[TOY] Plaything

[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.