Roommates - Ch. 13 (Play Date)

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

Roommates - Ch. 13 (Play Date): http://i.imgur.com/wYEhNC5.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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Three sharp knocks at the front door indicate the arrival of the first guests of the day. Doing a quick double-take at the wall clock, you realize it's not even half past eight yet.

"Someone's early," you observe.

"Eh, that's Bonbon for you." Cheeky observes, dabbing at her face with a towel.

Upon Bonworth's polite (yet firm) insistence that she "make herself presentable", Cheeky reluctantly took a shower, half-assedly scrubbed off some of her caked-on makeup, and put on a fresh tank top and a pair of frayed jorts. It's an improvement from her previous choice of attire, even if only slightly.

"Bonbon's always been an early bird -- early bun? Early bun." Tossing her towel over the armrest of her chair, Cheeky trots over to the door. "Beanie, though, won't even show up until ten at the absolute earliest -- if she even shows up at all."

"Which one's Beanie again?" you ask absently, fidgeting with the cables for the game system you've been tasked to hook up.

"Bonworth's little sister. You'll see what I mean when you meet her," she answers before opening the door.

"Sorry we're early!" Bonbon announces with no additional explanation.

The energetic exercise bunny happily bounds in with Peanut bringing up the rear, his arms full with an ice chest and multiple plastic food containers.

"Nngh. Like we stand on any kind of ceremony," Cheeky says, easing herself into her recliner.

"No offense, but I'm surprised you can stand at all," Bonbon quips, poking Cheeky in the side.

"Wait, was that a fat joke, little girl?" Cheeky queries, face flushed and eyebrows arched.

"Um, if it's all right, could someone give me a hand here?" Peanut timidly inquires, struggling under the weight of whatever Bonbon decided to bring.

Throwing her paws in the air, Bonbon retreats to safety next to you.

"Hey, hey! Half-hour on the elliptical trainer a day, maybe some food in your diet that isn't out of a microwavable box? By February, you'll be half the bird you are now," she says. "Just sayin' -- you ain't getting any younger, Cheeky."

With an expression that's equal parts amused and annoyed, Cheeky bounds out of her chair with surprising speed for someone of her size.

"And YOU 'ain't' too old for an ass whoopin'," she bellows, playfully swiping at Bonbon's ears. "Outta the way, Mike. I've got a bunny to bop."

"I'm just saying a little exercise wouldn't hurt you!" Bonbon's pinned between you and the wall now, angling for cover behind the television screen.

"Oh, you'll be surprised what'll hurt you," Cheeky retorts, reaching around your head and snagging Bonbon's ear successfully.

"Yeeeeoowww!! Mercy, uncle! Uncle!" Bonbon squeals as Cheeky gives her ear a good, solid tug. "I'll be good, I promise!"

"Guys? Mike? Anyone?" Peanut whimpers, beads of sweat beginning to form on his brow.

Satisfied that Bonbon's been thoroughly put in her proper place, Cheeky lets the rabbit go before smugly heading to the kitchen.

"Now look, Bonbon, you know exercise and me ain't exactly the closest of friends," she crows, throwing the door open with gusto. "Isn't that what we got you Chiclet for?"

"Yeah, but Chiclet was too busy to hang out this morning," Bonbon pouts, rubbing her ear.

"I know the feeling," you grumble under your breath.

Returning from the fridge with a beer nestled in her cleavage, Cheeky waddles past Peanut obliviously, nearly knocking him over with an ill-timed swing of her hips.

"Wanna beer, Mike?"

"Don't tempt me," you reply. You're still trying to shove aside the lingering frustration induced by your roommates -- your real, proper roommates.

With a gasp, Bonbon points at the bottle accusingly. "Cheeky! You're already drinking? It's not even nine AM yet!"

"Well, that's why you should learn to be on time." Downing nearly half the bottle in just a couple of gulps, Cheeky belches. "If you'd shown up when you were told, I'd have had this one finished and it wouldn't bother you at all."

"That's -- that's not what I'm saying at all, and you know it," Bonbon snorts.

"Looks like we're all set to go," you announce as you scoot out from behind the entertainment center. Standing up, you brush the dust and cobwebs off of your tee shirt. "THe game system SHOULD be working now, finally."

"Hey, you got it hooked up? All right!" Bonbon cheers. "I'm glad to see you're finally getting some use out of this thing! It's fun AND it's good for you."

"Nnngh. Fine, whatever," Cheeky winces. "As long as I don't have to run around the room like a lunatic."

"Anyone?" Peanut moans. "Little help, please?"

"Really, dude?" you sigh. "You could've set this stuff down at any time, you know -- why just stand there and hold it?"

Even though you didn't really mean anything by it, Peanut almost immediately wilts under your gaze, nearly fumbling the entire lot onto your feet. You catch the cooler mid-fall and help him carry everything into the kitchen.

"Hey, Mike. You okay, buddy?" Cheeky asks. "You SURE you don't need a beer?"

"I'm fine, Cheeky," you manage, thumping the ice chest onto the kitchen countertop. "Here, Peanut -- I'll start loading this stuff into the fridge."

"O-okay." Peanut gingerly backs away to a safe distance, looking a little unnerved. "Sorry for the trouble..."

"Nope, it's no trouble at all," you insist with a forced smile, waving him off.

You didn't get a very good look at it earlier when he was "preparing" breakfast, but Bonworth's refrigerator is a mess. Unlike the relatively sterile atmosphere of the rest of the apartment, the fridge is packed full of leftovers and takeout containers, almost all of which looks like it's long past needing to be thrown out.

"What a freaking mess," you grunt, almost afraid to stick your hands inside even if just to move things around to make room.

"Gosh, I'm sorry," Bonworth says, swaggering into the kitchen. "If I'd known you guys were bringing treats, I'd have tried to neaten the ol' icebox up a bit!"

"Pretty sure it's gonna need more than just 'neatening up'," you reply dryly. "Bonworth, hand me a trash bag and a pair of rubber dish gloves, if you have any."

"Hah, uh, neat freak much, Mike? It's not that bad!" he chuckles.

"Isn't that bad?!" you snort, incredulous. "Dude, your coffee creamer is practically glowing, I've got no damn clue whether those moldy little balls in your crisper drawer are oranges or kiwis, and I'm pretty sure half the stuff in here could be classified as a biohazard! And -- is this the hot dog you bought last week? Seriously?!"

"Golly, Mike, what do you expect?" he exclaims, turning to you and planting a finger on your chest for a few forceful taps. "Buckingham Palace?"

"Cut the crap, Bonworth," you retort. "This isn't just 'a little untidy', it's absolutely disgusting. I can't believe you LIVE like this."

"Well shucks, how rude of me!" He throws his gawky arms in the air, shaking his head theatrically. "I forgot the Queen was visiting! We'll get your majesty all squared away then!"

"Just hand me a trash bag, smartass."



After twenty straight minutes of tossing items that are well past their expiration date and wiping shelves down, you've disposed of most of the garbage in the refrigerator and have made more than enough room to store your group's lunch. Rinsing off your borrowed rubber gloves, you place them on a towel on the counter.

"There," you announce. "Finally. Now, where were we?"

"I BELIEVE you'd called us all over so we could have some fun," Bonbon smirks, "unless your idea of fun is scrubbing the baseboards. In which case, you're on your own."

"Awww, enough of that stinkin' thinkin'! Who's ready to get their game on?" Bonworth enthuses as you take your seat in the living room. The only thing you're ready for is for your stay here to be over and it's only just begun.

"About time," Bonbon says, pumping her fist in the air. "C'mon, Peanut, you and me versus Bonworth and Cheeky!"

"But won't that leave Mike out?" Peanut asks.

"I don't mind," you reply, putting your hands up slightly. "I'm not much of a video game player anyway. You guys go right ahead without me."

"Not much of a gamer, you say? Even better -- we can whip up on you to boost our confidence!" Bonworth laughs as he takes his seat in one of the recliners.

Gritting your teeth, you reluctantly get off of the sofa and take one of the wireless gamepads from Bonworth's grasp. It's some kind of bizarre fusion of a television remote, a tennis racquet, and a back massager. There's a wrist strap on one end and more buttons than you have any earthly idea what to do with.

"Just grin and bear it, Mike." Cheeky fiddles with her gamepad, trying to figure out how it works. "If I've gotta get up and jiggle my way through a few rounds of this crap, you do too."

"That's the spirit," Bonbon says as she flips the game system on.

An infuriatingly cheerful pixelated doe leaps onto the screen, instructing each player to key in basic vital statistics such as species, gender, height, and approximate weight in order to determine your "game level". To nobody's surprise, Cheeky is immediately classified as "obese" and even Peanut is tagged as "moderately overweight".

"Mike, what kind of monkey are you? Gibbon? Ape? Chimpanzee? Orangutan?" Bonbon inquires, helping you with your controller.

"Just put whatever in," you reply. To your dismay you're also lumped into the "overweight" category alongside Peanut.

"Let's start out on Advanced difficulty for the best burn," Bonbon blithely instructs. "Now normally I play on Extreme, but I want you guys to ease into it."

"What difficulty is Advanced?" you ask, cringing slightly.

"Oh, it's about six."

"And Extreme?" you carefully venture.

"Seven, which is the highest," she answers with an oblivious smile. "I mean the other difficulties are like, just for lightweights -- and you guys can take WAY more than that, right?"

You look over at Peanut, who's retreated into his shirt, and Cheeky, who's staring daggers at the back of Bonbon's head.

"Awesome, here we go!" Bonbon whoops, pressing the game start button.



"You did great, Cheeky!" Bonbon says encouragingly. "You got twelve points!"

"Out of what, a thousand?" she gasps, laying flat on her back on the floor. "I think I almost broke Mike's spine when I tripped and fell on him."

"It's all right, Chic-- uhh, Cheeky," you reply, hastly correcting yourself. "It's only a skinned knee. I'll be fine."

"Jeepers, Mike -- and I thought I was two left feet," Bonworth snickers. "You looked like a flounder in a fryer up there."

"C'mon, I didn't do that bad," you manage, still trying to catch your breath. Yeah, right, only because Cheeky looked like she was seconds from a stroke just trying to keep up with the rest of you. Even Peanut managed to significantly outperform you.

"Well, in your defense, you DID manage to beat our resident couch potato by a hair, so I guess THAT'S something." Bonworth inclines his head toward you. "Hey, third place out of four is still respectable, right?"

The thick sarcasm is cutting. As if you weren't feeling stupid enough flailing around in front of a screen as it is, the last thing you need is this guy busting your chops.

"Yeah, I'll wear it with pride," you grimace.

"Well, there you go! And I'LL think of your wobbly dance any time I need a laugh. What a show!" he squeals.

Like he's one to talk. You've seen drunks more steady on their feet than he is.

As you look over your shoulder, you notice his narrowed eyes seeming to gleam. Nobody else is acting like they notice, but he's still got something left for you, and a toothy smile spreads slowly over his face as it bubbles to the surface in a lower tone.

"After all, that's what monkeys do, right?" He locks eyes with you for a second, grinning widely. "They dance."

"You're hilarious, Bonworth," you growl.

"Don't I know it!" he says, slapping the armrest of his chair. "Oh, this has been a hoot. Mostly for me, of course. Remind me to bring an organ grinder next time!"

"Next time my ass." Cheeky chucks her controller at the side of Bonworth's chair. "I don't want that voodoo box in my home. Get rid of it. Put it out with that garbage you cleaned out of the fridge, Mike."

"I think I m-might be done for now, too," Peanut says as he trudges toward the sofa, collapsing into it and rolling over on his side.

All exaggeration aside, you suppose the workout game wasn't as bad as you thought it would be -- mostly swinging your arms around in time to music and signals on the screen. The four of you somehow managed to keep at it for close to three hours, Bonworth alternating between cheering and deriding you from his recliner the entire time, despite your repeated attempts to make him get up and play.

Why Bonbon let him off scot-free, you might never know.

Still, while you aren't completely worn out, you're grimly aware of the fact that your shoulders are going to be some kind of stiff in the morning.

"All right, Bonworth, I'd like to see YOU take a crack at this thing," you challenge, tossing your controller onto his lap. "It's only fair."

He picks it up and turns it over a few times in his paws, eyeing it nervously.

"Yeesh, ah... wow, looks complicated. I was mostly hoping for something like, you know, maybe some target practice? Like that one game with the little plastic gun and the clay discs you had to shoot all those years ago?"

Yeah, what a surprise.

"Y'know, I don't think I blame you," you reply with a sigh, taking a seat in one of the recliners. "If we play any more games after lunch, I could go for something simple like cards, myself."

Standing up from his chair, he looks at you almost thankfully, gently placing your controller next to the television along with Cheeky's.

"You know, that sounds jake to me! How about we go ahead and break out that lunch now?" he says with a clap of his paws. As he begins wobbling towards the kitchen, a knock at the door draws everyone's attention. "Oh, that's probably Beanie. Mike, I'll get started preppin' the lunch if you can you run let her in?"

"Sure," you respond, bracing yourself for whatever horror lies behind the door. One Bonworth is bad enough -- the thought of two is downright horrifying. Your mind is flooded with visions of purple rabbits in striped jackets and straw boater hats doing soft-shoe routines and crooning songs that haven't been popular in decades.

As you walk over to the foyer, you grip the handle and pull the door open. A female bunny around your height clad in a hoodie and faded jeans stands at the doorstep, lethargically typing something out on a cheap cell phone.

"Hey, Bonworth," she starts to mumble as she looks up from her phone -- and the second she sees you, her eyes bug out and her ears stand up on end. The cell phone falls uselessly from her paws, clattering to the ground.

"Oh, come on!" she shrieks, grabbing the door and slamming it shut in your face.