Let me begin this post by extending a heartfelt Welcome Home to my father, who recently visited his father, as well as most of his other relatives. He tries to see them once a year and usually I go with him, just to keep him company on the drive and show that side of the family I’m still alive. But this year, I was really not up to it from a health standpoint, so my sister, Cris went instead. (And if you’re wondering why I didn’t say Welcome Home to you, too, it’s because I know you don’t read my blog. I could say anything at all about you and you’d never know. Watch: Cris is a smelly-face! Ha hahaha! Now nobody tell her.)
Anyway, it’s worth mentioning that my father’s relatives mostly live in Utah because they are mostly Mormon. It’s also worth mentioning that my father is ridiculously proud of all my books and just SO into my fanfic series. More than possibly any other book I’ve written, with the possible exception of Last Hour of Gann, which gave him a legit crisis of faith.
Some of you already know where this is going, but for those who do not, whilst visiting with my ultra-Mormon relatives, my father happened to mention the series and talked about it for quite a while. My relatives, many of whom don’t even own a TV much less play video games, had not heard of FNAF and my dad apparently did not communicate the premise very well. The end result was that some of my relatives came away with the idea that I was writing a story about a young woman who had an abusive childhood who moves to a predominantly Mormon town…so far so good, right? Wait for it…meets the love of her life and ultimately finds peace by joining the Mormon church.
Like…wow. I don’t even know what my dad could have said to give them that idea.
Now, you must understand that while I have never been criticized by any of my relatives for writing what I like to write, I have gotten the “Are you sure this is what God wants you to do with your talent?” talk once or twice. I don’t even want to imagine how thrilled they were when they ‘learned’ I was now writing wholesome church-centric family-rated romances. I’d much rather imagine the look on their collective faces when they looked Girl on the Edge of Nowhere up and started reading it. I eagerly look forward to the next visit.
Anyhoo, it once again Friday evening limping along to midnight and my new chapter of my FNAFic, Everything Is All Right, Part Three, Children of Mammon is now up on fanfiction.net and archiveofourown.org, so if you’re reading along, head on over and get your fix! If you’re still not convinced, let me attempt to lure you in with this thrilling snippet, in which our brave hero, Ana, gets into a shouting match with a teddy bear!
Ana stalked back to the dining room and stood unavoidably in front of the stage, close enough that she could feel the hot air puffing out of Freddy’s knuckles when his arm swept out in a bow. “What did you do with my stuff?”
No answer, no acknowledgment.
“Look, damn it, I know you can hear me and I know you can stop whenever you want, so you better start talking. Where are my goddamned clothes?”
Freddy took his hat off, proving to the phantom audience that it was indeed empty, but before he could reach in and pull something out, Ana snatched it out of his hand.
Freddy’s cheerful, slightly goofy expression changed in an instant to a scowl. He grabbed his hat back and held it out of her reach, pointing at her with his other hand. “DON’T INTERRUPT THE PERFORMANCE,” he said, heartily enough, but with a real growl under his words.
“Well, then, don’t fucking ignore me!”
Bonnie began to twitch.
“CALM. DOWN.” Freddy glanced behind him. “BOTH. OF. YOU.” He turned his glare on Ana again. “THE SHOW HAS STARTED. TAKE A SEAT, KIDS! WE’LL. TALK. ABOUT. THIS. LATER.”
“I say the show is fucking over and if you turn your fucking back on me, I will knock you on your fucking face!”
“ALL. RIGHT. THAT’S. ENOUGH.” Freddy put his hat on and aimed his pointing finger at the front lobby. “YOU’VE. BEEN. GIVING. ME. SAUCE. ALL. DAY. AND. I. AM. ALL. DONE. TAKING. IT. AS. OF. NOW. YOU. ARE. IN. A. TIME-OUT.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“IT. MEANS. WHAT. EVER. YOUR. PROBLEM. IS. YOU. GO. SOME. WHERE. ELSE. AND. SOLVE. IT. AND. DON’T. COME. BACK. UNTIL. YOU’RE. READY. TO. ACT. LIKE. AN. ADULT.”
“I’m not leaving until I get an answer, bear.”
“UNLESS. THE. QUESTION. IS. HOW. FAR. CAN. FREDDY. THROW. YOU. OUT. OF. THIS. BUILDING. YOU’RE. NOT. GOING. TO. LIKE. THE. ANSWER. I. GIVE. YOU,” Freddy retorted, stomping over to put a hand on Bonnie’s shoulder. “I. SAID. CALM. DOWN. EVERYTHING. IS. FINE. AND. STOP. CALLING. ME. BEAR.”
“Everything is not fine, damn it. You remember when I first brought my stuff over and you were digging through my laundry?”
Freddy turned his attention to Bonnie. “OPEN. YOUR. EYES. BE. CALM. NOT. NOW. AN-N-A.”
“Yes, now, Freddy!”
“WE ARE EXPERIENCING TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES.”
“You’re sure about to be. I’m missing, like, a dozen t-shirts and you took them, didn’t you? Didn’t you?!”
He fussed with Bonnie and didn’t answer, but he knew. Freddy’s ears were not as expressive as Bonnie’s or even Foxy’s, but they moved in ways that were instantly relatable to anyone who had gotten stoned and watched animal cartoons and right now, Freddy’s ears said he knew exactly where her shirts were and he didn’t want to tell her.
“Yeah, yeah, they’re raunchy and you don’t approve,” she snapped. “I don’t give a tin shit for your Puritan sensibilities. I want my goddamn shirts back, so where are they?”
Freddy took an extra pull of air, straightened his ears, and turned to face her. “GONE.”
“Gone where?” she asked impatiently and then suddenly recalled walking in on Freddy on the loading dock, uncharacteristically helping out with the haul-away. She gaped at him a moment, then found her voice and shouted, “Did you fucking throw them away?”
“RULE NUMBER TWO, DON’T YELL.”
“Rule number thirty-fucking-three! Leave Ana’s shit alone! Did you or did you not throw my shirts in the fucking trailer with the trash? You did, didn’t you? You wrapped them in that disgusting curtain and threw them away!”
“IS. IT. UNLAWFUL. TO. REMOVE. GARBAGE.”
“I don’t believe you said that,” she said, almost calmly, then shouted, “You went through my fucking underwear and you have the goddamned gall to call me trashy?”
The West Hall door creaked open just wide enough to show one of Chica’s wide purple eyes.
Freddy looked that way, then at Bonnie, still shaking his way through his part of the performance, and finally at Ana again. “I. DID. NOT. CALL. YOU—”
“Fuck you, you fascist fucking lunatic! My clothes are gone! Do you get that? Gone! That trailer got taken away weeks ago! Oh my God, if you had balls, I’d be kicking them so hard right now, they’d pop out your goddamned ear-holes!”
“WATCH. YOUR. LANGUAGE.”
“Watch my tits, asshole! On the scale of bad behavior, swearing is way down the fucking rail from stealing! You don’t get to tell me how to run my mouth when you’re pitching out my goddamned clothes!”
“IS EVERYTHING OKAY IN HERE?” Chica ventured, pushing the door open a little wider.
“EVERYTHING. IS. FINE. GO. ON. BONNIE. OPEN. YOUR. EYES. AN-N-A. THAT’S. ENOUGH. YOU. DON’T. GET. TO. TALK. TO. ME. LIKE. THAT.”
“I’ll talk to you however the hell I want! Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“I’M FREDDY FAZBEAR. I’M THE LEADER OF THE BAND.”
“That’s right. Freddy fucking Fazbear, leader of the Fazbear fucking Band, not my father or commander in chief of the Fashion Police or the supreme court chancellor of the Intergalactic Modesty Council! You’re a fucking prop in a fucking pizza parlor, and you’re also a panty fetishist and a fucking thief!”
“TIME-OUT. AN-N-A. THAT’S ENOUGH.”
“Fuck you! Get this through your fat plastic head: You don’t tell me what to do! And you for goddamn sure don’t tell me how to dress! I don’t give a chicken-fried shit what you think about my clothes, just keep your fucking hands off them or I will personally buy all the cum-dumpster tees in the whole fucking state of Utah and pound them up your big bear ass!”
“I. SAID. TIME-OUT.”
“And I said, fuck you!”
Freddy’s features shifted, giving her a split-second glimpse of a textbook-perfect, ‘Oh, I am done with this shit,’ expression before he tossed his microphone behind him on the padded stage and seized her by the arm.