A gentle yet insistent tap at your shoulder wakes you from your sun-basking daydream. You pull your gaze away from the rippling, crystal blue water, sitting up in your deckchair to greet April. The matriarchal rabbit's hovering patiently overhead, her paws clasped neatly over her modest polka-dotted petticoat, easily the jauntiest thing you've ever seen her wear. Her head and face are mostly unwrapped today, though she does have a few bandages around her neck and a medical-grade eyepatch similar to the one Rackham used to wear. Most of the fur around her face and muzzle's long gone, leaving her with bare skin smoothed by shiny scar tissue.
"Hey, April!" you reply, hauling yourself to your feet. "Getting a little sun, I see?"
"Just a bit. Dr. Rabbinson thought it would be a good idea," she replies, the faintest of smiles playing at her glossy lips. "If you have a minute... may I introduce you to someone?"
You're somewhat surprised to find out that there could be anyone at this party that you don't know (besides the staff, of course). The whole point of this trip was to keep it to close friends and family, but maybe April brought an acquaintance? You suppose it's not impossible -- there's so much about her (and really, everyone else) that you still don't know yet.
"Sure," you answer.
"Follow me."
Standing up, you walk with her around the deck to a sitting area just underneath a large canopy, where several tables and chairs are bolted to the floorboards to keep them from moving whenever the boat sways. Seated in one of the chairs is local goober Peanut, engaged in lively conversation with a person you indeed don't recognize: a large, heavyset female white polar bear with silver headfur tied back into a neat, proper bun. Sitting tensely between them is a young, blue-furred rabbit boy in a short-sleeved tee and capris, clutching a video game console in his tiny paws.
"Oh, hi Mike!" Peanut says as you approach, cutting himself off mid-diatribe.
"Hey, Peanut," you nod.
Waving a scruffy paw over the table, April smiles proudly. "Mike, these are my wonderful roommates--"
"Not me -- I still live in 87-A!" Peanut interrupts, giving April a look like she's crazy. This causes the polar bear to chuckle and April to drag her paw down her face in exasperation.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mike," the polar bear says by way of greeting. Her manner of speaking is soft and just a bit flowery -- like an unaccompanied lullaby. "My name is Fran, and this is my son, Bonson. Say hello, darling!"
Her son? He has to be adopted, right? Considering the fact that the two of them aren't even the same species...? That's how this works, right?
You pocket that question for now. You'll have to ask Faz sometime. Anyone else might take it the wrong way.
"Hey," the bunny says with a dismissive wave. "Sorry -- in a link battle, can't pause. Real focused."
"Kids these days and their video games," Fran comments, side-eyeing her son with a frown. "Really now, dear?"
"Don't worry about it," you laugh. "So, you guys are living with April, huh?"
"Mmhm. For a little while, now. We're still new to the area, just having moved here from out of state, actually." Fran reaches up and brushes a lock of her headfur out of her eyes. "We were searching for a community that would be conducive to our needs, and Mr. Marion's was just perfect. Both he and Ms. May have shown us nothing short of true hospitality."
"Well, it's really nice meeting you both," you reply, gently taking a hold of Fran's proffered paw and shaking it. "We were worried about April moving out, but I'm glad to see she'll be all right on her own."
"I appreciate having others around," April adds. "Having my own space is comfortable, but... having people to share it with, makes it cozy. If that makes sense."
"The sounds of life," you muse, recalling Faz's once-perplexing sentiment. It's a concept you've since become quite familiar with. "I totally get where you're coming from, not wanting to live alone. Being in the hospital for months was miserable, but at least I had other patients in and out to keep me company."
"Ooh, that reminds me," Peanut interjects. "Ms. Nisha will need a place to stay until she gets back on her feet, too!"
April gives Peanut a dead-eyed glare as Fran looks over at him obliviously.
"Err -- sorry, I'm still trying to memorize everyone's names," Fran comments with a blush. "Could you remind me of which one Nisha is, again?"
"Gosh, well, you haven't met her yet," Peanut says, straightening out his shirt. "She's a really wonderful lady though. Right now she's in jail, but uh -- we're hoping she gets out on probation soon!"
"We are?" April mutters.
"Ms. Nisha was our former boss -- she worked at the restaurant that closed down that we were telling you about," Peanut continues blithely. "She was the CEO but she got arrested for uh, enfizzlement, I think. Still, she's a very nice lady, and I think you'll really like her once you get the opportunity to meet her. It might be a while longer though -- you know how confusing legal stuff is!"
"...right, of course," Fran comments with a wary nod.
"Peanut." April's frowning, shaking her head at him in a clear attempt to get him to stop talking.
"It's okay, I don't think Ms. Nisha would mind us talking about it. She was always very open and honest with me," Peanut replies. You guess you can't argue there -- Peanut's careless blabbing is what got her busted in the first place.
"Hah! Yes! YES!" Bonson cheers, jumping up onto the table and doing a victory dance. "In your face, PainbringerDeathBun!"
An angry, profanity-laced scream erupts from the opposite end of the boat; by the far railing, you can just barely make out Beanie stomping her foot up and down on the ground, furiously shaking what appears to be a handheld game identical to Bonson's.
"Good heavens, such language! Someone seems upset," Fran comments with an oblivious tut-tut, shielding her son's ears with both paws. "Bonson, darling. Forget you heard those words just now."
"Sheesh. What got into her?" Bonson adds, scratching his head.
"Aww, Beanie's like that sometimes, you just get used to it," Peanut shrugs. "But anyway, come to think of it -- you've still got an extra room in your apartment, right, Ms. April? Why don't you just have Ms. Nisha stay with you?"
Glancing over at April, you can almost hear the cartoon steam whistle building; her teeth are gritted, her cheeks flushed, and her good eye's twitching.
"Well, Fran, Bonson, I hope to see you both around in the future! So hey, April," you divert smoothly. "I've got someone I'd like to introduce you to, if you don't mind?"
"Who is it?" she hisses as you take her by the paw, steering her away from the table as a blissfully unaware Peanut returns to his gushing.
"Literally anyone," you whisper. "C'mon."
You lead April safely away from the chatter, towards the bow. She thanks you for the diversion, then politely breaks off to mingle when she spots Foxglove waving to her from the crowd.
"There you are," Beanie says, approaching you from off to one side. "I've been looking everywhere for you -- figured you must've holed up in the head, puking your guts out."
"Hey, Beanie!" you reply enthusiastically as she pockets her game, apparently already over her loss. "Man, feels like it's been forever since we got to catch up."
"Prolly because it has been. I haven't seen you once since you were discharged." She takes a sip from a mixed, gaudy tropical-themed beverage that seems to be more decoration than drink. "How're your arms doing?"
"Time heals all wounds, or so they say," you reply, rolling your sleeve up for her.
"Shame it does jack shit for the scars, though." She brushes the back of her paw against the faded white scratches covering your forearms, stopping just shy of the gouge-mark in your left palm. "And the chest?"
"Getting there, little by little," you reply. "The painkillers definitely help."
"Well, I'm glad you're back with us. After the hell you went through to save my ass, I'd have felt like shit if you'd kicked the bucket while I stayed at home."
"Nobody holds it against you for not wanting to go back to that hellhole, Beanie. Least of all me."
"...thanks, Mike. You don't know how much I've needed to hear that," she replies with an odd look in her eyes.
After a moment, it dawns on you that the rare expression is one of complete sincerity, something the deadpan snarker of a bunny almost never employs in casual conversation. Unsure of what to say, you simply nod, leaning back against the railing.
"How have you been?" you finally venture. "I mean, with... you know."
"Better." She glances to the ground, smiling softly. "I think it's behind me. Haven't seen... you-know-who since that night."
"Yeah. Me neither."
"I hope we did right by him," she sighs.
You sniff, nodding solemnly.
"I know we did."
The two of you stand together in mutual, awkward silence for a while as the boat sways beneath your feet, softly rocking you back and forth.
"So what're you doing these days to keep busy?" you ask, changing the subject for her.
Beanie looks down at her coconut-shaped mug with an appreciative nod, fiddling with one of the plastic swords hanging over the edge of the glass. "Oh man, okay -- so I've got a buddy who owns a comics and cards shop downtown? Full of nerd stuff, y'know -- vinyl toys and board games and the like."
"Right."
"Last month the newest edition of Strongholds & Sapiens dropped, and they completely overhauled the battle system for it, top-to-bottom. Doesn't even feel like the same game," she continues eagerly. "Now all these new players are hopping on the bandwagon, while older players are pouring in from out of the woodwork since their interest in it's been rekindled too, y'know?"
"Sounds like it's a real 'Geek Renaissance'."
She flexes and unflexes her free paw into a fist. "I'm gonna go easy on you, after everything you've been through, but your grace period for bad puns like that is two days, tops."
"I'll have to make the most of it," you grin shamelessly.
"Yeah, that sounds like you." She raises her glass (well, novelty cup) to you, thoughtfully. "But yeah, veteran Stronghold Masters are swamped trying to pick up the new rules. Forget 'Monday Night S&S' -- the shop's packed out every night with a good dozen or so campaigns running at any given time. Every. Single. Night."
"Holy shit," you reply. "So it's like HumieCon, but on a smaller scale."
"Sure, yeah," she considers, taking a sip of her drink. "I mean, as long as HumieCon is literally your only reference point for a group of people interacting."
"Well -- no, I mean, because at HumieCon--"
"No, I got it," she snorts, gesturing around the boat with her boozy coconut. "Just like how this is like HumieCon, but on a smaller scale. And on a lake. And all the guests are people we know, instead of people who like humans."
"Okay, but--"
"Or like you! You're basically HumieCon, but with only a single person."
You roll your eyes and sigh dramatically. "Oh my god, Beanie, just rake me over the coals for trying to show an interest, why don't you."
"Hey," she smiles, "giving you shit is my favorite pastime. I got some catching up to do. I've really missed it."
You can't help but laugh. "I noticed. So I take it you're getting back into playing, then?"
"Even better: I'm getting paid to play," she says. "I'm a professional Stronghold Master now. I'm making more than I was as a night guard, and I'm doing something I love."
"I'm happy to hear it."
"How about you? What're you gonna do now that you're back on your feet and all this is behind us?"
"Well I've -- I've got something lined up, actually," you smirk back. "The sedentary life isn't for me, and besides... I've done enough sitting around lately."
You run a hand through your hair, thinking back to the out-of-the-way rural hospital you spent the better part of the last year recuperating in. Between it being little more than a tiny clinic with a few beds and a handful of staffers, as well as your primary physician being Dr. Rabbinson herself, you were able to stay on the down-low and out of the public eye while you were on the mend.
"Well, wherever you end up working, lemme know so I can come bust your chops while you're on the clock," she grins, "as is tradition."
"I wouldn't have it any other way. Shall we go catch up with the others, then? Wouldn't be much of a party if we all keep to ourselves."
"Yeah, all right," Beanie says. "Lead the way."
The party's in full swing by the time you make it to the main dining area of the boat. Cheerful music's piping softly through the speakers overhead while your friends and neighbors circle the buffet, piling their plates high with food. Standing off to the side of the room by a long table laden with drink pitchers and tubs of ice is none other than Faz, who seems to be rather animatedly telling a story for the benefit of Bonnibel and Rackham. Notably, Faz is wearing a long sailor's coat, and in place of his usual wide-brimmed fedora is a captain's hat perched on his head.
"Wow," you comment. "I still can't get over how much better Faz is looking these days."
"Yeah, for real. Good to see the chief's still on the mend. He was in a pretty bad way after the last round of surgeries," Beanie agrees, waving to him before she breaks off for the buffet. "Hey, I'm gonna snag some mini tacos before they're gone. Want me to grab you anything?"
"I'm fine, thanks."
She nods. "I'll catch up with you after I stuff my face a bit, then!"
"Sounds good!" you laugh, drifting over to join Faz's group.
"So did he take the hint, or what happened?" Bonnibel asks excitedly, brushing one of her lop ears back.
"Chica happened," Faz responds, unassisted by his electrolarynx. His speech is notably quiet and a bit breathless, but he doesn't seem bothered by it. Speaking must be coming more easily for him, or at least less painfully. "Suffice it to say, if you've ever heard the phrase 'mad as a wet hen' you've got a good idea of how angry she was -- enough to peck him right on his forehead."
Rackham busts up laughing while Bonnibel covers her cheeks, blushing and giggling at the same time.
"Yeah, that sounds about right," Rackham groans, a smile playing at his muzzle. "Our Chica's the same way when she's passionate about something, though."
"Still, she pecked him?" Bonnibel gasps.
"As sure as I stand here," Faz shrugs.
"That's pretty harsh. Remind me never to go head-to-head with Cheeky on anything." The blue bunny swills back the rest of her punch glass before going for a refill from one of the pitchers. As she does, she bumps straight into you -- though it doesn't seem to faze her in the slightest. "Oh! Hi, Mike!"
"Ah, good evening, Mike," Faz says as you approach. "I was just filling our friends in on Chica's encounter last week with a particularly offensive door-to-door salesman."
"Oh no," you chuckle. "He should've realized Cheeky's a tough gal to mess with."
"For real," Rackham coughs.
"I have to say, you're looking much better, Mike." Faz looks you up and down, nodding his approval. "You seem to be on the fast-track to recovery, given all you've been through."
"Hey, you're one to talk, chief." You grin, snapping off a salute. "You've got some real color back in your face. Talking seems to come easier, too."
"I think I've just gotten used to it," he muses. "I doubt I'll be singing Carmen again."
"Plus you got a good deal of sutures healed and staples taken out, it looks like."
"I think for every pound of metal and brace they took out, I've packed on about five more in fat," Faz mumbles, good-naturedly.
"Ah, you needed some meat on those bones anyway," Rackham grins, patently ignoring his own scrawny physique. "The skeleton look didn't suit a mug like yours."
Faz chuckles lowly, his scarred visage breaking into an earnest and asymmetric smile, and he waves his paw as if to physically brush away the compliments. "Guess that means I'm actually going to have to dress up for Halloween this year, instead of just going as myself."
"Hey, Faz." You straighten up, trying to sound a bit more serious. "I'm really glad you joined us. A boat ride just wouldn't have been the same without the captain."
"I'm glad I came. I've missed just... socializing. This sort of atmosphere, you know?" he replies warmly, nodding his head to the low stage at the end of the dining room, where Chiclet and Goose are engaged in an off-key karaoke duet while Foxglove, Bonbon, and Peanut laugh and clap along with them. "Y'know, you kids might not believe it, but this is almost what the old restaurant felt like back when Goldie first opened it up -- lively, cheery."
"Guess that explains why it was a hit to begin with," you comment.
"Exactly. My only regret is that he's not here with us today. I think he'd have loved this."
"Oh, I know he would've," Rackham smiles. "That reminds me -- you never did get to meet Goldie, did you, Bonnibel?"
"No, no, sadly. I was, um... gosh, I only worked there for a short stint, but it was after he'd passed."
"Well, let's be thankful for the company we do have," the fox grins. "And Mike, I think I speak for everyone here when I say I'm glad you could be here."
"Aw shucks," you shrug, "I'm glad to be here. Sure beats the alternative."
"Look, Mike," he murmurs, leaning in discreetly and throwing his arm over your shoulder. "I know we said we weren't gonna talk much about it, but that night, when we split up--"
"Hey, I'm just happy we both made it out in one piece. Mostly in one piece, anyway. What you did was real brave."
"I was about to say the same about you!" Rackham laughs, then suddenly offers a strange, grimacing blink in slow-motion.
"...you, uh, you okay, Rackham?" Bonnibel gawks.
"It was a wink," Faz explains, picking his plastic cup up from the table nearby.
"I'm... getting used to having the patch off," Rackham mumbles. "Finer points are still coming back to me. Socializing's an art."
"You know, speaking of socializing, I'm glad to see you coming out of your shell too, Bonnie," you reply, patting her head. "I honestly expected you to stay at home. Did you remember to take your meds today?"
"For your information, Mike, I'm not a little kid," Bonnibel replies with a smug smirk, coolly flipping her ears back again. "I'm managing just fine. In fact, pretty much nothing fazes me these days."
As she leans back, she accidentally bumps an unopened bottle of soda off the table with her arm, where it clatters to the ground behind her. Her ears stand up as straight and stiff as Bonworth's as she literally bunny-hops away from the table, looking around in a panic.
"What the hell was THAT?!" she shrieks. "A cannonball?! Are we hit?!"
"Nerves of aluminum, that one," Rackham whispers, nudging you in the side.
You pick the soda bottle up off the ground, handing it to her with a knowing look.
"Ah, uhh. Of course," she says, giggling and turning red as she accepts it from you. "I guess I'm sort of a work-in-progress."
"Aren't we all," you smile.
A blast of synthpop that could be out of any 80s Jazzercise tape erupts over the speakers as Chiclet and Goose whip into frenzied, energetic dancing. Bonbon excitedly rushes the stage, snatching up one of the microphones and belting out a squeaky, jittery chorus that sounds like it might be from an entirely different song.
"Holy shit, I wish I was filming this," Beanie laughs as she joins your group with a paper plate full of tacos. "Just... wow. Bonbon's always sucked at singing, but this is legendary. How many you think she's had?"
"Depends. Is this punch spiked?" Bonnibel asks, sniffing at her cup. "Because if it is, then the answer's 'too many'. She was out running laps around the ship earlier, then she came in and drank half the bowl to 'replenish her fluids'."
Faz shakes his head with a grin, tapping his foot in time to the music. Your group observes Bonbon poorly executing a series of increasingly awkward dance moves, before dropping the mic and cartwheeling off the stage.
"That reminds me... I've got someone I need to check in on," you remark, turning. "Glad to see you're all enjoying the party so far!"
Bonnibel bounces on her heels, waving with a smile. "See ya 'round, Mike!"
"Bonjour, Freddy!"
"Hello, Michael," Frederick manages with a smile.
He slides into the windowside booth next to you and Haddock, quietly joining both of you in gazing out at the lake. The sun's just beginning to drop down over the horizon, and the water's still and calm right now. Haddock's excitedly pressed his entire face tight against the glass in total fascination, soaking every second of the cruise up with a wordless, toothy grin.
"Quel magnifique lac," Frederick comments after a while. "L'eau est belle."
"Lake?" you offer, emphasizing the pronunciation as you tap the window. "The lake?"
He nods back, quickly.
"Yeah, it's real pretty."
"J'apprécie l'absence de vagues."
Vagues? You don't know that one yet, but now's as good a time as any to update your fledgling lexicon. Reaching into your shirt pocket, you pull out a small spiral-bound memo pad. Flipping it open to a blank page, you pass it across the table to Frederick along with a ball-point pen. He accepts both from you, writing the word down along with a simple sketch of a large body of water and gentle rippling waves.
"Water?"
"Vagues," he repeats, passing it back to you. He gestures strangely, very slowly and heavily rocking his arms from one side to another.
"Not water?" you curiously reply. "Or -- the waves?"
"Mmm."
You're not confident he knows whether that's what he meant or not, especially since you're pretty sure there are no waves, but he seems satisfied, and that's good enough for you. Closing the notepad, you return it to your pocket.
"Eh bien, brave marin, le voyage vous plaît-il?" Frederick asks.
Pulling away from the window for a second, Haddock's grin tightens.
"Real good sailin' weather," he answers as Frederick runs a gentle paw through the fox's shaggy headfur. "Clear waters like these, man could throw a net out o'er th' sea an' wind up needin' a new net, on account o' so many fish."
"Fish," Frederick repeats.
"Bright fella. Catches on real quick," Haddock chuckles. "Might make a good quartermaster, lad."
You grin at the mental image of Haddock and Frederick on an old-fashioned pirate boat like the William, dressed up in bicorne hats and ruffled shirts. You suppose it's not that far-fetched of a notion -- after all, Faz arrived here wearing captain's garb. With Halloween fast approaching, maybe you and Rackham could talk the others into a pirate theme for the inevitable costume party.
The sound of footsteps clicking up the floor behind you draws your attention. Glancing over your shoulder, you notice Chichi and Bonbon approaching, loaded down with a few plates of food from the buffet table.
"You think I'd get in trouble if I snuck into the galley and helped out a bit?" Chichi muses aloud. "I hate the idea of those poor people back there busting their tails without any help."
"Chichi, it's what they get paid to do, isn't it? Besides, today's your one day off! Quit thinking about kitchen stuff and just have a good time," Bonbon chides, wrapping an arm around the smaller hen's shoulders. "Chill out! Cut loose! Enjoy the party!"
"...ooh, all right," the flustered pastry chef concedes. "Do you boys mind if we have a seat here?"
"Not at all," you answer.
You scoot over to make room for Chichi while Bonbon slips in beside Frederick. Haddock bounces in his seat excitedly, but he can't seem to find anything to say, so he just sticks his tongue out and taps on the table. Frederick, meanwhile, seems content to watch over the giddy fox in silence.
"Oh, Mike! I was talking to Beanie a few minutes ago, and she reminded me of something I've been wanting to ask you," Bonbon says, tearing open a packet of salad dressing. "Did that guy from HumieCon ever manage to come visit you?"
"Ahhh, you mean Wilson! Yeah, believe it or not, he did," you reply, thinking back to the visit. "He was in town for a business meeting or something, but he spared a couple hours to come by and chat me up. You should've seen him, he looked so different with all his fur back."
"Yeah, I bet he did," Bonbon replies absently, frowning as she struggles to spear a cherry tomato with her spork. Eventually she just gives up and snatches the offending produce with her paw, tossing it in her mouth. "Reason I bring it up was I remember hearing you had a couple of primate visitors. I was just curious if they were they relatives of yours or not."
"No... no, I don't think so," you reply, struggling to remember the other one. "Wilson was the only one I remember, anyway."
"No, I remember one gentleman who stopped by for a short while, pretty sure he was a primate too," Chichi says, gently unwrapping her baked potato from its foil casing. "He just... peeped in from the hallway and asked for you by your family name."
"...doesn't ring a bell. What'd he look like?" you ask warily.
"He was all wrapped up in some huge bulky poncho and a -- well, kind of an awkward-looking wig," she continues with an embarrassed smile. "Clumsy, kinda stompy, like Bonworth's prosthetics. He looked a lot like you, and had a real dark fur tone. Or I guess skin tone? He didn't say much, but he was very polite. He was really concerned about whether you were going to be okay, but once Doc Rabbinson said you were, he didn't really stick around."
Piecing that description together in your mind, it dawns on you that there could only be one "person" you'd know of who would fit it.
"Son of a gun," you exhale. "Well, I'm glad to hear he made it out safely."
"Hmm? Who mmmd out shafely?" Bonbon inquires through a mouthful of salad. "Whadd're -- gulp. What're you talking about?"
"Just a friend." Looking over at the inquisitive rabbit, you can tell she's waiting for further explanation -- so you decide to change the subject before she gets suspicious. After all, after he bailed you and Faz out, you figure you owe him the benefit of the doubt. At least for now.
"So how are you faring in a world without Legend of Bob?" you ask.
"Legend of wh--? Oh! Right. Yeah, I dunno," she shrugs, "Cancelations happen, I guess. I'm kinda over it. Right now, though, Bobby and the Pink Machine is looking great -- it's like a spiritual prequel, but it's done in that really old-fashioned animation style, you know?"
"What... you mean like old rubberhose cartoons?" you reply, dumbfounded. Seriously?
"Yeah, that's it!"
"My mom and I used to watch those old-timey sorts of cartoons together all the time, back when I was a kid," Chichi chimes in with a wistful smile. "Brings back really good memories."
"...huh. Yeah, uh, I don't know if that's really my bag," you frown. Old movies are one thing -- you've got an appreciation for the classics, after all -- but in your opinion, animation's a medium that's gotten better as time's passed. "Part of what made Legend of Bob tolera-- I mean, 'good' is that it, you know, had pretty decent action. Kind of. Sure, it got sort of weird at the end with all the villains having those bizarre break-apart face mask things, but I mean, it could've been a lot worse."
"At least we got a mint off of that Balloon Boy figure before the market crashed," Bonbon insists, standing back up and taking her empty plate towards the buffet for more celery sticks.
You take the opportunity to rise as well, nodding politely to Chichi and the others as you excuse yourself. "Yeah, for real. Actually made that whole costume fiasco worth it."
"Well, at least come over this weekend and give the new series a shot before you knock it," Bonbon argues adamantly as you both leave the table. "Now in fairness, I will warn you -- the first episode doesn't go anywhere at all and the second one isn't much better, but I'm sure it'll pick up. I mean, it has to, right?"
Rolling your eyes, you turn back to look at Frederick and Haddock, both of whom are still fixated on the tranquil atmosphere outside the window.
Magnifique lac, indeed.
"Goodness, Bonworth," Mango titters from the comfort of a reclining folding chair on the boat's sunny deck. "You're quite the shuffleboard enthusiast, sir!"
"You could say that, yes'm," Bonworth grins.
"How's the game going?" you ask, taking a seat next to the chubby, sundress-clad vixen.
"Well, I'm in a very good position right now, with one in the three-point zone and my other pucks acting as a shield, you see," Bonworth replies with a dramatic sweep of his paws, circling the chalked-out court confidently. "It's pretty much my game to lose at this point."
"Quite so," Mango replies matter-of-factly, eyeing his setup. "You've got your work cut out for you, Chica!"
"Hmm! This is basically like a mix of skeeball and pool, right?" Goose asks as she waddles around the deck, taking her time to line up her own puck -- though what criteria she's using to gauge her shot is anyone's guess. "I think I'm starting to figure it out!"
"Well actually, Ms. Goose, you should be standin'--"
Before Bonworth can finish, Goose rockets her puck across the court where it ricochets off of Bonworth's, managing to bounce all of his pucks away in one fell swoop while her own slides into the highest-scoring zone with ease. Leaning against the boat's railing, Bonworth's jaw drops while you and Mango applaud from the corner.
"How'd you do that?" Bonworth asks, awed.
"Do what?" Goose asks with an oblivious smile, heading into the dining hall and sparing a "look" in his vague direction.
As he sits down half-stunned in one of the chairs near yours, you notice Bonworth flexing his "knees" a little more easily than before. You can see plastic casing around his ankles, just below his pants cuffs and above his shoes.
"How're the new kickers treating you, Bonworth?" you ask.
"Good as gravy!" he replies appreciatively, flexing his fake legs. You can hear the sound of hydraulic pumps hissing as he does. "My old ones were givin' out anyway, so Fred and Ms. May went and pitched in to get me this new pair. They're a sure sight better than what I had, I tell you."
"Those definitely look like they're sturdier, anyway."
"Oh, for sure. These little marvels have got shock absorbers in 'em! Goin' down stairs now doesn't hurt like did before." He stomps one of his feet for emphasis. "Though, once I got to seein' what all athletic-type stuff folks can do with prosthetics these days, I'm already thinkin' about savin' up for an even fancier pair! Now that our stipends are back where they should be."
"Athletic -- ooh, that's right. You were on the track team, weren't you, Bonworth?" Mango ponders, taking a sip from her tea mug. "I seem to recall hearing something like that, anyway."
"Sure was! I think my sprintin' days are over, but I wouldn't mind bein' able to get out and go for a jog every now and then."
"Oh, I've been doing some walking lately myself!" Goose says, re-emerging from the interior carrying a paper plate loaded down with snacks from the buffet table. She feels her way to one of the nearby chairs with her other wing, taking a seat near you and Bonworth. "In fact, I'm starting to get a little more comfortable now, getting out and about. One of my new chores is checking the mail!"
"Hey, no kidding!" you reply. "That's great news, Goose!"
"The mailboxes are four buildings down, though! You're fine to walk that far by yourself?" Bonworth adds, equally impressed.
"Absolutely!" the curvy hen boasts, puffing her chest feathers up with no small amount of pride. "I've got two 'outside chores' now: I help Mangle tend her flowerboxes, and I check the mail every morning! Oh -- and have you heard about the Henhouse yet, Mike?"
"The Henhouse?" you ask.
"Yeah! Me and Chiclet had the idea a while back to form an exercise group, and we got Cheeky and Chichi to join in," she explains, pecking at some of the coconut shavings on a donut nestled in her wings. "So now we meet two times a week up at the exercise room at the front of the complex. We call it the 'Henhouse' because... well, I figure that part's obvious."
"It's quite the novel idea," Mango agrees. "An exercise club sounds like a wonderful way to stay accountable -- just like the chore chart. If I wasn't so busy with classes, your 'Henhouse' would have a fox in it, Chica!"
"You're always welcome to join us if your schedule frees up, Mangle," Goose chirps. "I know we'll love the company. The name stays, though."
"Mango, you were saying something about classes?" you ask. "More of your private tutoring, or something new?"
"In a sense, a bit of both," Mango replies. "I've decided to start giving more... in-depth lessons in the conference rooms. Mr. Marion has been kind enough to convert one to a semi-permanent classroom -- he had a whiteboard installed and some desks and chairs, so now I can hold proper classes! We're starting on math and art, and I hope to add social studies as soon as I can find curriculum I feel comfortable with. Do you all know Bonson? Fran's boy, lives with April?"
Goose shakes her head, but Bonworth pipes up. "Sure, I know him! Bright little feller."
You nod assent. "Yeah, I met him and Fran just today."
"Well, I just opened applications, and she's already signed him up! I've got my first full-time student on the list!"
"Congratulations, Mango!" Bonworth whistles. "Boy, I bet you'll make a great teacher. The little ones sure seemed to like your arts 'n crafts back in the day."
"Speaking of arts and crafts, are you and Mangle getting along any better now?" you inquire. "Last I remember was you two working on that big costume for me."
"Oh yes, I'd say so. We agreed to bury the hatchet some time back. I won't lie and say things are perfect, but it's nice having a friend who understands some of my own proclivities." Mango tilts her head to you. "Even if sometimes I just want to swat that smug mug of Foxglove's into next week. Which is convenient, because that's about when I'd finally have all that whorish makeup washed off my paw."
"Yeah, you two are great friends," Goose laughs. "What was it Foxglove called you the other day? 'A vapid tangle of bad decisions dressed up like a stuffed ham'?"
Bonworth coughs, quickly becoming very interested in his drink.
"Mmmm, indeed. And just yesterday I believe Foxglove said my new paisley dress looked 'reasonable'," Mango says with a smile. "See? I feel we're really getting somewhere."
"That's huge progress," you joke.
"So! Bonworth," Goose lies sideways in her chair, giving him her full attention. "You promised to tell me what happened the other day with you and Cheeky. I heard her squawking up a storm and then someone tearing ass towards the street."
Bonworth claps his paws on his knees, looking eager to have a tale to tell. "Oh, that's right, that's right. Well, this door-to-door solicitor had been comin' by. Let me see now, what was it he was sellin'..."
"That reminds me. I've got to go say hi to the ol' bird myself. If you'll excuse me," you stand up, offering the group a polite nod before heading back in.
"Sure thing, pal! You know where to find us -- we won't go far. Now, where was I? Ah, that's it! Now, this solicitor..."
After a few minutes of searching (and following the scent of lavender perfume), you manage to track down both the neighbors you'd been looking for, all but hidden away in a small storage room off near the back of the ship.
"...which reminds me: are we still on for your Thursday appointment, Cheeky?"
"Are you kidding?!" Cheeky replies in between bites of cake. "After the week I've had, I might just book you twice. I feel like I need a nap in a sensory deprivation tank!"
"Stressed out, I take it?" the slender fox offers, making a show of deciding between the red velvet cake and the last piece of tres leches.
"You've got no idea. Okay, so I thought the thing with that damn salesman was bad enough, but get this: my birthday was the other day, and Bonnie decided to surprise me while I was out running errands."
"Ah, I didn't know! Happy belated birthday!" Mangle replies with a demure smile. "In that case, your next session's on the house."
"Whoa, thanks! You don't have to do that!"
"Oh, please, it's the least I can do. But I believe you were saying something about Bonworth and a stressful surprise...?"
"Oh my god, don't say it like that! All right, so Bonnie gets this idea in his head to have surround sound speakers installed in my bedroom for my birthday present because, hey, I love to chill out and listen to music at night on my waterbed."
"That sounds like a considerably thoughtful gift," Mangle frowns.
"Oh, you're right. It's a really nice present -- that's not the problem."
"Hmm. What's the catch, then?"
"Well, he didn't get any soundproofing, first off," Cheeky continues, "and I don't know if it's as bad in Building 8 as it is in Building 9, but the walls in our apartment are pretty darn thin."
Mangle's eyebrows arch just a touch. "Oh dear. I don't like where this story is going."
"And again, I should mention -- the speakers were a surprise. As in I had no idea they were in my room because they're these really small, high-powered ones that just kinda blend in. Same color as the paint," Cheeky replies, setting her plate down and looking around the cramped little room.
"...o-oh. Oh no."
"He also neglected to mention that he'd hooked them up to my computer for me," Cheeky smirks, voice lowered and redness creeping up her face. "Would've been nice to know before I, uhh, decided to take a little late-night 'me time', is all I'm saying."
Mangle nearly chokes laughing, turning away to cough into a napkin.
"Good heavens. That must have been embarrassing," the fox replies, recovering quickly enough to offer a sympathetic, teary-eyed smile. "I can only imagine."
"Yyyyeeaaah. That was fun havin' to explain to the neighbors," Cheeky moans frustratedly, rubbing her face with both of her wings. "Boy, Ms. Presto wasn't too happy -- but then, when is she ever."
"Wow. Mmmm, that sounds... I can't even begin to imagine. I think I'd have died on the spot!"
"Bonnie couldn't apologize enough, either. I'll admit, it's not the most embarrassed I've ever been, but it might be the reddest I've ever seen him." With a sheepish grin, Cheeky gestures at Mangle with a plastic sporkful of cake. "So hey, I guess I took it better than he did. So how about you? I'm sure you characters get up to all sorts of shenanigans over there. Any good, recent stories?"
"Well, I think I could probably tell one about a certain eavesdropping simian," Mangle replies with a smirk, swiftly sidestepping the conversation prompt. "Michael, darling -- you realize you're not invisible, right?"
"I promise I wasn't trying to eavesdrop," you protest, stepping out from around the corner. "I was just looking for an opportunity to make a polite entrance, that's all."
"Hmmph. Well -- if you've heard my embarrassing story, you gotta share one of your own. Hen's rules," Cheeky says, wings folded. "C'mon, out with it. Let's hear something that'll put a blush on those cheeks."
Sighing, you crack your neck. "Do I have to?"
"You gotta, Mikey. Hen's rules are absolute."
"Oh my goodness!" Mangle gasps theatrically. "Oh, Freddy -- you can't ignore Hen's rules!"
"I've never even heard of whatever that is, and I've got the sneaking suspicion you just made it up, but... all right, fine," you grumble, thrusting your hands into the pockets of your jeans. "When I was laid up in the hospital, I was so messed up at first, y'know? Lotta broken bones, I'm sure you remember. So I had to get sponge bathed until I could at least clean myself up."
"What, that's your embarrassing story? C'mon, that's not bad at all!" Cheeky clucks, a mile-wide grin breaking out onto her face. "When I was recovering from one of my surgeries, I got several sponge baths from this super cute male orderly. He was a lemur, I think -- his paws felt like... mmm, like an angel's kiss. Super thorough. No stone unturned, if you know what I mean."
"Was his name Brad, by chance?" you deadpan.
The two of them stare at you for a handful of seconds before the realization of what you're implying hits them.
"Oh my," Mangle titters.
"Yeah," you sigh. "And you're not kidding. He was definitely thorough."
"You know what, ahh, I think Mike might just barely have edged you out in terms of embarrassing stories for the night," Mangle says. "Ooh, sorry, Cheeky. I hope you're not too upset about being dethroned."
"Ooh, my. Small world," Cheeky wipes a tear from one of her eyes, shaking her head. "Yeah, sure, I guess that'll do it. You're the big winner, Mike. At least I don't feel quite so bad now."
"Your prize, sir," Mangle grins, handing you the last piece of tres leches cake.
"All too happy I could help," you reply, letting out a good-natured sigh as you accept the dessert, skewering into it with your fork.
"Oooh, there he is!" Mangle declares abruptly, dancing in place like an excited child.
"There who is?" you ask, setting your empty plate aside so you can brush a few crumbs loose from your jacket.
"Mr. Fazbear!"
Pointing through the doorway, into the small crowd gathered by the stage, Mangle gestures to Fred Fazbear, who seems to be engaged in conversation with Marion of all people. Clad in an ill-fitting Hawaiian shirt and a straw hat, the wiry, bespectacled landlord's wardrobe clashes sharply with Fred's own choice of a morning suit, waistcoat, and pinstriped trousers. How on earth Marion landed an invite to this shindig, you'll never know, but he seems to be enjoying himself just the same, gesturing ardently and tapping his foot in time to the music.
"...wait, that little outburst was because of Fred? Well, at least you're not all hot and bothered over Marion, I guess," Cheeky mumbles.
"Eww. Perish the thought," Mangle huffs. "And please, don't paint it so... luridly! I've just been meaning to inquire of Mr. Fazbear about his tailor for ages now, seeing as how those suits of his always look so dapper. Besides, I'm certain he would appreciate a rescue from that nudnik. If you dears would excuse me?"
"Later, Mangle," you chuckle.
"Try not to look too thirsty," Cheeky adds, licking some cake frosting from one of her feathertips.
Slinking past you, the fashion-conscious fox plants a smooch on your cheek before skipping over toward the business bear. Cheeky's eyebrows shoot up to the top of her head as she turns to face you, beak hanging open like a largemouth bass.
"Oooohhh. I see how it is, Mikey."
"See how what is?" you reply, face as red as the lipstick smear that was no doubt just left on your cheek. "What are you talking about?"
"You and Mangle. Wasn't aware you two were a 'thing', but I guess it makes sense," she sniffs haughtily. "Still, passing up premium, all-American, free-range chicken for that? I mean, hey, that's fine. You're into a certain type, I can take a hint."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Where's all this coming from?" you gawk, turning to look at her. "Are you... you're not jealous?"
"No, but I'm pretending to be to get under your skin." Grinning at you, she lazily mimics Mangle's earlier giddy behavior. "You're cute when you're flustered."
"...I feel like somehow the unspoken goal of this evening switched to 'let's embarrass Mike' when I wasn't paying attention."
"Oh, Mike. Sweet, innocent Mike. That's the unspoken goal of every evening," Cheeky clucks.
As the two of you stand together, basking for a moment in the calming, muted ambience of music, chatter, and clinking tableware, you notice her usual flippant demeanor beginning to fade. She stacks her own empty plate on top of yours, stepping closer with an uncharacteristically pensive expression.
"Hey, um -- I don't... I know that we didn't really get many opportunities to talk, y'know, while you were..." She coughs into her sleeve, turning to avoid your gaze. "I just wanted to say thanks, though."
"For what?"
"'For what'?! Well, I'm sure a few of the others might say for being a nosy piece of shit," she replies incredulously, "but honestly, I'm glad you talked me into the whole... Jeremy's thing, for what."
Laughing awkwardly, you shake your head. "Eh. It was all Fred and the others, really."
"'Eh' nothing, don't give me that false humility crap," she smirks. "Yeah, it might've been a team effort in the end, but you were a part of that team too. If you hadn't kept digging and pushing, not to mention talking some sense into that thick-headed ol' hardass, we'd all still be suffering along in silence."
"...thanks, Cheeky," you reply, fighting back a growing tightness in your throat. "That... really means a lot to me."
"And while we're at it, thanks for getting our big bear back in one piece. Bonnie and Foxy were beside themselves. I don't know what we'da done if he'd..." She stops abruptly, inhaling sharply through her beak. "Well, y'know."
"Hey, I was under threat of serious bodily injury if I'd screwed up with him," you chuckle. "Though in hindsight, I guess I was in for a rough night either way."
"We've all got battle scars from that place." Puffing up, she pats her chest proudly and shoots you an overdramatic salute. "You wear yours with pride, soldier."
"Damn right," you laugh, returning the salute with one of your own. "Boy. Jeremy's really left its mark on all of us in the end, huh."
"Just means you're officially one of us now," Cheeky grins, enveloping you in a hug.
"What the -- so this is what happened to the cake!!" Chiclet swoops in like some predatory bird to snatch a slice of the crimson treat from the metal shelf near you and Cheeky. "You louts stashed the good stuff?!"
"The only reason you didn't come back to crumbs was because I wanted to keep those six pounds off," Cheeky replies with an envious huff. "Red velvet's one of my favorite cakes. I mean okay, pretty much every cake's my favorite."
"Man, I hear you. Living with Freddy's tough when every morning's breakfast is like, five thousand calories -- but hey, that's what the Henhouse is for." Clapping one of her wings on Cheeky's shoulder, Chiclet gives her an encouraging smile. "Besides, just those few extra pounds already make a noticeable difference. Don't you think she looks great, Mike?"
"Of course," you reply instantly, following Chiclet's cue and flashing the heavier hen a thumbs-up. "You're looking great, Cheeky. I knew something seemed different about you, but I've been trying to put my finger on it."
"You guys think so?" Cheeky asks with an almost childlike glee, wings cupped to her face. "Man, I'm glad it wasn't just me! Bonnie couldn't tell at all and I was like -- dude, do you need your eyes checked?!"
"With all that carrot juice he drinks, he's got no excuse," you chuckle.
"Tell me about it!" Straightening her blouse out, Cheeky surveys the room with a confident expression. "Well, shit! I might just go follow Foxglove's lead and do some mingling of my own, then!"
"Have fun," Chiclet grins as Cheeky wades out into the crowd, making a beeline straight for Frederick.
The tall hen turns to you with a calm, knowing smile across her scarred lips. "So. Mike."
"Chica."
"You haven't heard this from me, but uh -- you might be getting your own room, soon," she says, finishing off a bite of her cake.
"I... what?" you reply, jaw hanging slack. "Are you moving out?!"
"No, no. Heck no," Chiclet smirks before dabbing at her face with a napkin. "But, uh -- I think Em might be."
"...you're kidding."
"Well, not a done deal or anything, but I've been picking up the signs. Marion finished renovations in another building, and there's an apartment with a huge open sunroom that Em's talked about wanting to turn into a studio. Something about needing more room for stock, since business online is really picking up."
You sniff, considering the quieter household. "It'd be awfully lonely to be down one."
"I mean, it's not like we'd never see the little drama queen again, since Mangle would only be moving one or two buildings over, rather than moving out of the complex entirely."
"Wow," you breathe. "So then I'd get Mangle's old room?"
"Technically, Freddy would get preference because he's got seniority, but I think he'll probably just stay in your current room. So, yeah, most likely," she says. "Anyway, Mangle and Marion are still hashing it out, so it'll be a while before there's traction on any of this. Even so, I'd say the odds are like as not we'll be a four-person household soon enough, what with April and Mangle both gone."
You haven't had a room all to yourself in eons, unless you count your brief stay in Fred's office. Even your hospital room was shared with someone else.
"I -- wow, I don't even know what I'd do with my own space."
"Maybe start by eyeballing paint colors unless you really want a pink bedroom," she laughs.
"Hey, I could totally rock pink," you grunt. "It used to be a boy's color, you know."
"Yeah. Everyone knows that. What's next, you gonna tell me that giraffes have blue tongues? Or that Frankenstein was actually the doctor's name? Everyone knows that, Mike."
You shake your head disapprovingly. "Don't be jealous because I've got the best party trivia, Chica."
Leaning back against the table, the tall chicken folds her wings across her chest, looking down at you with an odd smile.
"I've missed this," she murmurs.
"Missed what?"
"Just, y'know, shooting the shit, hanging out at parties. Getting out of the damn house and socializing every once in a while, you know?"
"Yeah, for real."
"I've missed having people I can talk to that are no crazier than I am," she laughs. "Freddy's never been much of a conversationalist -- though in his own weird way he is getting more social -- and believe it or not, Bonnie's kinda doing her own thing lately. Getting out, making friends. I'm happy for her, but it has been kinda lonely."
"It's gonna go from noisy to quiet pretty fast, huh."
"Well, nothing for it," she declares. "Pajama Movie Night is going to have to become a neighborhood event. You're in charge of recruiting new troops."
"I think I can manage that," you laugh. "I can think of several folks who'd be willing to aid our cause of watching cheesy comedies and corny chick flicks."
"Only the cheesiest and the corniest need apply."
"So, Bonworth. Got it. I'll send him a written invitation."
Suddenly, her eyes light up. "Oh, that reminds me. I'd bought a little gift to bring to you while you were laid up in the hospital, but -- well. I figured you'd want to be in, shall we say, 'working order' first."
"Oh?" you inquire, eyebrow raised.
Reaching into her purse, Chiclet pulls out a sizable, flat package wrapped in tissue paper and held together with a thin red ribbon. She hands it off to you with a wordless grin. You accept it from her, turning it over in your hands a few times -- feels like a thin book of some kind...? With a shrug, you untie the ribbon and tear the tissue paper away, only to pull a straight double-take as soon as you see what your present is.
"...you bought me a girlie magazine?" you choke, tearing your gaze from the scantily-clad (and extremely well-endowed) girls on the cover.
"Let's be honest, Mike," Chiclet says, fighting a sharklike grin (and losing) as she feigns disinterest. "You've been tightly wound ever since we met. I talked to some experts on the topic--"
"Cheeky," you mutter through your blush. "I should have known she had something to do with this."
"...and the experts," she continues, unfazed, "agreed that this would be the best way to help you vent some of that 'pressure'."
"With a porno." You spin the cover around and hold it up to her face.
"Technically, it's a swimsuit magazine," she grins, slyly pushing it back towards you with a wingtip. "I'm sure you won't notice much difference, though."
"And I'm sure it's just a coincidence that every single girl in here just happens to be a chicken," you reply, flipping through the pages.
Her smile suddenly vanishes. "Wait. They're all hens?"
"Tall, busty hens," you clarify, pulling out the centerfold and holding it up to her. "Look, this month's featured model just happens to be one Ms. Clucksy Caboodle. Gosh, Chica -- Clucksy could be your sister! Look at those big ol' orange... feathers."
"Son of a--" Snatching the magazine from you, Chiclet flips through the pages, eyes wide. "Dammit, this was just a joke -- I grabbed the first one that I saw! I didn't even look it over! I never knew they were all hens...!"
"Hens that all just happen to look like you?" you grin, reveling in the tables having been so suddenly turned. "Sure, Chica. You picked up a magazine titled 'Spring Chickens' by mistake and not because you were subconsciously trying to send me a signal about your own 'pressure'. Gotcha."
"Welp," she groans, dragging a wing down her face as she stuffs the magazine in her purse, "I think I'm gonna need a couple beers... and another piece of red velvet."
You're trying as hard as possible to hold it together. "What, don't I get to at least keep the magazine?"
"All right, get the hell out of here," Chiclet laughs, shoving you back into the main room. "Leave me to my shame and my cake."
"Oh, good evening, Mr. Schmidt!" Marion says, sliding in next to you at the buffet. "Have you tried any of the deviled eggs? They're an absolute delight."
"Uhh, no, I haven't," you respond, looking at Marion's plate -- which appears to be loaded down with graham crackers, a cup of mayonnaise, a pile of black licorice ropes, and a half-dozen deviled eggs. "I see you're enjoying them, though?"
"Absolutely. A good deviled egg is impossible to come by these days -- seems you only really see them at cafeterias and potluck dinners. I've tried making my own but alas, I can't quite seem to nail the technique."
"They do seem, uh, tricky." You find yourself trying not to gag as he slathers his graham crackers with even more mayonnaise.
"Indeed they are. By the way, don't forget -- you start Monday night. Might be a good idea to try winding your sleep schedule back a bit."
"I'm looking forward to it," you smile professionally. "Thanks for the opportunity."
"I'm very selective about the clientele I allow into my community, and I knew there was something special about you when you came to me looking for a home last year." Tipping his glasses down, he looks at you over the lenses with his beady, black eyes. "I've heard the stories about your valor. People speak well of you, Mr. Schmidt. You'll make a fine night watchman."
You stop halfway through filling your plate, turning to smile at him. "I'll keep these folks safe with everything I've got."
"I've no doubt in my mind!" he grins, pushing his spectacles back up. "Incidentally, now that our paladin is back on his feet, you'll have to allow me to host another game night soon!"
"Oh, sure enough. I bet Beanie would appreciate the opportunity to cut loose and play, now that she's running campaigns for a living, too."
"I wager so," Marion says. "Well then. I'll see you Monday night?"
"See you Monday, boss."
"Mike, a word," Fred murmurs behind you, tapping your shoulder.
"Sure thing." You follow Fred's lead, the two of you stepping over to a secluded area at the far corner of the room, near the front stage. "What's up?"
"I've got an announcement I want to make, and I want you present since it concerns you," he says, gesturing to the stage.
You look down at yourself awkwardly. "I hope you're not expecting me to make a speech," you laugh. "If there's one thing I've learned in all of this, it's that I should let others do the talking."
To your surprise, Fred lets out a genuine, jovial laugh -- not his usual acerbic bark he'd use to deride or mock something (or someone), but an honest-to-goodness laugh from the heart.
"I also wanted to pull you aside and congratulate you. Marion told me just now you accepted the job offer," Fred continues with a smile and an approving nod. "Kudos, Mike. I think it's a perfect fit for you."
"Thanks, Fred. I appreciate the vote of approval... that really means a lot coming from you."
"Have you told anyone yet?"
"Not yet." You glance out at the amassing crowd, watching Fran and Mango animatedly chat with each other. "Marion made it official this morning, actually. I start Monday."
"Well, I certainly look forward to seeing you on the job," he says. "While you're here -- one other thing, if I may."
"Yeah?"
"...thank you," Fred mumbles, rubbing the back of his head as he looks out into the room, busying himself with studying the faces of everyone who showed up to the party. "For everything you've done for the company, for my family. Even saving our... misguided Ms. Marigold."
Nodding, you extend your hand in wordless appreciation to him. He takes it in his own larger paw, gripping it gently as his fur bristles against your scars.
"If you ever need anything, you let me know," he says, shaking your hand. "I mean it. I owe you several debts of gratitude I can't hope to repay, but I intend to try."
"I'm just happy to have been of help," you reply quietly.
"Time to start the show, then."
He lets go of your hand with a nod, straightening his silk hat and walking up to the front of the stage. Picking the microphone up from the stand, he taps it a few times to draw the attention of everyone in the room.
"Hello, ladies and gentlemen!" he bellows with all the enthusiasm and showmanship of a carnival ringleader. He offers the crowd a huge smile, and a strange kind of excitement seems to overtake the stocky bear, in a way you've never seen him before.
"I'm so glad everyone's having a good time," Fred says, gesturing over the room with a grand sweep of his paw. "But please, give me a moment, because I have big, big news. Mr. Schmidt, come on, step up here with me."
All eyes in the room turn to look at you as Fred motions you over. Even Goose is 'watching' attentively from her seat next to Peanut. Blushing, you step up on stage next to Fred, grateful you know most of the people present. That at least makes this a little less awkward than it was back at HumieCon, what with having been subjected to gawking from a bunch of human-crazed strangers.
"First of all, a big round of applause for Mike. This venue was his idea in the first place. He was kind enough to chip in on the costs for this nice cruise of ours, to boot," Fred announces, leading the room in a wave of clapping as you awkwardly bow. "Also, let's show our gratitude to the providers of this fun-tastic party -- the staff of S.C. Independent Service Associates, Hosting, And Catering Kitchens. You've all been wonderful hosts. Thank you so much!"
Cheeky lets out a shrill wolf whistle, signalling the room to erupt in a burst of cheers, hoots, and enthusiastic approval. Grateful to have the spotlight off of you once more, you step back, letting Fred have his moment.
"I'm going to cut right to it so that we can all get back to enjoying the evening," Fred says once the cacophony quiets down. "As you all know, in the wake of legal proceedings against Humanimatronics Limited, certain robotic assets have been scrapped."
"They may have smelted you-know-who down to nothing, but I heard they saved Fritzine's head," Rackham whispers conspiratorially.
"I heard she was happy to be taken to pieces," Bonnibel whispers back from your other side.
"Well, I heard they never even found two of them!" Bonbon hiccups.
Fred adjusts the microphone, continuing his speech as the murmuring dies down. "There's more. As of last Monday morning, Humanimatronics Limited has been dissolved, and the last pizzeria officially closed its doors. Ladies and gentlemen, I tell you this with the most sincere finality: Jeremy Human's is no more."
If you thought the applause before was loud, the ovation now is borderline deafening.
Several of your friends leap to their feet -- including Bonworth -- screaming and shouting joyfully. Wild cheering breaks out across the room. A drunken Bonbon breaks from your group and runs the halls, doing somersaults and backflips. Beanie and Chichi seize each other in a tearful hug while Rackham leans forward, his good paw clutching his knee as he struggles to keep it together. Cheeky seems torn between laughing and sobbing openly, stuck firmly in the middle as thick black rivers of mascara run down her cheeks, soaking her collar. Frederick's huge arms and Chiclet's broad wings envelop Bonnibel and Foxglove, while the normally-demure April is biting down on her gauze-wrapped paw to keep from losing her composure.
There isn't a dry eye in the room. Even the newcomer Fran is nodding reverently, seemingly aware of the trauma the establishment caused.
You glance worriedly over at Fred, half-expecting him to be bothered by what essentially amounts to reveling in the demise of his brother's legacy, but for the second time tonight he surprises you -- he's smiling and laughing right alongside them. Lowering the microphone to his side, he turns and tips his hat to you.
"This is your victory too, Mr. Schmidt," he half-shouts over the din. "Go celebrate."
"Yes sir, Mr. Fazbear," you reply, wiping the mist from your eyes as you climb down the stage, where Mango and Faz embrace you in a group hug of their own, before you're all piled on by so many of the others it's impossible to keep track.
All good things must come to an end, however, and eventually the room more or less settles into a quieter (though still charged) state, allowing Fred to finish his speech.
"I wasn't legally allowed to divulge anything until now," Fred continues, "but we're starting fresh. The plan was to sell off the other locations, remodel, and rebrand. I'm happy to announce we'll be able to open for business as soon as the end of this year!"
"What kind of business?" Peanut squeaks over the ambient chatter.
"Ms. May and I have agreed we would like to stay in foodservice and entertainment," Fred replies. "We know the business. We're good at it. Plus, we know how to make a darn fine pizza. And while we're still hammering out the finer details, one thing's for sure: no robots. Period."
"I can get behind that," Chiclet jokes to you as the room breaks into applause again, dabbing at her face with a napkin. "If it means my degree's worthless, so freakin' be it."
"Well, we'll likely still have attractions -- definitely an arcade or two," Fred continues. "Maybe with a stocked bar..."
From the stage, Fred glances down at April, who's shaking her head and making a terse 'cut' gesture across her neck.
"...like I said. We're still working out the details."
"Sounds great!" Cheeky laughs. "Though I think bulldozing the whole thing should still be on the table."
"Fred, you got a name in mind for the new venture?" Rackham asks with a grin.
Scratching his head, Fred chuckles awkwardly. "I might've... undersold just how many of the 'finer details' we're still working out," he answers, drawing a round of giggles from the audience. "We're open to suggestions, though!"
"How about 'Blue Ribbon Eatery'?" Chichi chirps.
"'Funtime Family Food'!" Bonworth calls out. "You wanna focus on family, don'tcha?"
"'Famous Fred's'?" Goose suggests. "Something that rolls off the tongue."
"All good choices," Fred says with a smile.
"Oooh. How about 'Freddy Fazbear's Pizza'?" Peanut suggests.
"Absolutely not," you and Faz reply simultaneously.
"We will be offering more than just pizza, of course," Fred remarks. "Something to think about, anyway. Perhaps we could run a contest. Ms. May?"
April nods. "Good idea. Maybe... set up a pool? Take suggestions?"
"Sounds good," Fred says, affixing the microphone to the stand and giving one last theatrical wave, before raising a glass from the nearby table. "I think that's it for now! I can't possibly thank you all enough for everything you've done. Here's to our friends! Please enjoy the rest of your evening!"
With a deep breath of fresh air, you step onto the foredeck and leave the fading sounds of celebration behind you. The sky fades to a reddish-orange glow at the horizon, and as you soak in the dimming early-evening ambience, the sound of soft, fuzzy footsteps approaching catches your attention.
Bonbon leans against the boat's metal doorway, swaying just a little and looking visibly tipsy. She folds her arms and offers you a gentle smile.
You smile back. "Nice evening."
In an unusual display of restraint and silence, the electric blue bunny just nods knowingly, pointing towards the fore of the ship. You follow her indication; there at the bow rests a lone, haggard red fox. Haddock's sitting cross-legged at the end of the deck, staring out at the lake. He's so still that you find yourself wondering if he's fallen asleep.
"Is he okay? I really thought he'd be more excited about the whole boat ride thing," you whisper. "That's part of why I picked a cruise."
Bonbon closes her eyes and nods gently, still not speaking. Satisfied with her response, you carefully approach the bow, eyes on Foxy. If he hears you approach -- or even sees you come up next to him -- he makes no indication of it. He seems enthralled with the lake itself for the time being, and so you take that as a sign that it's okay to join him, sitting quietly beside him and watching the peaceful waters shimmer in the last dim lights of the fading sunset.
At a time like this, you don't mind the silence much. It gives you a little peace and quiet after a bustlingly busy day, as well as a chance to reflect on all the people you've had the pleasure of getting to know -- all of whom you're lucky enough to share company with this evening. It's been less than a year since you began your new life here, and while your residence has been an eventful road (to put it as charitably as possible), you wouldn't trade it for anything. Especially not now that you've seen where the winding path leads.
If you had to do it all again, you would. In a heartbeat.
...okay. Maybe not all of it. You'd be smarter about some things, at least. Still, at this point the nightmare's fading into the past like the last lights on the horizon, and sitting here, on a ship packed with your best and closest friends, the future looks bright. Bright and hopefully much, much more calm. You're more than ready to leave the worst of it behind you.
The ship's lights click on with a hum, driving off the encroaching darkness of the evening. You can't help but smile at the timing, and realize you've been tearing up a little. You reach up to wipe your eyes, feeling mildly embarrassed at your unguarded display, and glance to Foxy in the new light to see if he's noticed.
Tears are streaming down his face.
"Whoa, hey, Foxy, do -- are you okay, buddy?" you fumble, sitting up straight.
Haddock sniffles wetly, not bothering to hide his tears as he stares out at the lake through the glistening sheen on his eyes. Despite his emotional expression, he wears a broad, quivering smile -- a grin that tugs at his face with such insistence it doesn't look like he could fight it off if he wanted. He opens his mouth, as if to say something, but no words come out. He bites his lip repeatedly, trembling, and finally, unexpectedly, leans in sideways, slumping against you.
You nearly startle from the sudden contact, but he just stares quietly over the water with a strange, silent reverence. You manage to reach up and awkwardly pat his shoulder, whereupon he wraps his arms around you and hugs you tight, his hook inadvertently ripping at the fabric of your sleeve. Again he tries to say something, and again only a hoarse, shaky stammer comes out. He reaches his good paw out at the lake, gesturing, and presses his head against your shoulder.
You put your arm around him, and the two of you just sit in the quiet stillness of the night, looking out at the calm waters ahead. You understand him well enough right now. It doesn't matter if he can't find the words. Truth is, neither can you.
For the first time in a long time, you can't think of anything more to say.
And maybe that's okay.