Blood will drip from my jaws.

"—But me and my husband... We are doing better." They mutter, gliding around the counter top to sweep off crumbs from the quartz tiles. "It's always been just him and me, together."

Osito continues on the song, lightly belting chords with their improved voicebox. "So I bet all I have on that- Furrowed brow,"

"And at least in this lifetime, you're sticking together."

Cucurucho freezes.

The song keeps playing on the radio.

"And you are the idiot, with a painted face," He continues to sing to them. Cucurucho realizes what's happening and changes their stance. "Stop." It weakly snarls, their sister keeps going. "In the corner, taking up space."

"But when he walks in,"

"Stop-" Cucurucho breathes.

"You are loved." Baribal smiles so sickenly sweet.

"You are loved—"

Cucurucho chokes, stumbling back as Baribal lunges forward this time. His plush paw firmly grasped on a handle as a blade shoots forward into their chest. She moved faster than they could. They've gone too soft.

It must be exhausting for them.

"And at least in this lifetime, we're sticking together." He sings, finally, finally, pulling away from Cucurucho with a bloody knife. "Me and my brother," Despite being shorter, Baribal manages a spin out of them, holding their muddy paw up in the air and then placing it down against the kitchen countertop to be put in place with the utensil. "We're sticking together."

"Me and my brother, we are doing better."

This is about the meeting, isn't it?

"I suppose you're not that broken after all." He replies. Rojo nods, smiling and taking the sight of them like a predator salivating over its meal. "With that in mind, what the hell are you doing, then?" She cackles incredously.

"You must be out of your fucking mind to be this bold with me, with us!" Baribal laughs, throwing her head back. "Really, Rucho. A simple 'no' is what makes you go, 'Ah well, fuck! I suppose all I can do is suck his fucking cock and be pretty, now!"

She mimics their robotic voice perfectly, mocking the way it presents itself with her paws cusping each other in a coo. "Let me cry and sob about how everything goes wrong in a life I can't control." He snarls.

Taunting, confronting, accusing.

Demanding.

Please don't let Asha wake up from her nap, they pray silently to themself. Please don't find me this way.

"Bari," Rucho croaks for the first time in two minutes of them just dry sobbing and Rojo monologuing. "I can't, I can't just leave them alone."

"Then do something." She snarls, "What the fuck do I keep your mechanical ass alive for if you're just going to do nothing? Isn't this what you want? What you were made to do?"

Their brother starts to leave, but Cucurucho holds her arm back. Not for long though, their paw gets swiped away. "What." Baribal spits.

"I..." Despite being a robot, their throat has the feeling of being dry. What do they even say?

I'll see you later. I'm going. I hate you. I'm sorry. I'll be there. I ruined your work. You ruined my life. I won't do this again. Get out. Please come back. I'll be better.

And it would've, as they started to move, hearing the telling movement of her clueless daughter stirring awake on their bed. They clean what they can, almost to no avail with their body producing more and more spillage to the horrific mess.

Most of it gets cleaned up, the only evidence remaining are the splashes of oil trailing from where they stood towards the nearest bathroom, perfectly hidden beside the stairs' railing. If Asha were to come down now, they have the time to patch up.

Frantic pulling of their now hole ridden, oil blotchy, shirt off, with needle and thread sat between their teeth as they quickly get to work. Luckily for them, their cub is a slow riser. Every minute it takes for her to full awaken, about two or so minutes pass in real time.

That's more than enough.

It delays however, with more oil being spilled out from their eyes as they uselessly sob and wail, ineffectively halting their progress to stitching itself, and keep themself together enough for nobody to notice.

Stop crying, they're shouting at themself. Stop wasting resources, stop wasting time, stop being useless, stop doing this.

Stop everything.

Cucurucho shakingly looks up at themself in the mirror, fur caked in black liquid as their facial features are recognized to be distraught. They shout now at their reflection, stop crying. Stop everything.

Their paw meets the reflective glass, and creates contact between sharp edges and soft silicone again.

Parallel to the mirror, Osito breaks down. Hunched over itself, carresing and holding their destroyed big, wanted, and physical body, sobbing at the matching black tiled floor of their bathroom.

It's pathetic. It's horrifying.

This shouldn't even be happening, nor should it have even happened. They need to get up, but they're trapped, frozen, and glued to the floor solely by the weight of their guilt for doing nothing.

What gets them to shoot up, however, is the sound of a door creaking, light feet pitter patting against the floor, and a tiny tiny breath.

"...Mama?"

[ @blackbearbureau ]

Osito.. doesn't really feel satisfied.

Which, is a bit concerning. How can they not be? They have everything. A partner and a daughter that love them, a house that they can feel safe in, clothes that make them feel comfortable, and.. and a job that makes them feel a little... less worthless.

It's not bad, to be honest. They're just a stay at home mom. Which isn't something they mind at all, but it just feels a little... like they aren't doing enough. Osito knows though, that they can't even do anything right at all. Even the simplest task of making dinner.

Their big paws shake when nobody's looking as they grasp a knife, carefully cutting into carrots and avoiding their skin. They need to stop shaking, they might cut themself again.

"Boo."

And the knife slips, grazing into their paw and spilling oil onto the food. Osito hisses as they hold their wounded hand in the other, turning around with an agitated look.

"Nothing! I just wanted to check on my little brother, 'is all. Is that bad, Ruch?" Baribal's fingers tap against the porcelain cup. "Love the new place. You haven't introduced me to these new additions to our family yet. Mind if I find my niece while I'm here?"

"I do mind, and no, you may not find her. She's napping upstairs." Cucurucho answers sharply. Their paw rubs over their freshly opened wound. They repeat, "...What do you want?"

"I didn't- have a choice. I just had to." It replies, taking a paper towel and placing it over its wound. The blood seeps in easily.

They're supposed to be happy here.

"But is it making you feel enough?"

Should it though? They.. have everything, as they thought they did. It's enough.

"It doesn't matter, Bari." They turn away, attempting to temporarily close their wound. Cucurucho just wraps gauze over it. The blood keeps seeping through.

"And? That doesn't mean I can't care, now can't I?"

They know that it matters that other people care.

"You don't- You don't care." Osito thinks about their words, choosing each one carefully. "You don't really care if it's making- making feel enough a-and you didn't even want me to continue that job!" They whisk their body around, pointing accusingly at their brother.

He finishes (Osito's) cup of tea and hands an envelope, summoned within his paw with a flick, over to his brother. Cucurucho takes it, apprehensibly.

They squint at him. "What's this?"

Is it time? Has it already been a year? They know that they're not ready yet. They know the old staff have run off and this new one was quickly made on straws and catching up that they're hoping will be alright. They're expecting them to show up still.

Cucurucho hasn't even opened the invite.

The weapon is pointed under their chin, digging into their silicone and threathening to dip into the metal. "This is a hosted meeting. You know what this means."

Cucurucho swallows thickly. Baribal squints at the false mechanism.

"Listen, baby brother. I am not letting my fucking reputation get dragged down by your mistake. The host is watching this year. The rest of our family is coming."

Baribal sharply moves the knife away from their head, holding it with the blade facing up.

"You're going," He points at their chest, then jabs the air pointing at the ceiling. "Or they're going. You know who's in charge of all these islands."

Go. They have to- they have to go. Right. That's fine. Cucurucho can just ask if they could go. They have a.. "job". They're the only one who the Board really knows, the one who knows where the meeting Island is, who the host is expecting. They have to go.

They just nod, shaking. Go.

"Go," Cucurucho warbles. "Just- go, Baribal. I'm going. Just- Just leave me alone."

Their brother makes no comment at this. He just takes their word, and leaves. The teacup falls from the air when Baribal disappears, and it shatters on the floor next to them. Cucurucho tries to breathe- tries to be calm.

Dinner was taken from the inventory again. Cucurucho didn't bother getting themself a plate, instead excusing their lack of appetite on their injury. It did get wrapped up properly and taken care of, they pass off the cut on their general clumsiness. Nothing was ruined, nothing was out of place.

When Asha gets settled back to sleep, and Jeremy leaves to get back to work, Cucurucho sits still on the stairs.

Their big paws shake while nobody's looking as they grasp the sealed invitation, carefully unwrapping and avoiding smeared oil on it.

They need to stop shaking,

"We formally invite the tropical Island branch of the QSMP Federation, to the annual Board of Directors meeting, to discuss the overall progress of the entirety of the Federation. This meeting is highly important, as every five years, the host will oversee the reported work."

"We expect you to return, Cucurucho of the QSMP Census Bureau."

"Do not let us down."