Roommates - Ch. 11 (Sprung)

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

Roommates - Ch. 11 (Sprung): http://i.imgur.com/PQTXqFD.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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"Explain to me exactly why I have to move apartments again?"

"It's just a temporary thing -- shouldn't be longer than a few days, tops." Chica's wringing her wings and smiling at you in an almost pleading fashion, as if she's a frazzled parent trying to get a child to see reason. "And hey, if you want, you can come over every day and hang out with us. It won't be so bad."

"Why can't I just sleep out here on the couch? We're already, what, five adults crammed into a four-bedroom apartment? I don't see what difference that ONE extra person makes -- especially if it's just for a few days."

Letting loose a loud, frustrated moan, Chica begins pacing around the living room.

"Because Freddy's going to take the couch -- he's getting kicked out of his room too, and he's got more seniority than you do," she explains. "I don't think moving Bonnie OR Mangle out of their rooms is a good idea at this point, and I certainly don't want to move the new tenant in with them."

"I don't mind if Freddy takes the couch. I can just sleep on the floor."

"Like hell. You might the low branch on the tree, but I'm not about to make you sleep on the freakin' floor, Mike. Bonworth's will be way more comfortable for you, I promise."

"I somehow doubt that," you argue. "I think I'd be way more comfortable here on the floor than over at his place. Besides, I'm used to having to bunk down in weird places--"

The sound of the front door creaking open interrupts your train of thought.

A tall, gaunt figure leans in from the doorway, frocked in a moth-eaten trenchcoat and ratty leggings, clutching a carpetbag tightly against her chest. Craning your neck to look at her, you think she MIGHT be a rabbit, but with the thick red scarf wound around her neck and the excessive bandaging covering almost all of her head (save for a few patches of yellow fur and what looks like an ear and a half) it's awfully hard to tell. Even from the common area, the smells of mildew, smoke, and detritus are so overpowering you feel like covering your mouth with your shirt just so you can breathe -- which says a lot considering your own recent history.

"Very sorry... to be a bother," she wheezes with no small amount of effort as she shuffles inside. "Landlord said... no furnished apartments available right now."

Your heart sinks a little at the sight of the pitiful creature in front of you.

"You're not being a bother, Miss, uh--"

"April Marchand May," she manages. "Just April... please."

"April, March, and May? We could almost just call you 'spring' at that point," Chica comments with an amused smile -- only to cover her mouth with a wing when nobody laughs at the joke. "Uh, sorry."

"Please... forgive the intrusion," April murmurs, looking around from the safety of the tile entryway.

"Miss April, it's not your fault our assclown of a landlord doesn't have anywhere to put you," you interrupt, quickly covering for the obviously nervous Chica. "Hell, I'm in a similar boat myself, having to share a room with someone else."

"Yeah, the waiting list to get an apartment here is..." Chica adds. "Well, I'm sure you don't need me telling you. Um, come on in, April."

"If it's okay, I-- need to clean up... change bandages," April mumbles, lowering her bag to the floor as she steps inside. As she makes her way through the hall, her heavy footfalls leave thick splotches of wet snow and silt all over the floor. "Oh... I'm sorry..."

"Don't worry about it -- nothing a mop can't fix," Chica says, waving it off. "You, um -- you need any help cleaning up?"

"...yes." April slowly backtracks, scuffing her feet on the entryway mat self-consciously. "I'm sorry."

"Please, stop apologizing," Chica says, forcing a smile. "Bathroom's right there, just down the hall. Give me just a second and I can come help you."

April dips her head apologetically before turning and shambling slowly in the direction of the bathroom. Freddy passes by her in the hallway while carrying your bags. He nods politely to her before carefully placing your luggage by the front door next to April's own meager bag.

"Mike, I know you don't exactly care for him, but Bonworth's a really nice guy, and he could really use a hand right now," Chica says as Freddy instantly sets to work cleaning up some of the mess April tracked in. "You can survive on your own over there for a few days. I have faith in you."

"I'm not leaving, Chica."

Turning to you, she places her wings on your shoulders, firmly squeezing them.

"Not up for debate, Mike. This gal's going to be high maintenance, and at least at Bonworth's you'll have a bed to sleep in and I won't be worried about you. I'm gonna need you to be a big kid for me on this one."

The stern tone in her voice is enough to make you flinch first.

Picking up your bags from the floor, you look past Freddy and Chica to the end of the hall. Your gaze falls on the white paper bag still sitting on the carpet outside of Mangle's closed door, where it's now soaked in a puddle of pink liquid. So much for your peace offering.

"So that's it, then," you sigh.

"Don't be so melodramatic," Chica says. "I'll call Bonworth to let him know you're coming."

"Yeah. You do that," you mutter, closing the door behind yourself.



93-B, huh.

"Feels like it was just last week I was in this same position," you half-joke, reaching for the door knocker. Before your hand even touches it, however, the door swings open.

"Mike! Good to see you, pal," Bonworth says with a mile-wide smile. "Come on in! Just fixed up some dinner a little while ago -- hope you like macaroni and cheese!"

"I actually just ate, thanks."

As you scrape your feet on the mat, Bonworth gives you what you assume is intended to be a playful pat on the back, though it feels more like being slugged in the spine with a baseball bat. You gasp sharply, dropping your bags on the floor as you try to catch your breath. Once again, you're reminded of just how deceptively strong he is.

"Alright, gang -- everyone put some pep in your step, our guest's here!" he cheers.

The floor plan looks much the same as 87-B's -- kitchen forward, common area to the left, hallway with bedrooms and a bathroom to the right. It's probably also a four-bedroom plan, and thus you'll likely be forced to room with someone again if there are four occupants here.

Where it differs from the previous apartment -- your apartment -- is largely in the overall feel. 87-B feels more cozy and warm, but here, everything seems... well, "sterile" is the word that comes to mind. Stepping out into the common room, the furnishings are noticeably plainer. Instead of your apartment's patchwork couch and overstuffed chairs, multiple recliners are lined up in front of a big screen TV with a sofa acting as a "wall" to divide the sitting room from the kitchen.

Speaking of the kitchen, there's no sign of a table or chairs at all. A stand that holds folding TV trays is propped in the corner next to the sofa, and in place of the breakfast nook is a large bookcase full of movies -- a collection that could almost rival the size of your own back in the day.

"Ahoy, Mike!" Foxy hops off of one of the recliners and shuffles over to you. "Been a dog's age since I saw ye last. Last? Why, that be the captain's duty. Nary any respect for a captain who leaves the ship ahead of the ladyfolk. Ladies and little ones off first, that's the way of the sea. Bartley never saw fit for that, the scoundrel. Bailed off his ship first, he did."

"Bartley, huh," you chuckle.

"Bah! I always knew he was a rotten cuss." He growls, snapping his maw in the direction of some distant, invisible foe. "And real pirates don't need to cuss, being as it's impolite."

"Good to see he remembers you," Bonworth observes cheerfully. "He had much to say about meeting you last week, pal. Foxy loves making new friends."

"Good to see you again, buddy," you reply, stooping down and giving Foxy a gentle hug. "You been keeping warm out there?"

He waves a hook around excitedly, slicing the edge of your shirt. You try to act like you didn't notice as Bonworth nervously covers his muzzle.

"Aye, the waters be gettin' dreadful this time of year. I dare not leave me cabin for fear of pneumonia. Lost too many good men to the ice floes last voyage."

His gaze shifts a little, as if he's just realized something.

"Speakin' of, gotta go make sure the tins are full of rations. Can't be spending all our coin on snake tonics to fight the scurvy," he hurriedly announces before scampering down the hall on all fours -- or would it be threes?

"Scurvy? God forbid," you joke to Bonworth, who offers you a gawky smirk in return.

"Did someone say 'curvy'?" an unfamiliar female voice snickers from behind you.

A plump, well-endowed chicken girl with dirty yellow feathers exits the bathroom. Her face is slathered with old makeup that looks like it hasn't been washed off in a couple of days. She's wearing a low-cut camisole and a lower-cut pair of ice blue panties, both of which she's mostly hanging out of. If you didn't know better -- and at this point, you're not sure you do -- she looks for all the world like a sleazier, heavier version of Chica.

"Damn, Bonnie! You didn't tell me Chiclet was sending over a guy. Shit, he's not bad-looking, either." Does she realize you can hear her?

"Please don't swear," Bonworth pleads, smile faltering just a bit. "Also, if you could maybe just put some clothes on? I mean, it is his first time meeting you."

"The hell you talkin' about? I AM wearing clothes," she mutters, looking down at herself.

"I'm gonna take a shot in the dark here and assume that you must be Cheeky," you comment.

Rather than shaking your proffered hand, Cheeky bites the lower part of her beak in what you're guessing must be a sultry manner, though it just looks more than a little silly. She sidles close to you, looking up into your eyes.

"Man, smart AND cute? Oh, Bon, I like 'em smart. But then, I like 'em dumb, too," she coos.

"Please don't flirt," Bonworth pleads, smile faltering just a bit further.

Cheeky circles around you like a shark circles its prey, checking you out from every angle. Even Chica isn't this blatant when she's flirting or teasing you. Hell, even Mangle never acted this raunchy.

"Y'know, she's quite friendly when you get to know her!" Bonworth looks at you with pleading eyes, drumming his fingers self-consciously on the sides of his legs.

"I'm already starting to get a sense of that," you reply. "Alright, Cheeky, my eyes are up here."

"Yeah, in a minute," Cheeky says dismissively as she continues ogling your rear.

"Anyway, Chica, this is Mike," Bonworth says, forcibly pulling Cheeky away from you. "He's been staying over with Chiclet and her posse, but circumstances have him here for a spell while Marion sorts some stuff out. Let's make him feel real welcome here, alright?"

"Mmmmhm," she purrs, low. "Don't you worry. Mike, right? Hey Mike? I want you to know you're very welcome here."

You laugh in spite of yourself. "Well, thanks for opening your doors. I'm sorry to just drop in on you all like this -- it's been kind of a long and stressful couple of days."

"Oh, don't you worry none! We take care of our own in this little community, yes sir," Bonworth says, brushing you off. "How about something to drink, Mike? You look like you could use something cold to wet your whistle."

"Not like I need convincing, my whistle can always get wetter," Cheeky says, finally tearing her gaze from your posterior. "You want to share a beer with me, Mike?"

"Uh, sure," you answer. "A beer sounds good -- if you don't mind, I mean."

"One bottle of liquid panty remover comin' right up," she cackles, flinging the refrigerator door open. "I'll save the real hard stuff for when I'm sure you can keep up."

If nothing else, you have to admire her brazenness.

"Ahh, ooh, how about just a soda pop? We've got some good cherry fizz in here," Bonworth nervously stammers, fumbling to open a can.

Cheeky playfully punches his arm, nearly throwing him off balance. She winces a little as she does, shaking her wing out.

"Ow. Gimme a break, Bon. I'm just busting the new guy's chops. Mostly."

She winks at you, and you force a smile, cringing a little as you do. This is it. This must be what the other side feels like. You silently apologize to every girl you've ever tried to use a cheesy pick-up line on.

After a moment's deliberation, you sit at one end of the sofa since you aren't sure whose recliner is whose. This turns out to be an inherently poor decision, however, as Cheeky quickly seizes the opportunity to plop down next to you, purposefully moving in a little too close, two beers in-wing.

"S-so, how's tricks, Mike?" Bonworth asks, taking a careful sip of his cherry soda.

"Eh, I could be better," you reply, accepting one of the beer bottles from Cheeky. "I ended up hurting Mangle's feelings this morning by pure accident, and then I got thrown out by Chica before I had the chance to patch things up."

"Mangle?" Cheeky asks. "Isn't she in the apartment below you?"

"There's more than one Mangle, too? Oh, god," you mutter. You suppose it makes sense considering there are multiple Bonnies and now multiple Chicas, but -- still, two Mangles? That wasn't an eventuality you were fully prepared for.

"A different Mangle, Chica," Bonworth clarifies. "Well gee whillikers, Mike, that's awful rough business. What'd you do, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I walked in on Mangle without thinking. I was helping out with packing orders and doing some modeling photos for Mangle's home business, and I just didn't think. I knocked and everything before opening the door and thought I heard an affirmative to go in, but it turns out I was mistaken."

"You're a model too?" Cheeky inquires, her eyes lighting up. "This really IS my lucky day."

"Just scarves." Better get that one nipped in the bud before she's trying to snap photos of you in your boxers.

"I'm sure sorry to hear that, Mike." Bonworth rubs his chin, seemingly pondering your situation. "You know, I rightly imagine you're feeling like you got a bum deal being put out of house and home like that, but I think I know Chiclet well enough that she didn't mean anything by it. She probably just thinks she's doing what's best for you."

Sure doesn't feel that way, though.

"Well, I appreciate you guys being understanding. I promise I'll be out of your hair and back at 87-B as soon as I can. Chica -- uh, my Chica -- seems to think this'll all be over in a few days."

"Hey, you ain't got anything to worry about, cousin," Bonworth whoops. "We'll have a swell time while you're here. What I don't get is why Marion didn't ask us to be temporary lodging for the sick lady instead. I wouldn't have thought twice about it and I know nobody else here would have either."

"He probably gave you a pass, what with us being saddled with Foxy and Faz and all," Cheeky scoffs, face twisting slightly like she's in pain. "Ouch."

"Now Chica, I won't abide that sort of tongue." Bonworth wags an index finger at her disapprovingly. "They can't help their conditions and you know it -- goodness, why would you even say a nasty thing like that?"

"Oh, c'mon, Bonnie, you know I don't have anything against either of 'em," she quickly backpedals. "Faz is a good guy and Foxy's a sweetheart. I just think it's lousy that Marion gets to determine where everyone goes based on some kind of insane criteria only he understands."

"Well, all four of us have a history at least," Bonworth says. "I think Marion's trying to do the best he can, keeping the gang together, but he can only pull so many strings."

"Sorry, who's Faz?" you ask, raising a hand.

"Oh, he's our fourth member," Bonworth says. "Stays in bed most of the day. He's... sick."

Lowering her head, Cheeky absently fiddles with the label on her bottle.

"Real sick," she adds quietly. After a few seconds, she pats your leg. "Anyway, Mike, why don't you stay with me tonight? I've got the master suite, plenty of room, a nice comfy waterbed, and... other amenities."

"I -- I think I'd be fine with the sofa here," you say nervously.

"Mike, no, that's ridiculous. That thing's way too short for you to sleep on and it's more than just a little uncomfortable. We'll put you up in Foxy's room. He's got twin beds in there and he doesn't even sleep in either one," Bonworth insists.

You nod, relieved. Beats rooming with either of these two whackjobs.

"I guess that works. Thanks, Bonworth."

"Please, just call me Bonnie," he says, carefree smile back in place.

"Man, no offense, but I'm still trying to wrap my head around all of these Bonnies."

"Trust me, it only gets worse," Cheeky smirks.

"Fair enough. I won't force you to," Bonworth says with a sheepish nod. "Well, let me grab you a blanket and a pillow, since it's getting late."

He gets up from his chair and heads for the hall closet, motioning for you to follow. You down the last of your beer before getting up to follow him.

"That sounds good. I think I'll retire early if you guys don't mind. I don't want my sleep schedule to get all out of sorts while I'm here."

"Well, my door's always open if you start feeling lonely and want to come say hello," Cheeky says, pushing herself off the sofa and waddling towards her room. "Nice meeting you, Mikey."

"Likewise," you reply, following Bonworth down the hallway.



Foxy's room is situated where Freddy's room is back at your apartment, so that's convenient for muscle memory, if nothing else. The room itself is decorated with an obvious pirate theme in mind -- ships in glass bottles, a framed treasure map, and photos of boats and water and all other sorts of nautical stuff. A Jolly Roger flag hangs over a small shelf adorned with various maritime knick-knacks.

Foxy himself is holed up in the closet with the door cracked open, eagerly sorting fake plastic coins and gems into piles on the floor.

"Organizin' your booty, captain?" Bonworth calls out cheerfully as he lays your blanket out on one of the two small beds. It's actually not terribly larger than the sofa was out in the living room, but it does look a lot more comfortable.

"Oh, I don't be the captain," Foxy replies absently.

"Ah, that's right -- I forgot," Bonworth replies, shrugging at you.

"Common mistake. I won't hold ye to it," he replies, chewing his tongue slightly. "Somethin' feels off. I'll be back."

Foxy hops up from the carpet and trots out into the hallway, coming back a moment later with something in his good paw. "Bosun, I found me tooth. It wasn't where I remember puttin' it last time."

Sure enough, there's a sizable canine tooth -- how fitting -- in Foxy's paw. Dried blood speckles the base of it.

"Can ye put it back in for me, lad?" Foxy asks, opening his mouth.

"Oh, boy. Uh, why don't we take a look at it in the morning, Foxy?" Bonworth sighs as Foxy plunks it into his paw. "Don't forget to brush the teeth you DO have left."

"Alright. Settin' sail," Foxy replies easily, toddling off in the direction of the bathroom.

"If anything -- and I mean anything -- goes wrong with Foxy in the middle of the night, you come wake me up, Mike," Bonworth says, tucking the tooth into the pocket of his waistcoat. "I don't care if it's because he wants a glass of milk or heard a noise outside."

"I think we'll be fine," you reply. "Bonnie -- uh, my Bonnie, Bonnibel -- is a little high-maintenance herself, and we've gotten along just fine."

Foxy comes back a few moments later, his mouth still hanging open as he stands next to Bonworth.

"Looking good, sport!" he cheers, patting Foxy on the shoulder. "Oop. Almost forgot, I washed your favorite blanket this morning."

Bonworth leaves the room while Foxy remains motionless like a statue.

"Here you go, Foxy," Bonworth says, pressing the blanket into Foxy's arms. "You can, uh, you can close your mouth, now."

Shutting his jaw, Foxy accepts a neatly-folded violet blanket covered in a silver star pattern from Bonworth.

"Ah, me night sky. Can sail to any port in a storm by the stars." Wrapping himself with it, he crawls into his closet and curls into a ball.

"Well, g'night, fellas," Bonworth says with a tired smile.

You give him a mock salute as he clicks the light off before closing the door.