Friendly Affairs part 3

	Chica shuddered and bucked down hard as Mike’s first load shot up into her trembling loins. Kicking her glossy orange legs up off the floor and wrapping them around the back of his chare like a vice, the tall yellow bird all but suffocated his seizing lap in her ample thighs as he coated her insides in creamy white seed.
	With each new discharge, the bubbling pressure building inside of her swelled to greater and greater extremes, until the tightly held seal locking their bodies together ruptured with an audible squelch. What started as a single escaping spurt rapidly escalated into a full-on flood, as jet upon jet of built-up fluid spilled out over the guard's sweaty scrotum and saturated the cheap vinyl surface beneath, before that too dripped down onto the checker-tiled floor below.
	“Oohoohoo,” Chica cooed gingerly as the body below her huffed in weary satisfaction. “I don’t know what’s gotten you so worked up tonight, but consider me a fan.”
	The irony of her words wasn’t lost as Mike halfheartedly cradled his mechanical lover back.
	Ever since the previous night, he had been unable to shake his encounter with Spring in the storage room. In his sleep, he tossed and turned with visions of her secret debauchery playing out on repeat, while his waking hours afterword were plagued by a dull but unignorable lust that only seemed to be kept at bay by the shame that accompanied it. It was only when he arrived at work again that Mike was finally able to find an outlet for the unremitting urge that burdened him throughout the day; convincing himself that the voracity at which he approached Chica was entirely for her sake, and had nothing to do with his lingering memories of Spring’s cheery little moment of self-satisfaction.
	Obviously, this was a lie, and now that he had a chance to burn off some of that pent-up energy, he found himself resoundingly bereft of the solace he desired. Instead, all he was left with was a messy lap, and the looming onset of an even greater guilt.
	Mike’s shift in attitude as he pondered this realization was anything but subtle, and it didn’t take long for Chica to notices his sudden and seemingly unprovoked bought of malaise.
	“What’s the matter, Mikey?” the bird stirred him from his thoughts; gazing down and searching his face for some kind of answer. “First you’re all over me, and now you look like your pet just died. Did I say something wrong?”
	“No. I uh- It’s hard to explain,” he lied. It was actually very easy to explain; he just didn’t want to. “I think I screwed up, and now it’s gotten me... mixed up.”
	She eyed him tentatively for a moment. “Screwed up like you need to talk to a therapist? Or screwed up like you need to talk to a police officer?”
	“The first one. The therapist one. I didn’t break the law or anything.” he chuckled meekly and shot her an equally meek smile. “Promise.”
	Before he could say anything else, Mike felt Chica’s ample arms slide around his back and head as she drew him in for a reassuring hug. In spite of their intimate entanglement and the soiled state of their respective pelvises, nothing about the embrace felt particularly obscene. It was simply a warm and comforting gesture from one friend to another; stripped of any pretense of judgment or scrutiny.
	“Well, I’m no head-doctor, but you know I’ll do my best to help,” Chica replied warmly while gently stuffing his face into her cushioned chest.
	Mike promptly clammed up at seeing her treat him so earnestly.
	Thanks to her snarky attitude, it was easy to forget that Chica’s immaturity was only ever surface deep. Beneath all of her prodding and sarcasm was a very real and very sincere affection for him, and it was moments like these that reminded him why he was with her in the first place. Granted, he was still pretty unhappy about what had happened with Spring, but all of that lust and shame he’d been carrying around for her suddenly felt minuscule when compared to the emotional solidarity Chica was displaying for him right now.
	“I think you just did,” Mike crooned; feeling the load in his heart lift ever so slightly as he ripped his head from her bosom to kiss her on the tip of the beak.
	To his distinct amusement, he then watched the normally yellow hue of her cheeks turn a blushing light pink as the clusters of luminescent diodes packed beneath her synthetic skin sprang to life.
	‘You’re acting even weirder now,” the flustered bird chuckled nervously; trying to play off the air of sentimentality she had so effectively established, before quickly deciding to throw modesty to the wind and embrace it with yet another heartfelt hug. “But then again, normal was never really my speed anyway.”
	Mike eagerly allowed himself to be taken in by the embrace, and happily slid into the warm wave of cuddling and pillow-talk that followed. More than willing to play up her role as a doting lover, Chica proceeded to lavish her favorite guard in undue affection, after rightly deducing that –for whatever reason- he was feeling a little more vulnerable than usual. Her attentiveness payed off too, as Mike quickly forgot all about his troubles and returned to acting like the frisky yet sentimental dope she knew him to be.
	Unfortunately, in spite of his reinvigorated devotion and Chica’s all-too-eager willingness to indulge him, he quickly found himself at the mercy of an entirely different set of urges; and with and equal mixture of awkwardness and frustration, excused himself to the restroom.

	After getting his business out of the way and bee-lining it back to his office, Mike’s hopes of picking up where he them had left off were thoroughly dashed by the sound of Chica talking with someone. Despondent at the thought of visitors, he cautiously approached the open door and snuck a peek inside; hoping at least, that it wouldn’t be Spring there to greet him. Thankfully, the overzealous bunny was nowhere in sight, and what he found instead was the restaurant’s third and final mechanical mascot.
	A little taller than Spring –not counting the ears, of course- and noticeably shorter than Chica, Miss Foxy was in some ways the most average looking of the trio of robots that called this place home. Like Spring, her stark white body was mostly devoid of any animal-like trappings; save for two pawed feet, and a long puffy tail which swung effortlessly behind her in spite of its hefty size.
	This was countered, however, by an unmistakably vulpine head, that conformed to many of the same styling cues that the others shared: such as the ubiquitous molded fluffy cheeks, and dark pointed lashes outlining her wide amber eyes. Likewise, above her brow jutted a seemingly mandatory puff of faux-hair; though in Foxy’s case it was a rather substantial tuft, which swooped to the side and hung stiffly over one of her eyes like permanent bed-head.
	 From the top of her scalp stemmed two pointed ears, which -though mostly white– featured light-pink interiors that served to break up her body’s otherwise monochrome paint-job. This same shade of pink was applied liberally around the rest of her head as well; encircling her eyes like makeup, and encompassing the entirety of her muzzle and surrounding lower-face.
	Two slightly elevated circles dominated each of her cheeks; which stood out amidst her otherwise pale visage thanks to their bright red hue. Framing her face like some kind of old-timey doll, the seemingly minor detail made Foxy stand out amidst her two plain-faced counterparts, and cemented the restaurant’s ‘secondhand’ feel nearly as well as their lack of a proper Freddy.
	Interestingly, the only other spot that featured any deviation in coloring was Foxy’s fingernails, which were painted in the shape of little pink hearts that Mike was convinced she self-applied. It wouldn’t have come as any surprise, as her entire personality was brimming with girly little details like that.
	 From her singsong voice to the way she held herself, Foxy practically exuded graceful femininity, and presented herself with an air of matured dignity that often caught those that didn’t expect it off-guard. Even now, as she casually leaned against his office’s back wall –arms crossed patiently as her tail flicked gently at her side- her posture was positively poised, and her face shone with a comfortable agreeability that only redoubled when she spotted him eyeing her through the doorway.

	“There you are, Michael,” the fox hummed warmly.
	Almost instantly, Chica –who had been lounging nonchalantly in his chair- swiveled around and faced him as well. Suddenly, all eyes were on him, and though he knew they didn’t mean anything by it, there was something uncomfortable about the two woman going quiet and staring him down the moment he was caught peeking.
	Naturally, Chica immediately caught on to this, and shot him one of her usual catty grins to let him know that she was going to exploit the mood for all she could.
	 “Oh, Michael?” the bird joshed; picking up on Foxy’s predilection for proper names and deciding that would be a fun thing to roll with. “What’s the matter, Mike not good enough for you anymore?”
	“Hello, Miss Foxy,” Mike said flatly and stepped into the office; shaking off the discomfort while trying to ignore Chica’s stupid remark and equally stupid smirk.
	Looking around the room, it seemed that she had done some cleaning in his absence, as the only evidence left of their previous misdeeds was a damp smear beneath his chair and about a dozen fresh tissues piled in his waste-bin. That was just like her: Even when he wanted to be good and annoyed, she had to go and do something helpful to throw him off.
	“What’s the matter, Michael?” Chica prodded him further. “Don’t I get a greeting too?”
	Rolling his eyes, Mike concluded that the best course of action was to simply let this play this out and wait for her to get bored.
	“You know that’s not my name,” he responded with a sigh.
	“But that’s what’s written on your shirt,” Foxy chimed back; more than familiar with this joke by now, and perfectly happy to go along with it.
	“Actually, it just says Mike,” Chica corrected her.
	“Exactly! But Michael is such a more pleasant name, don’t you think?”
	Mike shook his head and glared in exasperation as the two of them openly teased in back and forth. Something he always seemed to forget, was that no matter how mature or proper Foxy came off, she could be nearly as bad as Chica if she wanted to.
	After a few more snarky jabs and a whole lot of snickering, it was Chica who eventually relented and got the conversation back on track; sensing correctly that too much more of their banter would drive the addled guard completely insane.
	“So uh, anyway, you said you wanted “Michael’s” help with something?” she offered as one finale dig.
	“Oh yes! We actually agreed several days ago that he would be assisting me tonight.”
	Mike frowned and tried to search his thoughts. After a few seconds of nothing, the memory flooded back into clarity.
	 “That’s right!” he snapped his fingers the moment it hit him. “We were supposed to put up decorations in The Cove today. I’ve been so preoccupied with other stuff I forgot all about it.”
	Now it was Foxy’s turn to smirk.
	Glancing between the two of them, she uttered a low and knowing, “I’ll bet.” that put a wide toothy smile on Chica’s already grinning beak and nearly made Mike relapse into total exasperation.
	As much as she was enjoying herself -far too much for Mike’s liking- Chica eventually excused herself and left him and Foxy on their own; citing her complete lack of decorative skills before giving him a kiss on the cheek and a completely unrepentant slap on the butt as she ran off. With her gone, the two of them departed together; with Mike grumbling at Chica’s complete lack of discretion, and Foxy happily smiling to herself as she assured him that no harm had been done.

	Miss Foxy’s Storytime Cove- or just The Cove, as most people referred to it- was one of the restaurant’s many character themed areas, and Foxy’s unofficial home when the day was over and all the children had gone away. Among some of the others were Bonnie’s Rock-n-roll café: the cafeteria and main room that housed the stage, who’s non-specific naming cause Spring no small amount of ire; Chica’s Birdcage: an unashamedly marketing driven title for the building’s tube-maze and ball pit off to the side of the café, that had absolutely nothing to actually do with Chica; and Beamz’s Arcade: which was apparently a reference to some long forgotten mascot none of them had ever met before. Of all of them though, The Cove was by far the most mundane.
	Essentially just a spare room littered with playmates and some beanbag-chairs, its walls were lined with shelves stuffed full of old children’s books and magazines. Normally, a place like Freddy’s wouldn’t bother with dedicating an entire area to something so banal as a children’s reading-room, but thanks to its low cost of upkeep and some good word of mouth, Storytime Cove had become known as an excellent spot to drop off children who weren’t quite old enough to enjoy the building’s other attractions.
	For her part, Foxy adored playing the role of babysitter, and did everything in her limited power to ensure her area remained well-kept and her guests well taken care of. Often citing that the key to a happy atmosphere lay in the personal touches, The Cove’s decorations eschewed the building’s normal venire of self-promotional posters in favor of an eclectic assortment of amateur art projects made by the children under her eye.
	That was, until December.
	As Mike understood it, every year Foxy insisted that the normal drawings and macaroni-art came down, and in its place went a whole slew of Christmas decorations that she usually put up herself. Seeing as how he was free most of his nights, Mike graciously volunteered to help her with the redecorating this year, and as he entered the room and drew his attention to the pile of storage boxes amassed by the doorway, realized that he was going to have his work cut out for him.
	“It’s hard to believe Christmas is only a month away,” Foxy mused as she flicked the lights for her room.
	“Don’t you mean: Holidays?” he joked back; instantly catching the ire of his normally composed companion with the remark.
	“Oh yes, how could I forget?” Her voice dripped with irate sarcasm. “It’s not Christmas time, it’s Holiday time. These are Holiday themed decorations, and in a few days there will be a Holiday tree in the lobby.”
	Mike snickered as Miss Foxy fumed behind him; happy to get a little recompense after all the teasing he’d endured earlier. Still, he had no interest in pushing her any farther, and decided to set himself to work without another word.
	Pulling out a pen-knife and cutting open a box revealed to be full of tinsel, he placed it to the side before slicing the lid to another. The restaurant had quite the assortment of non-specific holiday decorations in storage: Wreaths, stockings, all sorts of ornaments depicting Santa, and a seemingly endless tangle of colored lights that Mike went to work unraveling and testing while Miss Foxy carefully took down and packed up her usual décor of crudely colored pictures given to her by children.

	“So if they’re going to be putting up decorations in a few days, why are we doing this now?” the guard asked as he successfully yanked away another string of lights, only to find it was completely dead after plugging it into the wall-socket behind him.
	“Well, they’re just doing the lobby this year; and even there, I don’t think it will be more than a tree,” Foxy sounded wistful as she spoke, and Mike couldn’t help but notice a glum expression on her face as he looked up from his jumble of lights. “I’m sure they’ll do-up the outside of the building with something, but… It’s not like I ever get to see that.”
	“I can take some pictures, if you like,” he tried to cheer her up; to which he was happy to see a small smile form on the edges of her snout.
	“I think I would, Michael.” Her voice had picked up a little too. “Honestly, I’m just happy I’m actually allowed to dress up The Cove however I like this time of year. I’ve been at some places that hardly did anything to celebrate the season.”
	“Doesn’t seem like very good business.”
	“Well, they’re not in business anymore,” Foxy glanced away, and for a moment, that grim face he thought she had shaken returned. But the mood quickly passed, and as she looked back toward him, her solemn expression gave way to something more affirmative to go along with her uplifting worlds. “But you know me. Whenever I think about all those burnt-out employees and uncaring managers writing off something frivolous and fun because it was too much trouble, well, it just makes me want to try that much harder for all the children I see who haven’t been ground down by life quite yet.” Mike watched Foxy walk toward him and take a seat by his side before grabbing an end and helping him sort through the knot of wires. “Not to mention, to share whatever good times I can with the people who keep me from burning-out myself.” She shot him an appreciative glance while yanking away a string and testing it out; happy to find all of its bulbs in working order.
	While it wasn’t exactly an outlook exclusive to her alone, Foxy always seemed a little more honest about the tenuous state of her existence than the other two; which Mike found refreshing after being subjected to so much of Spring’s naiveté and Chica’s… Chicaness.
	For all intents and purposes, the robots were thinking, feeling beings. They had egos and emotions and hopes for the future. But unfortunately for them, those futures were entirely dictated by the shortsighted whims of corporate overlords and general managers.
	None of them ever got to go home at the end of the day. None of them could ever decide on a new career path. And while it probably didn’t seem like much of an issue when the bots all first came online, decades of life in the same old buildings doing the same old jobs could take a toll on anyone; man or machine. For Spring, that meant throwing herself into her craft and being the best damn musician she could be. For Chica, it meant filling her time with games and pranks too keep her entertained amidst the monotony of her daily routine. But for Foxy, each day was a challenge that tested her resolve in her own worldviews.
	Far more than the others, Foxy wanted to be a cheery source of inspiration for everyone around her; to be the caring, encouraging, positive role-model she was designed to be. But after so many failed franchises and so many lost friends, the cracks were beginning to show in her otherwise optimistic veneer. It was a condition that Mike couldn’t help but sympathize with: After all, if the robots could succumb to the disappointments and emotional fatigue of modern life, what chance did he have?
	So Mike made it his mission to help her out whenever he could. Sometimes that meant a simple friendly chat, and others it meant giving her a new book to add to her collection. Right now though, it meant spending his night adding some much needed frivolity to her room, and thus, the lives of anyone who entered it.

	In the next few hours, stockings were hung, ribbons were tied, and all manner of elves were strewn about all manner shelves; leaving only the lights, which Miss Foxy planned to line the top corners of the ceiling. With neither of them able to reach that high, Mike volunteered to get a ladder from the storage room, and promptly made his way to the center stage. It was obvious who would probably be waiting for him when he got there, but he was tired of putting this off any longer. He had been avoiding Spring since the moment he walked in to work that night, but as he entered the main room and spotted her by the prize counter, Mike stuffed the apprehension and waved to her with a decidedly forced smile.
	“Hey, Mike!” the rabbit chirped as she spotted him and waved back. “How’s it going? I didn’t get to say hello when you came in today.”
	“Yeah, sorry I missed you,” he replied; glancing around at her and the counter. “What are you doing back there?”
	Spring’s lips suddenly went tight as she tried and failed to repress a grin. “Can you keep a secret?” she asked; leaning in close and looked at him expectantly.
	“I uh, uh…”
 	“Hah, just kidding! I know I can trust you,” the bunny chuckled before reaching down and pulling up a pile of what looked like labels. No, they were labels. Price labels for the prizes located behind the counter.
	His curiosity stoked, Mike shot her a questioning look in light of the completely unenlightening revelation.
	“They’ve been marking up the prices over the last few weeks,” she explained. “It’s not fair to the kids. They work hard at all those games; you know? So sometimes at night, I replace the labels with the older, less expensive versions they chuck in the trash back here.” Spring grinned sheepishly as she waited for his reply.
	Caught off-guard by her well-intentioned misdeeds, Mike’s jaw hung in the air for a few seconds, until he snorted in amusement and matched her grin with one of his own.
	“Springy, I didn’t realize you were such a rebel.”
	“So you won’t tell anybody? Really?”
	He nodded, and the two of them shared a chuckle over the strange absurdity of her actions.
	It felt normal: He and her chatting it up like that. Mike had been so nervous to talk with her again, but all of those reservations seemingly melted away the moment he did; leaving him reminded of why the two of them got along so well in the first place.
	“Well, you keep up the good work, I’ve got to go grab the ladder and get back to Miss Foxy.”
	“Oh right, decorating!” Spring lit up. “I should join you two later. Foxy’s not the only one who likes getting into the nondenominational end of the year holiday spirit.” Mike nodded approvingly again before she continued. “It shouldn’t be too hard to find. I’m pretty sure it was right next to the shelf you were snooping around behind last night.”
	His heart stopped. She didn’t just say that. It wasn’t what she meant. It couldn’t have been.
	“Yu- You- You mean when I was rat hunting, right?” his vision went fuzzy, and a tremble had suddenly developed in both of his arms which he was just barley containing by clenching his fists as tightly as he could.
	“Haha, of course! What’s gotten into you?” Spring asked; taking note of his sudden shift in composure.
	“Just… thinking about your story, is all,” he swiftly replied as if everything was perfectly normal. “Hearing about your previous restaurant got to me a little more than I let on yesterday.” This time Spring was the one doing the silent nodding. He couldn’t tell if his reason had been convincing or not, but at the moment, Mike didn’t care, and quickly took his leave before disappearing behind the stage.
	As he fumbled around in the dark, Mike tried to remember where exactly he had ended up last time he was back here, and began retracing his steps and slowly recreating the path he had taken while investigating yesterday’s mystery sound. Whether it was coincidence or something more, Spring had been right on the money. The ladder was indeed just off to the end of the shelf he had hidden behind, and Mike suddenly found himself unable to recall where exactly she had stopped after he giving up looking for her rat.
	He was reading too much into it. That’s what he kept telling himself, anyway, as he grabbed the ladder and started walking back towards The Cove. It was only natural to still feel on edge after so little time had passed, but that was no reason to completely lose his cool.
	As he made his way through the main room though, that resolve was again tested, as something caught his attention that made his blood run cold and his legs nearly stop dead in their tracks. Spring -still at work relabeling her prizes- was giggling to herself with each sticker she swapped, in the same self-satisfied tone that had so affected him the night before. Hearing it again unnerved him -as it subconsciously unearthed the lurid, shameful memories of the previous night he was hoping to have worked passed by now- and forced him to return to The Cove far more troubled than when he left. Foxy had everything else set up by the time he got back, and was patiently waiting for him at the doorway. Without a word, Mike handed over the ladder and let her begin putting up the lights as he attempted to shake the uneasy feeling his encounter with Spring had left him with.

	Foxy, as it turned out, was good company for that, as the two of them quickly picked up chatting around where they had left off; letting Mike get swept up in her good mood as the memory of his and Spring’s conversation grew ever more distant with each passing second. By the time the first few strings of lights had been arranged, his paranoia had all but dissipated amidst his slowly calming nerves and constant inner rationalizing.
	What hadn’t diminished, however, was his seemingly insatiable libido; which was once again alive and well thanks to Spring’s unintended reminder. Were it not for his untimely bathroom break earlier that night, he could have probably worked out this extra energy with Chica while he still had the chance. But that just wasn’t to be, and Mike once again found himself completely at the mercy of his biological instincts; with no real outlet in sight, and his subconscious decidedly unwilling to let the matter slide.
	“Michael?” Foxy jolted him from his thoughts and looked back on him expectantly. It took him a moment to figure out what it was she wanted, until he noticed that her string of lights had run out.
	“Oh, sorry,” he hastily apologized before handing her another. “I think my mind was somewhere else.”
	“Somewhere nicer than here, I hope,” she murmured.
	Mike gave her a halfhearted chuckled as he watched her turn back around and begin to string up the new line. Leaning over the top of the ladder, it was hard not to notice her distractingly well-sculpted rear end, and the soft, puffy tail that extended just above it; accentuating her long curvy legs and feminine physique to an almost cartoonish degree as it casually flicked back and forth with her body’s natural movements.
	Very much aware that he had begun gawking at yet another one of his friends, Mike wanted to look away, but as Foxy worked her way along the ceiling, he began to develop a very genuine concern over her safety. The more she shifted her weight off to the side, the more it looked like she was going to lose her balance and topple over; and it was a relief when she finally gave up on going any farther, and stepped down to reposition her ladder.
	“You sure you don’t want me to do that?” Mike offered once Foxy’s feet had touched the floor; about as interested in eying her anymore as he was in seeing her fall and hurt herself.
	“Oh please, Michael. There’s no need to get so protective,” she looked back and smiled before climbing back up again. “You’ve already helped so much. I’m perfectly capable of doing this myself.”
	Mike said nothing and let her have her way; once again keeping a watchful eye as she leaned over and all but presented her butt to him while returning to her task. Foxy pushed her luck harder this time, and stretched herself out even farther as she stubbornly struggled to tack up more sections of her string; wracking Mike’s nerves as she teetered on the edge of her foothold.
	“Foxy, if this is some game you’re playing?” he uneasily attempted to reason with her.
	“I’ve just… almost…” she lifted a foot and tried balancing on one leg; hoping to give herself the extra leverage that she needed for just a few more inches of reach.
	Everything afterwards was too much of a blur for Mike to really remember in detail. He recalled rushing towards her, heard the ladder crash to the ground, and felt a thud in his arms as the clamor of falling metal echoed through the building’s halls. Suddenly Chica was at the door, then Spring, and in that instant Mike realized his heart was racing.
	“Oh my gosh, are you okay?” Chica ran toward them as Mike slowly regained his senses.
	“Mike! Foxy! What happened?” Spring followed up worriedly from the door; seemingly too nervous to even approach them.
	“I uh-” he stuttered.
	“S-saved me,” Foxy stammered; and as Mike looked down, he realized she was trembling in his arms. “Mike saved me!”
	Spring and Chica’s expressions both shifted from worry to relief as Mike slowly came to grips with his own fast actions.
	“I… Well, you know, that’s what I was here for, I guess,” he blushed; attempting to downplay what admittedly was an act of pure instinct.
	“And he’s modest too,” Foxy teased; not letting him weasel out of his moment of triumph. “Quite the catch indeed.”
	Before he could reply, a chime rang thought the building’s intercom, letting him and everyone else know that the clock had rolled over to six, and the morning guard would be arriving any minute now. All of the energy seemed to be sucked right out of the room as the four of them paused and waited for the notification to end, giving Mike the time he needed to slow his racing heartbeat and work off some of the adrenaline pumping through his veins.
	“Guess I should put you down, huh?” he was the first to speak when the bell finally ceased. But before he could, Foxy motioned him to stop.
	“I’m going to have to think of a way to repay you, Michael,” she whispered into his ear; before ducking towards him and kissing him on the cheek.
	Mike almost dropped her where he stood, and just barely managed to catch himself right as his grip started to wane. Almost instantly, his heartbeat jumped back up to its previous panicked levels, as he felt Chica’s eyes cast over him for every agonizing second of her kiss. But when Foxy finally pulled back and hopped down from his arms, the bird merely returned his stunned gaze with a sarcastic thumbs-up as Spring blushed at her side.
	“Don’t worry, hero. I’m hardly the jealous type,” she walked over and patted him on the shoulder. “Why don’t you head home and let us clean up here before Foxy decides that a kiss isn’t going to cut it?”
	Mike looked back as the fox bent over and re-erected the toppled ladder; wondering just how prophetic Chica’s words would actually be if put too the test. If nothing else, all of this would probably help him take his mind off Spring, but that seemed like a hollow victory as Miss Foxy coyly winked at him while he stumbled out of the room and headed home.