#tony

encounter i had yesterday

Concerned Eddie recording... maybe he should've just fixed his own car instead of asking Tony. (Mutual on Twitter inspired me to do this, #lovemymutuals!) Below is OG pic...

Saturday morning duo 🐯🩷

Oh, They’re So Weird (☉-⚆)

“You recently got laid off of your job. Thankfully, you found an ad on Craigslist that paid quite a bit for you to just housesit! 🍩”

DAY ONE

-> Next Day

Contains: Kopi, Daisuke, Wyndolyn, Betty, Eddie and Volt, and Tony.

🍰 Café Menu 🍰

Getting laid off sucked, but the worst part wasn’t the lost job, it was the silence afterward. Bills didn’t care about unemployment, and your fridge had been making a weird knocking sound that screamed “I’m dying” for two weeks now. So yeah, maybe scrolling Craigslist at 2:13 a.m. while eating peanut butter off a spoon wasn’t your proudest moment, but that’s when you saw it.

HOUSE SITTER NEEDED - URGENT

Spacious, fully furnished home.

3 weeks.

$1,500/week.

Must be kind. No loud music. No shouting. Absolutely NO cursing at the housemates.

Contact: xxxx

Serious inquiries only.

You blinked. Then read it again. Then checked the listing date: posted 10 minutes ago. Honestly? It didn’t sound like a murder ad. And fifteen hundred a week? That was rent for two months. You clicked “reply” before your brain had a chance to argue.

One weird video call later…

“Just be nice to them,” The owner said. Their face was earnest, a little too close to the webcam. “The bed gets moody if you ignore her, and the mirror likes compliments. Oh, and please don’t cuss at anyone. They’re sensitive.”

You’d nodded slowly. “...Right. The furniture is sensitive.”

They beamed. “Exactly! You’re a natural.”

You weren't, actually. You were broke. There was a difference.

The house was new, a bit creaky, and gorgeous.

It stood like a storybook illustration, rose vines on white walls, tall windows like blinking eyes. The front gate opened on its own when you approached. The door was unlocked. And there, sitting right inside the foyer, was a small table with a handwritten note:

“Welcome! Bedroom’s on the second floor. Please greet everyone before settling in. Be polite. No exceptions.”

You stared at the note. Then looked around.

...There wasn’t anyone here.

Was there?

You stood in the middle of the living room, feeling about as dumb as someone could feel while talking to furniture.

“Hi, everyone,” you said, eyes shifting to the antique mirror above the fireplace, the couch with those overly plush cushions, and the teacup-patterned wallpaper that somehow felt judgy. “I guess.”

Silence.

Well, yeah. What were you expecting? A lamp to wave?

You gave yourself a mental shrug and moved toward the kitchen. The house might’ve been old, but the appliances were surprisingly modern: sleek, clean, and probably worth more than your last paycheck. You figured coffee wouldn’t hurt. You hadn’t had real coffee in weeks. Just that sad instant stuff that made your teeth feel like they were dissolving.

The coffee machine purred to life like it knew what it was doing. Which was weird.

You blinked when it poured your drink.

In the frothy surface was an intricate little heart surrounded by ferns and flowers, like a garden in your cup. You hadn’t touched any settings. Hell, you didn’t even know how to do latte art.

You stared at the cup.

“…Thanks?” you said, lifting it gently.

Deep within the inner world of the house, Kopi beamed. “You're welcome! Finally, someone with manners,” she thought, pride bubbling inside her ceramic chest. She loved giving people a good start to their day.

You sipped. It was perfect. Not too bitter, just creamy enough, like something out of a dream. You let out a soft hum of satisfaction and felt… lighter.

Okay. Weird, but not bad.

After finishing the cup (and whispering another awkward “thank you” before setting it in the sink and cleaning it, to the liking of Daisuke), you figured you might as well do something productive. The house wasn’t dirty, but there was dust on the window sills and a few cobwebs here and there. You found an old cloth in a drawer, wet it, and started wiping down the large bay windows.

They sparkled immediately, almost too fast.

You frowned, then smiled anyway, running the cloth in slow, thoughtful circles.

“Looking better already,” you murmured, almost to yourself.

In her own little corner of the dimension, Wyndolyn, the ever-elegant window spirit, preened at the praise. “Such lovely hands,” she thought, her panes practically glowing. “This one appreciates beauty… oh, what a treat.”

You didn’t see the way the sunlight caught just right, casting little prisms of color across the floor like she was showing off. You didn’t notice the faint scent of fresh-cut flowers that hadn’t been there a moment ago. Not yet.

But they saw you.

And you were kind.

That was more than enough, for now.

The storm rolled in faster than you'd expected.

One minute, it was just gray clouds and a gentle breeze. The next, thunder cracked so hard it rattled the windows, and rain slammed against the walls like it had a personal grudge. The lights flickered once, twice-

-and then went out completely.

"Of course," you muttered, setting down the book you'd been reading. You reached for your phone. No signal. Of course.

You remembered the owner mentioning the breaker box upstairs in the attic hallway. Something about “power hiccups” being normal in a house this old. Still, you didn’t love the idea of going up there in the dark. But sitting in silence with no lights and a wind that sounded like a ghost screaming? Less appealing.

So up you went, flashlight in hand, the wood creaking under your feet with every step. The breaker box sat tucked behind a narrow door next to the linen closet, sealed shut with a rusted latch. You struggled with it for a second, then remembered the neat little red toolbox you saw in the bottom of the small closet earlier.

Inside, every tool was perfectly clean and in order. Like someone really cared for them.

You handled each one with care, lining them up just like they were, using the screwdriver gently, placing it back precisely where it came from.

Deep within the heartbeat of the house, Tony grinned behind his stubbled jaw. “Finally, someone who knows how to treat their tools.” His arms crossed proudly. He liked this one.

With a quiet clunk, you flipped the main breaker switch back on. The lights flickered downstairs, then steadied.

Somewhere, inside the wires that ran like veins through the house’s bones, Volt stirred with a low hum of relief. “Oh, thank the circuit.” Sparks flickered behind his eyes as the flow stabilized. No more shorts. No more headaches.

And within the walls, behind the plaster and wallpaper and pipework, Eddie leaned against a support beam and exhaled. “Smooth fix. Didn’t even overload me this time.” He’d braced himself for the usual slapdash button-mashing most humans did, but this one… this one had patience.

You closed the breaker box gently, wiped your hands on your jeans, and gave a half-smile to the darkness. “There. That should do it.”

The hallway lights stayed on. The house gave a low, satisfied creak, like an old cat settling into a nap.

You didn’t know what you’d just done for them.

But they did.

And all three, Tony, Volt, and Eddie, watched you descend the stairs like you were some kind of quiet hero.

You padded back down the stairs, warm light humming gently through the halls again. The storm still raged outside, wind clawing at the shutters and rain pelting the roof, but inside, the house felt… calm. Like it had sighed with relief.

You stretched, body pleasantly tired from moving and cleaning all day. Your feet led you to the bedroom Hank had set aside for you, the door already cracked open like it had been waiting.

The bed inside was reasonably sized, an old-fashioned four-poster with soft, sea-colored sheets and an absurd number of pillows. It should’ve felt stiff or creaky. Maybe even haunted, considering the whole "talk to the furniture" vibe this place had going on.

But the second you sank into the mattress, all thoughts slipped out of your head like sand through your fingers.

It was warm. It welcomed you. Like arms cradling you. Not too soft, not too firm, just the exact kind of comfort you didn’t know your body had been aching for.

“…Huh,” you murmured, pulling the covers up to your chin. “You’re… actually really nice.”

The bed didn’t respond, of course. But you felt it in the way the blanket settled just right around your shoulders. How the pillow fit the curve of your neck perfectly. You swore you heard the faintest creak, like someone humming a lullaby through the floorboards.

Somewhere, deep in her quilted soul, Betty the Bed glowed with pride. “Sleep well, sweetheart,” she thought. “You’ve had a long day.”

You yawned, blinking slowly at the ceiling. “Goodnight, everyone,” you whispered into the dark, voice thick with sleep. “Don’t stay up too late gossiping.”

A soft gust of air rustled the curtains. A light flicked off down the hall.

And you fell asleep: warm, safe, and strangely… cared for.