❝ e ─ e ─ evr’ybody’s actin’ so lo ─lo ─ lowly . si ─ ittin’ around , gettin’ m ─ m ─ moldy .❞
( ♫ : turmoil── dheusta . )
Twas the first words uttered amid the humid and putrid air of the room, inside a backroom long forgotten, concealed behind a shiny and bright new restaurant. It was a shock of locations so absurd, a ordinary person won’t believe both coexisted so closely.
At a first moment the other decayed machine laid motionless, even with life refusing to let go of its gears, the being refused to attempt to act on it - he gave up his fight, as it was foolish to assume he could just walk away from his demise.
“…eventually…you get used to it…and learn to ignore it…”
Was all that was said as a response. In a clean tone and volume, as if the withered steel and cloth didn’t age a single day inside the metallic cat’s body.
What else could he offer but a grim but desperately optimistic response? Nothing much, but, ironically, he couldn’t bring himself to give up on the possibility he’d rest someday for good.
it shouldn’t be able to feel dejection , or the void feeling that came with knowing this is it , this is your reality now , and yet it does ───and the springsuit shudders with it , or spasms from a misdirected current of electricity , who could be certain ? ( those things from the old freddy’s location , they always did seem a little too lifelike , huh ? )
❝ n─nnngh , ❞the springsuit , slouched too far over in a corner , stutters . its voice box too clogged by dust and muck . but it still turns an eye to watch the machine left to the floor , with what could be curiosity , or a steadily building apathy─── mainly confusion . this wasn’t the first time it had been in storage with another , but its memory fails to recall a cat among fredbear’s mascots .
❝ nn─n─n─no ,❞it finally wheezes out , slumping further forward , over its knees . ❝ ii'hm── i’m n─not── s'pposed t’be here . . .❞ right?
“NEITHER of us should be!”
As abrupt as the (long-ago-it-was) yellow rabbit slumping himself forwards, it was the cat’s snapping it’s neck into facing the other (it threating to break themselves) and the aggressive change of tone - as if an insult was throw in the room.
“Those…thosebastards! After everything we’ve done for them…we are throw away like scrap!”
He protested, his rusted jaw opening to spill his resentments.
“Ohhhh, what I won’t do to get my hand on their necks! They fear us, I won’t be without any legs otherwise, nor would you be missing parts of yours.”
He somewhat finished his ranting, eyes darting at the faint light that came under the fake wall.
As unexpected as it was, a simple question prompted a entirety different dialogue - one filled with hatred by an animatronic just as betrayed.
