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*places a box full of homemade cookies and tea assortment on his desk and fades away*

“ . . . ”

—at the moment, he's a little more concerned about the . . . entity fading into nonexistence. (We use “a little” here, as it's—at this point—hardly the strangest thing he's seen.)

But he'll cautiously enjoy the treats later.

Maybe only after he's had a certain coworker of his taste-test them first.

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Got told to post this. Based on the glitch where if you don't pick the cake up immediately it gets stuck on your screen.

@coquette-baguette

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i thought i already made a post about this but either i dreamed it or i can't find it or i just assumed it's a no-brainer and decided against bothering with it but

wally's pain tolerance is insane after what he's been through

for the most part, one might say that's a good thing, but what it really means is that he tends to not even fully perceive when he's injured anymore

part of it's just the body being in shock, ofc but the majority of it is honestly just being so used to the feeling that it's almost . . . normal ???

he'll be the last to notice his own injuries ( /・・)ノ

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character whose villain origin story is having a job

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a birdcage

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"You have the moral backbone of a chocolate eclair." [ a wild Antag appears! ]

@ghoststellar || but is he wrong tho

Strange.

Not many years ago, people might've just said he had the backbone of a chocolate eclair, morality having damn little to do with it. Wally, in that moment, can't honestly decide which is worse . . . but the fact that he doesn't flinch here, that he merely turns to the man sharing his face with little more than annoyance might prove what he refuses to acknowledge: maybe it is better than being a complete and utter pushover.

“This coming from the guy who has the moral backbone of a wet noodle . . . ?” he contests, a peeved stitch forming in his brow (and an expression typically reserved for a certain tall, dumb coworker of his). Then, emitting a sigh that grates out coarsely—almost some semblance of a growl at that point—he averts his gaze. (Is it shamefully . . . ? Hell if he knows.) “I-I don't recall asking for your opinion, besides.”

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He let out the breath he’d been holding. It skated through his clenched jaw on some amalgamation of scoff and grumble, working as a stand-in for what would’ve been the roll of his eyes. Some foreign energy continued to jitter under his skin the more that voice grated on him, and like he’d downed multiple pots of coffee, Wally felt the energy as a faint tremor in his fingertips. He balled his fists—loose, but enough to veil the shake—while his gaze pivoted from the other man, momentarily distracted by the liquor cabinet mere paces away.

Now, isn’t that nice, Wally thought, furrowing his brow. He drinks on the job, too.(If this could even be called a “job.”)

Distantly, he absorbed his coworker’s explanation of “weeding out the weak,” bitterly humored at the idea of himself not being in that category. After all, what exactly constituted someone “weak” in a place like this? He’d . . . technically died. Not once. Not twice. Several times. Or, fuck, it sure felt like it, as verifiably insane as that sounded. Was he “strong” for being so unperturbed by it—?

Or just officially out of his mind?

You need to take a deep breath, Wallace. None of this is real. God, shut up. None of this matters.

“Thinking too hard doesn’t typically hurt me,” Wally eventually supplied, blinking out of a trance to look at Clayton . . . or Chase. Or whoever again. “But thanks for your concern.” When a hand came flying out at him for a supposedly friendly shake, he regretted that he flinched. But he stared at it for a second, back up to the wide grin on the other’s face. Despite his animosity toward that placating voice at the back of his head, Wally did take a deep breath, then. And he shook his hand.

His head tilted somewhat, cocking to the side like he was listening for something. “‘Enjoyed’ is . . . a strong word. That’s a typical day here—?” When he noticed he hadn’t yet pulled back from the handshake, he swiftly cleared his throat, tucked his fingers to himself with an averted glance. His next words came in a begrudging mumble, “This has got to be some kind of purgatory.” But he quirked a brow then, peering back. “Exactly how long have you been here?”

Calm as this newbie was keeping so far, Ken could read the lines of irritation scrunching his brow and crinkling his eyes. The sight only inflated his cocksure grin. Something about the other's expression made him think of an angry, water-logged cat about to claw the face off of whoever doused it. Awh, do you wanna stab me again, little guy?

"Sure am!" Or, he might as well be at this point. He was as close to Norm as anyone had ever managed, as far as he knew. Although, this one had performed fairly well in his interview. Under the guise of a lilting, uninterested gaze, Ken cast a critical eye over the other. May be worth keeping an eye on, if he lasted. "He likes to put all you newbies through the wringer personally; helps to weed out the weak ones early on," he explained with a shrug, casual as if the interview hadn't been just as insane as the events leading up to it. "That's business for you."

And hey—well, well, well! Color him surprised, this newbie was on a roll! Not many people figured out his "my name is definitely all of these half a dozen possibilities" trick so quickly. Ken pointed his cigarette at him like he'd just said something profound. "Now you're catching on! Clayton and Chase seem to be the ones that usually stick—" And did it say something about him that it was always the C-names, he wondered? "—but I've got more, if neither of those tickles your fancy. Just don't hurt yourself thinking too hard about it." Ken winked exaggeratedly. "Like you said: it doesn't matter, after all."

Abruptly, he thrust his free hand towards his newest coworker, poised for a shake. "Welcome to the team, newbie!" For a similar reason, Ken didn't bother asking for this short-stack's name. Odds were there'd be no point in remembering it. "Hope you enjoyed your little elevator ride, because that's about what you're in for on the day-to-day from now on. Sometimes better, sometimes worse; all depends on the day."

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I procrastinated on this for so long I don't have ideas for a proper caption so you can just take them

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"Why are y'all so mean?! What did this bro evah do to y'all?" He doesn't know this little girl, but she's coming up right now and yelling at all the meanies that keep being... MEANIES to him!

@yukikorogashi || a sweet but fiery lil lass to save the day! ٩(｡•́‿•̀｡)۶

“Hey— H-hey, it's . . . ” He lifts a placating hand when the girl rushes in (and, sure, her assertive energy made him flinch at first: better not to dwell on that), but his fingers no later feebly curl into his palm before that arm drops back to his side.

Where she's come from? He doesn't know. Why she's doing this? Hell if he knows.

(But it's better than the alternative, at the very least.)

After a long quiet, he eventually scrounges up the whisper of a voice to say, “Don't sweat it.”

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Why are you so weird?

“I-I'm . . . sorry—?”

. . . when did his parents get a computer?

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Hows your coworkers?

Well enough to be obnoxious . . . —he wants to say. And almost does.

But instead, after softly clearing his throat, “ . . . fine—?” A stretch of the meaning of that word, but it'd have to do.

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hehehe

“ . . . hello—? Can I help you?”

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i never relate to wally more than when my job makes it literally impossible to take a long weekend

we love society. we love that taking breaks is not allowed

we love it :)