Back Home and Back On Track
I’m going to make this a short one because we literally just got back today after a two-week trip and even though I know all you faithful readers deserve more from me, I’m friggin exhausted. I just want to eat this pizza, drink this Fireball, and fall face-first into my own bed with my dog under one arm and my life-size Predator body pillow under the other.
But first, I have updated my FNAF fanfic, Everything Is All Right, Part IV: New Faces, Old Bones, because as much as I wanted to pretend I forgot, you guys have waited long enough. In fact, I want to take a moment here to thank each and every one of you for your continued encouragement and support. I’ve received quite a lot of private messages regarding the, ah, sporadic nature of uploads lately, but not one of them has been a complaint. NOT ONE. Without exception, every single reader to reach out to me has expressed only concern that I’m not feeling well and urged me to take all the time I needed, and you really have no idea what that means to me. There’s a reason I like to write without deadlines and it’s because I tend to stress about deadlines, and when I have stress, I tend to BECOME stress, like a living incarnation of anxiety and irrational expectations that invariably overload my fragile system and I blue-screen and shut down. Not conducive to the writing process.
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Actually, ironically, writing has for years been my primary means of controlling my stress levels. Escapism may not be the most emotionally healthy way to deal with anxiety, but I figure it’s not the worst either. As an added bonus, instead of paying someone else for therapy, I’m getting paid. It’s kind of a win-win situation. However, up until EIAR, I was writing, THEN publishing. These days, I’m writing WHILE publishing, and that, my friends, is an entirely different thing. I raise my glass to all authors who do this every day and think I’m the world’s biggest wuss. I agree. I am. I own that. And as sad as I will be when this series is over and done with, I will be de-friggin-lighted to be back to writing out the whole book, cover to cover, and taking some time to put some polish on it before I have to even think about publication.
Anyhoo, this whiskey ain’t drinking itself, so without further ado, let’s get to the snippet! If you like what you read, you can find the rest of the latest chapter on archiveofourown.org and fanfiction.net, so whichever your fanfic-reading preference is, it’s there. Goodnight!
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The next day was no longer than any other day. Even if Foxy didn’t have an internal clock he could watch, he had the restaurant’s rhythms, heartlessly counting out time one joke, one song, one crowish laughing caw at a time. Nevertheless, after years…decades…damn near half a bloody century of waiting, that was the longest day Foxy had ever had to wait out.
Night came eventually. Ana never did.
Well, it was a Thursday. No reason to think she would. But along about midnight, Foxy did receive a visitor.
He recognized the footsteps when they limped into the Cove from the West Hall. He had been expecting them and long before now, if it came to that. Still he waited, listening to the silence on the other side of the curtain, until at last:
“You there?” Bonnie asked.
“Aye. Come to ask me to the movies?”
“I’m not here to pick a fight,” said Bonnie through just a tickle of static, “but I’m not in the mood to joke around.”
“What do ye want then?”
Silence.
“I don’t know.” A wheeze of vented air. Bonnie’s footsteps limped a little closer, descended a few stairs. Boards creaked as he took a seat on one of the benches in the amphitheater. “She’s not here, if you care.”
Foxy found a clearish space on his stomach and started scratching.
“She’s always here by now, if she’s coming, so…she’s not coming.”
“So what do ye want me to do about it? If you’re worried about her, have Fred give her a call,” Foxy said neutrally.
“He tried. She left her phone in her room.” A pause. “She left her bag, too.”
“Did she now?”
“She left her boots.” Static swelled and died back. “Freddy told me what you guys were talking about that night, but…was there anything you didn’t tell him that I should maybe know?”
Foxy looked sharply around, even if all he could see was the back of the purple curtain that closed off the stage. “Like what?”
“Like…I don’t know. Something. This isn’t like her,” Bonnie said in a heated rush. “She never goes anywhere without that bag. She takes it to work, she takes it to the store…sometimes she takes it just to go out on the dock and smoke. Something’s wrong.”
“Ye know her better than anyone, mate. Ye know how she’s like. She gets spooked, she runs. She’ll come back when she’s ready.”
“This shouldn’t have spooked her this bad.”
“What?” Foxy drawled, narrowing his eyes at the curtain. “Having to listen to me clumsy questions about her cousin, having to admit he were molested by the aunt she all but worshipped, having to accept that he had another family now and she weren’t welcome to be part of it, and all on her birthday? Which part o’ that was she supposed to handle with poise and grace, mate?”
“I didn’t think of it like that,” Bonnie said after a moment. “Sorry, I’m…I’m just worried about her. And I know you’re rolling your eyes at me. I know she can take care of herself. It’s just…even if we’re not…you know, together anymore, I still care.”
Foxy’s ears flattened, but if there was anger behind it, it wasn’t directed at Bonnie. “I know,” he said and cut a little deeper.
