Title:           FN@F - The Bite of '87 - Chapt. 5 "Drawings"
Author:          Skeptic_Writefag
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/vSy0r7fY
First Edit:      Tuesday 26th of August 2014 05:14:50 AM CDT
Last Edit:       Tuesday 26th of August 2014 05:14:50 AM CDT

>Makin’ m’way downtown
>Walkin’ fast
>see Bonnie’s ass
>and I’m Cove-bound.
 
>Wait a sec.
>You give your eyes a rub and check once more
>nope, you weren't just hallucinating again, the hare was definitely there
>more importantly she stood in your path towards the Cove.
 
“Bonnie? Weren't you just on stage?”
“Y-y-ye-yes, but I wanted to check on you”
 
>Confusion was quickly replaced by fond memories of how quick the rabbit was able to travel from Stage to right outside your door in seemingly a matter of seconds.
 
“Well I’m fine, I was just going to the bathroom.” you assured her, taking another step forward.
Unfortunately, she wasn't buying it, “Oh, well then you must be L-lo-o-lo-IE-ost, sil-ly! The restroom is that way”
 
>She raises her velvet arm and pointed down the adjacent hall.
>Her ears remained perked up and her eyes were glowing dimly, awaiting your response.
>You really weren’t anticipating her being here, and Foxy was waiting for you.
>You peer around her and see that the door is just out of reach.
>So close, yet so far.
 
“Uh.. yeah, thanks Bonnie.”
“. . . .”
“I’ll just.. be on my way then..” you stammer awkwardly, the both of you remaining in your standoff.
 
>Of course, she doesn’t budge, and the air around you seemed to get a bit colder somehow.
>You’re not sure why, maybe you’ve spent enough time watching them, but somehow you could just tell by slight changes in posture or otherwise that Bonnie wasn’t just staring, she was downright glaring.
 
“You’re *static* NOT GOING ANY--*static* to the *kitchh--* bathroom, ar-ar-re you M-Miiiiiiii-I-i-ke?”
 
>She must have been a little more than just anxious or upset, as her tone fluctuated and the disruption in her words were a lot more erratic.
>For once you were unsure of whether she was angry, nor how she would react to your blatant lies.
 
“No.” You answered in defeat, but then asserted, “I want to go see Foxy. Stand aside.”
“Fox-x-cks-y? Mike, don’t you lis-is-isten? Foxy is dang-da-DANGER-angerous! He might try to hu-r-r-HOOK-hurt you!
“Bonnie, listen, I can’t tell you how, but we made an agreement. He won’t hurt me. Told me so himself.”
“Told y-you? That’s not poss-si-sible, Mike! STOP-st-stop lying to me! He -can’t- sp*khh*-eak.”
 
“Wait, what? Excuse me? He can’t talk? Why?” you asked out of pure shock.
“We don’t kn-kno-kNOT-know! Chica says that he may have had an acci-D-DENT a while ago.”
 
>Well this is going to be a pain in the ass.
>How would you understand him then? Morse?
>That would take far too long to translate.
>Could probably allow English writing so long as he ate the evidence after.
 
“Listen, Bonnie; you’ve been good to me. You and the other two, really, but I need you to let me through and promise you won’t tell them what I’m doing.”
*crrrreaaakk...*
>She turns her head in a complete 180 and surveys the opposite hall
>Door is cracked open, a single eye peering at you two
“Please.”
>You twist her head to look back at you
“Just trust me.”
 
>It takes her a moment, and the whirring of her processors worried you a bit.
>Finally, you heard a click and her eyes gave a little flicker.
“Okay Mike. Just please be ca-carefu-*Please be careful in the ball pit!* careful in there. I’ll tell the others you’re okay-kay-kay.”
>Huh, that worry must have been so bad that her recordings were beginning to glitch into her normal dialogue.
>She then gave you the warmest hug you’ve felt in years.
>At first you tensed up, but when you felt the warmth of her costume, you relaxed a little.
 
>When was the last time you had a hug anyway?
>You accepted it and rolled with it, not wanting to be rude to this kind gesture.
>You almost felt like... well, like you were really a part of her little ‘family’.
>You’d shake off the ridiculous sentiment, but how would you know the difference between programmed and genuine care if you haven’t felt something like that since you were young and your parents were still around?
>at least, you figured that is what it was Bonnie had for you.
>maybe this is what the kids felt when this place is open in the day.
>You could see yourself coming if you were that blissfully unaware.
 
>Regardless, her comforting embrace loosened from you and for a moment you were almost disappointed as she stepped aside and continued to the restroom, head swiveling on her shoulder to scan for others as her usual path marching behavior continued.
>You arrived at the door, but didn’t get a single breath out before a hook had reeled you inside and shut the door behind you.
>He’s got you pinned and slouching against the wall, crouching down over you to ensure you wouldn’t move.
>The flaring gaze of Foxy is upon you and you’re about to piss your pants.
>His expression is almost blank, but you could see that it’s intentionally neutral.
 
>He backs up, removing the hook from your undershirt, leaving a hole in it.
>Goddamnit this shit was expensive for someone earning 4 bucks an hour.
>He does a half-jog to his ‘Out of Order’ sign and starts to take off one side of the frame and rummage inside.
>You get up and cautiously approach him, checking for a lock on the door to keep others out, but find no such luck as both sides require a key to lock it.
>One that your company refused to give you, for whatever reason.
 
>The rust colored fox stops and snaps its head in your direction.
>RED LIGHT.
>It slowly returns back to its shifting around disregarding your approach.
>GREEN LIGHT.
>You’re about next to him now, and watch him pull a couple scraps of paper out from the hollowed sign.
>Lined paper apparently. Where did he..
 
“KHHHHHHKCHLCHH AIEE-E-E-KKKKHHH.” It screeched, causing you to jump back.
RED LIGHT, RED LIGHT, YOU MOVED, BACK TO SQUARE ONE.
>Oh right, this thing can still fucking scream, but not talk.
>The gears in your head eventually did piece it together that this might be him trying to speak but having it come out garbled and shrieking.
 
“Hey listen, don’t speak. You'll attract attention from the others. Your voicebox is busted because of that accident remember?”
 
>At this his muzzle seemingly contorts into an expression of rage, as he grapples your shoulders and shakes you while screeching, teeth of various disrepair and color snapping in front of your face all the while
>Was it something you said?
>Whatever it was he was pissed, pointing to his chest in between fits of snapping and squawking bits of static.
>Eventually he too pieced together that this was getting him nowhere and he stopped, pushing you aside, only after taking your pen from your front pocket.
 
>You’d protest but he was already scribbling onto it, handwriting as bad as that of an actual pirate.
>To give him credit, writing with one hand is difficult.
>Eventually he hands you the scrap and you read it;
[illegible parts will be marked with a ‘~’]
 
“I~ th~t wha~ they t~~d yo~? an 'a~~id~~t'?”
 
>Woah. What did he mean by that?
>Did some rowdy kids intentionally mess him up? Why would they do that?
>What purpose would that serve? Fucking children.
>you crumpled the paper and gave it to him, and for a moment his muzzle was returning back into his angry state again; but you interrupted him before he could give you another dose of Shaken Adult Syndrome.
 
“Listen, we can write like this, that’s fine, but unless you get your voice back by some magic or mermaid-octopus, we can’t have evidence of us talking. You have to eat this.”
 
>He still looked mad, unraveling the paper and giving you another look at the message he wrote.
*crumple, whrr, snap*
>and the paper was gone, like going down a sink’s garbage disposal.
>He reluctantly took another paper and began to scribble on it again.
>This time the scrap contained a little more legibly written list of supplies.
>Paper was the first one, among several bits and pieces of electronics, some of which you were unfamiliar with.
>At first you looked at the pirate, puzzled by the sudden request, but a look at his damaged body gave you the silent answer you sought.
>As far as you knew, there was an old electronics store somewhere down the road a couple minutes past your place.
>Maybe you could actually pull it off.
>scrawled at the bottom was a last message.
>”Ch~~k W~tch”
 
>You do so, seeing it’s about that time again.
>Folding it up nearly, you pocket the list and hold out a hand to the rusty robot.
>At first it gave a puzzled look at your extended arm, before reaching out with his good paw and giving it a slight shake.
>It was time to go.