[TOY] Plaything

[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.

You glance over at Fatale, the bear seething. Neither of you speak until Roulette's gone inside.

POLKA DOT: ...you okay there?
FATALE: Mmmgh.
FATALE: I'll...probably have a better argument after dinner.
FATALE: Get my head working with more food.
POLKA DOT: You're gonna press the issue?
FATALE: ...
FATALE: I see Devo in how it acts.
POLKA DOT: ...huh?
 

She turns her head to face you.

FATALE: Devo used to do that. Shrug stuff off.
FATALE: It's what got us into a lot of messes.
FATALE: If he hadn't done that, we probably could have gotten out of shit with Saddler sooner.
FATALE: Maybe we could have avoided it entirely.
FATALE: I don't want anything like that happening to Roulette.
 

You swallow, your body running cold from how sharp her voice is.

POLKA DOT: ...got it.
FATALE: ...you would do the same for your friends, I'm sure.
 

You head inside with the others, seeing dinner already being laid out.

Roulette is in the process of making its way into its own divided section of the tent.

CROSSBONE: Oh, Roul-
CROSSBONE: You should eat! We all forgot to earlier!
ROULETTE: ...That's alright.
ROULETTE: I have food from my pack I planned to eat.
 

It gently guides the car-weasel away from the food.

CROSSBONE: ...are you sure?
CROSSBONE: The fire's warm-
FATALE: It'll help your joints.
FATALE: You don't have to talk. But you should be here.
ROULETTE: My joints are doing better.
ROULETTE: I was planning on lying down to rest. Rest will-
 

It has to stop to scoot the weasel back once more, getting a quiet whine in response.

ROULETTE: I know, I know, it's alright.
FATALE: Please.
ROULETTE: It-
ROULETTE: I should lie d-
 

It sighs as it has to practically pry the car away from the food again, clearly too exhausted to be struggling with such a task.

ROULETTE: ...Does anyone know what these eat...?
FATALE: ...it-
POLKA DOT: It wanted the jerky earlier, right?
POLKA DOT: Ate some, too.
POLKA DOT: We've got some over here.
 

Fatale shoots you a grateful look.

ROULETTE: ...I have some.
ROULETTE: I'm not sure if it would be Good for it to eat, and I do Not want to feed it.
ROULETTE: But I don't want a repeat of last time.

ROULETTE:  . . .
ROULETTE: ...hold on.
 

It removes its pack with some difficulty, fishing out some more jerky and opening the package.

Roulette dangles the jerky in front of the car-weasel, quickly catching its attention, then leads it along outside the tent.

It sets the jerky pieces down outside, not too far away.
The bot's voice can be heard inside, albeit quietly.

ROULETTE: Here, you can have this, but you need to go back where you belong, alright?
ROULETTE: We don't know how to take care of you, I'm not even sure what you are.
ROULETTE: Sorry, buddy.
 

As the car-weasel happily begins to eat, Roulette hurries its way back inside.

It holds the zipper for the entrance.



It hesitates,
winces,
then finally, slowly pulls it shut,
shoulders visibly drooping a little.

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...