as possible, which means Polka's hammer, Cross' hatchet, and Shadowbear's knife are going to be nigh useless. Pending a better plan, I think the best play here is to stay on the defensive and make sure no one else gets tarred.

POLKA/?????: One of you needs to swap your current weapon out for Roulette's sickle if possible. Neither of you knows how to use it, but a sharp thing attached to a long stick is better than a sharp thing attached to a tiny stick in this situation.
CROSS: If your head is still clear enough, it would be a huge help to ANALYZE this thing and try to figure out a weakness or a pattern or something.
TIM: Just... keep evading it, and throw in a counterattack somewhere if you can. Use your weapon's reach to your advantage here- do not get any closer than you need to.

[ThreadLurkingComorant]

Move the fight away from Roulette for starters, it's easier to keep people who are down'd out of the way then trying to carry them to safety. Do not engage in anything committal until you understand what this thing is capable of. Right now you need to make sure you can get out of this place, winning a fight is pointless if you die within 20 feet of the area anyway.

[skinstealer]

You take a step back-

and then another.

With every step, you hear a windup leg cycle, as if someone's- as if Daemon is coming for you.


They're going to-


You shake your head violently, eyes narrowing.


Not the time. Not the fucking time.
They're not here.
This thing-


Its head twists as it peers at you, a breathy laugh escaping its drooling mouth.


is NOT Daemon.
And I'm going to win.

POLKA DOT: K-keep your heads together!
POLKA DOT: FOCUS!

 

It takes a step forward- windup leg cycling, no, it's a large, raggedy plush paw, get real-  and you can see Cross' tail lash.

CROSSBONE: Stay on guard-
CROSSBONE: I'm gonna need cover while I try to figure this thing o-out!
POLKA DOT: You got it!

 

The beast's eyes follow you as you start moving towards your partner, quick on your feet.

????: Don't be stupid-!!
????: Tim's the only one with a fucking weapon that can reach this thing right now!
TIMOTHY:  I-!

 

Horror dawns in the dog's eyes.

TIMOTHY: oh god

 

The beast sets its sights on the black-patterned bear, lunging towards it.

????: shit-

 

His brow furrows as he dives to the side, visibly straining at the sudden motion.

????: HURRY UP

 

He narrowly manages to avoid its razor-sharp teeth, but slams against the tent wall in the process.
It turns to nab him once more, only to yell in pain as Tim's sword slices across one of its legs.

The dog narrowly manages to avoid getting stepped on thanks to his effort.

????: Too cramped!
TIMOTHY: A-agreed!
TIMOTHY: Gotta get out of here-
POLKA DOT: G-got anything, babe?
CROSSBONE: I-

 

She makes a frustrated beep.

CROSSBONE: It's so damn dark-

 

Thinking quickly, you sprint to the fireplace.
One of the beast's paws happens to be standing in it.

You can't help but grin as you maneuver your arm around to flip the switch underneath, the LED inside turning on in an instant.
The beast's leg fizzles before it stumbles back with an angry yowl.

POLKA DOT: How's that for a light?
CROSSBONE: G-great, honey-!
CROSSBONE: But I still need time!

 

Your moment of gloating is cut short as the beast nearly stomps you in the process of turning around.

It walks towards the campfire, only to prop itself over it.
You barely catch a glance of tar spreading before the campfire goes out for good.

????: Well NOW you've gone and done it-
CROSSBONE: I-it!
CROSSBONE: Exposed ribs! It's got a r-ribcage!
????: GREAT.
????: Now HOW does that-
CROSSBONE: It's leaking!
CROSSBONE: T-tar, everywhere-
CROSSBONE: Don't get under it!

 

Tim manages to sink his blade deep into the thing's leg, only for his sword to get stuck.

He loses his grip on it,
but runs to stay behind the beast and out of view as it turns around.


Curly...


He holds back a growl, repeating reassurances to himself over and over.


It's not real.
It's like-
It's like last night!


Something's sticky against his paw as it brushes against his chest- tar.


From the fucking stab-

Curly, you haven't been a good gi-

TIMOTHY: Nnnn-

 

Even with the sensation of things starting to touch his neck, cheek, chest-

Tim holds fast, ready to move.

The next time it takes a step, he waits for its back paw to stop moving and lunges.

He nabs his sword, loosing it with a mighty pull.
The dog takes a quick moment to swipe it to the side at nothing, getting most of the tar off it in the process.

The beast kicks with its back leg, smacking him against the tent wall.

POLKA DOT: Shit, TIM-
TIMOTHY: I-
TIMOTHY: I'm okay!

 

Good girls behave.

He's shaking as he gets back to his feet, rage in his eyes.

There's a hand gripping around his neck.

Squeezing tighter and tighter.

You haven't learned your lesson yet.

TIMOTHY: I'm good!

 

The beast ROARS.

It's FAR louder than you were expecting.
You instinctively wince and cover your ears.

The beast charges Cross in the moment you're all distracted.
She still manages to try and move.
One of the tent's 'rooms' is in the way of her path, though, and she ends up stuck as the beast headbutts her against the tent wall.

POLKA DOT: CROSS!

 

Tim slices its leg.
Once, and again, allowing Cross to pull away.

You're too occupied to even express your relief.

The beast screams in pain and frustration, stomping about in a tantrum,
inadvertently stepping on one of Roulette's legs in the process.

????: WATCH IT-!
????: YOU WANT ROULETTE TO DIE LIKE THIS?
POLKA DOT: I DON'T-
????: WE NEED GET THIS THING OUT OF THE TENT!!!

 

The bear snarls and grabs something off of the ground- Cross' book, by the look of it-


-and hurls it at the beast's face, the paperback bouncing off harmlessly-

Devotion.

-but definitely getting the monster's attention, floodlights focused on him.

????: I'LL DO IT MYSELF
????: FUCKING MOVE ROULETTE-

 

Devotion, cmon, you can gimme a better look than that-

POLKA DOT: I've got it!
CROSSBONE: I-I'll help distra-
TIMOTHY: Me too-!
????: WHATEVER you want to do-
????: Get Roulette somewhere safe-
????: AND BOOK IT OUT OF THE TENT-!

 

You sprint to Roulette.

The beast leans its head towards the bear,
only for a packet of jerky to nail it in the eye, thrown by Cross.

Your arms loop under Roulette's shoulders, hoisting it up by the shoulders as much as you're able.
It's lighter than you expected, but still heavy enough that you can't lift it entirely by yourself.


Drop it and run.
The exit's ripped open, you can get away if you leave it.
It's dangerous. You know that.

POLKA DOT: N-
POLKA DOT: N-never....

 

You don't seem to register that you're speaking aloud, the words spilling out of you.

POLKA DOT: Never again-
POLKA DOT: Is a-anyone! Being left behind!

 

You heave, beginning to drag it along.
The task immediately feels almost impossible: The tar is slick and sticky.

It's difficult to pull Roulette through it, and you're getting plenty on You in the process.


That's a good mindset to have in most cases.
But, it tried to kill you, Polka.
It's only waiting for its moment. You know that.

And this time it could be you again,

or someone else.

Cross takes a swipe to the leg.
She gets back up, but you can't tell how bad it is.
You can't do anything to help.

POLKA DOT: N-no!
POLKA DOT: M...My friends-
POLKA DOT: They're-

 

You pull for a second, as hard as you can. And have to stop.
Pull. Stop.
Pull. Stop.
Starting to get a rhythm.

Roulette's head - dull and lifeless, looking more like scrap than ever -
dangles limply against your wing, shaking in time with your motions.


They'll die.

Cross, too.
If you bring Roulette back.

And risking yourself for a Murderer means they could die. Right here.
Any second now.

Drop it and run.


Your leg slips, nearly loosing your grip.


I need him, anyway.
A second voice chimes in.
Don't worry, I'll take good care of him.
I'd never hurt him.
He's too sweet.

????: I-is it calling Roulette a mur-
POLKA DOT: Do you REALLY care about that right now?!
POLKA DOT: I'm not bringing up YOUR shit-
POLKA DOT: And Roulette-

 

You manage to regain your footing, letting out pained squeaks of exertion.

POLKA DOT: Is OUR friend!
????: R-RIGHT-

 

With a final pull,
you manage to get Roulette behind the only tent 'room' that's still somewhat-standing.

Your mind races, looking around for anything you can use.

The sleeping bag nearby is relatively untouched by tar, somehow.
You pull down the blanket partition, using it to wipe what you can off of Roulette before stuffing it into the sleeping bag.

You have no idea if it breathes or not, but you leave its face open to the air just in case, the rest fully zipped up.
With that, you push it to the corner and hope for the best.

POLKA DOT: I-IT'S GOOD!
TIMOTHY: EVERYBODY OUT-

 

You all race towards the entrance.

You don't get more than a few steps before watching it get incased in tar.
The beast had stepped over, soaking it with the tar pouring from its exposed ribcage.

As if it knew you were headed that way.

It steps back in, its grin never feeling more menacing than now.


You always run your mouth Curly
Cmon Devotion don't you wanna give me a
Polly you know it's me
You're always breaking your buttons

????: AH-

 

He pulls his knife back, letting out a strangled scream as he plunges the blade into the side of the tent.

????: G-GETTING US-
????: GETTING US OUT
TIMOTHY: I GOT YOU-!
POLKA DOT: DO IT, MAN
 

 

The bear nods, his shoulders heaving as he refocuses his efforts.

He pulls as hard as he can.
He's making progress, but it's tearing so slowly.

The beast rears it head up and SCREAMS, piercing the air,
before barreling towards the bear full-force,
its maw wide open.

You're too far away to do anything yet.
Cross lunges to try and trip its leg, but can't snag it in time.
Tim is knocked back as he tries to swipe at it.
The bear can't get out of the way in time.




The bite lands.




The black-marked bear is coated in tar as he's pulled off his feet by the shoulder.



He lets out a scream, only for the sound to be choked out by the beast's teeth digging deeper.

POLKA DOT: FUCK-

 

You think you're hot shit-

Tim leaps from someone's rather overstuffed backpack.
His sword plunges through the beast's neck.

There's a loud scream- not from the beast, or anyone of your party-

-like someone being mauled, cussing slurs you've never even heard of-

The dog yanks his sword back out as the bear drops to the ground.

????: H...haa...
????: Hurts like it did back then, huh-
 

He chokes and winces, curling into a ball amidst the tar.

TIMOTHY: H-HEY-
 

Tim's voice is shaky, reaching out to touch the bear's shoulder-

Before he rises to his feet as quickly as he can, giving the dog a look you can't make out in the lighting-

And returning to his knife, yanking on it with just as much fervor as before.

TIMOTHY: I-
????: It's not over yet.
 

You're headed towards the others, you want to help,
but it's only now you realize just how much tar you're soaked in.
Your movements are slow, and you can't seem to wipe much off as you move.

With renewed aggression, the beast shakes it off and moves for the bear.

Tim reacts quickly, swinging for its face.

But it swerves at the last moment, pinning Tim to the ground with a heavy paw.
It leans forward, putting its weight down as he struggles.



A hatchet flies by, planting itself directly into one of the beast's giant, beaming eyes.
It reels back, allowing Tim to get back to his feet.

CROSSBONE: CMON!

 

Tim's voice comes out hoarse, choking out the words.

TIMOTHY: Th-thank you-

 

The bear's knife finally tears its way down the tent wall, making a hole plenty big enough to get through.

He laughs, coming out almost maniacal from the sheer amount of stress he's under.

????: G-GOT IT!!
 

The bear climbs through, just as Cross reaches it.
Tim is a bit behind, clutching his chest as he coughs.
Cross quickly pulls him through.

You're having trouble running, the tar having pooled significantly enough that you're trudging your way over.
Only for the beast to move between you and the newly-created exit, blocking it off.

Its one good eye glares down at you as its other spotlight flickers, illuminating Cross's hatchet intermittently.

CROSSBONE: POLKA

 

Her voice is distorted, glitching, agonized.

You back up.




It's all you can do.



The beast pushes its head forward.

Either it's tired,
or it's taking its time with you.






Your foot bumps something and you stumble, falling onto your back.





The beast's head slowly lowers.




The windup key turns.

Over and over again.




You're just going to slow me down.



It opens its jaws wide.



The cocking of a pistol.



Your eyes are wide, tears streaming down your face.



You consider saying you're sorry. You never got to before.



Your wings searches in the muck for something.
Anything.



You find what you'd tripped over.


You can feel it.


It's Roulette's sickle.



You always pick the wrong horse to bet on, Polly.
You think you can make it right?
Be friends with that thing?
It's a heap of scrap you should have thrown out ages ago-


You're shaking, your fear replaced with a fury-filled resolve.

POLKA DOT: N...
POLKA DOT: Never.
POLKA DOT: I'll never be like you.
POLKA DOT: Not to it. Not to any of them.

 

You shove the scythe up, causing a splash.

You aim for its other eye.

The beast reels back, but a little too late.
The sickle grazes straight across it.

It isn't enough to take it out, but it screeches in pain all the same.



You rise from the muck.

Armed with a friend's sickle.
You mimic the way it carried it, you'd seen it fight.

You swipe in the same way.
It's more difficult than you thought.

It's plenty.



The sickle swings through its face like a knife through butter, cutting a deep gash.

It stumbles away from you, giving you an opening.



You run.


You trip.







Cross catches you and pulls you through, into quick hug, splattering herself with tar in the process.
In the moment, it doesn't matter.

TIMOTHY: F-FUCK, I thought you-
POLKA DOT: I'm not eating shit today.
CROSSBONE: You're not eating shit EVER

 

You manage a weak smile, Tim starting to look around as best as he could while hunched over.

TIMOTHY: C-can't see much-
TIMOTHY: Barrier's up-
TIMOTHY: But we've...we've got room.
CROSSBONE: ...so...what do we do?

 

The bear laughs, a hateful, bitter sound that startles all of you. His knife is clenched tight in his shaking hand, eyes wide with rage.

????: We make that motherfucker pay.
 

Right on cue, it crashes through the tent wall with a thundering roar.

It rushes at you all.
You raise the sickle and swing



only for it to move much, MUCH faster than you were anticipating,
completing its arc so hard it knocks you off-balance.

You slam into Tim and the two of you fall over.

You both scramble to get back up.

Cross gets in front of you and swings her fist upward.
She catches the bottom of the beast's head and flicks it towards the sky.
The hit stops it in its tracks.

It's knocked off-balance.

Disoriented, shambling back and shaking its head to try and snap out of it.

CROSSBONE: G-
CROSSBONE: GET U-UP! PLEASE
CROSSBONE: PLEASE, Y-
CROSSBONE: IDONTKNOWYOURNAMEBUTPLEASEHELPTHEM

 

Curlypolly you're a good girl why don't you come with me we'll get to one hundred we'll win win win we'll be together forever we'll make it big we'll be married forever and ever and ev

Tim can't get up, digging his fists into the snowy, tar splattered ground. He's crying- and so are you.

You're so cute you're so cute you don't have to ever grow up or leave we can stay here forever you're so much better this way

TIMOTHY: I-
TIMOTHY: I c-can't
POLKA DOT: W...we can't- give up-

 

We'll get one hundred one hundred kills one hundred heads split open with stuffing and gears and wires and blood and guts and

POLKA DOT: We can't-

 

The two of you look into each others' eyes.

You're so scared.

????: FUCK'S SAKE-

 

The bear bends over with a loud noise of pain, trying to haul both of you up in one arm each.

????: CRY LATER
 

Cross closes the gap just before the beast recomposes itself.

Her fists hammer away at its face.

Dodging teeth.
Dodging claw swipes.

She's starting to leave dents.

A stray bite manages to nick her arm.
Her plastic outer shell finds a few holes in it from the bite.

Tar leaks in.


It's so cold.


It's Cross' own voice.


It's so cold.
I could do it.
I could press reset.

CROSSBONE: Nnn-

 

It'd be all new.
A fresh start.
Nothing. No more me.
They'd be happier.

CROSSBONE: S-StTTOP

 

It's not like I have anything.
It's not like this'll get better.
There's no way out.
There's no way out.
There's no way out.
There's no way out but a complete and total reset.

CROSSBONE: PLEE-AASE- STOP-

 

Maybe it'll be less care mistakes this time.

????: IT'S NOT REAL
CROSSBONE: B-but-
????: SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO ME-

 

The bear is struggling hard, panting and wheezing.

????: IF YOU GIVE A SHIT ABOUT ANYTHING AT ALL
????: THEN STOP LISTENING TO IT
TIMOTHY: H-hey-

 

Tim says it so quietly that only you can hear him, the bear caught up in yelling at Cross.

TIMOTHY: I...
TIMOTHY: I'm glad we're-

 

He smiles with his eyes, tear embroidery drenching his cheeks.

TIMOTHY: We did it, right?
POLKA DOT: I-

 

He tugs on the bear's sleeve before you can respond, the shadowy-accented toy snapping his head down.

He's been crying just as much.

????: Not the ti-
TIMOTHY: I'm s-
TIMOTHY: Sorry-
TIMOTHY: That I couldn't hug you too-

 

The bear stands there, dumbfounded, as Tim blacks out, sliding out of his grip.

He stays like that, staring at the dog on the ground.

You squeeze your eyes shut, tapping him on the side.

POLKA DOT: W-we can-
POLKA DOT: Figure that out later-
????: r
????: right.

 

With a deep noise of exertion, he gets you up.

You're still having trouble standing, but you're starting to shake it off.

The bear hurries to back up Cross, and you follow as best as you're able.



Just as the beast reaches to snatch Cross's arm into its maw,
she raises both fists high over her head.

She leans back.

The bite just barely grazes her screen.

Her fists slam downward, the beast yelping in pain as her hands leave an imprint in the dead center of its face,
starting to rip its hide.

Tar coats her arms.
Her own voice rings louder, but she ignores it.



Her good hand reels back as far as it can, her other wiping tar from her screen.

She shoves it forward.

Against her own axe.

It digs deep into what little was left of that flickering eye,
the hatchet nearly disappearing entirely.



Her fist gets stuck.

Tar is weighing her other hand down.
Too much has sunk in.

She topples.

POLKA DOT: CROSS

 

It feels like the millionth time you've screamed one of your friends' names in horror.

????: MOVE IT

 

You just barely step out of the way as the bear rushes past you-

Tim's sword in one hand, and his knife in the other.

????: IT'S MINE

 

Both blades find their way into its head,
anywhere and everywhere he can find.

Leaks spring as new holes are formed,
the beast's loosing gurgling screeches as its own tar floods across its face.

It swings its head wildly side-to-side in an attempt to shake him off.

The bear plunges the sword deep, using it as leverage as he stabs wildly with his knife,
unable to even see what he's stabbing now; all of it is coated in thick tar.



The beast leashes its head backwards with a half-whimper, half-scream.

The bear is flung off, tumbling across the snow, streaking it with black.




He doesn't get back up.

POLKA: I-
POLKA: N-NO-
 

There's no one left.

Just you.

The beast rises.

It looms over you.
It's limping.

Its face is a crater of tar with a mouth.
But somehow you know:
It can still see you.

It clacks its mouth at you.
Its teeth are jagged and broken, but still sharp as ever.



You're barely on your feet.
Your legs are shaking.


Without me-
You wouldn't be so lucky.

i
came all this way
made friends
struggled
struggled so much
i dont even know if im doing it right
or if this is going to be it
but i cant just


You spit tar on the ground, a small splatter amidst a horrible outpouring of pitch black hate. 

POLKA DOT: Have fun d-dying alone.

 

Your voice raises higher than you've ever screamed.

POLKA DOT: You fucking CREEP!

 

The beast roars back at you, breaking into a stumbling charge.

You grip Roulette's sickle with both hands.
Readying yourself.



Just as it would reach you,
you sidestep and swing with everything you have.


The top fourth of its head slips off.
It lets out a scream unlike anything you've ever heard.

You fall onto your back,
still clutching the scythe.

You can't swing it.
You can't even get up.
Your eyes are trying to close.

It's quiet.



Only for the ground to shake.

You turn your head in the snow.
Just in time to watch it drag itself up to its feet.

It hobbles over to you.
Clearly in pain.
Clearly half-dead.
Making the effort.

Just to kill You.



Dripping tar trails along the snow,
until it's dripping onto you.

You look up.

It's there.
A flickering spotlight illuminates through the top layer of tar on its face.

You can't move.
You can't move.
You can't move.

Its jaw opens.

And lowers down towards you.

POLKA DOT: H-hope I make you fucking sick-



 

You squeeze your eyes shut, waiting for the end.





...It doesn't play out.



A crashing impact, snow in the air.



You open your eyes just in time to see the toy monster blasted across the ground, leaving a trail of dirt and tar behind.



You try to follow it with your eyes, seeing it-


-the dark starts setting in-



-cleaved in half, across its midsection, tar spilling into a pitch black pool around it.




The dust settles, the combat barrier dissipating with it.




All you can see make out in the black is a figure around your height, dragging along a impossibly massive weapon behind.



W...who-







-and then it's all gone.

 

Lights twinkle in the distance.


Numerous light-up playsets dot the landscape,
along a sprawl of incomparably-massive shelves.

It's dark, save for the twinkling of night.




A camouflage-patterned robot sits near the edge of one of the shelves,
legs crossed.

Its head rests atop its claws,
which rest atop its scythe,
gazing at the patterned lights of the horizon.









A flashlight clicks on just nearby.

ROULETTE: Did you take care of it?
????: Taken care of.
ROULETTE: In the usual spot?
????: Well-hidden.
ROULETTE: You che-
????: Double and triple-checked.
????: No one is finding it anytime soon.
????: And we'll know ahead of time if anyone comes skulking around.
ROULETTE: ...I may go check one more-

 

A plastic claw touches the bot's shoulder.

????: You're doing it again.
????: Stop worrying.
????: The haul is safe.

 

The bubble timer toy, tilts its head down towards the bot.
It looks up at them.

????: Can you do that, Faysal?
FAYSAL: Den-
FAYSAL:  . . .
FAYSAL: I will try.
DENNY: Excellent.

 

They carefully sit down next to the bot, the colored liquid within their clear plastic shifting.

FAYSAL: ...I do not want it stolen again.
DENNY: We're smarter about it now.
DENNY: If anyone manages to find it, I'll give them a medal.
FAYSAL: I could stay up tonight. Keep watch near-
DENNY: Faysal.
FAYSAL: It would be no trouble-
DENNY: What did I ask?
FAYSAL: ...Apologies.
DENNY: Thank you.

 

Faysal sighs, its aperture closing as one of its claws taps the scythe.

DENNY:  . . .
DENNY: ...You're scary with that thing.
DENNY: You're becoming-
DENNY: ...Let's just say: I don't think anyone will be able to best you in the arena.
DENNY: Not anymore.
FAYSAL: I am trying.
FAYSAL: I do not want to be overconfident and lose.
FAYSAL: ...We cannot afford to lose the stability.
DENNY: You won't.

 

Denny raises their head, adjusting their neck.

DENNY:  . . .
DENNY: How do you handle fighting so often?

 

They shake their head.

DENNY: It makes no sense to me.
DENNY: I could not handle that pressure.
DENNY: And I don't think that-
DENNY: ...The feeling of hitting other people would scare me far more.
FAYSAL:  . . .
FAYSAL: I like it. Not-
DENNY: Sorry?
FAYSAL: Not the hitting- Not the hitting.
FAYSAL: I do not enjoy hurting anyone.
FAYSAL: ...I am-
FAYSAL: I am thankful the arena does not require killing.
FAYSAL: That I never have to do that. And that I usually do not have to use the blade at all.
FAYSAL: It is-
FAYSAL: It is harder, I have to be more creative with it to not severely injure anyone.
FAYSAL: But it is worth it. And I like that part. Being creative with it.
FAYSAL: That, and-
FAYSAL:  . . .
FAYSAL: ...I like fighting. Well. Dueling.
FAYSAL: There is something freeing about dueling.
FAYSAL: ...I do not know how I would even begin to put it into words.

 

There's a long pause.

DENNY: ...It makes sense now.
DENNY: Why some of the regulars call you that. 'Grim Reaper'.
DENNY: I doubt it's just the scythe.
FAYSAL: -I hate that nickname.
FAYSAL: The regulars only think it sounds 'tough'. Or- I do not know.
FAYSAL: ...I hate it either way.

 

The robot glances over at the plastic toy.

FAYSAL: You don't think that of me,
FAYSAL: ...do you?
FAYSAL: ...Are you afraid of me...?
DENNY:  . . .
DENNY: ...No.
DENNY: Of course I'm not. I know you.
DENNY: ...But I understand where it comes from.
DENNY: There's a...sense of you when you're dueling.
DENNY: You're more focused than any other combatant I've seen.
DENNY: You don't express. You don't showboat. You don't speak.
DENNY: You're focused, and calculating- not to be cruel, but, like a-
FAYSAL: Like a machine...?
DENNY:  . . .
DENNY: ...I suppose that's it.
FAYSAL: ...Apologies, if it-
DENNY: You're fine.
DENNY: I'm not afraid of you.

 

Faysal raises its head as if to speak again,
but says nothing, watching ahead once more.

The two of them sit in silence.

Idle whirring and other quiet noise plays in the air,
the colors in focus.

FAYSAL: The view up here is beautiful.
DENNY: That it is.
DENNY: Beautiful.





 

The distant lights



seem to grow brighter.







And brighter

and brighter




and brighter



and-








Faysal's lens clenches.
It turns its head away from the light.




The cot creaks.
The overhead lights are too bright.

????: ....oh!
????: It's moving!
????: Thank god you're alive-

An overly-friendly looking face looms over Roulette, soft, fuzzy blanket plush.

????: Your friends will be so happy to see you!


ROULETTE: ...Den...ny...?

















 

There's a strange smell.

Burning wood, like your campfire...

Fabric- no, fur, faux fur- with the scent of mud....

Spices, maybe. But none you've seen or tasted at Laurie's...

Something's pushed against your beak, a voice speaking gruffly.

????: Down the hatch.

 

Before you can react or even wake up properly, something pries your beak open and shoves hot, pungently strong liquid down your throat-

POLKA DOT: F-

 

You startle so bad that your entire body convulses, coughing and squeaking and wheezing. Your painted eyes snap open and you realize you're looking down at a gnarled, dark floor, made of weathered plastic designed to look like hardwood. It's covered in dirt and...you're not sure what else, but it's clear that wherever you are, it's not as clean as Laurie's.

????: ...
????: You've got ten seconds to tell me who you are and what you're doing here.
POLKA DOT: B-

 

You blearily look up, your head spinning-

In front of you is-



...a....rubber...duck....





....wolf?


The toy in front of you is molded rubber, his beak...muzzle...thing? contorted into a permanent smile and a lolling tongue that completely conflicts with the tone of his voice, his furrowed brow, and the fierceness in his beady eyes.

When he opens his mouth to speak, you see sharp, sharp teeth.

????: Timer starts now.

[knux400]

"Uh."

[blink twice, confused]

"Myfriendwantstoturnintoamonsterbecauseshe'sunhappywithherbodysowecametotheforesttogethercursedonpurposeandweweredoingfineuntilthatgiantmonsterattackedusandthankyouforsavingussorryforthetroublewhat'syourname?????"

[deep inhale]

"Is everyone okay? Where am I? Those last two questions don't count for the ten second thing right?"

"...Wait a second. How were you actually planning on enforcing that ten second time limit? What if I'm going to say something really important but it takes a lot of explaining, so the narrative stretches time so that I'll have enough time to say it? It's kind of impractical to enforce exact time limits in general, really. You probably should've gone with 'until i get bored' or something like that. That way you can be as indeterminate with it as you need to be. Gives you more control over the situation."

Show Contentthe above text but with spaces so you can actually read it:

My friend wants to turn into a monster because she's unhappy with her body so we came to the forest to get her cursed on purpose and we were doing fine until that giant monster attacked us and thank you for saving us sorry for the trouble what's your name?????

[skinstealer]

POLKA DOT: ...u-uh
????: Nine.

 

SHIT

POLKA DOT: my friend girlfriend i dunno she wants to turn into a monster and i wanted to help her and we were doing great and the giant monster attacked us and oh god thanks for saving us-

 

The wolfduck squeezes his painted eyes shut.

????: Okay, stop.
POLKA DOT: is everything okay where am i it doesnt count for the ten seconds thing right-
????: Stop.
POLKA DOT: and with the narrative thing how are you gonna enforce ten seconds what if i say something REALLY important-

 

He reaches forward and claps your beak shut with both wings.

????: Please shut up.

 

Another voice rings out, coming from the corner of the room.

????: Mange, I think she's just stupid.

 

The toy standing there- and now that you're coming to better, you can tell that you're in some kind of...cabin, or lodge or something- looks like a wolf plush, but when she emotes, you can see animatronic plastic.

????: I told you. They're nothing.
MANGE: ....

 

The wolfduck snarls, his mouth still curved into a perma-grin.

MANGE: You know we have to be safer rather than sorry, Snicker.
MANGE: They killed a ragmirror. Eviscerated it.
SNICKER: Yeah, well-
POLKA DOT: ...wait-
POLKA DOT: It-
POLKA DOT: It wasn't one of you who finished it off...?

 

Both toys freeze, looking at you with wide eyes.

MANGE: Shit-
SNICKER: Oh no, don't you start-
MANGE: It's that damn THIEF
SNICKER: Mange cmon please don't start-
MANGE: That little shit thinks they can come in here and steal our kills-
SNICKER: They didn't even take the body, dude-
MANGE: It's WASTEFUL-

 

The animatronic plush presses her face into her paws, her mouth growing equally toothy as she groans.

SNICKER: I know you want that guy's hide.
SNICKER: But you are jumping at shadows again
MANGE: I
MANGE: Am keeping us safe-
SNICKER: You're paranoid is what you are-
POLKA DOT: um

 

You realize that you have walked into something far more complicated than you're ready to deal with.

SNICKER: Maybe they just wanted to kill something big
MANGE: By the time we got there the body was fucking unsalvageable that could have been materials for weeks
SNICKER: Oh like youve been so good at getting materials yourself lately Vortex is barely able to pick apart your kills
MANGE: WATCH YOUR GODDAMN MOUTH
SNICKER: NO YOU WATCH IT YOU UPTIGHT

 

With the two wolf toys screaming at each other, you decide to get a feel for your surroundings.

Mange is sitting in an armchair and wearing a worn down flannel, plaid and looking more ratty than anything you've seen at Laurie's, and equally beat up jeans. Outdoorsy boots with a shape familiar to your own, as well...confirmation he's a rubber duck, I guess. His rubber "fur" is a bright brown, and you notice specks of dirt and stains spread all over it.

You start to sweat when you notice a plastic shotgun by his leg.

oh god

Snicker is dressed similarly, but with a thick black turtleneck instead of a flannel shirt. There's still snow on her boots, and a large battleaxe propped against the wall next to her. She's built short and thick, and judging by the animatronic parts on her face- you doubt that getting hit by her would be a gentle plush thump. Her facial expression changes wildly as she speaks, oscillating between a terrifying snarl and a deadpan tired stare within seconds.

theyre armed to the fucking teeth

The room itself is...surprisingly cozy. Some kind of lodge playset for sure, with a large stone fireplace, fur and fabric rugs and wall hangings on almost every surface, and a slew of armchairs and floor pillows. You realize you're in one yourself, and that despite it all, you're more comfortable than you'd have expected.

There's also surreal heads mounted onto the wall, plaques underneath.

god i hope those are monsters

SNICKER: SEE? She can't even pay attention to what you're saying-

 

You snap back to attention, realizing it's back to you.

Mange snaps his wing-tips in front of your face, your beak scrunching up.

POLKA DOT: I-I'm paying attention!
MANGE: Great. Could have fooled me.
MANGE: Look.
MANGE: Your friends are in our infirmary right now.
MANGE: You're the person left mostly intact after that-
POLKA DOT: Wh-
MANGE: So I need answers from you.
MANGE: Fucking, corpse thief aside-
SNICKER: THEY DIDNT EVEN TAKE THE CORPSE
MANGE: CAN IT
MANGE: You said you wanted to get your fucking girlfriend cursed.
MANGE: Am I following that right?

 

You manage a strained nod.

MANGE: One:
MANGE: You're a fucking idiot for seeking that out.
MANGE: But, two:
MANGE: We've got problems with two known quantities right now.
MANGE: Somebody's cursing people like crazy at the moment-
MANGE: And somebody's stealing our hunting spoils.
SNICKER: Maaaaaybe they're the same person.
MANGE: THEY ARE NOT YOU KNOW MY THEORIES ON THIS

 

Snicker smirks, watching the wolfduck fume.

MANGE: God, you're-

 

He takes a deep breath.

MANGE: Clearly, you've managed to get the attention of one of them.
MANGE: You wanna get your ass cursed?
MANGE: Try catching the eye of the other one too.
MANGE: Gonna make it much easier for me to put a bullet in that fucker's head.
POLKA DOT: ....
POLKA DOT: You want to use us as bait...?
MANGE: Got a problem with that?
MANGE: We're giving you resources.
MANGE: And I run this place- I can easily kick your party out of the clinic at any time.
MANGE: You waltz around trying to get yourselves in trouble, we keep an eye on you while you do, and when you get what you want-

 

He grins, no happiness to it.

MANGE: So do we.

[knux400]

"I... don't want to make a decision about that before I talk to my friends. If everyone else is as injured as you say, then they shouldn't cause you any more trouble, and I'll just. Sit here and wait for them to wake up, I guess. Trust me, the last thing I want is to be running around getting into more shit. Honestly, I might just go back to sleep. Point is, we're fucked up and we won't be going anywhere for a while."

"And, um. I did catch a little bit of the person who killed the ragmirror. That was what you called that thing, right? I didn't see much, but they had a big weapon. Like, really big. Bigger than they were, and they were around my height. They had to drag the thing across the ground rather than carrying it."

[skinstealer]

You look away.

POLKA DOT: I...don't want to decide that. Not yet.
POLKA DOT: Not without talking to my friends.

 

Mange grumbles, leaning onto one wing.

MANGE: I was kind of hoping you were the "ask questions later" leaderly type.
POLKA DOT: Sorry to disappoint.
POLKA DOT: You said I'm the least injured one.
POLKA DOT: They won't cause you trouble. Stuck in bed, right?

 

He grumbles again, looking more and more annoyed.

SNICKER: Might not be so dumb after all. She's giving you hell-
MANGE: Snicker.

 

The animatronic chuckles, looking away.

POLKA DOT: I'm just gonna sit here-
MANGE: Mmmgh.
POLKA DOT: and wait for them to wake up.
POLKA DOT: No trouble from me.
POLKA DOT: I almost just died- so did my friends.
POLKA DOT: Last thing I want to do right now is run around and get into more shit.
MANGE: But you will.
MANGE: For your girlfriend's sake.

 

Something twinges you in a bad place about the way he says it.

POLKA DOT: You got a problem with-
MANGE: Why in the hell would you want that?!
MANGE: I'll take the opportunity to blow this magical pest's head off easy, but-

 

You feel rage boil up inside your chest.

POLKA DOT: It's IMPORTANT to her.

 

He gives you an unamused look.

POLKA DOT: It's-
POLKA DOT: She needs this!
POLKA DOT: It'll make her more herse-

 

Snicker lets out a low hiss, Mange's expression freezing into one you can't discern- but it's not happy.

MANGE: Stop.
POLKA DOT: But-!
MANGE: You want to survive in this town?

 

He leans in, his beady eyes boring a hole into your head.

MANGE: Don't say shit like that.
POLKA DOT: ....

 

Your anger's still there, but something about the tone of his voice-

You start feeling very, very scared.

POLKA DOT: W-why-
MANGE: I've seen your friends' bodies in the infirmary.
MANGE: Had to, to assess the damage.
MANGE: I know one of them is modded.

 

....oh
oh god

MANGE: I don't care what this is for you. A fetish, something you "need", whatever.
MANGE: But I have been running this place-
MANGE: And I have inherited it from old faith.
POLKA DOT: ...f...faith?
MANGE: The kind of people who don't take kindly to things that challenge them.
MANGE: I make the changes I make-
MANGE: But if I kick all of those people out, the people who want this shit stamped out-
MANGE: We would go under and die.
MANGE: I need hunters. Builders. Workers.
MANGE: You try getting people to stick around in a place like this.

 

He almost spits it out.

MANGE: SO-
MANGE: If you want to not get your shit kicked in-
MANGE: Don't tell them the real reason you're here.
MANGE: Make a cover story.
MANGE: Keep your heads down.
POLKA DOT: I-

 

You're stunned, glancing over and seeing Snicker staring right at you.

As soon as you make eye contact, she looks away, her face twisted into a pained grimace.

You look back at Mange, his face grave.

POLKA DOT: B-but-
POLKA DOT: You're in charge-


 

The wolfduck says nothing.

POLKA DOT: ....
POLKA DOT: Does-
POLKA DOT: Does it have to be-
MANGE: Don't you think I've tried?

 

His voice comes out hushed.

MANGE: Just...do what I say.
MANGE: Or a ragmirror's the least of your worries.

 

Neither of you look away, the tension killing you.

i-
it's not-

it's not right

POLKA DOT: ...okay.



 

You're not even able to process a further response before another toy enters the room, coming out of a door on the wall behind you.

????: Well!
????: Good news!

 

You can only hear them approaching from your current position, their footsteps soft.

MANGE: They awake?
????: Mostly!
MANGE: Well, look at that.

 

Mange gives you a look.

MANGE: Our conversation is over.

 

The toy in question comes into view, a startlingly flat person- a blanket? yeah, those are quilted patches- wearing a warm shawl not unlike the one you had back at Laurie's. There's a plush head on top, looking like a cutesy lion- and little paws on the corners of the blanket to match, both for hands and feet.

????: Aw, are you being mean to her?
????: Don't mind Mange, he's a big softie deep down-

 

Mange squeezes his eyes shut.

MANGE: Guthrie.
GUTHRIE: Very deep!

 

Snicker can't help but let out an amused snort, Mange's brow furrowing further.

MANGE: Can you show-

 

He sits there for a moment.

GUTHRIE: Did you not ask for her na-
MANGE: Mmmmmmmgh.
GUTHRIE: Your manners, man!
GUTHRIE: Well, I haven't been raised in a barn.

 

They step forward, extending a little blanket paw.

GUTHRIE: As you heard, I'm Guthrie.
GUTHRIE: I run the lodge's, well, lodging aspects, as well as the infirmary.
SNICKER: They're the only doctor we have, so get used to them.
POLKA DOT: ...the only one?
GUTHRIE: Oh, yes. But I'm very skilled.

 

You nervously look at Snicker, who shrugs.

GUTHRIE: But-
GUTHRIE: Please! Introduce yourself.
POLKA DOT: I'm, uh-
POLKA DOT: ....
POLKA DOT: Silk Ribbon.
GUTHRIE: What a lovely name!

 

They point to your choker.

GUTHRIE: And an accessory to match!

 

You can't help but give a tired smile at that.

POLKA DOT: T..thanks.
GUTHRIE: You want me to show you to your friends?

 

You're immediately out of the chair, wincing at how suddenly you moved.

Body's still sore...

POLKA DOT: Yes. Yes, uh- yes please.
MANGE: Hey, Guth-

 

The two of you pause, turning to face him.

MANGE: That, uh. The robot.
MANGE: He doing okay?
GUTHRIE: It uses, um, it, actually!
GUTHRIE: Its friends were very clear on that.
MANGE: ...got it.
MANGE: Well, don't let it fucking die.
MANGE: The state it was in, and all.

 

You feel a bit sick.

POLKA DOT: I...is Roulette okay?
GUTHRIE: Oh, I mean-
GUTHRIE: Come with me, and I'll give you the gist.

 

Guthrie starts leading you down a hall, the lodge's wooden walls feeling far less cozy and far more oppressive now.

GUTHRIE: So...the damage.
GUTHRIE: We have five beds in our infirmary- four for standard patients, and one for more intensive care.
GUTHRIE: Three of your friends- Devo, Willow, and Tim-
GUTHRIE: Are in the normal ones. They're all up right now.
POLKA DOT: And they're-?
GUTHRIE: Okay would be a stretch, but....
GUTHRIE: They're taking well to my healing spells.

 

...that's a thing?

POLKA DOT: I-
POLKA DOT: None of us are, uh-
GUTHRIE: Not used to magic?
POLKA DOT: Not even a little bit.
GUTHRIE: Well!
GUTHRIE: I can't fix everything, but I can do some mending without needing traditional supplies or repair techniques.
POLKA DOT: ...just like that?
GUTHRIE: I mean...
GUTHRIE: It does hurt!
GUTHRIE: Quite a bit!
POLKA DOT: Ah.
GUTHRIE: For all parties, actually!
POLKA DOT: ...Ah.
GUTHRIE: But, sincerely, I don't mind.
GUTHRIE: Everyone's been very charming.

 

That's a way to put our bunch...

POLKA DOT: Wait-
POLKA DOT: So, Roulette-
GUTHRIE: It's in the intensive unit, yes.
GUTHRIE: A lot of broken parts.
POLKA DOT: fuck...
GUTHRIE: I...

 

The optimism in their voice wavers for a moment.

GUTHRIE: I can do my best.
GUTHRIE: There are some things too deep for my magic to reach.
GUTHRIE: But I promise- I will do everything I can to help.
GUTHRIE: ...okay?

 

You nod, too many emotions to process all at once.

The blanket plush stops, pausing to open a door-

-and gesture for you to go inside.



You're met with your party- well, almost all of it- snapping up to look at you.

All three of them are in ill-fitting hospital gowns.

Devo's- no, the- yellow tinted one. Scout- but he Guthrie said his name was Devo?- eyes widen, Tim crying out and eating shit the second he tries to run in for a hug.

SCOUT: Oh, shoot-!
CROSSBONE: T-Tim, waT-Ttch out-

 

It's clear your girlfriend is barely holding herself back from getting up, the wires hooked up to her back-

an image that reminds you far too much of your dream

-keeping her from doing the same as Tim.

You rush in and pull him into a tight hug, ignoring the fact that your body is screaming. Tim's clearly doing the same, having a hard time keeping tears back.

TIMOTHY: O-oh god, I thought-
POLKA DOT: I-I know man, I know-

 

You squeeze each other so tight that it's hard to think through the pain, eventually releasing the hug after what feels like an eternity.

Tim wipes his eyes.

TIMOTHY: G-go do Willow, next.

 

You don't have to be told twice, scrambling to your feet-

-only to approach her a lot more carefully, hyperaware of the wires.

POLKA DOT: You, uh-
CROSSBONE: I l-L-oOk like shit, huh?

 

Her voice warbles, distorting and glitching. She sighs at the distressed look on your face.

CROSSBONE: I-It'S tempo-tempo-r-rary.
CROSSBONE: I got a lot of gun-gunnnk in me.
CROSSBONE: They got it out b-BBBut I need time to dry-
CROSSBONE: S-sorry for how ba-ba-BBBbad it sounds....
POLKA DOT: No, no, just-

 

You give her a gentle squeeze, rubbing your face against her neck.

POLKA DOT: I just want you to be okay. I'm glad you're here.
CROSSBONE: M-me too...

 

You take the time to breathe in the scent of plastic, something you don't think you can live without at this point.

SCOUT: Do I get a hug?

 

You peek over, the yellow-tinted bear giving you a coy look.

SCOUT: I, Devo, your very very good friend-

 

You return a look back, telling him not to push his luck.

He's clearly holding back laughter, you rolling your eyes as you go over to give him a hug- making sure to pat his back for emphasis.

POLKA DOT: Well, Devo-
POLKA DOT: ....

 

Your voice turns serious, quiet.

POLKA DOT: I'm glad you're okay.

 

A whisper, now.

POLKA DOT: ...all of you.

 

Scout makes a soft, pleased noise.

SCOUT: I'm really glad you're okay too, Ribbon.
POLKA DOT: Is-

 

You don't pull away, not wanting Guthrie to hear.

POLKA DOT: Is he okay...?

 

Scout doesn't respond for a moment, his voice suddenly just as serious as yours.

SCOUT: I don't know.
SCOUT: We can talk about him when the doctor's gone.

 

You nod, letting go of the hug.

POLKA DOT: ....

 

You look at the ground, knowing you what you need to do next.

Guthrie smiles when you turn to them.

POLKA DOT: Can I see-
GUTHRIE: Mmmhm.

 

They gesture for you to follow them, heading for a curtain at the far end of the room.

There's a cheap looking window next to it, letting people look in from the outside without needing to go in. You can't help but peek-

You can barely see Roulette.

What you can see isn't at all encouraging.

Its head is turned to the side away from you, a single arm visible; the rest of it under a blanket in the hospital bed.

The side of its head almost looks like it has lacerations in it, though you guess it's a combination of the ice damage letting too much tar in, warping the metal.

Its arm is similarly cut up at spots, looking as if someone had gone after it with a saw-toothed blade.

Some parts of the metal look like it's been melted; stripping the camouflage paint and warping it, especially along the rusty portions of Roulette's arms, which seem to have sustained the most damage.

All in all: It looks terrible.

You let out a soft, strained noise.

GUTHRIE: ...I know.
GUTHRIE: It's-
GUTHRIE: I'm going to do all I can.
POLKA DOT: But what if-!
GUTHRIE: ....

 

They can't meet your eyes, at first.

GUTHRIE: I've handled cases like this before.
GUTHRIE: And I refuse to let someone die if I can do anything at all.

 

A glance, now.

GUTHRIE: ...can you trust me on that?

 

You look back at the rest of your party-

...alive.
Able to move.
Talking.
If they can be okay, if this magic works, then maybe Roulette-

POLKA DOT: ...yeah.
POLKA DOT: Let's see it.

 

Guthrie leads you inside.






Roulette doesn't move an inch as the door opens.

For a moment, you almost think it's asleep,
until you move to its bedside and see that its aperture is somewhat open.

Its fans are whisper-quiet, save for the occasional crunching sounds, which cause the bot to flinch slowly, straining.

It seems to be waiting for what it likely assumes is the doctor to speak.

GUTHRIE: ....hi, Roulette.

 

Their voice is soft and gentle.

GUTHRIE: Silk Ribbon's here to see you.

 

Its head tilts a few degrees, seemingly unable to move much more.

It doesn't speak.

POLKA DOT: ...can...it talk?
GUTHRIE: Not much.
GUTHRIE: But...I can give you two some space.

 

They pull over a rolling chair, setting it next to Roulette's bed.

You take a cautious seat by the bot, Guthrie quietly leaving.






You happen to look over at it, noticing it's looking at you now.

ROULETTE: ...all...O...K...?
POLKA DOT: ...yeah.
POLKA DOT: Everyone's alive.

 

It takes a while to process that.

ROULETTE: ...apolog

 

The bot's fan hitches, stopping entirely with a loud scraping sound.

ROULETTE: ...g...g...g...g...

 

It resumes.

ROULETTE: ...g...ie...s...

 

Even now-!

POLKA DOT: N...

 

You hold back your immediate frustration with the situation.

POLKA DOT: ...it's okay, Roulette.
POLKA DOT: Really.
ROULETTE: ...You all...could have...died...
ROULETTE: ...because of...
ROULETTE:  . . .

 

Its lens closes a little more as its head tilts back to the pillow again; the robot seeming to nearly pass out.

ROULETTE: ...plea...se...b-

 

Its voice cuts off entirely, coming out as quiet, garbled static for a few seconds.

ROULETTE: ...be...oka...y... Please.

 

You can feel tear-paint starting to well up.

POLKA DOT: ...I will.
POLKA DOT: I promise-
POLKA DOT: ....
POLKA DOT: ...but only if you promise too.
ROULETTE: ...can...not...
ROULETTE: ...Think
 

Its gaze drifts off slowly.

ROULETTE: Think
ROULETTE: ...might...not be...here...tomorrow.
ROULETTE: Can't...promise.

 

Its lens looks cloudy.
A few stray oil tears run down.

ROULETTE: ...my...fau-
ROULETTE: ...l...lt...lt-t...t...
ROULETTE: ...t...

ROULETTE: ...deserv...ed...
POLKA DOT: N-no, it's-
POLKA DOT: You don't. You don't deserve what happened.
POLKA DOT: You never did. And you won't.
POLKA DOT: Plea-
POLKA DOT: ...please.
ROULETTE:  . . .
ROULETTE: ...m...ean...t...

ROULETTE:  . . .

ROULETTE: ...Sor...ry.
ROULETTE: You... look... scared.
ROULETTE: S...or-R-R-R-R-Rr-ry.

 

Your throat hitches.

POLKA DOT: It's-
POLKA DOT: It's okay.
POLKA DOT: ....
POLKA DOT: Y...you want me to bring you anything, later?
ROULETTE: ...I don't...w-want...you t-
ROULETTE: T-t-to...watch...me, die.
POLKA DOT: I won't.
POLKA DOT: Because you're not gonna die.
ROULETTE: ...please...do not...worry.

 

You don't say much, looking down at your wings.

I...wish...
I knew how to help you.
What to say to make you feel okay again.




 

But it feels like too much to say.

 

Its lens nearly closes.

ROULETTE: ...t...ire...d...

ROULETTE: ...Pol...ka...

 

Roulette writhes in slow motion, as if trying to keep itself awake, or perhaps out of pain.

ROULETTE: ...hu...r...ts...s...s...

 

It goes still.
Your eye paint widens for a few seconds, until you realize it's sleeping.



You screw your eyes shut.

Counting to ten.




Holding back the tears from coming.



Not now.




okay.


You step out of the intensive care unit.



Everyone is staring at you- Guthrie no longer present.

POLKA DOT: Did they-?
CROSSBONE: They got the hint.
TIMOTHY: We...can speak freely now.
TIMOTHY: ....
TIMOTHY: Guthrie's genuinely, really nice, but-
SCOUT: I think we all feel it.

 

His voice is serious, like earlier.

SCOUT: Something's up with this place.
SCOUT: ...and we have ground to cover.

[Ignispark]

Yeah, this place reeks of suspicion...remember Wanderer mentioning to be wary of clean hands too?

Also uh. Maybe mention the veiled thread, about our purpose here. Get them in on the downlow that we're here for...something rare maybe? Or looking for someone. That sort of coverstory. Something worth risking your life for.

Also one of em wants to use us as bait. So uhh...mention that.

I think even if we don't agree, there's a decent chance they're going to try to follow us if we make it out so...first thing's first, people need to heal up, obviously...but.

What's everyone think?

[knux400]

"The leader... They said this place was inherited from 'old faith', whatever that means. I'm guessing most people here are a bit less... Tolerant... Than they are in the city. So we need to keep our "weird stuff" (exaggerated finger quotes) on lockdown, and come up with a reason for being here that doesn't involve Cross having body dysphoria."

"They also... Want to use us as bait, I guess? Which isn't as bad as it sounds! I think! But basically they're monster hunters, and they've had someone stealing their shit and someone going around cursing people. Maybe the same person, maybe not. There's some debate on that front. But they think we attracted the attention of the thief, so they're hoping we draw out the curse guy as well. I told them I wasn't agreeing to do shit until I talked to you first."

"Did... Did any of you see a person, at the very end of the fight? I thought I caught a glimpse of someone with a really big weapon, like, comically oversized."

"And, um, this is a bit of a long shot, but no one's seen the little car weasel guy since it ran off, right? Gotta get the whole group back together."

"But before any of that, the first order of business is to get some goddamned rest. We have all been through the wringer these past few days, and even if this place isn't perfect, it's still relatively safe. So just... And I am including myself in this... Try to take it easy and get some rest. We all need a break."

[skinstealer]

POLKA DOT: ...yyeeeeeeah.
POLKA DOT: It's....
TIMOTHY: Suspicious?
POLKA DOT: Mmmmm.
CROSSBONE: ...you're the only one who's been out of this infirmary.
CROSSBONE: Did...you find out anything-?

 

You nod, your face scrunching into a grimace.

POLKA DOT: Talked to the "management", at least.
TIMOTHY: ...how screwed are we?
POLKA DOT: I don't like the way it looks, if I'm gonna be honest...
POLKA DOT: Mange, the guy in charge-
POLKA DOT: He said this place was, like-
POLKA DOT: He says he inherited it from "old faith".
POLKA DOT: I don't really know what that, means, but-
SCOUT: Oh!

 

Scout pounds a fist into his other paw, eyes widening.

SCOUT: I might!

 

Everyone turns to look at him.

SCOUT: I did a lot of reading before coming out here.
TIMOTHY: ...did you think to take notes for the others...?

 

Scout shakes his head.

SCOUT: Unfortunately no...I suppose I thought I'd have more time to do that than I actually got.
SCOUT: Time management's not easy like this...
SCOUT: BUT
SCOUT: I do remember something about religion being mentioned.
SCOUT: Something about this area having a very prominent group...

 

He squeezes his eyes shut, visibly trying to remember.

SCOUT: ...shoot.
POLKA DOT: Did you forget?!
SCOUT: You try being in a dark corner of someone's head for-

 

Scout tries to count out loud.

SCOUT: I don't know!
SCOUT: It's harder than you think!
TIMOTHY: It's-
TIMOTHY: It's fine.
TIMOTHY: We know there's some kind of...religious nuts here.
POLKA DOT: Used to be in charge, from what I can tell...Mange doesn't seem like he's too big on it from what I can tell, but...
CROSSBONE: But...
POLKA DOT: ...he says we gotta keep certain things toned down.
CROSSBONE: ....

 

She looks more than a little nervous about that phrasing.

CROSSBONE: D-
TIMOTHY: What k...kind of things?

 

You can't make eye contact with any of them.

POLKA DOT: ...he said people are less tolerant here.
TIMOTHY: Fuck me.
TIMOTHY: You mean we came all this way for people to be weird about us being fucking gay?
POLKA DOT: W-well-
POLKA DOT: Not just that-

 

Everyone looks like they're going to have a wide range of panic attacks.

POLKA DOT: Apparently they really-
POLKA DOT: REALLY don't like the whole "get cursed on purpose" thing.
POLKA DOT: ....
POLKA DOT: ....and mentioned having seen that one of us is "modded".

 

Scout and Tim immediately go pale.

TIMOTHY: D-
TIMOTHY: Did he mention who-
POLKA DOT: N-
SCOUT: It-
SCOUT: It's...fine.

 

The bear reaches out and gives Tim's shoulder a pat, the dog's expression looking pained.

SCOUT: I can say it.
SCOUT: ....
SCOUT: Us bears, we-
SCOUT: We're modified, yeah.
SCOUT: We got injured back before Lauries, and Tim patched us up.
SCOUT: I imagine a patch might not appear like much to the average person- just a repair job.

 

He rubs the side of his face.

SCOUT: ...but our injury was sexual in nature.
SCOUT: A deliberate tear in a seam, to- I don't know.
SCOUT: Saddler had his proclivities, haha!

 

Scout sounds like he's about to snap.

CROSSBONE: jeez...
SCOUT: We dealt with it fine enough for a long time.
SCOUT: Devo ended up stitching it up when it needed it- but he's not a doctor. It would always loosen back up.
SCOUT: ...Tim gave us a proper patch.
SCOUT: And, yknow- it's cute!

 

Tim hides his face in his paws.

TIMOTHY: I'm-
SCOUT: It is cute, and you should be proud of it.
SCOUT: You learned just for us!
SCOUT: It's very sweet.
TIMOTHY: Mmmgh-
TIMOTHY: But it got you hurt!
TIMOTHY: W-what if they do something to you?!
SCOUT: We'll address that if it comes up.
SCOUT: Whether a visible rip or a cute heart patch to cover it up, we were going to get nailed as...a pervert, or whatever they think we are, anyway.
SCOUT: ....
SCOUT: Just how our life goes, I guess.

 

He sighs.

SCOUT: ...but that's that. Now we're on the same page.
POLKA DOT: I'm-
POLKA DOT: Fuck man, you shouldn't have had to tell us that-
SCOUT: I don't personally mind much, but...
SCOUT: Be...gentle about it with the other three.
SCOUT: ...
SCOUT: Especially the one you met last night.
POLKA DOT: Yeah, I-
POLKA DOT: You said you didn't know if he was okay.
SCOUT: Not a clue.
SCOUT: ...he saved you, though?
CROSSBONE: We couldn't have gotten through that fight without him.
CROSSBONE: I wish I knew his name...
SCOUT: ...if he has one, it isn't known to any of us.
SCOUT: I knew he was friends with Roulette, but...
SCOUT: This is definitely the first time I've heard of him actively sticking his neck out for people.
SCOUT: Good omen, if you ask me.
POLKA DOT: And there's no way to contact him?

 

The yellow-tinted bear shakes his head.

SCOUT: I can keep an eye out, and at minimum, write notes for him.
SCOUT: It'd probably be good for us to keep a running journal, at this rate...
SCOUT: But!
SCOUT: I was able to hear a little in my dream last night.
TIMOTHY: I-is he okay?
SCOUT: ...
SCOUT: I mean-

 

He winces.

SCOUT: It...was mainly crying noises, that I heard.
SCOUT: Ones that didn't line up with Devo's, or Fatale's.
SCOUT: No matter how hard I tried to approach, I couldn't get closer to the source of the noise.
SCOUT: Just...further, and further.
SCOUT: ...driving me away.

 

Tim places his head in his hands again, making a distressed canine whine.

TIMOTHY: God, I probably freaked him out so bad-!
TIMOTHY: Why did I have to say that before blacking out, he-
TIMOTHY: Fatale even said he doesn't like me, and I said I wanted to hug him-

 

Scout blinks.

SCOUT: ...do you?
TIMOTHY: I-I mean!

 

He pulls his hands away, a bit of tear-embroidery on his face.

TIMOTHY: He was so-
TIMOTHY: He was acting so heroic-
TIMOTHY: And I-I know his words were harsh, but he gave everything to help us-
TIMOTHY: M-maybe it's stupid, but-

 

He tries to wipe his face.

TIMOTHY: ...yes. I wanted to hug him.
TIMOTHY: ....
SCOUT: .....
SCOUT: Do you have a crush o-
TIMOTHY: CMON MAN
SCOUT: It's fine if you do-
TIMOTHY: IT WAS A HIGH STRESS SITUATION
CROSSBONE: I-it's okay, Tim-
POLKA DOT: You can't help it if you thought he was cool-
TIMOTHY: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

 

He buries his head in a pillow, Scout looking more than a little amused.

SCOUT: It's sweet, Tim...don't you worry.
TIMOTHY: Y-yeah, but-
TIMOTHY: ...
TIMOTHY: .......I don't want him to be creeped out.
SCOUT: Then you can cross that bridge when you see him again!
SCOUT: At the very least, you can tell him "good job!" for saving your lives.
POLKA DOT: That at minimum.
POLKA DOT: Dude was a beast out there.
CROSSBONE: We've got to tell Fatale what happened, in any case.
TIMOTHY: ....Devo, too...

 

You all fall quiet.

SCOUT: ...he'll be back.
SCOUT: He's always back!
SCOUT: I promise.

 

Tim nods, sighing.

TIMOTHY: For now, let's-
TIMOTHY: Let's just focus on the situation at hand.
TIMOTHY: So we're in a town full of religious bigots.
POLKA DOT: Looks that way.
CROSSBONE: Should we leave...?
SCOUT: Can't.

 

You turn to look at him.

SCOUT: Not just a "shouldn't", but a "can't".

 

He gestures at the intensive care curtain.

SCOUT: While the four of us are recovering okay, Roulette's going to need time.
SCOUT: I'm not willing to rush that.

 

His voice is firm.

SCOUT: No objections. You'd have to leave us here too.
CROSSBONE: N-no one's leaving anyone!
CROSSBONE: Just-
TIMOTHY: ...yeah.
TIMOTHY: I'm not leaving Roulette either.
POLKA DOT: Ditto.
CROSSBONE: Then we're in agreement.
CROSSBONE: But then...what?
TIMOTHY: ...we came here to get you cursed.
TIMOTHY: We may as well do that and get the hell out.
POLKA DOT: About that...
POLKA DOT: ....
POLKA DOT: They...do want to...help? Us do that.
TIMOTHY: ...huh?
CROSSBONE: I thought you said they-
POLKA DOT: It is! Complicated!
POLKA DOT: And very stupid!

 

Scout leans in.

SCOUT: I can work with stupid. What's the plan?
POLKA DOT: So there's- there was this sword guy.
POLKA DOT: At the fight. Before I passed out, somebody split the fucking ragmirror in half.
TIMOTHY: IN HALF-?
POLKA DOT: I mean-
POLKA DOT: Us, Cross and the bear did a lot of damage before then!
POLKA DOT: But, yeah. In half.
POLKA DOT: I didn't even see what did it. Just-
POLKA DOT: A guy walking with some kind of huge sword.
POLKA DOT: ...the hunters here say they've been interfering with their kills. They don't like them much.
POLKA DOT: So there's that-
POLKA DOT: And yeah, someone going around actively cursing people.
CROSSBONE: Oh!

 

She lets out an excited beep.

CROSSBONE: So there's-!
POLKA DOT: Yeah. A chance we can make this happen.
POLKA DOT: ...and they want to use that.
TIMOTHY: I don't like the word "use" there.
POLKA DOT: ....
POLKA DOT: Mange figures that if the sword guy was interested in us...
SCOUT: The curse user may be as well!
POLKA DOT: Yeah.

 

Scout taps his chin.

SCOUT: It's not completely unsound. I could see it.
SCOUT: I mean- we're travelers!
SCOUT: It would be narratively interesting for us to get into trouble...
CROSSBONE: ...and what do they want us to, um, do with that?
POLKA DOT: ...he says he can follow us around, we can get cursed and then he can shoot the curse user in the head.

 

Everyone winces.

TIMOTHY: Well-adjusted bunch we're dealing with here.
POLKA DOT: Yeah.
POLKA DOT: I didn't agree to anything, but-
SCOUT: I say we do it.
SCOUT: If we play into this, it could work out for us!
CROSSBONE: ...I don't think it'd be a bad idea, either...not huge on us being followed, though...
TIMOTHY: Especially with the whole. Everything.
POLKA DOT: ...yeah. We'll have to be careful.
POLKA DOT: But-!

 

There's a knock at the door, everyone going quiet before it swings open.

A chunky, durable looking walkie talkie stands there, looking your bunch over with a tired-looking screen face. He's dressed in a thick hunter's vest, heavy combat boots, cargo pants, and-

His hands are distinctly tipped with long, razor sharp claws.

You try not to visibly gulp.

????: ...
????: You're looking more alive than earlier.
TIMOTHY: And you are...?
????: Comms.
COMMS: I'm the guy who dragged you all in from the woods, along with Vortex- it's another hunter here.
COMMS: We were on late night patrol when we heard ragmirror cries.
COMMS: Even a long ways out, you can hear them pretty well. Distinct sound to it.
CROSSBONE: ...no kidding...
COMMS: When we got there, though-

 

His screen face looks irritated.

COMMS: Looked like the pest got there first.
SCOUT: The pest?
SCOUT: You mean the swordsman?

 

He nods.

COMMS: We can't risk them wasting any more bodies.
COMMS: Monster hunting exports are all this town has to offer.
COMMS: Even ragmirrors have stuff worth salvaging. By destroying the bodies beyond saving, it's a direct hit towards our livelihoods.
COMMS: So...
COMMS: We hunt the swordsman as well.
COMMS: I've gotten the closest to catching them out of any of our guild.
POLKA DOT: ...what happened?













MANGE: God DAMN it
MANGE: How hard is it to get ahold of ONE
MANGE: SHITTY swordsman-

 

The rain is pounding down on the woods, the trees providing cover just enough to keep from getting bombarded. The hunters' voices are frantic, flashlight beams cutting through the dark.

MANGE: NOBODY'S going back until we find them!

 

There's rattling at random intervals, and if the hunters are lucky, one of them might just see a brief glance of something moving. It's to your benefit more than anything, the psychological damage on those down below makes up for the risk.

SNICKER: You're crazy if you think we can find them in this storm!
MANGE: I can fucking hear them, I know they're here!

 

Gotta just build tension, let them get stressed so they mess up even more.

With a good arm and a little luck, a large chunk of tree bark is sent flying, lodged into the ground a little too close to one of them for comfort.

COMMS: Hrk-!
SNICKER: Watch it, old man!
COMMS: ...t...they're taunting us.
COMMS: We should turn back.
MANGE: WHAT did I say earlier?!
COMMS: Sir.
MANGE: We get that fucker's head on a platter NOW

 

A second warning shot, a sharp beam trail blasted by an unseen force.

SNICKER: SHIT-
MANGE: COME OUT HERE YOURSELF, COWARD!

 

The hunter lets out an awful howl, baying for your blood.

MANGE: YOU THINK A COUPLE OF SWORD SWINGS ARE GONNA CHASE ME OFF?
COMMS: SIR-, you almost got HIT
MANGE: LET THEM COME!

 

Don't gotta hurt them, just gotta scare them off. Lunge directly at them, knock them to the ground, and springboard off of them back into the trees above.

The hunters cast aside, falling into the mud and sputtering.

Mange cusses and screams, but it fades with distance.

Successful getaway.

In your head you can hear the music, the triumphant score as you make it free into the night. No matter how much heat you get, it's not hard to find your way out.

And for now- your shelter awaits.



You drag the sword behind you into the tent, getting yourself sorted and comfortable quickly. Pile of pillows, dried meats, sword kept comfy in the corner.

The rainfall gets harder, the noise creating a nice atmosphere for your evening. Sometimes you hear the thunderclouds rumble, but nothing you're unused to. Fall weather for these parts.


You feel yourself a little heavier now that the adrenaline has mellowed out, the sound of drops hitting the ground from inside your safe little spot being your favorite to end the day on.

It's peaceful.








The thunder rumbles on-







A flash of lightning illuminates the outside-





There's a toy in your tent's entryway.

The walkie talkie, a hunting rifle pointed at your head.

COMMS: ....

 

The eyes on his screen are wide, his mouth pulled back into a horrified grimace as he takes in your body, your face, everything about you.

COMMS: W....what...
COMMS: What are you-?!

 

You yawn.

TORCH: Sleepy...
COMMS: You're-!

 

His eyes glance around your tent, seeing your possessions, your spoils. All of the things you've gathered.

He's completely frozen but his gun is still ready to shoot you right between the eyes.

COMMS: Y-you're- things like you shouldn't be-
COMMS: It makes no sense!
COMMS: You-!
COMMS: You're not even a toy!
TORCH: Nope, rabbit.
COMMS: Don't say that so-

 

He's fuming, unsure what to do.

COMMS: You are-
COMMS: I should-!
COMMS: You just HAD to be some freaky thing in a comfy tent! Fuck's sake-
COMMS: What the hell am I supposed to do?!
COMMS: They want your guts strewn across the woods!
TORCH: Why?
COMMS: Because you-
COMMS: Keep taking our kills.
COMMS: What do you think you are, some kind of hero?
TORCH: Keeps people outta trouble, you shouldn't mess with that stuff.
COMMS: That stuff is-

 

He shakes his head, lining up the shot with a huff.

COMMS: I can't keep having a conversation with-
COMMS: Stop looking at me with your big old eye. You're not cute.
TORCH: Never said I was.
COMMS: I-!

 

The walkie talkie screws his eyes shut and cusses under his breath before turning away, pointing his gun down and staring at the mud.

COMMS: Fine. Fine, just-
COMMS: If you have any sense-
COMMS: You'll leave the village and stop screwing around.
COMMS: I'm giving you one chance to leave.
COMMS: If you stay, it's on sight.

 

Your rabbit-y ears flop down, sad and soggy.

TORCH: You'd really shoot me like that?
COMMS: Don't test me.
COMMS: ...something like you....
COMMS: If they don't mistake you for a duster and shoot you for that, they'll definitely peg you as something....
COMMS: ...
COMMS: Unholy.
COMMS: And not everybody is as nice as me.
COMMS: Don't show your face again.

 

The walkie talkie turns before you can respond, stomping away with a moody electronic crackle.


As soon as you're in the clear you curl up fully.




What was that all about anyway?

COMMS: ....I chased them.
COMMS: Got close to catching them, even got a glimpse of their face.
COMMS: ...They had eyes like I've never seen before. Terrifying, even.
COMMS: ....
COMMS: But they got away. Way too quick for me.
COMMS: You're lucky they chose to save you.
COMMS: With the power they wield, they could have made easy work of your bunch, too.
COMMS: Best to stay away.

 

You're not sure what to make of his story, but...


You swear you can see fear in his cartoony expressions, uncertainty.


As if he didn't know what to make of it himself.

[knux400]

"...Um. Thank you? Sorry, it's not that I don't appreciate the heads up, it's just that, um. Mange is asking us to do literally the exact opposite of staying away from them. We're supposed to... I don't know... bumble around like silly city folk and draw them out???? Once we're all recovered, of course. We're not going anywhere till we're physically able to."

"So, um... What other sorts of things do you hunt? I mean, obviously we know about the ragmirror, but are there any other weird creatures out there we should know about?"

[Ignispark]

Make sure to thank them for dragging you to safety!

[skinstealer]

POLKA DOT: ...well, uh-
POLKA DOT: Thanks for the heads up, but...
POLKA DOT: Your, uh, boss-
COMMS: Mange isn't my boss.
TIMOTHY: ...isn't he the leader here?
COMMS: Yeah.
SCOUT: And you work under him?
COMMS: Mm.
TIMOTHY: S...so...?
COMMS: Not my boss.
POLKA DOT: ...got it.
POLKA DOT: Mange, though- he's...being kind of-
COMMS: Let me guess.

 

Comms stares blankly at the wall, sighing.

COMMS: He's asking you the exact opposite.
POLKA DOT: Yyyeah.
COMMS: ....he does that.
COMMS: He's probably got it out for you a bit. You're out of towners.
COMMS: Could be good to do what he says if you want to earn his trust.

 

He sighs again at the look of panic on your party's faces.

COMMS: Relax.
COMMS: He isn't gonna hurt you or anything.
COMMS: Just not afraid to give somebody the cold shoulder if they scorn him.
COMMS: Good person to have on your side.
COMMS: So...either work with him-
COMMS: Or leave now.
COMMS: Those are your options if you know what's good for you.

 

It's clear that this doesn't assure any of you, your party exchanging glances and sweating. Comms looks you all over, his eyes trailing from one person to the next.

COMMS: ...you lot look like shit.
COMMS: Have you eaten yet?
CROSSBONE: No, not yet...
SCOUT: We haven't left the room, except Silk Ribbon.
POLKA DOT: I mean, I still haven't-
POLKA DOT: Unless you count whatever the hell Mange shoved down my throat.

 

You make an awful face, remembering the taste.

COMMS: Ah, yeah.
COMMS: That's Gutsy's cider recipe.
COMMS: Could wake up a corpse.
POLKA DOT: ...that was cider?

 

Comms shrugs.

COMMS: We also use it for sink cleaner.

 

You stare at the walkie talkie, dumbfounded.

COMMS: Gets the grime right off.

 

You look at your party, everyone equally disturbed.

COMMS: It can cook better than it can brew, at least.
COMMS: I'll take you right to it, and we can bring stuff back for your bunch.
COMMS: The lodge is a bit of a maze, might get lost otherwise.
POLKA DOT: ...

 

While you're apprehensive...everyone does look pretty hungry.

POLKA DOT: ...alright, yeah.
TIMOTHY: I'll-!

 

Tim hops out of bed, shaky on his feet.

TIMOTHY: I'll come with!
COMMS: Not looking like that, you won't.
COMMS: Put some damn clothes on first.
COMMS: People will kick you out if your ass is showing.
TIMOTHY: R...right.

 

It takes Tim a little bit to locate his clothes and get dressed, Comms turning away while he does. It's...

You're not sure how to feel about it. Anxious, maybe-

-the fact that this is so different from Laurie's sits weirdly with you.

TIMOTHY: A-alright!

 

He's got his snowpants on, along with his trademark striped sweater you've seen him wear a million times, kept covered up by his jacket this whole time.

POLKA DOT: Looking good, man.
TIMOTHY: Thanks...

 

And with that, you're off.




The lodge is still unfamiliar to you, and despite the warmth inside, it's just as unnerving as the thoughts you had earlier.

You go to whisper to Tim about it-

-only to see him already ducking down a different hallway without a word.


S-shit-!
I don't know what he's-

COMMS: ...your friend thinks he's pretty slick, huh?
POLKA DOT: !
POLKA DOT: I-I dunno-

 

The walkie talkie chuckles.

COMMS: Let him be curious.
COMMS: It'll be fine. If he runs into trouble, he'll learn quick.
POLKA DOT: I thought you said-
COMMS: Don't worry about it.
COMMS: In a place like this, people say that getting lost just means an adventure.

 

He glances away.

COMMS: ...something like that.
















 

Tim doesn't slow down his steps until he knows he's out of earshot- or at least, assumes so.


Thank god for soft plush feet...


He startles as soon as he gets a better look at the walls of the hallway he's in- covered in more hunting trophies, all of things he'd prefer to only see in a nightmare.


Nnngh...
...
At....least Scout will enjoy seeing these, later, probably...

...time to get a look around


He speeds right back up, trying to get away from the beasts' glass eyes and taxidermied grins.

The doors he passes seem nondescript- other rooms, perhaps? It's growing strikingly similar to Laurie's the more he sees, something he puzzles over as he turns corner after corner. When he passes by people, they don't look up from what they're doing, too locked into conversation to notice a bean plush sneaking around at whatever the hell time it is. It was dark outside the windows when he woke up, it was dark now, and that's all he had to go off of...

But...


They're just...talking. Laughing.
They're not screaming hate or anything-
How...
....am I supposed to know who's safe?


As if answering his thoughts, someone raises their voice in an open room, the dog panicking and opening the closest door, jumping through it and slamming it behind him.


He stumbles-


-falling into snow.

TIMOTHY: S-shit-
TIMOTHY: A back door...?
 

He finally gets a view at the sky, though it's barely visible through the treeline. Pitch black, with glittery stars- the same as what he saw before going unconscious.

...he doesn't like thinking about that again.


Best to keep moving...


With a grunt of pain, he gets up, trying not to think about his still-healing injuries.


Guthrie...probably won't kill me. Probably. Seemed too nice...


Using the light of the lodge's windows, he's able to get a look around.


He's struck by sound - music, and commotion - that doesn't seem to be coming from where he just exited.

It takes him a moment to realize it's coming from above him.
What looks to be the lodge's third floor, comparatively tiny. All the noise is coming from the windows up there.

By happenstance, he spots the edge of a stairway around the other side of the lodge.


...well....
Maybe...it'll be fine.
Only one real way to go...


With trepidation sinking in, he goes for the stairs.

He feels the soreness in his legs, his back, his everything as he makes his way up.
By the time it feels like a mistake, it's faster to just finish making it up the rest of the way instead of going back down.

Grumbling to himself, he manages it- having to keep from doubling over and heaving as he finally reaches the top.

The commotion is louder now, but not deafeningly so.
A single step inside shows him what all the fuss is about.

It's a bar, that much is immediately clear- but far rowdier than Laurie's, by a long shot. He's about to take a look around before the sound of someone cheering catches his attention-

-only for his entire face to go pale.

At a large table, a toy with scratches and scuffs all over any visible plastic they had extends an arm, a smug grin on their face.

At the other end is a massive toy- semi-translucent purple rubber, covered in warts and greebles, and more long than it was tall- a proper centaur, crossed with a serpent-like dragon. Its mouth stayed in a completely neutral, jagged expression, eyes bulging and tired looking.

It rests a spindly, fragile looking arm on the table, hand raised.

CROWD: Ohh, you're gonna get it!
CROWD: You can't do it man, you've never won!
CROWD: Let him try, let him try!

 

The rubber beast rolls its eyes, the bulging features too prominent to have any subtlety whatsoever.

????: You don't need to hype him up.
????: It's unnecessary.
CROWD: You hear that?!
CROWD: Vortex is talking shit!
VORTEX: ....

 

It focuses its attention on the toy across the table.

VORTEX: Go on.

 

The plastic toy grabs onto Vortex's hand in a death grip-



-only to have his arm slammed down in a motion so quick you barely register it happening.

The crowd cheers, Vortex's opponent pulling away with a pained hiss.

VORTEX: ...I didn't hit you that hard.



 

The bar is pretty dimly lit, a lot of candles mixed in with the dim yellow light bulbs, but a cheap-looking plastic chandelier hanging above the tables lights them up plenty.
Shadows cast long and wide across the room, only making the dragon loom further.

VORTEX: Maybe if you train harder, you'll win.

 

Vortex watches as the toy grumbles, walking away and trying to ignore the jeers and ribbing of the crowd.



It simply looks forward, expecting more.



All the regulars shy away from the other seat, bickering and teasing one another to sit down, despite knowing it's pointless

In contrast to the dragon, another figure practically swims through the long shadows, completely hiding within them to the point that Tim doesn't notice them

until they've sat down in the chair across from the champion.



A wooden snake toy in a poncho and hat, with what looks to be an odd, decorative scepter strapped along their back.
They look over at the dragon with an inscrutable expression, saying nothing.

VORTEX: ....
VORTEX: You're not from around here.

 

They don't respond,
pulling the scepter from their back.
Tim notes the ball at the end of it has a very nice look to it, likely having an internal light to put colored patterns across it-


And Tim suddenly finds the handle thrust into his paws.

????: Hold this for me?

 

Spoken not all that much like a question.
They don't look over at him, still watching the dragon.

TIMOTHY: I-!

 

He grips the scepter without hesitation.

????: Thanks.

 

It feels


beyond strange in his paws, making his fabric stand on end here and there.
The dog is transfixed by scepter's colored ball.

He snaps back to reality what feels like ten minutes later; likely only a few seconds.

????: Any more gloating before we start?

 

They tip their hat up, smiling at the dragon.

????: Better now than never.
VORTEX: ....
VORTEX: No.
VORTEX: I don't think that will be necessary.

 

It places its arm down on the table.

The snake's movements are slow, deliberate.
Elbow on the table.
Claw against the dragon's.

????: You count down.
????: Call it a home field advantage.

 

It narrows its eyes.

VORTEX: Three.
VORTEX: Two.
VORTEX: One-

 

The dragon shoves its claws against theirs as hard as it can, straining.



Only for the snake's claw to go nowhere.
Dead-steady.

????:  . . .
????: We startin' on go?

 

It says nothing, baring its teeth just slightly.

????: ...Oh, you started.
????: Good to know.

 

The dragon finds its palm lowering
slowly
slowly
towards the table.

Struggling with all its might, its entire arm shaking.
The snake's limb moves as smoothly as ever, as if it were lowering against air.

????: Little bit harder.
????: Your hand still there?
 

The crowd is howling at this point, Tim just barely able to make out the wrestlers' conversation.

Again, Vortex says nothing, visibly struggling to keep its cool.

The snake looks

distracted, all of a sudden.
Their progress stops, as if they were holding the dragon's claw where it was.

????: ...Hey.
????:  . . .

 

They glance at the crowd.

????: Hey.
 

Tim feels thunder boom against his chest.
The crowd shuts up.

????: ...'Ppreciate it.
 

Refocused,
they return to their efforts,
the dragon's claw hovering just above the table.

????: Last words?
 

Nothing-

-but then-



-an appreciative smile.


Its hand touches the table.

The match over.

The stranger nods,
stands,
and reaching their other hand across the table for a handshake.

Vortex takes it, giving them a healthy shake.

VORTEX: Make yourself at home.

 

They smile back as they return the shake.

When they finish, they glance at the crowd.

????: Y'all never seen arm wrestlin' before?
????: Nothin' to see here.

 

The stranger parts the crowd, moving past them to reach a barstool - one they'd likely gotten up from before the contest.

They sit back down as if nothing had happened...



...apparently forgetting the scepter still in Tim's paws.



The crowd resumes talking, soon ending up noisy once again.

Tim looks between the scepter- trying not to get distracted by the ball on top once again- and the rest of the bar, dumbfounded.

Vortex remains at its seat, looking significantly more comfortable without the crowd jeering at it and its opponents. Even so, it simply stares distantly, lost in thought.

The stranger is still sitting at the bar, now with drink in hand, idly chatting with the bartender.

The crowd disperses a little, seemingly no other challengers looking for a try.
The bar feels a lot more open now, the dog noticing the pretty, but worn green carpeting, as well as a separate room with darts and pool.

Though, the crystal scepter within his paws feels pressing.

...regardless of what he plans to do with it.

 

The mess hall is full of empty tables, chairs strewn around haphazardly. A large chandelier made of wood and...antlers? hangs above the space, along with the usual trophies you've come to expect.

There's a black-furred plush cat cleaning a table, wearing a big bow collar and a warm-looking dress. Comms makes a crackle of acknowledgment, the cat startling and assuming a salute- only to startle even more when she sees you.

????: S-sir!
COMMS: Evening, Vann.
VANN: Sh-
VANN: She's alive!
????: Wait-!!!

 

Another voice comes from behind a window not unlike the one you've worked with back at Laurie's, a toy scrambling out of what you assume is a kitchen area.


You nearly yelp as you see it-

A translucent plastic toy with wide, manic-looking eyes-



-full of sparkly pink intestines, looking far too soft to be plastic themselves.


I-is that?!

COMMS: Gutsy, chill.
GUTSY: Holy cow!
GUTSY: You didn't bite it!
POLKA DOT: I-I uh well

 

Before you can object, both toys are rushing over to peer at you up close, Comms looking properly annoyed.

GUTSY: Whoa...
GUTSY: A couple bad scratches, but nothing Guthrie can't fix!
VANN: You're incredibly lucky...
VANN: Ragmirrors have taken out so many hunters here...
GUTSY: Yeah, but-
GUTSY: The swordsman saved them!
COMMS: Knock it off.
GUTSY: Cmon, Comms!

 

The gore-filled toy pulls back, hand on its chin. You realize now that it's wearing a stained apron and nothing else, glimpses of the rest of its body revealing that yes, it is absolutely stuffed with intestines.

GUTSY: I can't help it....
GUTSY: It's so fantastic...
GUTSY: So romantic-
COMMS: There's nothing fantastical 'bout somebody who thinks they're too good to play by the rules.
COMMS: And if you knew what's good for you, you'd stop getting crushes on sword-hauling freaks.
GUTSY: Freaks are the best kind, though...

 

It pouts, its little drawn-on mouth looking extremely put out.

GUTSY: You just don't get it.
COMMS: You're right, I don't.

 

Despite this guy's scary look...

...it feels like it'd fit right in at Laurie's.

VANN: W-well-

 

The plush interrupts that train of thought, wringing her paws.

VANN: I'm...really glad you're alive....

 

Her voice is soft, gentle- reminding you a bit of Cross when you first met, actually.

GUTSY: Same here!
GUTSY: Whatever y'all want- it's on the house!
COMMS: ...you're gonna give a party of five free shit?
GUTSY: Uh huh! Adventurer's discount!
COMMS: Gutsy, you're already on thin ice.
GUTSY: Take it out of my paycheck!
GUTSY: Tonight, they eat free! Whatever they want!

[knux400]

POLKA: "Um, I'm not sure what you guys have, to be honest. Something kind of simple and comfortable, probably? And portable. The rest of us are still stuck in bed, so it would be better if I could get stuff to-go."

"Do you guys do burgers here? Or something like that?"

TIM: ...uh. Try to give the snake back their scepter??? You can't really go anywhere with that, that would be stealing. If they won't take it right away, then just... Find a corner to sit and stare at it, I guess.