Roommates - Ch. 51 (Dream Job)

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

Roommates - Ch. 51 (Dream Job): http://i.imgur.com/9xdJFBW.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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Jolting awake from your slumber, you cast a blurry glance around Fazbear's office as your eyes adjust and refocus, slowly taking stock of the cluttered room to make sure nothing's changed since you slept.

The oscillating desk fan, the flickery incandescent bulb dangling by a wire overhead. The crumpled-up papers and discarded soda cups scattered across the scratched-up faux wood surface of the desk. The toy cupcake perched atop a disused monitor, judging you silently with its glazed gaze. So far, so good. You give the doors and the lights a quick check while you're at it, but everything seems to be in order. Looks like Bonnie and Chica took pity on you, choosing not to tamper with the controls while you were inert. At least they've been getting better about that lately.

Leaning back in your chair, you stretch to keep your joints from locking up as the cycle begins anew. You were out for a while, this time, dreaming of that other world -- the one with the derelict pizzeria, the faulty Humanimatronics, and those strange animal people with their bizarre, inscrutable ways.

You don't miss it.

Brushing the thought of your unappealing past from your mind, you settle into your chair, picking up your tablet and conducting a sweep of the facility. You've grown lax; the cove curtain is wide open and the show stage stands hopelessly desolate. Leaning back in your seat, you close the left door and patiently await the inevitable visit.

Loud, heavy footsteps indicate Foxy hurtling down the hallway, ricocheting off the left-side door with a resounding crash, slamming into the stacked-up amplifiers in the west hall corner. You shake your head, re-opening the door only after you're certain he's slinked past.

"You know you're not allowed in here, Foxy."

"One of these nights, Schmidt," the animatronic fox grumbles back from somewhere down the west hall as he stalks off, returning to his own personal stage.

You open the tablet back up and page over to Pirate Cove. The curtain's closed, still and serene as ever. With a nod, you lower the monitor and drum your fingers across your chest, waiting for your next visitor. Even though they're all similar to the people you knew on the other side, their consistency is like clockwork, their methods mechanical. Precise and predictable, that's the name of the game. Compared to your old bandmates, your new co-workers are far easier to get along with.

You pity whoever ended up having to take your place.

It's usually fifty-fifty odds as to whether it's the rabbit or the hen next, but it's always one or the other. It's not long before you have your answer; like a fingertip dragging down the strings of a violin, her silky voice calls out from the darkness of the west side hall. Doubling down tonight, it seems.

"Hello, Mike," Bonnie the bunny intones.

"Bonnie," you reply, slamming the door in her face without missing a beat as you cradle the tablet in your lap. "You're late."

"And you're being boring. I thought you and I were past all this. Come outside and join us for a while, have some fun! Aren't you getting sick of spending all your time locked up in that stuffy office?"

"Better in here than out there," you answer.

She sighs, leaning against the glass with her arms above her head. "Oh, come on. That's the old Mike talking."

"It's my job," you answer. "And stop calling me 'Mike'."

"Well then, your job is boring and so are you. But you want to know what's not boring?" She presses harder against the window, her face grinding against the industrially-reinforced polycarbonate as if she were trying to fuse with it. "Me, Mike. Come play with me. You owe me."

Setting the tablet aside on the desk, you stand up from your chair and walk over to the left-side wall, your finger hovering just over the door button.

"...wait, really?" Bonnie asks, leaning away from the window as her pin-prick eyelights study you dubiously. "You're actually going to do it? You're not fun-timing me, are you?"

Pressing the button, the motors in the door yank the metal slab into the ceiling, allowing you to step out into the hallway with her.

"Huh," Bonnie says, cupping your face in one of her claws, dragging her fingertip along your cheek and down your chin until it rests just so upon the center of your throat. "I didn't think you had it in you."

"What can I say? You finally won me over," you shrug, following the surprised, steel-clad bunny down the hallway and into the dining room. "The tablet is a more efficient means of keeping track of everything, but I suppose I can make the rounds on foot from time to time as well."

"Did I hear that right? Schmidt's comin' out to play with us?" Foxy grins, poking his head out of his curtain.

"He is?" Chica adds.

"I knew I'd get it through his thick skull eventually," Bonnie boasts to her fellows as she buffs her claws on the thin veneer of fake lavender fur covering her chassis. "I can be very... persuasive."

"Goodness, that IS some persuasiveness," Chica eagerly replies, carrying her cupcake tray over to you as she joins your group. She claps her free wing on your shoulder, striking it with a loud metallic clang.

"Well, I don't mind 'playing' for a little while as long as we stick to a safe activity," you insist.

"Please," Bonnie drones, "safety is my middle name."

"It's my FIRST name," you answer automatically as you begin taking a brief headcount to ensure everyone is present and accounted for. One, two, three, and including yourself, four. And that just leaves...

"Schmidt!" Freddy booms from the checkerboard-patterned lavatory, brushing his paws off as he thumps into the dining room. "Uniform's looking good tonight. Glad to see you're still sticking to the handbook's guidelines."

"It's been almost a year since he straightened up and flew right," Chica hastily interjects, her plastic beak clicking away.

"But this is what I always wear," you reply in confusion as Freddy taps the plastic badge affixed to the front of your own green costume.

"And don't you forget it," the heavy-built bear warns, wagging his index finger. "Now then -- Mike, Bonnie, come help me offload the new shipment of ingredients corporate sent over. Foxy, you're on cleaning duty. I want the floors waxed and the tables set for the morning. Chica, kitchen patrol."

"Swabbin' the deck again?" Foxy groans.

"Awww! But we were gonna go hang out in the arcade, Freddy!" Bonnie pouts, the very face of petulance. "You make us work every night now!"

You roll your shoulders, loosening the sockets with an electric whirr. "That's what we're here for, isn't it?"

"That's the spirit, Schmidt. Now look, six AM will be here soon enough and the day shift needs all the help they can get if we're going to keep the lights on," Freddy orders, directing everyone to their positions. "Since we don't have to worry about suiting the guard anymore, we should be making the most of our newfound free time. I overheard management saying that if earnings stay on track, we may not have to close at year's end after all."

"Hold on -- we're not gonna close after all?" Chica asks with a hopeful smile. "You aren't kidding, Freddy?"

"...that go for all of us?" Foxy gasps. "So then, do you think I could--"

"Of course that's what he's saying, barnacle brain," Bonnie snaps, irritated as ever. "More money means you'll finally be able to quit loafing behind that curtain all day and get back to performing."

"I said MAYBE. Let's not get ahead of ourselves. But if earnings are up, that means not only will we stay in business, we can also expect renovations and repairs eventually," Freddy adds jovially. "Right now, though, one foot in front of the other. We've got to make the most of the freedom we get every night. Showtime, people."

"Yes sir," you reply, snapping off a mechanical salute as you and Bonnie follow Freddy through to the storage room, the sound of your own clanking footsteps finally joining theirs. Looks like another long night of hard, honest work with like-minded coworkers.

Sure beats your last job.



[THE END]