Out Of The Birdcage • Limited Life Fanfic

.°• he was only ever meant to watch •°.

A log-loaded hearth. A crackling fireplace. Floral wallpapers peeling back to display its red-brick flesh.

Grian locked the door behind him, shutting the emptiness away. He made his way up some small polished wood steps that curved around the sitting area and approached a fancy looking desk with a labyrinth of bookcases behind it. A typewriter sat upon the desk.

Grian knew that there was supposed to be more there, though. Something had gone missing.

He sat in his leather chair and began rooting through the drawers, all empty.

"This is quite the manuscript, Grian"

Grian froze. He buried his face in his red woolly sleeves.

The watcher tossed the stapled stack of papers so it slid on Grian's desk. He could see a flash of it's robe in the corner of his eye, hidden amongst the bookcases.

"It's an interesting view on the Canary. I personally, would view him as weak"

"I wouldn't say anything of the sort" Grian defensively held his manuscript to his chest. He still didn't spin around in his chair.

"I saw him, a few times"

"I heard"

Grian didn't want to engage, it was too much of a risk. He sighed, taking his manuscript away from his chest and took his sewing kit that sat across the desk. A pre-made leather book cover lay spread open in front of him. He lay the pages on it accordingly, and began threading the needle through the cover.

"Are you convinced that story is ready to finish?"

Grian sped up. He couldn't let the watcher stop him, not a chance.

At Grian's silence, the watcher pressed on.

"I noticed that sometimes the typewriter would type on its own"

And it did. Grian remembered it. It was only a few mortal days ago, when he heard a clicking upon re-entering the room. He sprinted to the desk, bewildered. The typewriter sat there and typed three words. Three simple words:

Heartless, heartless, heartless.

That was strange. Very strange. He was given a very simple task; create a simple, non-biassed narrative without the interfering perspective of any of the players. But as the typewriter stopped clicking, he had realised that Jimmy had just started writing his own story. Just with those simple, repeated words. Grian himself wasn't allowed to provide an opinion, despite being part of the mind games once upon a time. But he wasn't anymore, an old copy of him had taken his place, while he stayed here and made sure it all went to plan. But here, the plan was going in the complete opposite direction of what it should.

This wasn't supposed to happen. Any story that took control of itself was supposed to be re-written, so it suppressed the character's real thoughts. Grian should've scrapped it, balled the sheets of paper up and let it be forgotten in a small waste basket.

But he just looked around to see that nobody was watching, and kept on writing the story himself.

From that point on, it kept happening. More frequently and in longer lines. There was even a whole paragraph as Jimmy panicked, thinking that Pearl was going to finish the player version of Grian off. Watcher Grian let him write, smiling slightly to himself as he did.

The watchers thought breaking the cycle was a ruse, a way to confuse Jimmy and making him leave all his loved ones behind. A form of torture. He was, as some would say, doomed by the narrative. But no, in some way, Grian believed that this was him really breaking the cycle. He was in control of what happened to him, no ironic curses or stereotypes. He was himself. He was as strong as he believed he was.

But now, as Grian felt the Watcher's presence raising the hairs on the back of his neck, he decided this would all stay hidden. He was halfway done with stitching the book to the cover, halfway to finalising Jimmy's freedom.

"That is odd"

The Watcher sighed. You'd have thought with it having so many voices talking at once that it would learn to harmonise with itself. But that was beyond it, apparently. It sounded terrible whenever it made a sound.

"You're a watcher now, Grian, you have been for a long time. You must learn to stop being so... interfering. That's not what we do. You refuse to wear the uniform that fits you"

Interfering. They had no idea. No idea how many changes he made to the story. They had no idea how much he interfered.

"I wouldn't describe myself as a very interfering person" Grian said nonchalantly. Three quarters of the way done. He didn't have much longer to stall for.

"YOU WOULDN'T-"

The watcher screeched, but then stopped itself. A sleeve flapped wildly on the edge of Grian's eyesight.

"What about the ghosts, Grian? I'm finding it hard to believe that ghosts were a part of the instructions"

Grian picked up the book and closed it, the pages slapping together.

"What ghosts?" Grian said innocently.

The watcher growled a little.

"No matter. Anyhow, I must be going back now. Please await further instructions. And please, please stop being so meddlesome"

Grian heard a flutter, and the robes disappeared.

And now, back to routine again.

He reached out for a small desk microphone, a small copper one attached to some wires that he didn't know where they led. He flicked a small switch.

"Welcome to Secret Life..."