I'm so happy to be back with another commission from @catbeastaisha with more of my Run Moonware AU! This time, we're back with more of the lovely and mischievous Moon, and a strange new request from Edwin. Moon might know something about it. You dare to ask, and poke his buttons in the mean time.
———
You have an odd request from Edwin Murray. Your eccentric boss has no qualms with ordering you to comb through terminated employees’ emails and countless back logs of comings and goings from the entire Costume Manor and its many facilities, but this one was new.
He asked you to keep an eye out for Sleepy Moon.
Your heart dropped to your knees: he knows. A clammy dread slipped over your body and your stomach clenched as if you were about to get punched in the gut. Bracing. You were bracing to hear ‘you are fired’.
But he didn’t know. Not about you communicating with The Moon on the mysterious program that made its way onto the computer you use in the security office. He continues, specifically that you would report to him if you could find it. Otherwise, he would have to assume it was stolen and possibly sold to a third party or actively being used at some kid restaurant that one of his back-stabbing employees built up.
He seemed too on edge, too distracted, as if torn between standing in front of you and somewhere else entirely, to notice you shake back your composure. Off you went with this new instruction.
Not that he gave you anymore freedoms on the grounds. Just that you were to notify him immediately if you happen to spy one of his many costumed creations sprawling the floors and hanging against walls. Sleepy Moon. You’ve never heard of the name. Of course, you’re not too familiar with any of the mascots and funny animals dressed up as clowns or circle ring leaders, but you have someone you can ask.
Walking into the security office, you linger, staring out of the door through the hazardous halls of silicon faces and wide, too pleasant eyes that seemed to follow you everywhere you went. The door shut with a soft hydraulic hiss behind you.
The dusty office scent immediately flows to you, and you inhale it with the energy of having returned home. The computer boots up with a whirling whine before you have a chance to touch the power button on the monitor. The screen glows, coming to life with a quiet blitz of electricity before the pixels jump up and make up the home screen.
You settle down, putting your bag aside with little thought as you stare directly at the little face tucked away into the corner. The Moon. The program that has been with you since day one of your job.
His mischievous, pixelated smile takes the full curve of his half-illiminated face. One eye turns up impishly. The dialogue box pops up with a low beep.
| About time. You’re late.
“Not late,” you hold up one finger, grinning. “Edwin stopped me to chat. Can’t be late if it’s the boss keeping me from my desk.”
The Moon climbs a little higher into view. He stands upon the bottom bar, his arms at his sides. His head tilts slightly, like you’re a puzzle piece he hasn’t figured out how to put together—not without the box picture for reference.
“He didn’t fire me, if that’s what you’re so worried about.” You lean back in your seat, hands poised above the keyboard, toying with the thought of work. It does not sound like loads of fun at the moment.
The deadpan expression sends you a clear message, and then the text box.
| I wasn’t.
“Ouch.” You feign a mortal blow to your heart and clutch your chest. “You wouldn’t miss me? And I thought we were becoming work buddies.”
Somehow, the program masters an unimpressed gaze through the computer screen. You almost wish to touch the glass just to see if you can feel the lines of his stony expression.
| He wouldn’t fire you.
You pause. How does The Moon know? Or is he just saying that, just to make you drop the stupid subject. Probably the latter. He’s teasing you again in the way he always does.
Which reminds you—
“Don’t you want to know what Edwin said to me?” You arch an eyebrow and wiggles your fingers above the keyboard, heightening the already cheesy gestures of enticement.
The Moon suddenly looks on guard. His program glitches once before he takes up the whole screen in the way that turns most of it black and outlines his muscular upper body. The top of his star-dotted pants caught your eye for a moment, and you wonder what inspired his jester-like look.
“He mentioned something about Sleepy Moon,” you go on, leaning forward. Placing your elbows on the desk, you fix him with a scrutinizing look. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
A long, dotted line fills up the text box, before, as if in the manner of rolling one's eyes, the screen flips upon itself before several tabs pop up with files. All of them are titled in some form or the other with Sleepy Moon. One’s a blueprint, one's a detailed report of an accident occurring in Story Time Showroom, and another is a flyer advertising Sleepy Moon.
You snort before clapping a hand over your mouth.
The Moon, small and tucked into the corner, pierces you with an incredulous stare. Your laughter, however, cannot be dammed up, and the floor escapes in a fit of hysterics.
Sleepy Moon is a giant head, fitting with arms and legs in a Humpy Dumpy style of a suit. You find the cosmically tiny jester hat upon his head woefully improportionate to the rest of his body—head. Like a giant egg.
“That’s you?” you gasp between another bark of laughter.
| Obviously not.
You have to suck in a breath. Mining wiping away a tear, you scoot in a little closer, and indeed, that is not The Moon. They must have come from the same brainchild, but the schematics are for a costume—specifically one not fitted for animatronics. Only humans. Interesting.
“So, do you know where that costume is?” You lift a finger to tap the screen once. The pixelated figure of The Moon flickers for a moment, born seemingly out of irritation, like you tapped on the glass of his home. “Edwin wanted to know. He didn’t give a lot of details, but from my understanding, it’s missing.”
The silence of the program is as helpful as he always is, which is, not much. Perhaps you shouldn’t have wounded his ego so much, but that doesn’t change that you’re terribly curious.
And you have more questions than just what costumes may or may not be left in the manor. Ever since Sun exploded on you again, you have been mulling over his words.
“Is there one like Sun?” you ask casually, lowering your hand to hide how it clenches tightly. “Were you two a pair before…?”
You don’t know how to say it. You don’t even know what happened.
All the files vanish in a snap of deleted tabs. The Moon’s crescent head engulfs the screen, and you lean back half an itch, eyes widening. His green and dark gaze seems to spear you to your chair. You can’t move an itch.
| Nosy, aren’t you?
A pause, then typed underneath is a single word:
| Brat.
You open your mouth to defend yourself, but just as quickly, a new sentence is interjected, and you catch yourself mid-syllable.
| Want secrets? Let’s unscrew the cover and dig into those wires of yours.
You shudder. An unconscious gesture of your hands hugging your arms fills the program upon your work computer with brief delight flaring across his curved lunar face.
You are not a system that can have screws removed and hands interjected to fish out all of your tangled ends and burn out parts. The Moon seems to enjoy making you squirm—when you’ve pushed his buttons enough.
Fine. If that’s how he wants to play it. Him and The Sun. You can play ball.
“Go ahead, ask me anything. I’m an open book.” You hold out your arms. “Then you can tell me about what’s going on with you and The Sun.”
His head tilts, turning the slice of his head into a smiley face. If he buys it, he doesn’t show it. Maybe he thinks you're all talk, and that has gotten you into deep trouble before with the program. But not this time. You mean it.
| Someone waiting for you at home?
You blink once. That’s it?
“No one,” you say. The tiny apartment you have is nothing to write home about. “Come on, give me hard questions.”
The Moon seems to bob for a moment, pixels going up and down before he settles.
His grin stretches.
| Boyfriend?
You roll your eyes. “You’re not taking this seriously.”
| Ah ah. Answer the question.
Forced to play, you sigh and smack your lips once.
“No, last I checked.”
The computer seems to hum. The Moon almost does a little dance, shifting his limbs in the boxy space to a rhythm you can’t hear.
Just as quickly, he stops. His lone eye is upon you, and you can feel the absence of the other eye, the one The Sun possesses.
| Play later. You have work to do.
“Moon,” you warn.
His vile grin cuts through you, and you smack the desk once before his figure disappears off of the computer, dragging up your work in his wake.
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The Petrel glares at the larger Owl as the rest of the Crew go about their business of the day, with Giovanni mopping the deck, Josep checking the charts, Rashid getting drunk, and the brothers doing something stupid with Ruixiong. Best not ask. The bird only knows it involves a squid, a barrel, some extra helium, and an excessive amount of duct tape.
It ignores the little one on Abena's hair, who clearly is enjoying the company of the tiny one as she is repairing the sails. Given now that the Crew is distracted, the Petrel takes its time to stretch its wings after preening itself. Once all eyes are off the bird, it flies closer to the larger Owl.
Staring. Judging. Picking up life signatures. And not liking it.
A thought. A voice. A connection. A dialogue.
"I was not warned this Crew has..... friends to speak of. To my knowledge, their Master has done wonders to isolate them from the rest of society... or else."
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☀ - pin my muse with their arms behind their back (for the Crow, who doesn't seem to be quite himself at the moment)
@forestofforever // Manhandling Starters
Maybe if it had been a stranger, Artair would have resisted harder--- but it's Crow of all people. His friend. He knows something is wrong immediately by the way he reacts, the way he feels-- but he can't bare to hurt him just to escape. When he's pinned down, his breath leaves him in a gust against the forest ground, but even then, he still hesitates to fight back.
"Crow-- Crow. I know you're in there. Please-- what's going on? Are you alright? It's me-- it's me." He doesn't know if it will help to hear his voice. It likely won't. But he has to try, or at least understand what.... whatever this is, is making him do. He's been respectful to the forest, so surely this isn't the Heart, right?
