Dead Set. || PURPLEPHONE

Exotic Butters

(( can this chapter just be 'exotic butters' written 1000 times? no? FINE.

Fun Fact: Exotic Butters now has a Know Your Meme page and Andy Field (the voice behind Handy-- the Exotic Butters man) commented on it. ))

"Who's Eggs Benedict?" Vincent asked, his shoes clanking on the dull metal floor of the elevator as he stepped inside.

"Why, you're Eggs Benedict!" the elevator chimed in happily. "You do remember whooooo y-you are, right? If not, I assume you've suffered some memory damage. Here at Circus Baby's Pizza World, we're all about employee safety! If y-y-y-you can remember which animatronic caused you this grievous physical damage, we'll be sure to check it out!"

Vincent turned to Scott, his eyebrows raised. Grievous physical damage? he mouthed.

Scott shrugged, and then looked up towards the ceiling, "Don't worry about it, Handy. Just take us-me down to the circus gallery."

"That's the spirit!" Handy chirped, and the elevator doors slid closed. "Now that you're firmly secured in the lift, I should let you know that due to your eight year eleven month absence from work, you will be forced to pay back the equivalent of all the wages you should have earned. We understand that this may put you in a difficult situation financially, and in light of that, we've decided to give you a ten dollar and fifty cent raise! Congratulations, Eggs."

"This is making me sick," Vincent muttered under his breath.

Scott chuckled at Vincent and then looked back up towards the speaker. "Hey, Handy?" he asked, "What do you know about the current condition and location of the animatronics?"

"Oh, am I glad you asked, Eggs," Handy chattered, "That shows real initiative towards your job here as technician at Circus Baby's Pizza World! Well done."

"Uhhh..." Scott swallowed, "Well, thanks, but can you tell me the condition of the animatronics? Actually, even if you could just tell me if all the vents are closed?"

"Sure thing, sport!" Handy hummed, and promptly went quiet.

"That's very reassuring," Vincent mumbled.

"It's my job to console and reassure, especially in the event of depression, suicidal thoughts or even death." Handy informed Vincent happily.

"Oh my gosh, it's like Freddy Fazbear's gone horribly wrong," Vincent shook his head. "We're going to die."

"Now, Eggs, don't think like that! We have a very good hospital service on standby for just the slight possibility that an animatronic may become hostile."

"How many people have the animatronics murdered?" Vincent asked, walking over to the side of the lift and pulling off a flyer that had Baby painted down the side. "How many children have died from just looking at this thing?"

"I'm sorry," Handy's tone never changed from annoyingly optimistic, "I seem to have trouble hearing all of a sudden! I will now switch off in an attempt to fix the problem. Please don't ask any more questions."

Vincent turned and looked at Scott, one hand on his hip, his eyebrow arching.

"Well, what's that look for?" Scott asked, leaning back against the cool polished metal of the elevator, "It's almost like you're mad that I brought you to this slaughterhouse without telling you there's an 80% possibility that we'll both die."

Vincent just stared at him for a while, looking very unimpressed, and then sighed, letting his hand slide off his hip and turning back towards the doors of the elevator. "Til death do us part," he mused sourly.