I’m pleased to report that it’s been a pretty good week. I’m feeling better (not quite back to normal, but as Lan observes in Land of the Beautiful Dead, the things we use to measure ‘normal’ has a way of slipping the longer we have to deal with ‘not-normal’), I got out of the house for a little while, I ranked 28 on Tuber Simulator’s “My Shop” Event and added another diamond trophy to my collection, and I just uploaded another chapter of my FNAFiction, Everything Is All Right, Part Three: Children of Mammon. Throw in a maple bar and it would have been the best week ever.
However, I’ve got a warm cat, a hot chai lattle and an arguably terrible Stephen King mini-series in the other room waiting for me (told you it was a good week), so I’m going to make this update short and just say that we’re good to go over at fanfiction.net and archiveofourown.org. Small chapter, just our hero and her bunny relaxing with a couple beers, taking a much deserved breather following the previous chapter’s hectic events (and blissfully unaware of the even more hectic events to come…FORESHADOWING!). Faithful readers of this blog might recognize the bare bones of this scene. I’m really happy I didn’t have to cut it out of the final draft. There’s an awful lot of, well, awfulness in this story and not nearly enough cuddles.
“You ever see fireworks, Bonnie?” she asked, sticking stubbornly to what she saw as the point. “Real ones?”
“Not at this place, but at Cir-Cir—CIRCUMJACENT TO THE MEDULLA—Circle Drive, son of a b-b-bitch.” He shook his head, muttering static through his speakers, then went on, “It was always a pop-p-pular place for kids after d-d-dark. They’d set ‘em off in the parking-ing-ing lot and we used to watch until they saw us or the c-c-cops saw them.” He cocked his head at another shriek and explosion. “But no, not here.”
“Why not? This place is nice and isolated, with a good flat parking lot and a building—Jesus!” she sputtered at the end as a fucking sonic boom went off in the quarry, loud enough to rattle the plastic sheets hanging over the doorways. Only when it was over did she realize she’d been sitting stiffly forward the whole time, straining to hear or perhaps poised to leap up and run. Trying to laugh it off, she settled back against the scratchy pillow of Bonnie’s hard arm and finished, “A building between them and the road. This would be a great place to set off fireworks. Why are those idiots down in the quarry and not blowing shit up right here in the parking lot? Or—”
She broke off there, blushing, but Bonnie calmly said, “Or in the d-d-dining room?”
“People break in here all the time. It’s dark, it’s secluded, it’s full of bustable objects. It can only attract the very worst kind of person.”
He glanced at her, plastic eyes moving beneath plastic lids while the rest of his head remained perfectly immobile.
She held up a warning finger. “This is not a story about me, but for the record, I swear, I steal, I trespass, I smoke pot and yes, I swallow. I am, without a doubt, the very worst kind of person.”
He chuckled and tipped his bottle.
“And I broke in. So why didn’t they?” Ana asked as yet another barrage of explosions set themselves off. “Why aren’t they here right now?”
Bonnie shrugged, rocking the arm behind her neck, which wedged it in at a different, even more painful angle. He said, “This p-p-place is supposed to be haunted.”
“By what, the ghost of pizza past?”
He looked at her, his eyelids lowered but level, and said, “Boo,” in a flat, unironic tone.
She thought of Mike Schmidt, then stubbornly slung an arm around his neck and shifted so she sat up a little straighter and could get a little closer. “Should I be scared of you?” she asked in her sultriest voice.
His expression did not change. “Not g-g-gonna lie to you, baby girl, yeah. Yeah, you p-p-probably should.”