I have an attraction to the phone men. As an aroace man. Help. /hj
He/they for Roger, He/Him for Jack
CW // General panic, lack of sleep
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Roger frantically searched through the unisex bathroom as he tried to find the missing birthday boy. He knocked on the stall doors, and if there was no reply, he would kick the door open and search. Nothing. He checked stall after stall.
Nothing.
"Sh- I-I mean- Heck, heck, heck, heck, heck!" They whispered. He ran to the disabled restroom and tried to look through the darkness. They felt strong beaks poking, pinching, and prodding at him, but he simply grunted and shoo'd away the pelicans. Or, storks. Whatever those foul avian creatures were. He didn't find the child.
His chest constricted.
"Hopefully boss found the little hecker." He mumbled to themself, his voice shaking and breaking in anxiety. He made his way over to the saferoom. He pushed on the door. It didn't budge.
That only escalated his fear.
"Jack could be stuck in there-" They fumbled with their hands awkwardly as he tried to muster up some form of strength and/or whatever he counted as courage to push on the door again.
He gave the door a harsh and violent shove. It finally moved enough for him to slip through.
There stood a...
A...
Zombie-rabbit-eggplant-man?
Roger tipped his phone head to the side slightly, then returned to their senses.
"Sir! What is- What's going on?" He cleared his throat. "Fuck off, orange phone fuck. This is between me and the orange fucker standing in front of me." The mysterious cryptid thing spat. Roger would have scowled, if he could. "Hey! I work here! I can do whatever I want! Uh, w-with my boss' permission of course. Um." He reacted, quiet lamely he might add, practically mumbling the last bit. And before anyone else could reply, another parent walked in. Roger's heart rate spiked in panic.
"These reviews will be HORRIBLE! 'Kid almost goes missing, 0 stars,' oh foxy-" Roger started to spiral, and then yet another parent walked in. Roger was practically shaking. He stood in a panic. His eyes, or rather, his lack thereof, darted across his boss, to the parents, to the weird mangled purple mess that stood in front of him, to the crying two year old.
He snapped out of his daze when he heard his boss yell. "Now get the fuck out of my restaurant!" The orange man shouted. The weird mess of purple guts and intestines moved. It, or rather– he, as Jack had previously called the cryptid his ex– shuffled over to the saferoom door which had now been wide open.
And the purple-green weirdo left.
Roger doesn't really recall anything after that, minus a news report labeled:
"SCARY ORANGE MAN SAVES TODDLER"
Or, something along those lines. His memory was freaky and funky. Not really groovy. He remembered stammering out, 'I-I-I helped t-too!' Other than that, all he could really remember was his past, being a gen 3 model. He hated it.
///
It was as if Roger woke up in that location instead of going to the little house he called home.
He walked into the restaurant, ignoring the poor choice of name. 'Bear.' Just 'Bear.' Terrible choice, right? As if it was only made for comedic results. He sits down on a table in the dining area. He sighed and lay his phone head onto his arms. "It's only 10 and I'm already tired." He mumbled to himself. He got up and opened the cash register, checking the money they had. A considerable amount.
Until utility bills, lawsuits, upkeep for those creepy bots, and upgrades for the accursed restaurant had to be payed.
1 hour and a half passed when he was finally done with the mass amount of paperwork and money charges. He checked what profit they had left.
16 cents.
"Shoot." He mutters. "That won't nearly be enough for Jack to keep this place up and running." They added, not even caring how insane they sounded talking to themself in this empty place. He noticed the time. 11:30. He had a short amount of time until his tangerine colored boss would get back to work. He turned on the arcade machines, tried to shoo away the pelicans in the disabled restroom, turned on the monitors in the security office, and then decided he was done for now. He rested in the security office for a while.
When he woke up, everything was hazy and strange to him. He had to take a minute before finally realizing that he was just in that terrible new Freddy's location. Fu- Hecking 'Bear'. The name still made him roll his eyes. Or, well, dials? Either way, he was still exasperated. He noticed a orange note on the pc in front of him where he had been resting.
'Let you sleep for a while. As soon as you wake up, GET TO WORK.'
The note read. Scraggly handwriting? Purple pen? Little drawing of a penis? Definitely Jack. He felt a wave of nervousness and relative panic wash over him as he took note of the time.
1:15. He slept past 1 o'clock. Shit. "Shi- Uh- Heck-" He quickly stood up from the chair he was sitting in, only to get his vision clouded by shapes, colors, and spots. He gripped onto a nearby desk, clutched part of his phone head, and waited the brief amount of time it took for his vision to recover.
Then he got right back to work. He made his way over to the dining area, where he was met with his orange skittle looking boss. He started his usual endless string of stuttery apologies, but Jack just told him to zip it. "Just get to work, Roger." He said with a smile, his two missing front teeth petty much the only thing most people noticed. That, along with the huge scar along his frontal lobe that everyone pretends not to notice. Roger slumped his shoulders a little, before letting himself take the break and just get back to work.
And then he was tired again.
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Word count: 997
