#feat. bitterborne

[cantfixyou]

“ are you alright ? you look like you’ve seen a ghost. ”

[ hear me out: i’m throwing my michael @bitterborne at charlotte while he’s helping his dad with remnant collecting & general pizzeria security bc yknow. nothing more fun than trying to play oblivious when charlotte is literally suffocated by the ghosts of his crimes ! !!! ]

halloween-themed starters | always accepting ! | from @bitterborne | “ are you alright ? you look like you’ve seen a ghost. ”

she feels like she's just been electrocuted. there's a buzzing under her skin, like her veins are honeycomb, like she's a nest. carrying around histories not her own, little bodies with tiny hands, memories crawling into all her empty spaces, filling the spaces that she couldn't afford to give. it's not exactly subtle. not a blink-and-you-miss-it sort of moment. not like the shivering silhouette of a small body that was just behind him, that flickered out of existence the moment she focused on it. there, then gone. hearing them is normal, feeling them even, but not SEEING them. doesn't know who it is, what upset them so, why they want to make themselves known in this way in this moment. but she doesn't take it lightly. it all crosses her face. she's never been one to hide things. ( it would've been pretty hard to hide anyways. )

his question is gentle. kind, if anything. she blinks, looks over at him. michael. wears the same costume, dances the same masquerade. the facade of security is well-worn on them both. she doesn't know much about him, doesn't even know if he's illegitimate like she is, but the question almost feels FRIENDLY. he didn't see them, didn't feel them, whatever it was. her answer is immediate. maybe a little too quick. her first instinct is always to deflect, always to hide. if anyone finds out about her, the reason why she's stuck with this godforsaken company for the last five years, it's all over. she sort of side-steps him, fills the moment with movement, a distraction to get him to not look at her face while she clears up the surprise, the fright. " who knows ? maybe i did. " when she smiles, it's a little forced, trying to cover with her signature wry humor. " you know how it goes, with this place. " and that's not quite as amused as the beginning of her sentence, a little dark with her feeling. bitterness. but she's still moving, the confusion, the worry, not quite gone from her demeanor, toward the space where she saw the little one a moment ago. the door on the other end of that space makes a fine excuse for her crossing the threshold.

[cantfixyou]

@bitterborne, continued from HERE

this has never been easy. easy is far away, now, with normal, with stable, with kind. her life used to be kind. SHE used to be kind. and that kindness opened her up to pain. too much for her to bare. and it affected her so. now charlie moves in some of the same way the ghosts do - quiet, chilly, morose. scars pressed into her skin, one visibly tucked under her chin at the jugular. ( or, at least, she tries. she really, really does. she wants to be strong and mean and opposing. but she is her father's daughter. she has a heart. she's too soft to like loneliness. so, instead, she bleeds for it. ) the black-and-white linoleum floor squeaks between two pairs of shoes. she stops in the place where she saw the phantom, her co-worker's quick comeback another good cover. it makes her smile again, once more warm, the hauntings not quite so heavy on her features. a small chill is spiked in the air, but is fading fast. they were here, but now they're gone. " mostly dayshift, yeah, " she reminds him, thinking little of of his question, her answer, only clocking those three steps, his voice just behind her again. she knows how she looks, how she sounds. like someone who doesn't quite fit into their uniform, a little lost, too small for the big idea. " i only switched to nights recently. " not for the pay, not for the hours, not even recently. semantics. she's here for bigger reasons. " it doesn't scare me. " she gives him that same cocked smile over her shoulder, then half-turns to him. " well, i mean, yeah, fair - the cupcake is a little weird, especially with the teeth ? and management's whole vibe is pretty ominous - " using his own word, but she's chuckling when she says it, she means no harm " - but i've never been afraid of the dark. " and her arms cross. she has an air of confidence about her, built from the ground up, instilled into her by a very real, very nice, very fulfilling childhood.

she likes to think she can read people well for the same reason. she used to have to, when she played sports, and it's come in handy over the years. she catches something on michael - he can't quite get a grip on it fast enough. he's uncomfortable, has a chill run through him. the question that follows is almost a prompt, a hope, an attempt. at what ? what does he want her to know ? that they're all just stories. they're not real. good thing her arms are already crossed - her knee-jerk response is to get defensive when things like this come up. " sure. " a hardened one-syllable word. " just stories. " is he making conversation ? is he gleaning for more information ? what does HE know that's suddenly made this so uncomfortable for him ? " a lot of stories. from a lot of people. over a lot of time. forty years, or something like that, " she continues. takes a pause. " and a lot of missing kids to go with it. " know the exact numbers to go with both. but she also knows she's toeing a line. remembers how she thought the nightguards sounded when they came to her about the ghosts five years ago. ezra, and mark. one dead, one left behind. and she doesn't want to put herself, or him, through that. distance is key simply to avoid any more pain under the fazbear name.