R. Lee Smith's Blog, page 3

Road Trip Diaries Part I

So I’m back, ya’ll. Actually, I’ve been back for a couple of weeks, but I seriously overestimated how quickly I’d be able to bounce back from this particular surgery. I’m in surprisingly little pain. As a matter of fact, most of the time, I’m in no pain at all unless I sneeze or cough or move around. So that part is great, but I’m also tired, like…TIRED. I’ve dealt with insomnia literally since childhood, so I thought I knew tired, but turns out post-surgery tired is not like not-sleeping tired. I should have remembered that from the last couple times I went through this, but this time feels much more exhausting. I’ve been home for over two weeks and this is the first time I feel like I can hold my thoughts together long enough to make one of these posts, even though I’ve thought literally every single day that I need to get on here and tell all you amazing people that I’m fine. Sorry if my silence scared you.

So I took lots of pictures on my trip and I had every intention of posting them while on the trip itself, kind of sharing the experience, so to speak, but then I had The Thought. I’m sure you can guess which one. It goes a little something like this: What if I post a week’s worth of fun photos and jokes and everyone’s reading along and having a great time and then I go under the knife and it’s Game Over and my sister or my dad or someone has to come on and cap off a week’s worth of hilarious vacation pics with a goddamn eulogy?

Unrealistic? Yes. Overreacting? Absolutely. But for my peace of mind, I decided to wait until after I got back to post my road blog, and as previously stated, I came back in such a state of mind-numbing exhaustion that sorting through the hundred or so pics and trying to find the words to caption them was just impossible. However, today I’m feeling the possibilities, so I’ll give it a go. Just bear in mind that everything you’re about to see already happened and ends well.

Serial Saturday Doesn’t Update

As the headline of this blog suggests, there is no new chapter of my FNAF fanfic today. I tried (admittedly, not very hard), but with a week to go before I leave on my roadtrip that ends (not permanently, one hopes) in surgery, things are understandably rather hectic here at the Smomestead. And I had a choice today between staying home and working and meeting that deadline, or going out with my family to the spooOOOooky flashlight tour of an historic museum here in town, so yeah, I sloughed off my work ethic and skipped out the door. Well, rolled out the door in my chair, but the person pushing it was skipping. Or maybe tripping over the brick sidewalks in ye olde historic museum district.  Either way, it was a good time.

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We rolled up on an appropriately towering castle-like structure surrounded by an appropriately imposing iron fence and partially curtained by the gnarled branches of an appropriately spooky tree. It was easy to imagine how gloomy it could have been in a thick fog or by moonlight, instead of the blinding blue-white autumn sky we presently had. I kind of wished this was more of a ‘scary history’ tour. This is exactly the sort of creepy old building I’d love to wander around in at midnight, if that sort of thing wasn’t trespassing, which is illegal, which means of course that I have never ever done it. R Lee Smith is a law-abiding citizen who strongly discourages my readers from doing things that are awesome but nevertheless unlawful and extremely unsafe.

I digress.

We live, like, ten miles from this place, apparently, but none of us have ever been there before, despite the fact that we are all major museumophiles, owing to the associated fact that it is smack-damn in the middle of the city’s most metropolitan area and we are all even more major metropoliphobes than we are museumophiles. Also, parking in the city when you have a wheelchair is more hassle than pretty much any museum is worth and I don’t care how awesome it is. In this case, we were warned that our destination had no attached parking whatsoever, but was what they laughably called wheelchair-friendly, or at least, I hope they were laughing, because I sure wasn’t. Once you got past the uneven brick sidewalks and curbs that ‘open’ into one of those two-inch-deep channels perfectly, and I mean PERFECTLY, designed to pitch wheelchair riders out on their faces in the street, you arrive at an historic building whose nod to accessibility includes a couple ramps and an elevator…oh, and also a two-inch-tall ‘lip’ at most of their doorways perfectly, and I mean PERFECTLY, designed to pitch wheelchair riders face-first into the glass box protecting your priceless century-old silver-plated epergne. However, for the most part, we got around all right, and despite some spine-jarring stops and a LOT of narrow turns, I had a blast.

Because the ground floor and the top floor (which had access to the bell tower, which was not at all wheelchair accessible) were full of other museum-goers, many of them with very young screamy kids, we started off more in the middle of the museum. The first thing I saw when I rolled off the elevator was this majestic portrait of an unnamed bison.

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As this next surgery approaches, I have found myself thinking a lot about my last one, specifically my prolonged and profound morphine-induced visitation with a magical talking bison. Seeing this handsome fellow so unexpectedly, like he’d come out to greet me, was heartening. Rolling around the corner and seeing the taxidermied head, not to mention the historic photos of all those dead bison who had been shot and skinned and left to rot on the plains in such numbers that we nearly wiped them the hell out in a single generation…somewhat less heartening.

That wasn’t all the museum was about, though. Most of it was (loosely) Victorian-era artifacts, which is always fun to look at. I keep thinking maybe someday I’ll write a steampunk novel. So we had a pretty good time, rolling around, looking at hand-carved furniture and stiff-backed mannequins modelling dresses with a million buttons and a replica drug store with shelves full of pills and unguents to cure distemper, ague and female lethargy. They even had a whole section of terrifying toys, including a wall of ‘beautiful’ (i.e. super-sugar-frosted-haunted) dolls, whose hand-sewn dresses and painted porcelain faces perfectly capture the dreadful ennui of what life must have been like back in those days if you were rich enough to afford one.

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This baby doll drinks nothing but the tears of the working class and laudanum.

 

I guess what I’m trying to say is, I  had a good day. So while I’m sorry that I couldn’t get it together in time to make sure I had a new chapter of my FNAFic ready to go this week, I have to admit that if I had it to do all over, I’d do it all the same. There won’t be a chapter next week either, as I’ll be on the road, and maybe not the week after that, depending on how I’m recovering. But I will be back as soon as I can get my head together and think in words again instead of pictures (and mind-movies starring talking bison). See you soon(ish), and if I don’t get another chance before then, Happy Halloween!

Serial Saturday Update

Time has a way of getting away from me, which I’m sure will come as no surprise to all my readers who’ve watched me take three years to write this fanfiction (although in my defense, this fanfic is 4 epic-length novels so far, with one more in the works, so I’m actually clipping along at a pretty good speed). So even though I have most of a month between me and my surgery, I’m feeling the crunch. I’ve even started to prepare. I’ve made a list of fun places to stop at on the way there and back again. I’ve narrowed down my potential photographic travelling companions to three hopefuls: My pose-able Kermit the Frog, my T-Rex hand puppet, and one of my many, many plushie octopuses. And I even bought a new suitcase, since it appears my cat, Waffles (rest in peace), discovered my last one in the bottom of my closet and turned it into a bed/scratching post/auxiliary litterbox.

Here’s some fun author trivia for you that people who don’t follow this blog will never know: I’m notoriously terrible at packing for trips. I don’t know why. It’s not like I save things for the last minute and then just throw random crap in a bag and run out the door. I swear it’s really not. I pack well in advance, with what I sure THINK is careful consideration not only for my destination but the travel conditions. I research my route. I plan for the weather. I expect the unexpected. And then somehow, I end up at a hotel three hundred miles from home, frantically digging through the bag I so meticulously assembled only to find that past-me apparently thought all the clothes future-me needed for a week-long trip through Louisiana in the middle of summer was an extra pair of jeans, seventeen t-shirts and a pair of earmuffs, and yes, that’s a true example, and not even the worst one I could have dredged up and put on display.

So yeah, I’ve got three weeks to go before we hit the road and you better believe I’m already packing. I’m sure I’ll have at least two “RLee, what are you THINKING?!” moments between now and then. What I arrive with is anyone’s guess. I legit once went camping for a weekend in the mountains in Oregon in January and packed six pairs of jeans, two shirts, no sweaters or coats, three swimsuits and a Spiderman Christmas ornament, and no, it didn’t get hooked on something and accidentally tag along, I PACKED that stupid ornament. Oh, and also, I forgot to pack the tent.

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I’m sorry I called you stupid just now. You’re a hero. Also, I’m sorry you fell off the tree that one year and got eaten by my stupid dog. Also, Hephie, if you’re listening, I’m sorry I called you a stupid dog just now, but I’m even sorrier that you were one.

 

Anyway, I say all this to let you all know that the day is fast approaching and things are only going to get more hectic, so tonight’s update to my fanfic may be the last one until after the surgery. Sorry about that, but hopefully it’s got enough going on in it to hold you over until I’m home again. So if you’re reading Everything Is All Right, Part IV: New Faces, Old Bones, hop onto archiveofourown.org or fanfiction.net and check it out. Here’s a little sneak peek of what’s waiting for you over there!

 

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Ana had been awake for thirty hours by this time, and to say that she was running on fumes was putting it lightly. Her body was feeling it; exhaustion amplified the ache in every strained muscle and bruise. Even the slightest light stung her eyes like needles, and her mouth was sour with the taste of blood and burned adrenaline. Stress, lack of sleep, and squinting through her magnifying goggles for the past two hours at the delicate workings of Chica’s foot had joined together into a hammering headache that threatened at any moment to split her head wide open and tear her entire body in half right down to the ground. Also, she was thirsty, so before she did anything else, she went to the tray return window where she’d left her thermos full of Red Bull and vodka.

She only meant to have a sip, just to rinse her mouth out and wake up a little. She meant that right up until she put the thermos down again, empty. That was probably going to hit her pretty hard in a very short span of time, she thought, but it seemed the Red Bull hit first. Her mind felt clear as she approached the gymnasium where Freddy kept watch, clear right up until she opened the door and saw Toy Freddy instead, slumped in the far corner, staring back at her accusingly with the eyeless sockets in his broken head.

She blinked and it was Freddy, just Freddy, not looking at her at all, but down at the hat in his hands.

‘I’m tired,’ she told herself, ‘and probably a little buzzed. Just get this over with, get something to eat and go to bed.’

The camera on the wall switched on. With the autumn sun streaming in through the ceiling and south-facing wall, its light went unnoticed, but Freddy’s ears twitched at the high-pitched whine as it panned around, looking at him, looking for her.

“You okay, big bear?” Ana asked.

“It was a difficult night.” He glanced out the window. “And it’s turned into a difficult day. You?”

“Same. But I’m still standing,” she said without thinking, and winced.

Freddy grunted. “Well, that puts you over me,” he said, then paused. The exposed mechanisms where his muzzle used to be shifted; if he had a face, he’d be smiling. “One might even say, head and shoulders over me.”

“You just had to go there.”

“Force of habit. Come in, Ana.” He pulled in a little air, vented it hard, and put his hat on. “Let’s hear the bad news.”

“It’s not that bad,” said Ana, heading over.

“It’s not that good,” he countered archly, “or you wouldn’t have waited this long before coming to see me. Not to mention hosting shouting matches with everyone under this roof first.”

“Not everyone,” argued Ana. “Just Foxy.”

“Ah. Well. That’s understandable, then.” He watched her approach, displaying some curiosity at the leg she carried, although it didn’t hold his interest long. His gaze wandered over her, lingering anywhere her makeup had thinned or been carelessly rubbed away.

Before he could say anything about the bruises she was surely showing, Ana said, “Freddy, you’re in pieces. Let’s not talk about me, okay?”

He had to think about it before he nodded, and the set of his ears made it clear that the talk was only postponed, not cancelled.

Serial Saturday Update

So you all remember two weeks ago when I said I was considering a surgery and that I expected the hospital to fit me in some time next spring? Yeah, about that. I went ahead and got the ball rolling on my end, and as soon as my paperwork was turned in, I got a call telling me my surgery was scheduled for the beginning of November, which sharp-eyed readers may recognize as being WAY earlier than next spring. However, after some token second-guessing, I’ve decided that’s actually a pretty good timespan. Enough time for me to plan out a route and pack a bag, not enough time to really freak out about it, plus it’s not going to interfere with my Halloween plans.

What does this mean to you? Nothing, hopefully. Just that the month of November may be a bit sketchy as far as regular uploads go while I’m on the road and/or in recovery. Also, just the last time I had surgery, we’re planning a road trip instead of a flight, because its easier to stop a car to take your picture with the World’s Largest Prairie Dog than it is to stop the plane, even if you ask really really nicely.

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It’s a good thing I actually got my picture taken with this guy when I did, because it’s closed now.

 

So as you can imagine, I’ve acquired a road map–yes, an actual analog road map–and have been happily marking off stopping points along the way, and some that are not so along the way. My sister, who will be driving, is no doubt expecting us to see historic landmarks and splendid scenery, and I mean, sure, if we have time, we can squeeze some of that in between seeing the Jackalope Museum or the Statue of Liberty some hippie made out of old pop bottles, because I am the kind of tourist that weird roadside attractions are made for.

Between now and then, I’m going to try really hard to make sure my fortnightly uploads continue as scheduled, so to that end, there is a new chapter of my FNAF fanfic, Everything Is All Right, Part IV: New Faces, Old Bones up on archiveofourown.org and fanfiction.net, so if you’re reading along, hop on over and enjoy! I know last week’s chapter was pretty short, but this week’s chapter should more than make up for it. This book is working up to going on a road trip of its own, appropriately enough. It’s weird how my life mirrors my books at times. I trust my homecoming will be happier than Ana’s. FORESHADOWING!

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Her eyes blurred, turning the parts she’d nearly died for—and killed for—into a hulking, shadowy blob. “I don’t even know what half this stuff is yet. I’m sorry. I was supposed to sort it out. What am I doing here? I’m not ready for this. I need shelves, I need storage, I need—”

“Hey.” Bonnie touched her arm, then took her hand when she tried to pull away from him. His grip was too tight, a symptom of his failing sensors, but the pain helped her scattering thoughts come together and focus again on him.

His eyes were green. They’d always been purple in Aunt Easter’s tapes from Circle Drive, but Ana had made them green, like Blue’s eyes had been. Of all the fake New Faces she’d had to pick from, she’d dug the green eyes out of Brewster’s head. Was that a coincidence? Or had there been a tape from Mulholland after all? Had her first memories of Bonnie been the Toy model? Had she sung with him? Maybe danced with David in front of the TV to the Yum-Yum Song while Aunt Easter and Erik Metzger snuggled together on the sofa? And would she ever be able to look him in these green eyes again and not see Blue?

“Hey, you had other shit to deal with first,” Bonnie was telling her, only half-heard. “We understand.”

“Don’t,” she said hoarsely. “Don’t tell me it’s okay.”

“I won’t. It’s not. But…” His ears lowered. One shoulder shivered, either rolling out a small shrug or just broadcasting some internal error in his failing system. “…it’s better than it was. Sometimes that’s all you get. And sometimes, you know…that’s enough.”

“Sometimes it isn’t.”

“Yeah, I know.” He released his painful grip on her hand to gently touch her cheek, tucking some errant strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve had a lot of those moments. I know them when I see them. And this? This isn’t one of them. It’s not okay,” he said again, with an emphasis that oddly comforted her. “But it will be, baby. And we’ll have you to thank when it happens.”

She hugged him. She didn’t mean to. She knew she shouldn’t. She hugged him anyway, so close that it hurt. The heat of his battery burned through his rigid casing, but she pressed her cheek to his chest anyway and held on like he was the only thing keeping her afloat in a bottomless, invisible sea.

Serial Saturday and Other Updates

As anyone familiar with my blog no doubt already knows, I don’t like talking about myself, so you’ll have to forgive me for addressing an elephant in the room that you may not have known was present. Without getting into details, let me just say that my health is not great and lately, I’ve been asked to consider another surgery that will hopefully improve my quality of life. I’m not terrifically enthusiastic about doing this, so to sweeten the deal, it has also been suggested that I may have some reconstructive work done on my knee at the same time. So while I haven’t said yes yet, I am considering it. When and if it happens, my ability to work may be…heh…somewhat impaired by things like travel and pain and painkillers and all that jazz, so just be aware that I may go quiet. I’ll try not to let that happen with no warning at all, but ya know, when the Magical Morphine Bison appears and I take him by the horn, I do not think about things like blogging or publishing…or anything, really.

Now I realize how cryptic and ominous this might sound and I apologize for that. I want to stress that I am not THAT bad. I’m bad enough that the prospect of reconstructive knee surgery is a deal-sweetener, but not so bad that anyone needs to worry about me. It’s just that communication is not really my thing and I know I’ve scared a lot of people in the past when I go quiet for months on end for no reason, and I thought to myself, ‘Self,’ I thought, ‘I actually have a reason this time and I should let them know. Just in case.’ So consider yourselves warned. At some point next year, not sure when, something may or may not happen that may or may not influence my blogging/publishing/writing schedule and you may or may not notice, and I don’t want you to worry about that.

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See? Don’t we all feel reassured?

Okay, so back to the usual business.

I have just posted another chapter on my FNAF fanfic, Everything Is All Right, Part IV: New Faces, Old Bones. It’s a little on the short side this fortnight, owing to things like serious medical discussions and also the new Dark Crystal series on Netflix which is freaking AWESOME and you should all be watching that instead of reading my fanfic, but I digress. It’s a little short this week, but only because it was originally almost thirty pages long and I had to cut it not-quite-in-half to make it a reasonable length. Ain’t nobody got time for 30 page chapters on a fanfic site. Most fanfics consider that ‘novel-length’.

So if you’re reading along, head on over to archiveofourown.org or fanfiction.net to check it out. Or hop onto Netflix and watch The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance. Or if you have any other recommendations for how to spend a weekend, leave them in the comment section below! I’m always open to new experiences (which is how I got into the career of writing smutbooks about alien lizards and bugs and centaurs in the first place).

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As Halloweens went, it was one of the quietest, but as Bonnie stood in the store room contemplating the vast difference between a quiet night and a good one, a truck rolled up to the loading dock and parked.

Not Ana’s truck. A big one, with a big, rumbly engine that put Bonnie in mind of the delivery trucks that used to bring pizza and party stuff. Bonnie knew the teenage set pretty damn well for a guy who never left the house, and there were few enough of them with their own rides that he felt confident saying he knew them all; this engine belonged to nobody he knew. It was no mistake that it was here, at this hour, on this night, but if it wasn’t some kid playing Halloween pranks, it was a serious person doing serious work.

Bonnie cautiously put his ear to the door, straining to hear through it for some clue as to what fresh slice of hellcake this was, but all he heard was Foxy’s clanking feet running up the back hall from the employee’s lounge. Sword in hand, ready to be the hero if this unknown enemy got in, while Bonnie stood off on the sidelines with both thumbs up his metaphorical butt.

“Who is it?” Foxy growled.

“How the hell should I know?” Bonnie whispered back irritably. “Shut up. I can’t hear if you jabber at me.”

“Three words ain’t hardly jabbering, ye gob-faced picaroon.”

“Pic-a-what? Do you even know what that you’re saying half the time? There’s no way that’s a real word.”

Serial Saturday Update

Okay, I admit it. I completely forgot this was upload night, and I have already taken my night meds, so I need to quickly make this post while I can still be coherant, because when these puppies kick in, they kick in HARD. Think Raven in Chapter Eleven, only without the sexy alien, slightly less biting and a lot more drooling. So it’s going to be a short post where I just say that the next chapter of Everything Is All Right, Part IV: New Faces, Old Bones is up at fanfiction.net and archiveofourown.org and call it a night.

 

…well, okay, that really is too short for a post, but I’m rapidly losing my ability to word, much less type. (For real, you have no idea how long this is taking or how many times I have to go back and correct my spelling.)  So, um…okay, here’s a painting I painted!

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Co-painted, I should say. The friend I went to visit a few weeks ago poured the background and I only painted the figure.

 

There. That’s a little better. It’s still too short for a blog post but my eyes are literally not focusing anymore and I still have to climb stairs, so I’m done for tonight. See you in two weeks and I’ll try to be a little more together (no promises).

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There were more parts in the basement of Mulholland Drive than sturdy plastic bags to put them in, so they had to get creative in their packing. Before long, they’d exhausted their options until Blue was filling the drawers from the kitchen cabinets while Ana rolled parts up in the Purple Man’s post-murder bath towels. When those were gone, Blue loaded the Puppet’s prop gift box from the prize corner into the truck and the two of them carried parts up in old mop buckets and just dumped them in. It made for a lot more trips, which gave Ana plenty of time to fail at thinking up an escape plan.

And then it happened. She found a part—a tiny hinged connector plate, perfect for repairing the real Bonnie’s pinkie finger—and couldn’t find any more.

“Is that it?” asked Blue from across the room, where he’d been leaning against the wall with his arms folded and ears at a relaxed forward angle, watching her check under cabinets and behind shelves.

“Yeah.” Ana dropped the part into her bucket with an unimportant plink. It should sound heavier, she thought. Final. Like the slamming of a cell door. Because she had no way out.

“You sure we want to leave his collection?” he asked. “We’ve got a little more room in the truck.”

“We still have to get the generator and stuff in there,” said Ana.

“So we’ll only take his favorites. I know which ones they are. Come on, admit it,” he said, grinning. “You’re just a little squeamish about having to touch them.”

Preoccupied as she was, that struck a nerve. “Fuck you, I’ve carried heads around when they were fresh enough to blink.”

“Suit yourself, sweetpea, but don’t be surprised when he sends us right back here to get them, and if you don’t think he will, you don’t know him like you think you do.” He picked up his mop bucket with the handful of parts he had gathered before rightfully concluding she was only stalling and letting her hunt out the rest of them without him. He beckoned her over, poured the contents of his bucket into hers, then tossed his empty over his shoulder and took hers, saying, “Let me get that for you.”

“Hey!” Ana grabbed for the handle with irrational possessiveness, but naturally failed to wrench it out of his easy grip. “What the hell, man? You saw me carry this thing up the stairs a dozen times when it was full! Now suddenly, you don’t think I can handle it by myself?”

“I’m sure you can,” he drawled. “But you see, when it was full, it was heavy enough that you could barely lug it around and I didn’t have to worry about you swinging it at me in a poorly thought-out bid for escape. Don’t get huffy at me,” he added as she did just that. “I’ve seen a lot of dumb ideas shining in your pretty eyes tonight. It’s not going to ruin my good time if I’ve got to rough you up a bit, but it’ll sure ruin yours, so I thought I’d be a nice guy and remove the temptation before you do something stupid. You’re welcome.”

She glared at him for a moment more, then let go of the bucket. “Thanks,” she muttered.

“Speaking of having a great night,” he said, leading her toward the door. “Guess what time it is!”

“Time to rock?”

He laughed and waggled his ears. “In a manner of speaking.”

Serial Saturday and Home Again

I cannot believe how fast the last two weeks flew by. Those of you who remember that I was about to take a trip to see a close family friend the last time I posted will be pleased to hear that I had just the best time. My friend is an amazing person and among her many gifts, she understands that I am a dedicated introvert with some health issues and she let me do absolutely NOTHING while I stayed with her.

Well, okay, that’s not strictly true. She showed me how to do paint pours, which was awfully fun, and then she went and gave me a HUGE stack of her past pours so that I could use them as backgrounds for my paintings. They are so beautiful just as they are that I’m a little afraid to ruin them with my extremely amateur attempts. Apart from that, I was content to just hang out, watch a little TV, eat her amazing cooking, and play with her dog for two weeks. And it was awesome.

But no matter how great the vacation is, it feels amazing to be home again, where my family, my dog, a stack of mail and two weeks’ worth of laundry were all waiting to greet me. Naturally, I wasted no time in going to sleep. Happiness, thy name is  Mine Own Bed. But I’m awake now and although the temptation to do nothing all day again was strong, I resisted and did boring responsible adult things, beginning with the laundry and ending with uploading my newest chapter of my FNAF fanfic, Everything Is All Right, Part IV: New Faces, Old Bones. You can find it over at fanfiction.net or archiveofourown.org and yes, I even have a snippet.

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Foxy lay on his back in his bunk, walking a doubloon across his knuckles in the dark. Tik-tik-tak, flick of the wrist, flip of the coin, do it again. Twenty times a minute, sixty minutes in an hour, five hours and counting since Ana left. Tik-tik-tak…

He supposed he should be worried about her. He wasn’t. He didn’t know where she was, but he could guess what she was doing. The old man was dead and his house had been emptied, but emptied where? That was the question. Foxy had only the murkiest notion of money’s value, but he knew their creator had been wealthy, and that he was himself likely worth a pretty penny, however much like scrapyard trash he looked these days. Whatever had been taken out of the old man’s workshop, in whatever condition it had been, must have been moved on for storage and study, and someone in this town had either done the buying, the selling or the moving. Ana had gone out earlier with her sleepytime cupcakes, and while that hadn’t seemed to be a wholly successful venture, she’d gone out again with fire in her eye and her Scoop in her truck, so it would seem she had some idea of where to go. If the old man’s odds and ends were anywhere in the world, Foxy had no doubt Ana would find them. Whether she could dig them out and hie away with them without getting caught was another story altogether, but Ana had a lot of brass and with a little luck to polish it up, she stood a decent chance. No, Foxy wasn’t worried.

He was pissed.

He had no right to be. The emaciated shade of what in other men might be called his sensible side reminded him that he’d told her with his own mouth that nothing had to change. She’d been snuggling up on Bon from Day One and if she’d been a bit more reserved in her manner since the so-called split, the fact remained that she’d never really, truly and forever-finally walked away from him.

Fine. He’d never ask her to. But did she have to go falling into Bonnie’s arms left and bloody right? Kissing on him. Hugging on him. Dancing through the bloody dining room, laughing like a pair of gits, with paint splattered all up in her hair like strings of pearls and her eyes like bloody jewels shining!

Tik-tik-tak…Tik-tik-tak…

He wasn’t jealous. Foxy didn’t have a jealous bone in his body. Didn’t have any bones, but if he had, not a one of them would be the jealous sort. ‘Do what ye please,’ was part of the Pirate’s Code, and ‘Do who ye please,’ was probably somewhere in the fine print. She wasn’t doing anything sweatier than hand-holding anyhow. What did he care if Bonnie serenaded her to one of his old babby-songs? If that was what the long-eared idiot considered high-romance, Foxy had nothing to worry about.

He wasn’t worried.

Tik-tik-tak…Tik-tik-tak…

Still, a man was allowed to be at least a little territorial about the bit of biscuit he was nibbling, wasn’t he? How many times had Bonnie come at him for taking what he considered liberties with ‘his’ girl? And that before Foxy had ever liberated anything. Well, Foxy had liberated Ana every night for nearly two months and apparently, that didn’t even earn him the license to tell Bon to back his big purple ass up when Ana walked by.

Serial Saturday Updates and Road Trip Looms

So, it’s been a mixed bag here at the Smomestead. We had a thunderstorm last night, which woke me out of a sound sleep (something that’s been increasingly rare lately) and into a mild panic attack, because despite the fact that I’ve lived in the Midwest for over a decade now, I have never gotten used to the weather out here. But it was just a little thunder and lightning, which as my man Pajama Sam could attest, is nothing to be scared of. Rain makes the grass grow and the flowers bloom, which brings out the frogs and butterflies, and all kinds of natural beauty. However, it also makes the yard wet, and when I was taking Dobby on her morning constitutional and marveling at the aforementioned rain-brung beauty of nature, I slipped and gave my stupid knee another wrench. Damn thing hadn’t fully healed since the last time I took a fall.

It’s official. I am old. I got the dud knee and everything. Time to get a cane so I have something to lean on while I’m shaking my fist at clouds.

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I’m eyeing this one. If I can’t be young forever, I want to be the most scandalous resident of the Old Folks’ Home. I wonder if I can get it with a secret sword compartment…or a wand!

 

The bad news is, my knee hurts like a whole handful of quarters in the swear jar. The good news is, I won’t have too much trouble staying off it, because in four days, I will be hundreds of miles away, visiting a friend who also has a bad knee, and whose idea of a great visit is hanging around the house with your feet up, drinking sweet tea and cuddling the dog and occasionally taking naps. And no, this is not more proof that I am old now. I’m just a huge introvert and this has been my idea of a perfect visit since my first and only sleepover when I was twelve, when all the other kids wanted to go to the roller rink and have pizza and be surrounded by loud music and bright lights and total strangers literally on wheels and whooshing by you on every side, and I spent the whole night in the bathroom looking at myself in the mirror and trying to convince myself that I was freaking out over nothing because everyone thought I was cool, which might have been true at the start of the sleepover, but by the end of it, they all thought you had digestive issues and no one ever invited you anywhere again.

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Trust me, this is only a sad story to you, because you have a normal perspective. For me, still a huge relief.

But I digress.

I should be back before the next upload, and I’m taking my laptop anyway, so it’s a total non-issue. If I didn’t mention I was leaving, ya’ll wouldn’t even know I was going anywhere. Not sure why I brought it up at all, come to think of it. Old folks like me tend to ramble, I guess. But in the meantime, I have the new chapter of my fanfic up on fanfiction.net and archiveofourown.org, so if you’re reading along, head on over and see what shenanigans Ana’s getting up to…

 

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Deep under the Toybox, Ana walked, following Blue down the long basement hall. How long? Long enough to mentally replay the night’s events and highlight a few bad decisions, but not long enough to think of what she could have done differently or come up with any kind of plan for how to get out of this pizzeria alive.

She had been in a lot of grim situations in her time. She had fought tall odds. She had seen the light of murder burn in someone’s eyes and she had seen the light of life leave them. She had been knocked down and got up, been beaten unconscious and woke up, been drowned and swam to shore, had her life in another’s fist a hundred times and always walked away.

This was different.

Blue never once checked to see if she was following him. He whistled as he walked. Everybunny Needs Somebunny. Ana, who should be thinking of nothing but how in the hell to get out of here, wondered if he used to dance with Toy Chica to that song, the way Bonnie had danced with her. Just a few hours ago, she’d been laughing, unaware that death was imminent. She wasn’t supposed to die tonight. How could she die tonight? Her shirt said Soylent Green. Good People make Good Food. That was a great shirt for a mugshot, but a stupid shirt for her body to be found in. She never would have worn this shirt if she’d known she was going to die tonight.

The hall couldn’t go on forever. Blue reached the door, opened it, switched on the lights, then stood aside to let her enter ahead of him.

Her first impression was one of size, even though the area she walked into was little bigger than a bedroom…a comparison that suggested itself no doubt because of the narrow bed in the center. It did not stand on the floor but hung on chains suspended from the ceiling at a height that made climbing on or off for resting awkward, but was perfect for bending someone over, with restraints to make sure they stayed where you put them. There were no pillows or blankets, but there were sheets, rumpled and stained by more than just time. Nearby, she saw a spacious shower and a small rack of spare clothes. Purple towel hanging over the shower door. Purple uniforms neatly folded on the rack.

The next thing she saw was the animatronic heads. No other empty casings—no arms, no legs, no tails, not even extra ears or noses for when little hands invariably pulled them off. Just the heads. Freddy, Bonnie, Chica and Foxy, both old models and Toy models, even a few Foxannes. Dozens of them, lined up cheek to cheek on ceiling-mounted sliding shelves, several layers’ worth, dividing this room with a wall of empty, eyeless stares.

Serial Saturday Updates and Other Adventures

You know what they say about adventures, don’t you? They make you late for dinner.  At the time of this writing, it is 10 pm on a Friday night and I only just put dinner on the stove. Been a big day here at the Smomestead. Granted, my idea of a big day has changed a lot in the last ten years or so. Actually, now that I think about it, my idea of a big day hasn’t changed as much as regressed, because all the things that I now consider an ‘exciting day out’ are essentially the same things that were exciting to me when I was, like, eight or ten years old: I went grocery shopping and got an ice cream treat to enjoy on the hot ride home.  After I got home, I had a little lunch (See, Mom! It doesn’t either ruin my appetite!) and baked cookies (as part of my healthy meal prepping routine for the week, which is incredibly adult of me). And after all that, just like when I was a kid, I am completely wiped out. I probably wouldn’t have bothered fixing dinner at all, except that I had to get those cookies baked, which I had to do today because I had to bake a loaf of bread anyway, which I had to do because this morning, when I was young and full of optimism, I pulled out Breadicca, my sourdough starter, and began the ritual that would transform her into bread.

She looks gorgeous, by the way. Yeah, I may not be one of those people who posts pictures of my freshly-baked bread on my blog (yet), but I’m definitely one of those people who unironically admires my loaf and wants to brag about it.

I realize this isn’t much of an adventure, but it’s quite enough for me. Used to be I dreamed of burglaring dragon hoards and fighting giant spiders. Now I dream of sitting around my cozy living room, eating cake and working on my book. The spirit is willing, as they say, but the flesh is spongy and bruised.

Anyway, enough complaining and/or humblebragging on my bread. I know I left the last chapter of my FNAF fanfic, Everything Is All Right: New Faces, Old Bones, on something of a cliffhanger, so those who have been on tenderhooks for the last few days will be happy to know there’s a new chapter. You can head on over to fanfiction.net or archiveofourown.org to check it out and decide for yourself whether things are getting better or worse.

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She was caught. She was as good as dead. It may be over, but she’d be damned if she’d grovel for him.

Blue waited, ears twitching, and finally laughed. He released her shirt, tugging it straight and brushing off shards of glass she’d picked up in her ignoble scramble across the floor. Then he took her by the throat, not crushing, not even choking, but only making sure she felt the terrible, unbreakable strength in that easy grip.

Ana didn’t flinch, but he’d startled her and without thinking, she did something even worse: She hiked her knee into his groin.

He did back off, but only to look down between his legs with an expression of astonishment that became a hearty gust of laughter. He actually slapped his thigh with the hand that was not squeezing the life out of her. “What in the chicken-fried hell was that supposed to accomplish?” he asked, still laughing.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, more embarrassed than dismayed at his reaction.

“You’re a little tense. I get it. You hurt yourself?” he asked sympathetically.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. Well, that’s what you get for kicking and you’re lucky that’s all you get. I could snap that drumstick off and eat it if I wanted to, and next time you do something silly, I just might. I know you read the rules, I saw you do it, but let me remind you that if you don’t play nice with the Toys—” His muzzle split, showing her all his teeth. “—we don’t play nice with you. So…what do we say?”

“I’m sorry,” she rasped.

He nodded, still smiling. “And?”

“And what?” Ana’s stomach tightened. She lifted her chin, determined not to let her apprehension show, and said, “What do you want me to do, kiss it better?”

His ears snapped up. He let out a startled whoop, followed by another gust of laughter. “No! God, no! I want you to hold still! Jeez, lady, have some self-control! I don’t even know your name!” He paused pointedly, then added, “And if I don’t hear that name in the next three seconds—”

“Trinity,” she said, the first name beside her own to come to mind. It had been her stage name back at the steakhouse where she used to dance. Looking back, she didn’t know why she hadn’t just told him her actual name, except that some primal trapped-animal instinct did not want this predator to get any more of her than he already had.

One of Blue’s plastic eyebrows rose while the other slowly lowered. “Okay, technically, that’s an answer, but are you sure this is how you want to start? With a lie?”

“It’s the truth.”

He tsked, but didn’t push it. “You got a last name?”

“Bell.”

“Trinity Bell,” he repeated scornfully. “That sounds like a stripper name.”

“Tell that to my mother.”

“Maybe I will. What’s her name?”

The question was so unexpected that she nearly blurted out the truth, only to catch herself, and then silently curse because now her hesitation was screaming up the silence. “Mary,” she said, too late.

“Mary,” he drawled, stretching out the word to underline just how much sarcasm he could fit into four little letters. “See, now I’m torn. There are times when a little white lie between friends is okay, but we are not friends and this is not one of those times. When a stranger introduces herself with a fake name—and such a bad fake name to boot!—well, that tells me I will never be able to trust one word that person says, so there’s no reason to continue a conversation, is there? I should just kill you now. But on the other hand…”

He showed her Bonnie’s hand, fingers splayed wide, big enough to cover her entire face at once and just, oh, just crush it. He saw these thoughts in her eyes. His muzzle split, broadening his smile.

“On the other hand,” he said again, using that hand to smooth back the loose hairs framing her face. “I’ve been down here a long time with nothing to do except imagine what I’d do if I wasn’t alone.

Serial Saturday Updates

So I’m sick again, which is awesome. Not sure what I’ve got, except that it comes with aching muscles and joints, a fever and all the fun swimmy vertigo that comes with fevers, and a sore throat and swollen tonsils. Needless to say, not a lot of writing got done this week. I tried. I really did. One day, I swear I wrote for eight hours straight and was actually feeling pretty good about myself until I scrolled back to get a word count and realized I had not even written one entire page. Most of a page, but not quite. Eight hours. I don’t…even know how that can happen. Also, when I tried to read the not-quite-a-full-page I had written the next day, I discovered it was gibberish. Not just a rough draft, or even a bad rough draft, but complete word salad. Some of my character’s names were in there and they did things like talk and move around, but it was…it was almost like botnik had tried to write a page for me. I’ll be honest with ya’ll, I’m not 100% sure I’m writing this legibly right now. I’m taking it on faith that the chapter I’m uploading tonight is in readable condition, since I wrote and edited it before I got sick. I tried to go over it and make sure, but I couldn’t make anything make enough sense long enough to be sure. You’ll have to let me know how I did. In the meantime, I think I’ll just drag myself to bed and sleep until thorns cover the house and the local fairies start sending random princes in to sexually harass me.

But you know the drill by now! You can find the new chapter of Everything Is All Right, Part IV: New Faces, Old Bones over at fanfiction.net or archiveofourown.org! Hope you’re all healthy and happy out there, and to all my American friends, hope you had a fun and safe Fourth of July!

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After all the suck that had already been packed into the day, Ana finally got a little bit of the good kind of luck. On only her third call, she found someone who had what she needed and would meet with her at eight o’clock on a Saturday night in the Walmart parking lot in Hurricane. He sounded understandably wary about the whole arrangement, although the prospect of cash in hand softened him up some, especially since she didn’t try to dicker him down on the price, and she bluntly told him she’d meet him in front of the police station if he’d rather have a big cash exchange there. He agreed that probably wouldn’t be smart and said he’d see her soon.

Eight o’clock. Ana checked her watch. Plenty of time.

She had been making her calls while walking up Faust’s long driveway, so it wasn’t more than fifteen minutes after arranging the meeting that she arrived at the glass house. More good luck: no cars parked out front, no lights in any of the hundred windows. Ana let herself in and went immediately to the office in the back wing, opening the secret door and then the safe. She took a couple bank-wrapped bundles of hundred-dollar bills and, after a moment wrestling with her bruised conscience, a couple more. Depending on how tonight went, she could either use it to pay Rider back for bail and a lawyer, or apply it to the renovations at Freddy’s. She wasn’t stealing it for herself, so it wasn’t really stealing, except in the legal sense of the word.

Ana closed the safe, closed the secret panel, headed for the door, and was about halfway there when the light snapped on in the hall outside.

For one split-second frozen perfectly in time, Ana looked through the wide-open doorway and down the long hall to Chad at the other end, who was standing with one hand still on the light switch as he faced away into another room, impatiently saying, “It’s back here. Come on, man, this isn’t a sightseeing tour!”

Before he’d finished speaking, Ana had bolted into the shadows, buying herself a few more seconds. Her options were brutally few. If she opened the window, she’d set the alarm off. She had to hide, here, in Faust’s minimalist office. No closet, no cabinet, no handy human-sized trunk. Not even curtains. It was either dive under the desk or behind the door and Chad was already coming, so she picked one, leaping into the little space behind the door right before it swung open, trapping her behind it. All he had to do was shut the door behind him and turn around…but he didn’t.

She stood silent, barely breathing, staring into the paneled inset of the heavy door as Chad turned on the lights and went over to the desk. Someone else was with him.