Roommates - Mini #7 (Funtime Foxglove)

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Roommates - Mini #7 (Funtime Foxglove)
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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With one final click of the camera's shutter, I step back to admire my handiwork. "I do believe that's the last of them," I announce.

"About time, Mangle," Michael gripes good-naturedly, discarding my elegantly hand-crafted chiffon middy as if it were a common shop rag. "I never thought I was going to be finished being your personal mannequin."

I gasp, as much at his treatment of my new spring line as I do his vulgar disdain for high fashion. "Bonnie, darling, still thy tongue! Your ample, manly belly fills out my blouses quite nicely!"

"Don't say 'blouse'," he replies, face crinkling in repulsion. "I don't -- I don't wear 'blouses'. That might be a 'you' thing, but it's not a 'me' thing."

"Heavens," I sniff as I return the garment to its proper place on the rack. "In all my years I don't believe I've met anyone who's so averse to a little bit of haute couture."

"Oat kutour?" he repeats, clearly puzzled. "What?"

"Hmm. I, I don't know," I confess, biting my lip. "It's something I picked up from Freddy; I think it's his word for tasteful clothing. That poor, sweet bear."

Michael steps around the folding screen I have set up near my closet to begin changing back into his regular attire. "Well, if that's everything you need from me, then I guess I'll go ahead and take off for now," he says. "I have a few errands that I need to run before I head back to Mr. Fazbear's this afternoon."

"Aren't you forgetting something?" I ask pensively. "We still need to discuss your compensation for your modeling services rendered; both this time and the last."

"Oh, you don't have to pay me," he insists. "I'm just happy to help a friend out."

I begin tapping my claws together. "You worked for me, and you'll be paid an according wage, dear," I protest, letting my freshly-lacquered nails click rhythmically as I make no effort to hide my disapproval. "I'll have no argument otherwise."

"I really do appreciate it, Mangle, but I can't take your money," Mike continues as he tosses his borrowed culottes over the screen. Seeing my opportunity I edge towards the divider, lifting my camera slowly.

"If not financial compensation, then trade? Your wardrobe could use a serious overhaul," I ask carefully, leering around the corner whilst his back is turned.

"Yeah, but we're just now coming into winter. No offense, but chiffon 'blouses' aren't going to keep me warm. If you've got something in flannel or denim, then maybe--"

"Flannel?! DENIM?! Ohh!" I nearly drop my camera as I sputter, feeling filthy to even repeat such heretical words. "No, sir! WE shall be doing no such thing. I should pinch you for even implying I'd work with such cheap, unfashionable material!"

"What was I thinking," he replies flatly, stooping to grope around the wall for his jeans. With a flick of my tail, I snag them by a belt loop and maneuver them just out of his reach, forcing him to lean over further. "Mangle, I'm just not a fashionable guy. My needs are more practical than flamboyant."

"Your needs, dear, are not going outside looking like a -- like an urchin, a vagabond," I assert, steadily reaching my camera around while he's continuing to fumble around for his pants.

"I WAS homeless recently, you know," Mike grunts. "Just saying."

Three quick snaps; but alas, they're blurry. I can do better. "And are you homeless now?" I inquire, attempting to keep him distracted. My heart is beginning to race, my cheeks flushing in excitement. I can already imagine the outburst, but the thrill of the hunt is just too much. Forgive me, Michael; I really am a good fox, but your rump roast is just too enticing of a commodity.

"In that I'm not living in my current place of residence? Uh, yeah, by all rights I am still homeless. Mangle, can you hand me my pants?" Two more clicks, only one halfway usable shot. It's the lighting -- it's just too bad on this side. I shift the camera to my other paw.

"Where did you leave them, Chica?" I ask even as his belt buckle jingles softly as it's being dragged upon the carpet.

Mike huffs, clearly flustered. "I THOUGHT I dropped them back here behind the screen. Did they get mixed in with your stock?"

I can't help but grin, seizing the moment he's just presented to me. "Oh, it's entirely possible. Why, I'll search for them now," I say, swiping at one of my clothes racks with my tail. "Hmmm, I don't see them anywhere. Are you sure they're not on that side?"

"Nothing over here but me and air," he replies. "Ugh. Mangle, I kind of..."

"Sorry, darling, could you speak up a little?" I coolly reply. Mike groans out of frustration -- oh, is he ever so cute when he's mad.

"I SAID I went commando today," he snaps, confirming what I'd already begun to suspect from his musk; after all, we foxes are quite blessed in all olfactory manners. "I need to get back to the other apartment to do my laundry. Could you just hurry it up?"

Sighing, I hesitantly pull my camera back. Tempting as it is to press on for a much higher quality prize, it wouldn't be sporting with this newfound information.

"Certainly, dear. Oh! Here they are now," I announce, kicking his jeans over to the screen. He immediately bends to pick them up, and I find myself regretting not having moved in for the kill when I had the chance; my best customer is going to be so very disappointed.

"Finally," he says, slipping his jeans on. I hastily tuck the digital camera into my pocket as he steps out from behind the curtain, pulling his tee shirt back on. "Anything else?"

I reach for my sewing box while I attempt to calm my heartrate. "Yes, as a matter of fact," I answer. "Stand still, if you would."

Michael looks at me dubiously as I shuffle across the room towards him with what I'm hoping looks like a disarming smile. "Uh, Mangle? What are you doing?"

"Getting your measurements," I reply, wrapping my measuring tape around him. "Now's as good a time as any, so I might as well do so while I have you here. It'll only take but a moment."

"Oh, alright," he replies. "For, uh, 'compensation', you mean?"

"That's partly it, but also your costume; Bonbon's commissioned me to work on it," I murmur as I begin jotting notes down.

"Damn it," he groans. "What exactly does she have me wearing? I saw the picture of uh, Bob Whatshisface on her phone, but I'm guessing it won't look anything like that, will it?"

"You doubt my abilities? If I can help it, your costume will be one hundred percent show accurate," I beam.

"That's what I'm afraid of."

"Heavens. Enough of that now, you'll look wonderful," I argue. "Now quit sucking in your tummy, Michael."

Frustrated, Mike exhales allowing me to properly re-measure his barrel. "Bonbon wants me to drop a few pounds so that I'll look better in it by the time the convention rolls around."

"Bonbon wants EVERYONE to drop a few pounds," I mutter. "So what if you're a little portly? There's no shame in embracing who you are."

He frowns as I reach underneath his arms. "Not to be rude, but I'm not the one bundled up in a robe blanket," he chides.

"And just WHAT is that supposed to mean?" I reply. "It's the middle of November, is it not?"

Mike pulls away from me, turning to look me in the eye. "Mangle, the heater's on full blast," he says. "It's seventy-six degrees in here and I can feel you panting as you measure me. Hell, I'M sweating; I have no idea how you're handling it."

Indignant, I turn him around towards the mirror so that I can still look at his face while I measure his inseam. He squirms a little as my paws navigate around his lower half. "I must admit, it is a touch warm in here," I reply. "Bonnibel has been requesting we keep the heat up just a slight bit lately since her room is the furthest away from the heater."

He dabs some sweat off of his forehead. "And yours is the one that's the closest. Your makeup's dribbling 'just a slight bit'. At this point I think I'm 'wearing' more of your lipstick than you are."

"All the more reason to get this done quickly," I reply. "Now stretch your arms straight out as far as they'll go, please."

Once I've collected all of Mike's measurements, he gathers his things and wishes me a farewell. As soon as he's out of the room, I shed my blanket, lock my door, and collapse at my computer. Opening up my instant message client, I log into my secondary business account and navigate to my contact list. Awaiting me are no fewer than twelve new offline messages, all of them from the same client. Impatient as ever, I see.


Conversation started at 5:52 AM (you were offline)
*FitBlue22: hey foxglove
*FitBlue22: have you heard from mike yet?
*FitBlue22: foxglooooove
*FitBlue22: oh your offline 8(
*FitBlue22: uh well i talked to mango this morning and she said shes ready to get started on the utility belt for mikes bob cosplay
*FitBlue22: but she needs to know how it connects to the leggings
*FitBlue22: i told her i would get in touch with you about it. you said measurements wouldnt be a problem right?
*FitBlue22: also thought about the offer you made me from the other day
*FitBlue22: some of my ehawk listings sold so i might just take you up on it <83
*FitBlue22: but your gonna have to do better because i aint gonna cut into my con fund unless youve got the really good stuff.
*FitBlue22: and i mean really good stuff.
*FitBlue22: because while that last butt shot was really nice im pretty sure those cheeks were fredericks. anyway im me when your back online.


I plug the camera into my computer with a sense of lingering ruefulness. The hard drive hums and whirrs softly as I copy to my secret clawdrive what few photos I could bring myself to procure.


Conversation started at 11:34 PM
*~FuntimeFoxglove~: Good morning.
*FitBlue22: frickn finally
*FitBlue22: well its almost afternoon anyway
*FitBlue22: never thought you were gonna get online. did you get the measurements?
*~FuntimeFoxglove~: Of course. I told you they wouldn't be an issue. I had Michael come over to do some modeling work this afternoon.
*FitBlue22: oh nice
*FitBlue22: modeling for which business? ;3
*~FuntimeFoxglove~: Don't be crass, Bonbon.
*FitBlue22: ok ok ill behave
*FitBlue22: business first then pleasure. send me the measurements so i can get them to mango
*~FuntimeFoxglove~: Very well. One moment while I type them out.
*FitBlue22: aight
*~FuntimeFoxglove~: File transfer (mike_dimensions.txt)
*FitBlue22: cool thanks ill forward this over to her
*FitBlue22: now for the juicy stuff. please tell me you have some man fanny for this hot n bothered mama
*~FuntimeFoxglove~: Lewd.
*FitBlue22: yep thats pretty much you to a t. im just buying what your selling.


I stroke the tip of my muzzle thoughtfully. While they weren't particularly revealing, perhaps appealing to Bonbon's sense of imagination will ease my troubled conscience; it's bad enough to disappoint a friend, but disappointing a client is another matter entirely.


*~FuntimeFoxglove~: Well, I'm feeling especially generous today, so I'll send along a preview from the new image set. Low-resolution, of course. Give me a moment to upload it from my camera.
*FitBlue22: dont keep me waiting any longer
*~FuntimeFoxglove~: File transfer (boybum01.png)
*~FuntimeFoxglove~: Okay, there we go. You should have it now.
*~FuntimeFoxglove~: Bonbon?
*~FuntimeFoxglove~: Bonbon, are you there?
*FitBlue22: yeah sorry peanut got stuck in the oven again
*FitBlue22: hang on and let me load this pic
*FitBlue22: hmm
*FitBlue22: woah thats grainy
*~FuntimeFoxglove~: There were some technical difficulties.
*FitBlue22: do I even want to know how you got this shot
*~FuntimeFoxglove~: It's all in the tail.
*~FuntimeFoxglove~: If you'll pardon the pun, that is.
*FitBlue22: hah
*FitBlue22: well
*FitBlue22: i hate dippin into my con fund so hows 25 sound
*~FuntimeFoxglove~: Not happening.
*FitBlue22: uuuuugh
*FitBlue22: your such a frikkn chisler. what are you lookin to get?


And she has the nerve to call ME a chiseler with an opening offer like that.


*~FuntimeFoxglove~: I could just put it on my website, you know. FuntimeFoxglovesAfterHoursCove.com
*FitBlue22: i know you're stupid website address and you're paywall pricing is lodicrous and you only update once a week
*~FuntimeFoxglove~: This would go up on the website promptly...
*FitBlue22: and it doesnt load on my phone and
*FitBlue22: oh? <83c
*FitBlue22: promptly you say?
*~FuntimeFoxglove~: ...in about four weeks.
*FitBlue22: .
*FitBlue22: ..
*FitBlue22: ...
*FitBlue22: i hate you 8P
*~FuntimeFoxglove~: Your words hurt, darling.
*FitBlue22: how about i come upstairs and crane kick you in that smug muzzle of you'res and youll see what really hurts
*~FuntimeFoxglove~: Good luck; I'm behind two proxies.
*FitBlue22: fine how much
*~FuntimeFoxglove~: For the single? $50.00, cash. The rest of the set's photos are going to be website exclusives
*FitBlue22: highway robbery
*FitBlue22: your a robber
*FitBlue22: there are more pixels in a zoobiks cube than that picture
*FitBlue22: ugh
*FitBlue22: your the worst but
*FitBlue22: fine
*FitBlue22: im going to the bank. ill have you're blood money in an hour.
*~FuntimeFoxglove~: Pleasure doing business with you~ =^~.~^=
*FitBlue22 status change: Be Right Back


While it's not as much as I'd have gotten otherwise, I feel substantially more at peace with my decision. After all, Michael's more than an acquaintance; he's one of ours, now. I couldn't do anything to him I wouldn't be willing to do to one of the others.

A knock at my bedroom door and a soft, inaudible voice draws my attention away from my victorious half-gloat. I quickly log out of my account and tuck my camera away in my sewing kit for now. "Just a moment!" I announce, hurriedly frocking myself in my robe. To my surprise, Chica is standing on the other side of the door.

"Hey, Mangle. It's about time for lunch. I don't know what Freddy made today, but it smells so good even April's excited!" she says.

"Then it must be fabulous," I declare enthusiastically, gesturing towards the air vent. "Let me finish up some business here, and I'll be right on my way."

"Sounds good," she chirps, closing the door behind herself. "See you in a few, then."