Roommates - Ch. 12 (The Wreck of 93-B)

Roommates has moved! You can now read it at Archive of Our Own: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11250126/navigate

Roommates - Ch. 12 (The Wreck of 93-B): http://i.imgur.com/msJYdWs.png
Inspired by Weaver's Five Nights at Freddy's Apartment AU: http://i.imgur.com/LnDJVNL.png
Part of an ongoing series written for the /5N@F/ General Discussion Thread at /vg/.
Sincerest thanks to Weaver (http://tgweaver.tumblr.com/) for all of the invaluable assistance in writing, proofreading, and editing this story as well as for illustrating the chapter title cards.
Questions or comments? Drop me an ask at http://roommatesau.tumblr.com/

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Despite Bonworth's particularly dire-sounding warnings, Foxy must not have been an issue all night, as both of you slept peacefully. You gently push his closet door open and see his blanket draped over his toy treasures, but no sign of Foxy himself anywhere. He must already be up and moving.

A cute digital clock in the shape of a tiny rum barrel rests on one of his trinket shelves, informing you that it's six AM. A shower sounds good, since your skin feels clammy and gross after yesterday's training session at the gym with Chica and Bonbon.

After retrieving your bags from the foyer, you grab your basic toiletries and head into the bathroom for a shower.

Unlike the sparsely-stocked bathroom you've been using for the last week, you suspect the one here may actually be the most furnished room in the entire apartment. It's definitely been designed with accessibility in mind. For one thing, there's no tub in here, unlike 87-B. Instead, the tub's been replaced altogether with a walk-in shower, complete with a plastic seat and an adjustable shower head -- presumably for use by disabled tenants.

As you stand in the shower waiting for the water to warm up, you think back to yesterday in the courtyard where you saw Foxy hanging out of one of the windows here. By process of elimination, "Faz" must have been the mysterious figure behind Foxy. If he's as sick as Cheeky and Bonworth seemed to make him out to be, he probably requires all kinds of special care.

You don't want to be a rude houseguest, so you make your shower a quick affair so you can get your morning started. After toweling off and getting dressed, you make your way to the common area of the apartment where Bonworth is seated in one of the recliners, reading the morning newspaper.

"Look at you, all up bright and early," he crows with his trademark plastic smile firmly in place. "Sleep well?"

"Sure did," you reply. "Err -- I didn't sleep through anything I shouldn't have, did I?"

"Not a pip, pop or peep out of place on our end. Kind of a surprise, too!" Bonworth folds his newspaper aside. "Ol' Foxy usually gets a little twitchy late at night. He wasn't any trouble for you?"

"Nope. He wasn't in his little nest this morning, though."

Bonworth gets up from his chair, stumbling a little as he leans forward. You find yourself stepping back as he nearly takes you out with a wild swing of his arms, flailing to regain his balance. What a klutz.

"Whoops! Anyway, I rightly reckon he's probably visiting Faz. The two of them are bosom buddies, yes sir!"

Once he's upright, Bonworth motions for you to follow him into the kitchen.

"What kind of person is Faz?" you ask, already suspicious that you won't like the answer if he's anything like the rest of the characters that occupy this flat.

Bonworth opens up the freezer and begins pulling several food items out, placing them on the countertop. Frozen waffles, frozen sausage patties... frozen eggs... frozen orange juice...

"Well, to be honest, I don't particularly know him that well, though I assure you it's not for lack of trying," he answers, opening up the frozen eggs and dumping them into a microwave-safe bowl. "He's not at all in good health or spirits. Most days he stays holed up in his bedroom."

You instantly feel sorry for Faz. Bonworth's the type of person that doesn't have any concept of personal space. You can easily imagine him hanging out in someone's room all day, driving them insane with banjo songs and cornpone antics -- sll the more reason you want to get out of here and back home before you turn into an extra on the Bonnie Griffith Show.

"Morning, boys," Cheeky says, poking her head out of her bedroom. "Good to see we didn't chase you off yet, Mike."

"Good morning, Cheeky," you reply. Not like you have anywhere to go.

"What's for breakfast?" she inquires, shuffling into the kitchen. You can't help but notice that she appears to be in the same "outfit" as last night. Fortunately, a third layer of makeup has been hastily applied over the old, so in her mind she must be presentable now.

"Well, something more filling than cereal, I was thinking! Beef or pork for your sausage?" Bonworth asks.

"Well, I do prefer big, beefy sausages, but being porked also -- eh, you see where I'm going with this one," she says, cutting her own innuendo short. "I'll just have a couple waffles."

"Waffles coming up," he replies, loading the toaster with the aforementioned goods. "And for you, Mike?"

"I'm not picky," you lie. After having Freddy cook gourmet food for you every morning, none of this looks the least bit appetizing. You've clearly gotten spoiled. "Whatever you're having."

"The works, then," he affirms. Uh oh. "Why don't you two have a seat in the living room? I'll bring yours out to you."

"Don't have to tell me twice," Cheeky says with a yawn, strolling into the living room and collapsing in one of the recliners.

With a reluctant shrug, you follow Cheeky over and sit down on the sofa. After a few minutes of bumbling around in the kitchen, Bonworth saunters into the living room with two paper plates loaded with pre-packaged breakfast items of varying temperatures. He places one on Cheeky's armrest and hands the other to you.

"Thank you," you reply, trying your best to look excited. Bonworth chuckles, shaking his head a little as he goes back for his own plate.

"I'm afraid cooking isn't in our wheelhouse," he comments as you poke at your lukewarm egg puck. "Chiclet really rolled and won when Frederick moved in."

"Frederick?" you ask. "Oh, you mean Freddy?"

"Sure," Bonworth replies, trying and failing to cut his waffle with his spork. He finally settles for picking it up with his fingers and eating it like a cookie. "Quite the chef, that one."

"No kidding. He made this one dish for breakfast, and it was absolutely phenomenal. It was toast, but like -- better, somehow. I think he put an egg in it and cinnamon and a bunch of other stuff, and then fried it or something. It's probably twelve thousand calories a slice, but I couldn't care less."

"Geez, and you guys have been keeping this dude from me?" Cheeky growls, chomping her own waffle. "You gotta get me in on this action, Mike. Like, seriously. When you go back over, smuggle me in with your luggage."

"I know for a fact they wouldn't mind having you guys over for dinner and movies sometime," you reply, picking at your own food. "Do the apartments just not socialize much?"

"Some more than others," Bonworth reluctantly admits in-between bites. "Most of the tenants here keep to themselves. Marion's been trying to make a community shindig happen on Thursday nights, but the turnout's always kind of low."

"That's a shame. How about you guys? What's fun to do around here?" you ask, attempting to skewer a sausage link with your spork only to break off two of its three tines.

"You're lookin' at it," Cheeky grins, tugging gently at her top while Bonworth's attention is on you. Your eyes widen ever so slightly.

"We're actually quite active!" Bonworth interjects, setting his plate aside. "Why, we're constantly keeping busy! Just last Monday we had story night and we even spectated a competitive shuffleboard event yesterday afternoon."

Cheeky snaps her camisole back into place as Bonworth looks over at her.

"Spect-- we watched two geezers play shuffleboard on the sidewalk from our patio outside," she deadpans.

"And it was thrilling!" he enthuses. "Best of all, nobody got hurt."

"Shuffleboard?! Bon, it's hardly a high-energy sport!"

Both of them turn to you with incredulous, see-what-I-have-to-put-up-with looks.

"I could always call up Chica and see if anyone wants to come over later this afternoon and play cards or something," you offer.

"Have her send over that Frederick guy," Cheeky hastily insists. "Tell him to bring the refrigerator."

You carry your plate to the kitchen and pick up the telephone off the counter, dialing Chica's number. She answers on the fourth ring, sounding out of breath.

"Kind of a bad time, Bonworth," Chica says.

"No, no, it's Mike. Everythi--"

"Oh, Mike -- look, I can't talk now. I'll call you back."

The line clicks before you can even say goodbye.

"Nice chatting," you grump under your breath as you hanging up. "Looks like they've got their hands full."

"I don't doubt it," Bonworth says, gathering his and Cheeky's paper plates and dumping them in the trash. "New tenants with special needs can keep you hopping. Faz was a real armful when he came in, poor fella."

"Ain't that the truth," Cheeky comments, flipping through the TV's channels aimlessly. "Speaking of which, aren't you going to go check on him, Bon?"

"You bet your sweet bippy!" Bonworth snaps off a silly salute, clicking his heels together with a thump before nearly tripping over himself.

"Tell you what. How about I run across the street and see if Bonbon wants to come hang out this afternoon," you offer. "You guys got any games here?"

"Ooh, so we're having a little game day? That's for me!" he crows excitedly, and you find yourself gritting your teeth as he does another jig.

"We have plenty of games in the hall closet," Cheeky says, setting the remote control aside to look up at you. "Board games, decks of cards, even some video games, too. I think we got a game player last year as a Christmas gift from Bonbon -- one of those active ones where you have to physically get up and wave a controller around. Pretty sure it's got bowling and ping-pong and stuff."

"Hey, that sounds kind of fun," you reply. "A friend of mine had a game console like that and we'd play tennis on it every now and again."

"It also came with a big plastic pad and some kind of weight loss game. I thought the whole point of playing games was to escape reality, not so you can get bent over the knee by some computerized fitness trainer," she says, scowling slightly. "Last thing I need is a video game riding my ass too."

"Oh, this sounds so exciting! I'll ask ol' Beanpole if she wants to come on upstairs and spend time with her big bunny brother," Bonworth says, hefting the phone from its cradle.

Your heart sinks instantly. The mental visual of Bonworth and a potentially second, smaller Bonworth in a wig dancing and snapping off cornpone one-liners at each other makes you want to jump out the window and end it all right now.

"All right, well, I'll swing by Bonbon's place and invite her over." Fetching your coat off the rack, you head for the front door. "Maybe Bonnibel too, since I imagine she'd like to get out of the house for a bit."

"Aces! Let's maybe have everyone come over at about nine?" Bonworth says. "That way nobody has to miss breakfast, and I'll have plenty of time to get Faz sorted out for the day before we get started."

Slipping your coat over your shoulders, you step outside.

"Nine it is. See you in a little while," you reply before closing the door behind yourself.



As you approach Building 8, you see Chica and Freddy helping April down the stairs. From what little you can see of her, she looks like she's been cleaned and bundled up in some of Chica's spare clothes.

"Hey guys," you call out with a wave.

Chica doesn't look like she even sees you. "C'mon, Freddy, We're going to miss the bus!" she says.

You watch, bewildered as April and even Freddy nod to you, all the while Chica's too busy to pay attention. Either that, or she's just flat-out ignoring you. Lowering your head, you turn and make your way towards Bonbon's apartment.

After just a couple of knocks, the door clicks open and Bonbon pokes her head out.

"Oh, hi, Mike! What brings you here?"

"Hey, Bonbon," you reply. "Mind if I come in just a second?"

"Sure!" she chirps, opening the door wide. "Come on in, we just finished our morning workout."

"Thanks."

"Well, what can I do for you, Mike? Are you wanting to go to the gym again this afternoon?" Bonbon trots down the hall ahead of you and into her kitchen, rooting around under the sink. "I don't blame you for taking a personal day, but you're going to have to reaaally step it up if you want to be to your ideal weight by New Year's."

"Err -- maybe later," you reply, self-consciously pinching your stomach as you follow her.

Bonbon's apartment seems to have a different design compared to the previous two you've been in. The entryway itself is a fairly long, narrow hallway from the front door to the common area with two doors on either side. The hallway seems to terminate into the common area, and to its right is a large kitchen.

The living room's largely a mess. Pillows are lazily piled up on one end of the couch, with clothes and towels draped over both armrests. Fitness and fashion magazines are stacked up on the floor in waist-high piles. Bags of plastic bottles and trash to be taken down for recycling are tied up in a pile next to the kitchen table.

Looking around, it seems the apartment's decor doesn't fare much better -- it's fairly gaudy with bright neon pinks and cyans being the dominant colors. You're pretty sure the curtains are just strips of black canvas that have been splattered with fabric paint. Poster prints of modern art hang in cheap, gold-painted plastic frames over various pieces of furniture throughout the apartment.

The floor in front of the living room's television -- which is unsurprisingly blaring some kind of jazzercise video -- is covered in multiple yoga mats, one of which is currently occupied by a short, pudgy bear with light brown fur frocked in an A-shirt and track pants. He's panting heavily, but smiles and offers you a friendly wave when you walk into the room.

"Hi there, I'm Mike," you reply, waving back.

The bear rises up from the floor and shuffles over to you.

"Hi! I'm Freddy," he replies.

Well, of course he's Freddy. Why would he be anything other than Freddy? You're trying and somehow failing to imagine a world where bears that aren't Freddys and rabbits that aren't Bonnies exist. You extend your hand to "Freddy" for a handshake, but he envelops you in a huge bear hug, lifting you off the ground.

"I see you've met Peanut," Bonbon observes as she begins filling a pitcher with water.

"Oh, YOU'RE Peanut?" you ask.

"It's my real name," Peanut Freddy replies, glancing sheepishly at the ground. "Freddy's just my nickname."

"Would you be offended if I called you Peanut instead of Freddy, then? Err -- reason being, I already know one Freddy," you ask hesitantly.

Peanut smiles.

"Well, I also know two other Freddys, so sure, I -- I don't mind. Y'know, my mama named me Peanut 'cuz I looked like a little dollop of peanut butter when I was just a cub," he says, swaying his arms back and forth as he talks.

"So Mike! If you're not here to let me help you work your puff into tuff, what's up?" Bonbon asks.

"Well, I came over to see if you guys wanted to come hang out with me and Cheeky and Bonworth later. We were thinking about playing some games or something."

"Oh, can I come too?" Peanut asks, his eyes beginning to widen as a smile creeps at his sleepy face. "I mean, if you don't mind? If it's not too much trouble?"

"Why would it be any trouble?" you ask with a tilt of your head. "It's kinda lonely over there. I figured a game day might liven the place up a bit -- the more of us the merrier."

"Cool," Peanut breathes, toddling towards his bedroom door. "I'll go get dressed then. Thanks for inviting me!"

"Aww, that's sweet of you, Mike!" Bonbon gushes. "Sure, I'd love to join in. I'll put together a veggie tray for us to eat at lunch. What time do you want us over?"

You glance up at the wall clock hanging over Bonbon's magnet-studded refrigerator.

"Let's see, it's almost seven now. Bonworth said any time after nine, I think."

Bonbon chugs her water bottle before slamming it down on the kitchen counter enthusiastically.

"Perfect! We'll be there at nine! Tell Bonworth he doesn't have to handle lunch, we'll take care of it."

"Sounds good. Nice meeting you, Peanut," you reply.

"You too, Mike," he burbles, waving as you leave.

As you walk up the stairs to 87-B, your chest begins to ache ever so slightly. You know Chica's been pushed into a situation as uncomfortable as the one you're in yourself. You're not really mad at her, per se, and you certainly can't blame April who's as much a victim of circumstance as you are, but your feelings are still a little raw. First there was your encounter with Mangle, now you've got Chica brushing you off -- things seemed like they were going so well until just a couple of days ago.

Now, you're not so sure.

Still, you're not going to punish Bonnie over it. Might as well see if she'd like to join in the festivities. With a smile in place, you knock twice at the door to 87-B before waiting patiently for a reply.

A minute passes, then five more. You knock again, waiting for her to open up. She likely just had breakfast so you know the medicine can't possibly have kicked in yet. After an eternity of waiting on the porch, you turn to leave. The sound of a door clicking open draws your attention as you're halfway to the staircase, and you turn around. A bright patch of blue fur disappears behind the door as it slams shut.

On second thought, she probably could use that nap after all. You storm down the stairs and quickly cross the street, trying to ignore the burning sensation in your cheeks.