#drew that while dealing with a sudden pipe leak

[as-crow-flies]

the cuntiest war criminal you’ll ever meet. she’s straight up girlbossing, gaslighting and gatekeeping her way through war. and nothing’s gonna stop her

also here’s the og post

[banditthewriter]

Vigilante Date Night - Matt Murdock - 3

Prompt: Ooh, heavy makeout, but the Reader and Matt have just finished vigilante things and they’re both still in their suits? You choice as to whether this is a common thing to see in Hell’s Kitchen or not. I’d like to see people being used to it, but the idea of everyone finding out the two of them are dating because they were publicly making out is /hilarious./ Jess would give them so much shit. (Actually, can I just request both outcomes? I know it’d be two prompts at once.) Prompter: @occasionallygiveadamn

Adding this to my Vigilante Date Night series. Here’s part two in case you guys want to fresh your memory?

Tags are at the bottom. Let me know if you would like to be added to one of my tag lists!

Enjoy!

*****

The sound of the glass shattering drew your attention to the far side of the warehouse where Matt was taking on three guys at once. You had four of your own to deal with and you knew he was more than capable, but you still sent out a curl of your telekinesis to trip one of his guys before you had to dodge a pipe that was swung out towards your head.

It had become apparent that the criminal element in New York City knew that you were the more dangerous out of the two of you. Well, maybe not more dangerous, but the bigger threat. And since they all knew that now, you were usually the target of most of their furor.

Gun.

You shot a hand out, trusting yourself and Matt’s word. Your telekinesis yanked the weapon from a man’s hand and sent it flying into the dark part of the warehouse. Then you swung out and knocked him down with your power.

It was the hardest you’d had to fight in a long time. Your telekinesis was worn down from helping Daredevil and some firemen save a few people from a burning building. Then you’d come across the gun runners with girls locked in the basement.

The girls were safe. Now you just needed to get the gun runners.

A punch came out, striking against your temple. Your mask wasn’t much protection so you winced as you stumbled a bit, throwing out your arm and pushing the assailant back a foot. More exhaustion leaked through you and a second punch came through.

I’m coming.

You looked over to where Matt was about to dispatch his last gun runner. A sudden surge of readiness went through you at realizing that you could do this, you had to. With as much power as you could gather, you sent out a hard wave of telekinesis and knocked down all four of your gun runners.

It gave you and Matt the chance to go around and knock them each out personally. You took a little pleasure in breaking the nose of the guy who had made your ears ring.

“Hey, you okay?”

You wobbled a bit and nodded, body slumping to your knees. Matt was right there, his gloved hands moving over your body as he checked you for injuries. He paused at your head, most likely reading the two blows you’d sustained.

“I’m fine, just drained,” you said as you raised a shaking hand to cover his wrist. “We should call the cops. Make sure these guys get grabbed.”

Matt tugged your mask up to kiss you, a simple touch that he did when the two of you had just survived an encounter with thugs. Except this wasn’t just any encounter; this one could have gone very wrong. You found yourself holding on to his neck, pressing your body along his as best as you could. You flicked your tongue against his, your gloved fingers pressing into the unyielding leather and kevlar of his suit.

His hands wrapped around your body, tugging you into him. The kiss had started soft and sweet but had turned desperate. You knew that he would be just as worried about losing you as you were about losing him. Between that and just how happy you were to be done fighting, you couldn’t hold back your reaction.

You should have tried harder.

You knew why you didn’t hear them; your telepathy wasn’t as drained as your telekinesis, but it was a near thing with how exhausted you were. But Matt? He should have been able to hear them coming.

The warehouse doors opened to reveal what looked to be half of the police force. None of them seemed to know what to do as they faced down over half a dozen gun runners that were unconscious and two local vigilantes who were getting hot and heavy in the middle of the floor.

He pulled you up into a standing position, moving his body in front of yours. You knew that he would take them all on to protect you but you didn’t want that.

You tugged your mask down to cover your mouth. The officers seemed more interested in the gun runners so you tugged on Matt’s wrist.

“We need to leave,” you said quietly, your head starting to throb. “I’m not gonna be able to stand much longer.”

That put him in gear. Matt nodded to one of the officers you both dealt with more frequently before he wrapped his arm around your waist and started to guide you back out of the warehouse the way you came.

“Do you think they’ll tell anyone?”

You looked up at Matt, noticing that he didn’t look displeased by the notion. You reached out and did a soft brush of the minds nearby and found one that was glowing like a beacon.

“Oh, someone got a picture of it,” you said in shock, shuddering a bit as you did. “Yeah, that’s going on the internet.”

Matt’s soft laughter as he supported your weight was reply enough.

------

“Did you have to tongue Murdock at the scene of a crime?” Jess threw down the magazine she’d picked up on her way to your place. “This is gross. You two are everywhere. I think I saw a billboard.”

You looked at the picture and pushed the magazine away from you. You’d seen it plenty of times since that night.

“Could I sue for royalties without revealing my identity?”

Jess scoffed as she slumped into the chair near you, kicking her feet onto the coffee table. She looked at the magazine and then back to where you were sewing a tear in your suit.

“Really, where are you at with all this? You okay with you and Daredevil being the prom king and queen?”

You smiled as you tied off the thread. She was being snarky, as always, but you knew that she meant it.

“I don’t care really. Matt and I talked about it and we usually fight together anyways. My biggest problem is the name that they gave me.”

Jess snorted as she grabbed the magazine again and looked at the headline.

Daredevil and his Lady of the Night.

“Think they knew they were calling you a prostitute?”

You snuggled into the chair a bit as you looked over the handiwork. There were a few more cuts that could be sewn, but you’d rather just spend time with Jess right then.

“Matt got to pick his own name; maybe it’s time I pick mine.”

Jess threw the magazine down with a smirk.

“Oh I can think of a few that you’ll hate slightly less than Lady of the Night.”

------

Daredevil struck out with his baton, cracking it against the jaw of the thief. You yanked the bag of money and jewels from the other thief with your telekinesis, tossing it out of reach. Then you whirled around and delivered a quick kick to his jaw.

The cop that had been chasing the two of them stopped and watched you both fight. He had his hand on his gun, but didn’t draw it. While Daredevil bent down to cuff the two of them, you lifted the bag with your power and passed it over to the cop who took it with wide eyes.

“Thank you,” he said almost cautiously, watching the two vigilantes move around just a few feet away from him. “You two do a lot for the city. Daredevil has been a huge help with taking down Fisk and then you,” he said with a look in your direction, “well you’re more terrifying in person than in pictures or videos.”

You smirked, glad that it was covered by your new mask. You stood up from where you had been checking the thief for any other weapons before you turned to face the officer completely. It gave him a clear look on the mask and how it was made up of red and black, a red mesh strip over where your eyes were but the rest being smooth. It gave no indication of your facial features.

“We’re just here to help,” Daredevil said as he moved to your side, his hand on your arm. “More sirens. We need to go.”

You nodded and turned to walk away. You both barely got a few steps away before the cop called out again.

“Is it going to be a date night for Daredevil and the Lady of the Night?”

Matt smirked as he continued into the dark of the alley, but you pushed your mind out to brush the officer’s.

Call me Queen of Hearts.

X

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[queenpersephonesgarden]

little devil darling

Fandom: Bendy and the Ink Machine Characters: Thomas Connor, Joey Drew, Allison Connor, Bendy Word Count: 2408 Inspired by: @squigglydigg‘s  rather wonderful theory about the end of Chapter 5, and the Halloween spirit!

Can also be read on FFN and AO3

Mr. Drew doesn’t invite Thomas along for the grand ceremony to herald the Ink Machine’s first awakening on Wednesday night, which suits Thomas just fine; even if he’d been ordered to attend, he wouldn’t have gone back to that studio at night for all the extra pay in the world.

He’s spent more than his fair share of sleepless nights holed up in the dim, flickering lights, all alone, tweaking and readjusting the damned thing over and over. Trying to bring this ‘great technical marvel’ Mr. Drew had clumsily designed to life in a way that actually worked less on belief and prayers and more on engineering and logic. He’s not exactly eager to return unless the sun is up and there are at least a handful of other employees already there, thank you very much.

So, Thomas isn’t there the night the machine finally works, but he arrives the Thursday morning afterwards to see the results after a lengthy, half-coherent phone call with Mr. Drew, who’d been too excited to get half his words out.

He comes in a couple hours early because at least Mr. Drew promised a bit of overtime, and he is a bit curious to see what exactly resulted from the boss man’s special experiment. But when he enters the chamber where the infamous Machine is glugging away gallons of the studio’s precious ink, Thomas is suddenly really wishing he’d taken that vacation Allison had suggested.

“What in the hell?”

The question kind of slips out without Thomas really meaning it to, because Christ Almighty, there is a hulking, dripping thing lurking just in Mr. Drew’s shadow, and for a moment Thomas is afraid to make any sudden moves, attract its attention, but his voice seems to have already done that, if the eerie way it turns its malformed head towards him is any indication.

Thomas can’t help but swallow hard as a goopy, unsettling grin slowly tilts curiously to the side, like it’s watching him, but before he can start retreating out the door the way he came Mr. Drew finally spins away from the Machine.

“Isn’t he wonderful?!” Thomas has never seen Mr. Drew so ecstatic before, face alight with a joy that had all but faded in the last few years of the studio’s decline into bankruptcy. He’s standing up tall and straight as he can without leaning on his cane, like he’s trying to appear as large as the thing standing behind him. “I knew you had it in you, Mr. Connor! Your redesigns really did the trick, my boy! It stopped clogging and accepted the model just like you said it would!”

The compliments practically fly over Thomas’ head, as most of his attention is fastened to the monstrosity Mr. Drew seems to be ignoring rather masterfully.

“Sir,” Thomas coughs, because God, what the hell- “What- uh, what did you-?”

“Oh, he’s just marvelous, isn’t he?!” Mr. Drew turns right around and beams up at the oozing monster like it’s the best Christmas present he’s ever seen, and Thomas feels a chill go down his spine when the thing just angles its head down and continues grinning back even though from here it doesn’t look like it can properly see, what with its eyes being nonexistent. “He’s just a prototype, but he came right out on the first try! I didn’t even have to reset the levers or anything; he crawled right out after the sketch was put in!”

“‘He?’” Thomas asks weakly. There’s a lot more he should be saying – hell, there’s plenty he should be screaming at this point – but his brain is refusing to cooperate. Words are completely failing him, because his eyes can barely comprehend what they’re seeing.

Mr. Drew cheers a bit, shaking his cane around in excitement, and if he were a younger man he might have broken into a happy jig.

“Yes! Bendy, of course!” he says, and.

What?

Is that what this is supposed to be?

Looming just behind Mr. Drew’s shoulder, the thing sways a little bit, like a sudden breeze might make it topple over and crush him.

Thomas musters something that might resemble an understanding smile, and backs out of the room as slowly as he can, trying not to look like he’s running away.

Mr. Drew hardly seems to notice his departure, ecstatically circling back around the Machine, chanting words that aren’t even English and waving his arms around like a loon.

Back where it had been left, the thing that might be Bendy the Dancing Demon hadn’t taken its attention off of Thomas, head still tilted to watch his exit, still smiling smiling smiling.

Once he reaches the corner, Thomas gives up on any pretenses and books it out of there like a bat out of hell.

He can still feel the thing’s invisible eyes on him all the way out of the studio.

-

While the experiment might seem like a success in some ways, in many ways it most definitely is not.

The strange, towering husk is almost nothing like the little devil darling it’s supposed to be.

Sure, it’s got the iconic horns and the unnaturally wide grin of its cartoon counterpart, but that’s about where the similarities end.

This thing is tall, unnaturally so, like its body is made out of taffy that’s been stretched out too long. It’s horns nearly brush the ceiling and its arms are nearly as long as it’s body. One hand has the glove reminiscent of the real Bendy, while the other is just an ugly, black paw, fingers jagged and curled slightly like claws.

And it drips everywhere, continuously oozing puddles and streaks of dark ink all across the ground wherever it goes, staining the floor just as much as all the damned burst pipes always do.

“It’s a damn menace!” Sammy Lawrence snarls at lunch time, voice booming through the breakroom like it usually does when he’s in a terrible mood and he needs everyone else to know. “Fuckin’ freak thinks it can wander into my studio and-! There’s ink all over the damned walls! How the hell am I supposed to write a damned thing when half my papers are soaked darker than Satan’s soul?!”

Thomas, picking wordlessly at his lukewarm tuna sandwich, watches Eddie and Marge and Frankie all nod seriously in agreement, and can’t help pursing his lips.

The animators and half the rest of the staff are practically in an uproar about the thing, which has meandered its way all across the studio and back in the day and a half since it was brought into existence. At first, they were too creeped out by its’ appearance to say much against Mr. Drew, but ever since it started seriously disrupting people’s work with its random disappearing-reappearing through walls act, they’d been getting a little more vocal about their displeasure in private, where neither the boss man or the thing in question could hear them.

Sammy looks about five seconds away from storming out of the room and demanding a word with Joey, and honestly Thomas is almost tempted to let him; if there’s anyone in this place that can kick up enough of a storm to actually get Mr. Drew’s attention, it’s Sammy Lawrence and his sharp tongue and even sharper temper.

But the same, creeping feeling of being watched is still on him, even now, hours later and with the thing not even in the room, and Thomas isn’t feeling up to pressing his luck right now.

“You managed just fine when the pipes burst, yeah?” he dares to ask, raising an eyebrow at Sammy’s outraged sputtering.

This could become a nice, distracting argument, but even thinking about defending the monster is killing Thomas’s appetite, and he shoves back from the table with a scowl.

“Up yours, Connor!” Sammy hollers after him as he heads out into the hallway.

Thomas waves over his shoulder and skirts around a fresh ink puddle without looking.

-

Thomas gets called in to deal with another burst pipe in the animator’s department, and ain’t it just his great luck that he finds the thing standing right in the middle of the room, hunched over a bit to accommodate for its massive height and the low ceiling, smiling smiling smiling in that creepy way it does as it seemingly watches Mr. Drew with poor Frankie at the man’s desk.

“It needs to be completely on model this time, Mr. Chambers,” Mr. Drew’s voice is poisonously sweet as he loomed ominously over the animator, expression calm but the look in his eyes bordering on murderous as he stared Frankie down.

Thomas winces in sympathy as Frankie gestures uselessly at whatever is on his desk, face set in a stubborn scowl that’ll probably get him fired.

“Sir, ya said so yourself; the sketches I gave you yesterday were on model! Those Bendy’s looked like every other cartoon we’ve ever released, they were perfect, so I don’t see how it’s my fault the-” he coughed a bit, glanced at the shadow standing right in the middle of the room, and grimaced. “-the model your Machine spat out is as deformed as it is! Maybe you should be taking a look at-!”

“The Machine worked exactly as it was supposed to!” Mr. Drew snapped, and Thomas pretends very hard like he’s studying the leaking pipe he’s over here to fix, because the Machine was working just fine when he’d been working on it, but that was back before all the weird voodoo shit was thrown in, and he’s not sure he wants to see what would happen if he decided to mention that.

Another chill goes shooting up his spine, and Thomas glances over his shoulder to find the thing slowly drifting closer to the wall he’s working next to as both Frankie and the boss man continue their little discussion.

His entire body stiffens at the thing’s approach, and Thomas is just contemplating how much trouble he’s likely to get in if he reaches for his wrench and takes a swing at it, but he doesn’t need to worry; the thing drifts farther and farther to the right until it reaches the corner opposite Thomas. It hits the wall, and Thomas half expects it to phase through the wood like it’s been doing all damn day, but instead it just sort of leans listlessly against it, unmoving for a long minute, until its form slowly crumples up into an awkward, misshapen ball, like a pouting child in timeout.

The comparison does nothing for Thomas’s nerves, and neither does the sudden thud and the sound of paper ripping coming from Frankie’s desk.

“Just do better this time, Mr. Chambers!” Mr. Drew is still smiling that unhappy smile as he walks away, limping heavily even with his cane, not even looking back when Frankie throws up his hands in frustration and proceeds to rip up even more papers from his desk.

“Whatever you say, sir,” Frankie mutters sourly, gathering up his ink pot and a few folders before stalking out after the boss, expression thunderous.

The door slams closed after the duo’s dramatic exit, and Thomas is left with the horrifying realization that he is alone in here, and that thing is also very much still here.

Ruined scraps of paper float gently off Frankie’s desk after it’s owner’s hasty departure, and they scatter a bit across the floor.

In the corner of the room, the thing has started to rock back and forth. A disturbing choking sound is emanating from the back of its throat, and Thomas can feel gooseflesh rising up all along his arms as it thumps it’s head gently against the wall with a gentle splat-splat, staining the wall with ink.

If Thomas didn’t know any better, he’d say it was crying, curled up like a frightened kid and making itself as small as possible.

“Would you stop that?”

He doesn’t mean to talk to it. He doesn’t want to talk to it, because it’s not a fucking person, but it’s crying and he doesn’t know why.

Thomas’s throat rasped, voice curiously strained for some reason. His tone was a lot quieter than he’d meant it to be, but if he tried to go any louder he might really start screaming. “You’re Drew’s special little project, ya hear? You ain’t got nothin’ to cry about. Stop that.”

A half-finished sketch of what looks like Boris the Wolf lands on Thomas’s shoe, and he shakes it off with a scowl.

The thing chokes a little louder, and Thomas gets up and grabs his toolbox and walks back out of the room. Someone else can deal with the leak for now. He’s really not in the mood.

-

Allison finds him, after work is over for the day and he’s still packing up his things. She bursts into the room like she’d run all the way here from the recording studio, entire body trembling like a leaf in a storm and eyes haunted.

He doesn’t ask, just opens his arms and holds onto her when she falls into him with a gasp.

“I said ‘hi’ to it,” she whispers, voice so hoarse he can barely hear it even when her chin is pressed into his shoulder. “It came up behind me, and I wasn’t thinking, and I said ‘hi’ because I thought it was Sammy and it- I thought-”

She sobs hard, can’t speak for a moment, and Thomas can’t do anything but tighten his arms around her, ignore the angry fire banking in his gut as she shakes apart.

“It said- I thought it said ‘Hi Alice’, and the voice-! The sounds it made- oh, god, Tom, that’s not human, whatever it is, and it’s- it’s so sad-!”

Words fail her, and Allison buries her face into his neck and cries her heart out.

Above them, Thomas listens to ink flow sluggishly through the pipes. It never sounded so much like a moaning voice, before.

-

Thomas hands in his resignation letter the Monday after a long weekend of thinking.

Marching back out of the studio with his head held high, he ignores the stares of his former colleagues and keeps his shaking hands balled into fists at his sides.

The ink thing that might be Bendy wanders past him on the way out, face still dripping inky tears and smiling smiling smiling all the while.

[astarrymusenight]

Overworked

How long could he take this before he finally quit? This was a question that ran through Wally Frank's mind more times than he would have liked. To say he was overworked almost felt like an understatement with how much he had to do. Joey seemed to have a new job for him each time he walked through those blasted studio doors, ready to jump on him like a tiger in waiting.

Animation work? Wally didn't mind that so much. That's what he was hired for, after all! But then suddenly he was asked to do another job--he was needed to be a custodian. He was told it was temporary until Joey could get someone to take it on full-time. But that never happened. Then another came. And another, and another! The jobs kept piling on, and before he knew it Wally was balancing nearly every job imaginable in the studio.

Animator, storyboard artist, custodian, repairman, background artist, voice actor, band member... Then when that Ink Machine was installed, his life only got harder! Joey hardly seemed to care, or to even listen. Sammy was hardly any better half the time. They just wanted to get the work done, to follow their dreams and make them come true.

Just a few more hours and you can go home. Just a few more hours and Joey'll be outta here. Just a few more hours and you'll get paid. Just a few more hours, just a few more hours...! He kept telling himself this, playing in his mind's ear like the broken record in the corner of the recording studio. It was to the point where the words almost had no meaning, just a haze of white noise in the back of his head. A few more hours, yeah. Of frustration and exhaustion.

Today he was moving boxes from a fresh shipment. They were all piled nearly from the floor to the ceiling, filled to the brim with supplies, toys, and even cans of food. Wally had never been so angry in all his life at cans of soup. Cart or not, the labor of moving each box to their designated place was hardly a walk in the park, even for someone like Wally. When it came to the boxes of soup he found himself cursing each and every one, hoping that the things wouldn't sell so they wouldn't have to order anymore.

It was grueling and tiresome work, leaving his arms to feel like jelly and his spine to have a knot tied within it, but he did eventually get it done. At least he didn't have to unbox them... After stretching and finishing up his morning rounds, Wally brusquely pocketed a Bendy plush and shuffled off to his office.

After mindlessly tossing the doll on his desk, Wally plopped onto his stool, propping his elbows on the desk corners as his face to fell into his hands. With a long and loud groan he rubbed furiously at his face, eventually running his fingers through his unkempt hair and making an even bigger mess of it.  He sat still for a moment, his mind catching up with him slowly while he tried to remember what he needed to do next. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he shut his eyes tight while he let out a long sigh.

What was he supposed to work on today...? He got some paint down, was he supposed to work on backgrounds? They haven't gotten far enough for cels, have they? No, he got those out for Joey, that's right... Storyboards? That didn't sound right, either. Didn't he help get those done yesterday? He put his hands on either side of his head, his face hovering just inches above his desk. He blinked mildly as a pencil rolled down and rested beside an elbow--that's right, he was supposed to work on some pencil tests.

With a grunt, Wally slammed his right hand on the pencil and went to fetch some paper. It appeared that he already had the boards he needed to use as reference; looked as though he'd be working on one of Bendy's many dances today. Well, at least that was something he enjoyed. If nothing else, he did find himself at least tolerating his job when he was allowed to do what he was actually hired for. While challenging, Bendy's dances provided at least something for the man... Though he'd be happy to animate even the most boring scenes if it meant he didn't have to do any cleaning.

Planting one hand onto his right shoulder, he gave his arm a good stretch and rolled his neck. His arms still felt terrible, but it was hardly enough to prevent him from working.

The soft scratches of pencil against paper was music to his ears, even with the swing that was muttering through the speaker of the radio at the corner of his desk. The smooth curves of each line, the frequent flipping of pages, the erasing of mistakes... As tedious as it was to sketch out each frame, he found it so satisfying. To see the images spring to life as they were set into motion, to see the finalized product of one's blood, sweat, and tears. Though he loathed working for Drew Studios, as much frustration, pain and stress that it brought him, animation was his life. And he loved it.

Ten frames done. He flipped through the pages a few times, his eyes scouring for mistakes or needed improvements. He only had to make a few touch-ups, but he was ready to move on to the next set. He turned the volume of the radio up as the upbeat notes seemed to reach out towards his paper, sparking more inspiration with his skull. This sure was a song Bendy would dance to!

However, Wally's work flow was about to come to a screeching halt. It never failed, did it?

There was a sudden, all-too-familiar sounding crash; the sound of glass shattering and ink spilling onto wooden floor boards. Wally tensed, his hand trembling as he clenched his pencil. No no no, he thought bitterly, not another break! He remained still for a moment, his ears straining for the sound of movement. He could hear shouting a few rooms over, but he couldn't hear anyone approaching. Though he was relieved, he knew wasn't out of the woods yet.

Head lowering closer to the desk, Wally's pencil started to work over-time. He thought to himself in vain that maybe, just maybe, if he acted busy enough Joey wouldn't come to bother him. Maybe someone just dropped a few containers of ink, and it was a quick clean-up! There were mops all over the studio. How hard was it for another animator to pick one up and do a quick mopping? Though maybe that'd be asking for too much.

The redhead put all of his focus instead on the sound of pencil on paper. The loud scratches as he darkened his lines, the feathery tickles as he laid out his base sketch. His lines moved in time with the song, each stroke to the beat. Each line to a note. Although another beat was suddenly thrown into the mix, one that threw his linework off and made his once light sketches turn dark.

Joey's footsteps could be heard making their way down the hallway. There was no mistaking that man's steps--with his limp, he was likely the easiest to pick out among the people constantly walking to-and-fro within the studio. Grimacing, Wally's grip tightened as he continued to work, his determination to finish growing. With each step his lines seemed to get darker and darker, the pencil's tip grinding to become blunter and blunter. Shards of lead were left behind every which way, though the animator didn't bother to dust them away.

The door flung open without so much as a knock and the pencil's tip finally gave way, snapping and taking some of the wood along with it. Letting loose a frustrated groan Wally threw it down and turned to face Joey, who was now standing in the door with one hand on the frame and the other on the knob. He spoke up before Wally could even open his mouth.

"There's a break in the Ink Machine room." he stated.

"Okay? I'm workin'," Wally huffed, "I just got started on this!" he motioned towards his sketches. He had hoped that maybe someone had just dropped a few bottles of ink, but when was he ever that lucky?

"I know that, but right now I need you in there." Joey continued firmly, throwing a thumb over his shoulder.

"Joey," Wally grimaced as his expression darkened, "Do ya want this test done or not? I don't got time to deal with little spills. I'll get it when I make my rounds tonight!" in attempt to stand his ground, he turned back to his desk.

Joey returned the other's glare, bearing his teeth, "Wally, it's not just a spill, it's a leak. It needs to be taken care of. Now."

Wally threw back his head, his eyes rolling to the ceiling. Of course it was a leak. Of course it was, "Why don't you call a plumber? We'd hav'ta worry about leaks less," he demanded, "Or maybe ask someone with less to finish to clean up!"

"There isn't time to call someone!" came Joey's sharp reply, "You at least know how to handle a mop besides," he pointed bluntly at Wally, his eyes narrowing, "If you want to keep your job, you'd better hop to it."

Slamming both hands onto the desk Wally turned back to Joey, "Alright," he stood quickly and knocked over his stool, "I'll take care of it." he hissed.

Joey shuffled out of the way before the larger man bowled him over, "Keep up that attitude and--"

"I'm outta here," Wally spat over his shoulder, "I know."

Fetching his apron and gloves from his closet, Wally's mind quickly clouded with frustration and negative thoughts. A black storm of rage rolled and thundered within his skull, his jaw tensing as he had to restrain himself from shouting out in anger. He quickly tied his apron into place, threw his gloves on, retrieved his tools, materials, and his mop. Before he knew it he was stomping towards the Ink Machine, swearing through his teeth as he saw the broken pipe.

More bitter and angry thoughts flooded Wally's mind as he had to fight with the ink to fit the patch into place. It was just a thin sheet of metal strapped on with some tape--he knew that this wouldn't hold, even for a day. But it was good enough for now, at least until Joey finally called up a proper plumber. With all of the pipes running through this place, one would think the guy would have one on speed dial!

Once the patch was in place, the animator cleaned up the broken glass before he began the long trudge that was mopping up ink. How the entire building wasn't stained black, he'd never know--but so long as Joey didn't demand he get rid of the stains, Wally could at least... Tolerate it for the most part. While working through his first of many buckets of water, the stench of cigars accosted his nose. Scrunching it up instinctively, Wally turned away from the door and moved closer to the wall, praying that Sammy wouldn't spot him...

"Franks," Wally swore under his breath as Sammy called, "There you are." he gave a firm rasp at the door frame, which only seemed to strike the animator's nerves further, "I need you downstairs, pronto."

Wally turned sharply, holding the mop in such a way that it should have been glaringly obvious that he was preoccupied. Sammy's expression didn't change, however.

"We need you on piano," he continued to drawl, "You can finish that later."

"You tell Joey that," Wally scoffed, "Sure that'll go real well." he continued to mop furiously.

Sammy laughed coldly, "Yeah sure. If he wants these songs done before the week is out, I'll need you downstairs."

Wally couldn't help but roll his eyes, "You tell that to my pencil tests!" he threw an arm in the general direction of his office, "He won't even let me finish them!"

Heaving a sigh, Sammy bowed his head and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. He muttered something under his breath as he shook his head, likely questioning what Joey was even doing anymore. He eventually rose his head and held a hand up, "Alright, I'll cut you an offer: you come play piano for me now, and I'll make sure that afterwards you can get back to your sketches." he turned his palm upwards in a pleading fashion, "Deal?"

... Well, if it could get him out of cleaning for now, it could be worth it. Wally did enjoy working with the band, at any rate--Norman was a wonderful conductor. Perhaps if he had asked instead, the animator's initial reaction would have been less angry. At least Sammy tried to be reasonable at times, unlike Joey. However before the redhead could speak, Joey limped into the room. He cast a glance between Wally and Sammy, his brow furrowing.

"What's going on?" he asked, "Don't tell me you're pulling Wally away again."

"You've been pulling him from his animation," Sammy spat as he narrowed his eyes, "Why can't I pull him away from his cleaning? This studio's already a mess with that stupid ink machine of yours, anyway! He can hardly keep up with it!"

Immediately Joey was seething, "Oh don't start THAT! You know well why we need the machine!"

"Only because I had to pry it out of you!" Sammy retorted, "You're more focused on that machine and your personal agenda than the company!" he jammed a finger into Joey's chest, "We're lucky we haven't gone under yet because of your poor business plans--we can only ride Bendy's popularity for so long, Drew!"

"If you'd get things done faster, we wouldn't be in trouble!"

"We. CAN'T! How can we when your focus has been so out of touch?!"

As the two continued to argue, their voices rising from shouts to screams, the fog in Wally's mind was so thick that he could barely focus on his work anymore. There was only one thing left on his mind. He dropped the broom, which landed unceremoniously with a loud clatter into the ink.

"Our focus has been going in the exact direction I need it to. It's clumsy fools like Wally that keep us from making progress!"

"Oooh no, you're not pinning the blame on him! His worst offence is dropping a few instruments and losing his keys!" Sammy stepped closer to Joey, puffing out his chest, "Meanwhile YOU are so focused on getting more ink, hiding away in that sanctuary of yours, selling toys and products we don't need, and pulling your workers from their jobs that we can hardly get anything done!"

While Wally was pleasantly surprised that Sammy of all people came to his defense, he ripped off his gloves and dumped them into the ink as well. He then began work on untying his apron--boy he must have been angry earlier. This knot was tighter than any he had made before.

"It'll all make sense soo--"

"It's things like THAT which made Henry LEAVE!"

Joey fell silent, his breath caught in his throat. It was perfect timing too, as Wally had finally managed to untangle his apron, ball it up, and throw it onto the floor. Rolling down his sleeves, Wally pushed past Joey, "I'm outta here, too."

Blinking out of his stupor, Joey turned from one side to the other as Wally stormed down the hall, "Wait, what?"

Stopping in his tracks, Wally turned, "You heard me," he grunted, "I'm done. I quit," he gave a final wave of his hand, "I'm outta here." he turned on his heel and continued towards his office.

"Whoa, whoa," Joey called, now limping after the animator, "You can't--"

Wally threw his office door open, "What's stoppin' me?"

"He's joking!" Sammy shouted, "He's bluffing--he always is!"

Joey's disposition changed slightly, "Hah, right... Cut out this horse play and get back to work, Wally. We know you're all talk!" despite trying to sound confident, there was still a trace of worry in his voice.

"Nope," Wally snapped in reply, "This time, I mean it!"

He could just barely hear Sammy mutter, "You've gotta be kidding me..." Wally couldn't help but grin. He was actually doing it. After months of saying it, he was finally getting outta here!

Joey seemed to struggle with his words for a moment, "You need this job, don't you? You'll be out of work!" he stammered, "What will you do without this job?"

"I'm sure I'll figure it out." Wally started to brusquely shove his personal items into a black leather bag, not caring how poorly it'd all fit.

"You won't be able to find another job!" Joey threatened.

With an incredulous look, Wally simply shrugged, "With my portfolio? Think again, Joey."

Placing a hand to his head, Joey was clearly wracking his brain for something, anything, to convince Wally to stay, "But--we need you!"

"Sure," Wally scoffed, "You just don't wanna hire two or three people to replace me!"

"What do you need in order to stay?" Joey asked desperately, "You want to just focus on animation? Do you need more pay? Fewer hours?" he was clearly ready to bargain. Wally had to admit though, he had never heard Joey's voice like this before. Was it cruel to find it oddly satisfying?

With a sarcastic smirk, Wally chuckled, "You shoulda thought of that sooner, Joey," his grin darkened, "Doubt any of those would stick, anyway." he crammed the Bendy plush into his bag and closed it up, somehow managing to get everything to fit. Grabbing the sketches he had finished earlier, he brushed past Joey and thrust the pages into his chest.

Failing to catch them, the papers fluttered to the ground and landed pathetically at Joey's feet. Starting after Wally, he cried out, "Sammy, help me!"

Knowing well that Wally's departure would have a large impact on his work as well, Sammy was more than happy to oblige, "Hold on now Franks," he started, struggling to keep up with the other's pace, "You sure you want to do this? I mean think about it, You get paid good right? With all you do?" that didn't seem to have any effect, "And what about Polk? He's your best pal, right? What'll he think?" while that seemed to change Wally's expression, his stride didn't skip a beat.

... He could always talk to Norman, later. It wasn't as if they lived far away from each other. Not to mention he had the guy's number. Sure Norman would be disappointed, but... Wally shook his head sharply and picked up the pace. No. He had to stand his ground. He had to make sure that Joey learned he couldn't just push his employees around.

By now the other animators had heard the commotion, and were sticking their heads curiously out of their offices and work stations. There was some muttering between them, "Is he actually doing it?" "Is he finally 'outta here?'" "Wait, he's not actually leaving, is he?" were but a few things that Wally could hear as he stomped past. He couldn't help but smile to himself. He really was kicking up some dust!

Reaching the exit, Wally turned on his heel to face the small crowd he had accumulated, "Well," he called as he pulled open the door, "Nice meetin' all of you." he started to slip through the door, grinning, "See ya. Good luck with whatever you do." he gave a little salute before vanishing outside, slamming the door shut behind him.

Through the door he could hear a few calls after him. Most of which were good-byes, though there were quite a few confused murmurs and exclamations. He even heard a few say "we'll miss you!" His fingers lingered on the knob for a moment, staring off into the distance. Really? They'd miss him? A warm smile graced his lips. At least he left a positive impact on those he worked with--considering his reputation around the studio, he somehow thought the impact he left behind would be quite different. But, the deed was done. There was no turning back! Making his way towards his car, Wally threw his bag into the passenger's seat before climbing in himself. Without a second thought, he drove away from Drew Studios.

Although as he made his way down the street, a sudden surge of worry washed over him. Was that really one of his better ideas? Joey did have a point: it might not be easy to find another job, especially one in the animation industry like he'd want. Well, he could get something a little simpler to tide him over until then, even if it wasn't something he honestly wanted to do. Something was better than nothing. He still shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he pondered the long task of applying to new jobs until one finally stuck.

Pulled from his thoughts, he took notice that the candy store was coming up. It was usually closed whenever he got off of work, and so no matter how much he loved the candy from there he so rarely got to go! Taking the opportunity with great gusto, he pulled in and parked, the delighted thought of the sugary sweets he could buy dancing in his mind. However he didn't get out immediately. Instead he continued to sit, staring long and hard at the steering wheel. Despite everything, it was still setting in that he actually did it. He actually quit...

Propping his elbows against the top of the wheel, Wally pressed his hands into his palms and heaved a great sigh. He supposed that time would tell if quitting actually was a good idea or not, but the stress of balancing all of those jobs was now far behind him, like dust in the wind. Eventually it'd just be a distant, bitter memory--though his entire time working in the studio wasn't a nightmare. He'd at least have some fond ones to look back on.

He ruminated it over further, only shifting now and again to rub his face or scratch at his scalp. He eventually began to ponder where he should start looking for a new job, with various different options popping up in his mind. He finally sat back as the summer sun began to heat the vehicle up further, staring up at the sign of the candy store. Well... Maybe he could start his search here.

Wally left the car and made his way inside, the shadow of the future looming above him like a foreboding giant--but he moved towards it with a spring in his step, ready to take on its challenges.