bluto

The weeks are grueling, and the summer sun is so unforgiving that you consider boarding up the windows just to keep the animatronics from disintegrating with how often they’ve been breaking down

“If I have to replace one more mask, I swear to god i’ll start burning them myself.”

“I take it your summer’s not going too well?” A coworker teases, though the smile was plain mocking with how stressed you were. Kids were out for summer, and a significant amount of your coworkers had either moved off to college, or downright quit to pursue better careers- something you honestly should’ve done as well.

you just roll your eyes, leaning on one of the tables in the back of the showroom and watching them run, painfully critiquing every misplaced jerking of a movement or slight tearing and melting on one of the masks.

luckily the children watching didn’t really notice- though were no less creeped out by the animatronic character’s clumsy performance on stage

“You could just shut the stage off.” She shrugs, you try not to glare her way.

“Right, because I make the decisions around here.” You huff, deciding to just turn your body her direction to avoid the mechs. “No. I’m just glad I don’t make the payments towards new masks and parts.”

She sighs with a soft careless smirk, one formed from restful sleep and non-metallic smelling palms. “If it helps, I don’t notice anything.”

You shoot her a sidelong glance but make no effort to argue further. “Just tell Jason i’ll have them working better by tomorrow morning- if I talk to ‘im, i’ll just end up coming off bitchy.”

She huffs a small laugh. “Well, to be fair-“

Your glare silences her well enough to raise her hands in surrender.

“Fine, but don’t come whining to me when he makes you stay overnight again.”

you knew it was going to be another late night, though that didn’t make the work itself any less of a needless chore when the manager could just as easily order better quality parts

you hadn’t worked on the animatronics in a week- meaning no one had even touched them in regards to maintenance

with a heavy sigh, you climb onto the stage long after the last of the guests left you to your misery work

taking mental notes of the various colorful ‘issues’, you step about the stage, trying not to trip over any props as you walk circles around the animatronics- careful not to create any more problems for the future

Dook needed a new mask- that was obvious- but you could just as easily either paint over cracking or torn areas to trick the light or replace it with an older unofficial one

Fatz’s jaw was permanently slack, so he needed repairs on his mouth lever- again.

Mitzi’s eyes had grown yellow- probably haven’t been replaced in a while- a fix so simple you almost hugged her rigid body

And then there was Beach Bear. He was… fine; visually, at least. Though, to the trained eye you’d forcibly grown since working here, it was obvious he had air-leaks somewhere…

Now the fun part.

You huff, grunting softly when you kneel at Beach Bear’s side at the control panel, running through each of his movements in an attempt to sift out any leakage.

The fixated furrowing of your brow twitches when you hear a small grunt above you.

“You could’ve just asked what was wrong instead of picking at the valves.” Beach Bear tilts his head down at you, expression slightly strained though no less teasing- it was clear he liked watching you struggle.

You flinch, nearly banging your head against his surfboard, cursing under your breath as you regain your composure, and glare up at him. “Could you let me work in peace for one night?”

He has the audacity to nudge your arm from the valve-bank with his clawed foot; “‘S at my back.” He explains cooly, demonstrating by leaning back on his board- followed by a loud hissing sound, “you’re welcome.” his smile is aggravating, eyes lazily squinting through the tousled curls of his blonde hair as he watches you.

Rolling your eyes, you stand and grab his shoulder to straighten him up again. Beach Bear tenses, eyes widening a fraction before gathering himself to flash a smirk up at you. “Gonna fix me up, or bang me up more?”

“You’re lucky I haven’t quit yet.” You grumble, hiking around his board to settle behind him, and carefully undoing the fur at the back of his neck.

You un-snap the pelt, opening it enough to expose his back through a sort of soft-white curtain. Ignoring the shiver that drags from him, you grab one side of the body shell and work it open from behind, revealing the mech inside- it looks fine, maybe was just being dramatic.

“Move back again.” Your murmur, and it takes a moment for him to comply- as if occupied by something else. When he shifts his body back on the board, the usual soft click from the pneumatic cylinders controlling the acton sounded strained, following the movement with another sharp hiss of released air.

“How long do I have left?” He quips, though his voice is uncharacteristically effortful.

You try not to punch out one of his cylinders and decide to run your thumb along the elongated rod, straining your wrist to reach inside his body shell as you search for any breaks in the pneumatic cylinder while he keeps his body reclined for you to work.

His shoulders tense and his smirk falls- groaning at your intrusion. “Take it easy.” He grits- though it sounds close enough to a whine- turning his head to the side to try to look at you- though you make no effort to meet his eyes.

“I wouldn’t have to do this if you would keep still on stage.” You nudge his shoulder with your free hand before removing your palm from him, furrowing your brows when he relaxes. “It’ll need to be replaced, but I could just as easily weld it- that is if you stop whining.”

He shoots an unimpressed smile over his shoulder and huffs; “just try not to break anything when you’re back there- don’t want you messin’ up my stage-presence.

You don’t fight the grimace your face forms at him and his ego. “Just be quiet and stay still.”

leaning down to fish at the fake plasticky-grass below his board, you retrieve your tool-bag

he’d been prone to leaks recently due to overexertion on stage- something you’d scolded him for night after night when you inevitably had to weld any leakage points or full on replace pneumatic cylinders or air hosing

you grumble to yourself, holding the back of his neck to keep him compliant as you tried your best to fix the breakage

he doesn’t fight- not that you’d expected him but to- but he was oddly… obedient like this; as if he’d anticipated it. he’s tense, sure- but Beach Bear keeps still- in fact, he’s leaning back to encourage better access.

ignoring the idea altogether, you snap closed the back of his body shell and button up his fur again, smoothing a palm over his broad back to ensure anything wasn’t free of coverage.

Not sparing a second for you to move out of his line of motion, Beach Bear leans back, testing the motion successfully this time.

“Not bad,” he draws out, lazy smirk on his face as he watches you climb out from behind him- inconsiderate asshole.

Zipping back up your tool-bag, you huff exasperatedly at his sudden shift in nature.

Before you can chew him out any more for his carelessness- something you truly should’ve gotten used to by now after countless months of fixing up this godforsaken robots- he keeps leaned back on his surfboard, strumming lazily on his guitar- as if to silence any further scolding he’d come to expect.

“Same time tomorrow night, then?” He hums, tilting his head slightly to look up at you through his curly hair. His tone is smooth, though no less condescending considering his attitude.

You scoff, standing your ground and crossing your arms. “You planning on breaking down again?”

He shrugs, tilting his guitar upwards a bit to strum a careless scale. “If I have to.” he explains, teasing smirk playing on his lips.

it started off as you helping out with the equipment and maintenance after and between shows for them in return for a decent amount of money to keep rent above water

you just had to get friendly with the band and let then find out you played bass (Dook is nosy)- next thing you know, you’re there during practices on stage and doing backup vocals; ending up actually fitting in well with their sound

“It’s not so bad.” Mitzi shrugs with a teasing grin. she’d been leaning against Dook’s drum-set case after another late night practice session. her legs cross on the stage flooring, hands splayed in her lap as she touched up her nails with a fresh coat of red-glittery polish.

you roll your eyes, deciding to focus on packing up your guitar than invite any further conversation about tomorrow night.

“If this doesn’t work out, I won’t mention it again!” Mitzi pleads once more, dragging an exhausted huff from you. it was impossible to say no to her.

“What I’m hearing is you’re sacrificing me to the crowd if this thing goes ass-up.” you grunt, zipping up your guitar case.

“Rolfe calls it a business opportunity.” she recalls with an innocent shrug, though makes no effort to conceal her grin even as she focuses on her nails.

the various rustling on stage of the band packing up drowns out the groan you let out at that

she stands abruptly and pats your arm with a wide smile

“It’ll be great, just don’t mess up.” she squeaks, bending to grab her bag and hopping off stage.

you sigh, leaning on Fatz’s keyboard and debating just flat out breaking your guitar to get out of this thing.

you didn’t hate the idea of performing, not really- you’d just never brought the concert outside of your own bedroom. but if Mitzi thought it was good enough…

“Try not to let ‘er get to you.” a smooth voice offers, pulling you from your sulking.

“Fuck-!” you jump a little, hitting your ankle against the leg of Fat’z keyboard- and bending to grab your foot- that thing was much sturdier than it looked.

beach bear’s snicker is menacing as he approaches you, leaning on the other end of the keyboard and watching you try to quickly recover

“You’re really worked up over this, huh- I promise no one’s gonna throw tomatoes.” he smirks softly, shaking his head a little to fix the hair over his eyes.

you roll your eyes, letting go of your ankle to look up and meet his gaze.

“If it hasn’t happened to you yet, I should be alright.” you shrug, earning a scoff from him the moment you change your demeanor- almost challenging his.

beach bear gives a tilt of his head, as if sizing you up now that you stood face to face (if he didn’t tower over you)

“Alright.” he holds up his paws in mock defense, taking the hint with a toothy smile. “just try not to trip me up.”

the moment the both of you step on stage your dynamic is elevated- competitive nature come alive as his wild, loud nature on stage encourages you to constantly one up him

HEAVY on eye contact when you two sing background vocals

always getting up in each other’s faces while sharing a mic

note: i’ve watched rick bailey (beach bear’s voice actor) performing live and sort of mirrored that onto my own view of beach bear’s stage presence

you two often share a mic, being on background vocals most of the time- he can’t keep still on stage, even when he’s sitting on his surf board- so it’s inevitable that you both are brushing against each other

his hips will be pushed forward, head tilted back some on a particularly complicated riff

you can hardly keep your eyes off of him- how his expression twists and hardens as he concentrates

i have this vision of beach bear slinging his guitar around you and pressing his chest to your back on stage as he plays

note: this is sort of rambly and disorganized but I needed to get this idea strangled out of me or i’d never post about it