#dsaf verse

(Continued from here)

Yes! Onward to victor-whoa, arms can do that? Not Plushtrap’s arms, obviously, or any other arms he’s seen until right now. Everyone should have this feature, he decides. Sadly, no one consults Plushtrap on animatronic arm abilities.

As he’s thrillingly steered toward the final, fleeing-too-late beast, Plushtrap raises his bat above his head and brings it down one last time. Well, the good news is Betty’s hands are far away enough from the rest of her body that the majority of her costume will be clean and she won’t have to go in the dishwash-

Wait a minute.

Betty’s too big to fit in the dishwasher. In fact, almost all of the animatronics are too big for the dishwasher. So how do they get clean? Plushtrap tugs on the arm to indicate that his task is finished, wipes his bat off on his ears since he’s going in the (ugh) dishwasher anyway, and withdraws a little dry erase board and pink marker to solve this new mystery:

@feralreason​

How did Dave know Phone People didn’t have feelings if he wasn’t a Phone Person? For that matter, how could you tell if anyone had feelings or was just pretending? It’s a little hard to condense the foundations of solipsism onto a dry erase board, so Plushtrap settles for:

WAIT A MINUTE. That makes even less sense. Why is everyone being mean to him just because the Factory fixed him? Plushtrap holds up his whiteboard to the world at large:

No escape, he’s being held. The usual squeezing, her cheek pressed against his own,

“ Misseeeeed meeeeee ~ ? “

Plushtrap's kidnapper-slash-scuttler-vanquishing-partner has finally returned. Looks like today she's in the mood for more of the former, alas. Okay, fine. Maybe he missed her a little bit. But only a little!

He pats her cheek in greeting since it's taking up a good 80% of his field of vision at the moment.

Right. Enough of this. It's time to get to work. To the dry erase board!...as soon as he can navigate around all the extra arm. There we go:

Just watching him go ham on a bunch of giant, insect - like creatures fighting for the last bag of Doritos. Because this is the true definition of fast food retail.

“ Do you need help ? But I’m not gonna touch onea’ those weird fuckin’ things. They look like they’ll eat my toes off and I need those. “

A series of loud, wet crunching noises marked the end of another scuttler under Plushtrap's miniature souvenir baseball bat of brutality. Violence! Violence! Vi-hey that foot wasn't a scuttler.

Plushtrap looked up...and further up...and up some more...there was the head. People were too tall around here. And everywhere else he'd been.

What kind of help, exactly, does...wait, he's sure he's seen her name on a sign or poster somewhere....Rebecca...Betty the...Lullaby Betty, right. What exactly is she going to do to help that doesn't involve actually touching the present threat? Would-

Oh no, he's been distracted! The second scuttler leaps into the air to maul his face.

Foolish.

Plushtrap angles his head just right and opens his mouth, catching the scuttler between his endo's jaws. They snap shut like lightning, and that's all it takes. The slain scuttler dangles at an angle from his mouth until he reopens his jaw and pulls the creature out, bitten almost in half.

The battle-fever drains from his mind as Plushtrap realizes that giant isopods make something of a mess when one bites them nigh in twain.