Hello Hello? 📞

Unfortunately this blog is still going to be on break as I’m trying to get my life sorted out after moving literally across the country haha. I probably won’t be properly back until I have a proper desk and work space set up and income so my anxiety can rest.

          William nearly asks him why he always insists upon wearing so many bandages–Is he clumsy? Has he hurt himself? Is it a fashion statement? Is he just trying to hide his scars, much like William does?–but manages to stop the question from voicing itself by letting out an exasperated sigh instead. “Ah. Sorry. Yes.” 

          He really needs to wear his glasses more often; that would solve at least a few of his name-forgetting issues. He refuses to admit that he needs them to begin with, though. It makes him feel old. He’s not old. 

          Huff.

          “I was thinking of reviving an old design, but I’m not sure which style I want to go with. Lightweight plastic is much cheaper–” Lord knows he’s very fond of things that don’t lacerate his wallet– “Not to mention easier to clean, but softer materials are more broadly appealing.” They’re also safer for children, but he doesn’t exactly care. He turns the drawing pad to face Scott, then pushes it slightly toward him. Looks like he’s thinking about bringing some sort of big bad wolf into the fray… Doesn’t look very bad, though. Mostly just cute. “What do you think?” 

Brown eyes blink once. Twice. Three times before Scott chances a glance at the sketchpad pushed his direction--almost, weirdly honored that his opinion on such a thing would be asked? Though, perhaps no one else had managed to walk past and grab William’s attention long enough to be questioned.

Lips purse, studying over the design of the wolf before he hesitates, teeth worrying his bottom lip. There’s two options here; one of which he’s certain has to be wrong. Certainly there’s going to be a wrong option and the last thing he wants to do is offend the older man. 

“Well--Mister Afton. Sir I uh. I mean...” Honesty? Or kiss ass? Honesty? Kiss ass. Honesty. “I think...kids would expect a uh. A. A canine to be more...furry?” Hand comes upward, finger scratching idly at the plaster on his cheek, “You know like a uh. A dog? A-And the plastic is kind of an outdated look nowadays--even if it is uh. Easier to clean. R-R-Re-Realistic fur seems like it’d draw in more of a uh. A crowd you know?”

It’d be easier to know if he’d made the right decision if Mister Afton actually showed any sort of emotion on that blank slate.

@phxne-gxy is playing with life and death.

          William is currently sitting in front of a pad of drawing paper, affixing it with a glare that vastly surpasses nearly every other facial expression he’s ever had in terms of how much emotion it manages to portray. He catches a familiar frame moving through his vision, and quickly snaps his fingers to get his attention. It may be a bit rude, but it’s better than trying to yell the man’s name… which he doesn’t quite remember right now. “You. Bandage boy. Come here, please.” 

The sudden quick and loud snapping of fingers is enough to cause the Manager to pause, brown eyes sweeping around with a twitch of irritation. Scott’s no stranger to the concept; Customers often doing so to grab his attention on the floor but it genuinely costs zero dollars and zero cents to politely ask for someone’s attention with a simple ‘excuse me’ or something of the sort.

He isn’t an animal.

A piece of that irritation slips away when he realizes it’s Mister Afton calling. A piece...that quickly resurfaces when he hears the nickname pinned in place of his actual name. Bandage Boy. Hoo.

Alright. Another name to add to the remarkable list of nicknames that the Fazbear Staff have taken to calling him in lieu of actually reading the neat little nametag pinned to the front of his shirt. It isn’t even a hard name to remember.  Scott. Scott. Scott. That’s all it is. Don’t even have to remember the last name.

Still, William is his Boss. Or something--and he’d at least tacked on a ‘please’ to his request, prompting Scott to make his way closer and stop before the other man.

Today I give you Scott doodles

          “It’s light enough. Or, well… Maybe not.” A hand gestures vaguely toward the dim light. You should really get more light sources in here, or at least brighter bulbs for the ones you already have… Or you could just keep neglecting the place as always. That sounds more convenient. Why would you put in all that effort and money when it’s obvious that literally no one cares at all and never has? This place just keeps on getting business, and though you’re glad for it, it’s also quite depressing. Does no one care about the safety of their children? Honestly, they should learn how to be better parents… 

          “That would be helpful.” If anyone other than this specific spineless man gets back here, they might start asking completely rational questions, and we can’t have that. “I’ll take care of this myself.” It’s not like you have someone else around here who’s been hired to take care of these sorts of things. Though you’re sure you could probably find someone if you tried, you don’t exactly trust like that. You don’t want anyone else messing with your lovely creations, especially since they might end up dead, which would mean having to hire yet another new person, and that’s such a waste of money… 

          “But before you go,” you speak up again, your gaze returning to the poor nervous creature who has the unfortunate luck of having to deal with you. Hopefully he won’t try to make any jokes this time. “You didn’t see anyone sneaking back here shortly before this, did you?”

“...”

Eyebrows furrow, thoughts racing as he tried to determine if William was actually...making a joke concerning the lighting arrangements (or lack thereof)  when it came to the back room? Unwilling to debate it, in fear of only putting his foot in his mouth once more, Scott could only nod at the confirmation of instruction offered.

Eager to leave--and escape such things, the Phone Guy stopped short at his Boss’ next question, brown eyes blinking before his head shook.

"N-No sir! I was in the Office but I’m f-f-fairly certain I would have uh. Heard? Someone? If they tried to walk in here.” Hand raised, gesturing weakly towards the closed door. “It’s a uh. I-I mean it’s a heavy door...kinda hard to sneak in and out, right?”

Henry could sense that the anxiety of his presence was still getting him worked up a bit, he felt a little bad about it- He always tried to maintain a sense of equality in the ranks, just another worker, not a leader, not a manager; That is unless, he needed to be. The office was a bit cozy despite its smaller interior which was nice but also Henry was always thinking about what the employees liked and wanted so hearing the other saying they don’t mind was a little bit of a relief to him. 

❝I’m glad to hear you say that honestly, I just want all of my employees to be happy here, I’m willing to do my best for them. What kind of leader would I be if I didn’t? ❞ ❝ I see I see, don’t worry! I don’t regret helping at all, in fact I’m glad I’m here to offer some help, you all shouldn’t be loaded with this much work.❞  his eyebrows knit themselves into a sympathetic expression before he took a seat, grabbing a sheet of paper and looking it over ❝I’ve got nothing but time to kill, why not use it for some good ya’nnow?  ❞ he asked before chuckling and splitting the stack between them, sitting it on a nice pile next to him  ❝ Shall we?❞  

“O-oh! I can assure you Mister Emily--I am. I am very happy with my p-p-po-position here!” Truthfully. Despite the loss of limb--and the constant danger that the Night Shift had presented, if asked or offered another job, Scott wasn’t sure he’d ever be inclined to accept.

Most people didn’t think it made much sense; but Scott had never really felt the need to defend his actions or choices. Though, if anyone would understand, he was certain Henry would.

Brown eyes watched as the paperwork was halved and he smiled softly, giving a nod of gratitude when his portion was pushed closer. Pen was grabbed between bandaged fingers and focus turned to the familiar lines of small text splayed neatly across the white pages as he set to work.