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based-and-uncouth · 8 months ago

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Caught in the Rain

"MePad? Me...ad! No, no- no no-!" WATER DAMAGE DETECTED. INITIATING SHUT DOWN MODE. - Taco and MePad get caught in a storm, and Taco comes up with the perfect plan to sneak herself into Hotel OJ. (It doesn't go very well).

Objects are humanized

It was raining— hard. The sound of raindrops pelting the leaves of the trees and the ground of the forest was peaceful and the scent of petrichor in the air calming. To the contestants inside Hotel OJ, the storm outside was nothing less than zen background noise.

To Taco, glaring at the brightly-lit building with a vengeance, this was a cold, soggy hell. Her arms wrapped around herself as she trembled in the rain, cold fingers squeezing a bit of moisture out of the drenched sleeves of her shirt. The trees she took shelter under were doing little to lessen the downpour’s onslaught against her shivering body. it had been raining for days at this point, and she was exhausted. But she had refused to stoop to the low of showing up on OJ’s doorstep, looking pathetic and sad, begging for a temporary room. She wouldn’t be caught dead doing such a degrading thing.

So, why was she here?

Well, she had a plan.

MePad’s robotic body laid lifeless beside her, wrapped in her soaked, beige vest. The fabric did virtually nothing to protect him from the rain, and yet Taco bundled him in it anyway, because that was all she could do. Meeple’s technology was advanced, but clearly not advanced enough to waterproof their own robots; MePad had shut down in the middle of the night as a branch had given way in their home (and that term was used very loosely), showering the both of them in the cold rain water that had gathered in their roof. To Taco, it was a minor annoyance with the threat of hypothermia. To MePad, with all his sensitive hardware and his electronic body…that much water could spell death. Or, the Meeple-product equivalent of it.

Taco’s breath stuttered in her chest again, and she forced down a cough. She pushed her hair, stuck wet to her face, away from her eyes, and pulled her vest-coat tighter around his robotic body.

Come on, Taco. You can do this. This may be the only way to get inside. She thought. She took a deep breath, choking on another cough, before loading the heavy robot onto her back.His screen-chin dug into the back of her neck. Her legs nearly gave out beneath his weight, but eventually she managed to take a step.

He needs to get dry.

Then another step.

I need to get dry.

And another, until finally, the welcoming lights casted shadows on her face.

Click she activated her InvisaBow, and the tingling feeling of going invisible shook her body. Slowly, she began to shuffle her way out of the forest. The wind and rain battered her body, pushing her off course and knocking the wind out of her lungs. They were both cold, freezing cold in this weather, and she nearly crumpled in relief at the doorstep of Hotel OJ. Her hand slapped desperately at the doorbell, a cacophony of ding-ding-didididi-ding- resounding in the hallway inside.

“I’m coming, I’m coming! Jeez, calm down…” came an exasperated voice from inside.

Taco slipped MePad off her back, not-so-gracefully depositing him onto the floor with a loud CLANG. She stared at her companion, debating her plan, before finally the front doors opened. She pressed herself against the wall beside them, trying to cover her visible bow tie, and watched as OJ took in the sight.

“Oh my- MePad?!” He sounded shocked, horrified at the condition of the robot at his door. It almost made Taco flinch at the volume. “Hey! Mic, Trophy, Paintbrush! Pause that game- I need help lifting this guy. Get him to the fireplace, quick!”

What.

What?

The names of her former…friend made Taco freeze up. A gust of strong wind blew more cold rain into her face, and OJ grunted, putting a hand up to block the worst of it from hitting his face. He took MePad up by the shoulders and began to drag him inside. Taco stared with wide eyes as Microphone and Trophy rushed out of the double doors, her throat getting choked up at the sight of her old…friend.

“Mic…?” She whispered, her words getting swallowed by the torrent around them.

Microphone and Trophy each took one of MePad’s robotic legs, shoving the robot inside and out of the rain. Taco blinked, shuttering off her shock. She had a plan she needed to stick to, she needed to. So she willed her lethargic, invisible limbs to move, and squeezed herself through the doors of Hotel OJ before they slammed closed.

REBOOTING. PLEASE STAND BY.

WAKING UP SYSTEMS.

PROBLEM IDENTIFIED. INITIATING FLUID EXTRACTION PROTOCOLS.

PLEASE STAND BY.

Kssshhhhhh…

ACTIVATING INTERNAL HEATING SYSTEM.

PLEASE STAND BY.

Vvvvvrrrrrrrrrr…

WAKING UP SYSTEMS. RESTORING MEMORY.

“God, how long is this going to take?”

“I thought Meeple’s tech was- I dunno, better than this.”

“Hey shh- MePad’s waking up!”

With a few more various beeps and boops, a few whirring and shifting noises, and finally MePad blinked into life again. The LEDs of his face flickered back to the bright magenta, and the shutters covering the upper half of his face slid away.

“Hello.” MePad greeted. He blinked, taking in all the information around him: there was a fire thrumming in the hearth to his right. Beneath him were cushions, or perhaps a couch, and on top of him were four fluffy towels. There were many people hovering above him, also with looks of concern or anticipation. OJ, Lightbulb, Microphone, Paintbrush, a few season one contestants whose names were stored in his deeper memory banks- quite a few people, that was the point.

But…she was not among them.

“MePad! What were you doing in the pouring rain?!” OJ fretted, pulling the robot upright. His orange hair was pulled out of his face in a messy bun, and the glasses on his nose were askew. “How did you end up on the doorstep of the hotel?!”

“I do not know. All I remember is that I had gotten caught in the rain, and powered down.” MePad responded. He made a surprised sound as Trophy dropped another towel on his head. “Thank you, for saving me.”

He looked around, scanning the perimeter for the person who knew must be here somewhere. She had murmured her plan to him before he fully shut down, but he could only make out her foggy voice calling his name again and again whenever he tried to remember the plan’s phase two.

“You came all the way from the contestant grounds? But, that’s so far from here. You couldn’t have wandered here by yourself, waterlogged or not.” OJ muttered in confusion.

“Who cares?” Trophy wrinkled his nose in disgust, lightly kicking at MePad’s metal leg before yawning. “If lugging this hunk of junk is all you needed me to do, I'm going to my room. Game night’s been ruined anyway.”

The small crowd that had formed muttered things in agreement, some wishing MePad well, before returning to their rooms for the night. Lightbulb sighed, rolling her eyes.

“What a meanie. Don't take anything he says personally, MePad! Sometimes the weakest ones like to put up the toughest masks. But in my opinion, masks are so four years ago, and super suffocating.” She blinked. “But- but your mask is cool! It's like, glowy and stuff, and I like glowy. Wait, that is a mask, right? Or is that just your face?”

She slid down to sit beside MePad, tapping at the glass screen that was his mouth. It made MePad chuckle. Paintbrush sat beside her on the arm of the couch, rolling their eyes as Trophy yelled something about Lightbulb being a loser.

“Well, since you’re here, soaking all the towels and taking up all the space on the couch, the least you could do is play Mario Kart with us.” A gaming controller was thrown at MePad’s chest, and he looked over to see Paintbrush holding another two. They smirked at MePad’s confused eyes. They tossed a controller to Lightbulb and Microphone, however the controller just hit Microphone’s head, and she yelped in surprise.

MePad looked over at her instead, tilting his head. She had been staring at him, it seems, and was now desperately trying to avoid it. Her eyes were distracted, and her hands were shaking as she gripped the plastic remote. Something was on her mind, and MePad had a feeling he knew what.

Or rather, who.

“Are you ready to get creamed?” Paintbrush grinned. Microphone shook herself out of her mute trance, groaning.

“You say that, yet the highest you’ve ever gotten is second place.”

“That's just because we end when I'm so close to winning!”

“No, it's because OJ comes and shuts us down because you’re raging too loud!”

“Wha- look who’s talking!”

As they argued, MePad looked helplessly at the TV as some animations played, the gaming controller unfamiliar in his hands. He had a feeling that Taco would be much more socially adept at whatever was going on than him.

He hoped Taco was somewhere in the Hotel, getting dried off with fluffy towels by a fireplace, and playing games with friends. But, as much as he hated to admit it, he doubted that was true.

Her plan was working perfectly. MePad’s sudden arrival had drawn many people from the common areas to the main living space, giving Taco ample time to sneak through the hotel and find a hiding spot. It was a huge, ornate building on the outside, and felt even bigger on the inside. There were so many hallways and so many doors that she began to think she had gotten lost in some liminal space instead. Taco was surprised that this hotel cost only one million dollars to build— surely OJ must be suffering from crippling debt to keep it up and running.

And yet, there was nothing in it's walls that suggested lack of funding. No spider-webbing cracks in the windows, nor black mold creeping in the corners of the walls. The paint wasn’t peeling, not even chipping could be found. Warm, centralized air thrummed through the ceilings, blowing in through clean grates and making Taco feel a bit less cold as her soaked shoes squelched against the carpet.

She hadn’t even realized she’d stopped walking until she found herself turning in a circle, taking the hotel in. Hotel OJ was nothing like any of the sketchy motels she’d stayed in throughout her life. The little, hidden corners of the world where she would just make do. No, compared to those dumps, Hotel OJ was like a castle. A luxury resort. It…it was…

A place she didn’t belong.

The realization came crashing down on her, making her throat seize up and her heart rate spike. The orange walls towered over her short figure. Her muddy shoes sank into the carpet, as if she were to fall through.

She dredged up her foot and took a step backwards, then another, and another, away from the towering walls, until her back hit something solid. She whirled around, heart in her throat, and caught sight of her bowtie in the window she had run into.

The InvisaBow on her neck glitched, and her body shivered with rematerialization. God, she was filthy. Soaked to the bone with rain, white shirt stained brown with mud, sweat, and blood. Her once clean-ish cut hair was tangled in with her bow, the greasy strands much longer than the bob she remembered it being. Her right eye thrummed with pain, the scratches and bruising swelling into an ugly purple-red. Beyond that, she looked exhausted. Eyebags sagging from lack of sleep, cheekbones much more prominent than she remembered them being, wrinkles lining her face, lips chapped and cracking, skin freckled from sun exposure.

Ugly, was the first word that came to mind. Vulnerable was the second. Pathetic was the third.

Terror shot through her veins at the thought of somebody seeing her like this. Seeing her so pathetic.

Taco’s head spun, and she coughed wetly when she attempted to breathe in deeply. She jammed her hand into the InvisiBow again, returning to invisibility, and fled down the hallway at the sound of approaching people.

People.

People lived in this Hotel. People who didn’t like her, who probably wished she was better off dead. Who would kick her repulsive face back out into the pouring rain if they caught sight of her in their wondrous, royal, luxurious home.

Taco couldn’t face them.

So she ran. She ran and ran, like she so often did. Heaving and suppressing her coughs, she ran. She had been so focused on getting somewhere warm and dry, she hadn’t even thought about what she would do if everything went wrong.

What would happen when MePad woke up? Would he sell her out? He had no reason to, unless-

Unless he realized she had used him. Like she had with every other person who had the misfortune of trusting her.

She should have built up a sturdier relationship first, or explained her plan as a benefit to him, or even admitted she was scared when he suddenly blacked out. But instead, she had cut corners. Rushed plans. Not thought things through.

Mic was wrong. She wasn’t changing. She wasn’t capable of it.

In the midst of her turmoil, she slammed into a door labeled “DO NOT OPEN!” Immediately, she tugged on it. At the slightest hint of give, she dove inside and shut it behind her, collapsing against a supply shelf. Her lungs stuttered, and her hands touched a suspiciously slimy substance. But she couldn’t bring herself to care.

It was quiet. It was dark. It was slightly damp, and it was stuffy. It was nothing like what she was used to, and nothing like what she was hoping for.

But it worked. She would have to make do for now.

MePad couldn’t sleep. He wasn’t used to this comfortable bed, the downy pillows and the soft quilt. Granted, he normally slept on a hard, metal charging platform right beside MePhone, so anything that normal people would deem “comfortable” would not apply to him. He was not human, after all. He had no pain receptors in his metal body.

OJ had told him to “get some rest”, but all MePad could think of was the empty, clean bed on the other side of the spare room he had been lent. One that Taco should really be sleeping in, because Taco was a human. She had a toughened body yet a weakened immune system. She would benefit greatly from being warm, dry, and cozy, and MePad would not.

The robot sighed, sitting up mechanically in bed. He neatly laid back the quilt before standing up, dressing in a robe —orange colored, because of course it was,— before walking to the door and grabbing the handle.

He was going to find Ta-

“Ah!”

He blinked in surprise. Microphone stood in front of him squinting her eyes at the brightness of his LED eyes and mouth. She was standing surprisingly close to his door, bleary-eyed and dressed in a grey sweatshirt and pink sleep pants.

“Y-you’re so bright…” The girl mumbled.

“Apologies. I did not expect someone to-“

“Shhh!” Microphone pressed her finger to his screen-mouth, although that would not work on an android like him. “Can't you speak quieter too?!”

MePad nodded. He closed his eyes, visualizing the dials for both his brightness and volume. When he opened his eyes again, Microphone was no longer squinting in his face.

“Apologies, again.” MePad said, much quieter. “How may I help you, at this time of night, Microphone?”

“Well-“ She shifted on her feet, nervous. MePad stepped aside in the doorway, welcoming her into the borrowed room, and she ducked inside with gratitude. Once the door shut, she got straight to the point.

“Taco.” She said, unreadable emotion on her face. “Where is she?”

“I'm afraid I do not know.” MePad sighed. He watched from his standing place as Microphone moved to sit on the bed opposite him. “I had thought that she was here, in Hotel OJ, however I was unable to spot her once I awoke. I have vague memories of teleporting us near the hotel, yet everything after I have failed to recall.”

Mic sighed, rubbing her tired eyes. Despite their rocky relationship and sudden falling out, MePad could see the concern etched into Microphone’s face. She was worried for her friend. It was kind of her to continue to care for Taco, even after recognizing all the hurt and manipulation the girl had put her through.

“You are worried for her.” MePad pointed out as such. Microphone’s back went rigid at the words. “That is kind of you.”

“W-whaaaat? No, I…” Microphone trailed off, and her cheeks flushed red. “I'm- I’m worried about what she might do in the hotel! I mean, OJ will be furious if he finds out she snuck in. Pickle, too. And, uh…”

MePad hesitated.

“You are not worried for her wellbeing?” An edge of protectiveness tinged his tone, a sharp warning.

“No, no! I didn't mean that, I-I am!” Microphone sat up straight again, and MePad was even more confused at her reaction. “I just…its complicated. Complicated feelings-y stuff. Y’know?”

“No. Not really.” MePad shook his head, and Mic sighed.

“Ah. Robot. I forgot.”

They lapsed into a tense silence, and MePad’s gaze was drawn towards the door again. He couldn't waste any more time than he already had.

“Well, I was just about to look around and search for her.” He looked back over to Microphone, hand outstretched. “Would you care to join me?”

After what felt like hours, perhaps even days, Taco got her breathing back under control. Her brain had stopped somersaulting, and the walls had gone back to being just, well, walls. The darkness of the storage closet she had stuffed herself in helped, --she supposed that the bright lights had disoriented her poor vision-- but the disgusting, half-dried goo that coated the shelving units inside was not doing her any favors. If anything, she had felt even more sick now than she was before, as if that could even be possible.

But it was whatever, she could make do, so she had no reason to leave-

Knock knock knock.

Taco tensed up, staring at the door in front of her. No, it couldn't have been for her. Perhaps a tenant room beside the closet-?

Knock knock knock.

She stayed silent, finger hovering over the InvisaBow on her neck. Perhaps it was MePad. But if it wasn't, it could be Microphone, or OJ, or Pickle, and she did not want to take her chances with them yet

“Hey…um, Taco?”

The helium-high-pitched voice behind the door startled her, her brow scrunching up as she began to think that maybe Suitcase was not the only one experiencing hallucinations.

“So, uh, I know you’re in here. I think. Uh, there was a trail of wet footprints, so I guess I assumed it was you-” Damn her un-waterproofed boots, foiling her plans again… “-but, whatever. If you’re in there, hi! It's um, it's Balloon.”

Balloon? What would Balloon want with her? She knew him, of course, they had done Season 1 together years ago. But nowadays, she barely knew the guy. Much less had a vendetta against him, but-

“I just wanted to help someone who, I thought deserved…another chance.” Suitcase’s words rang in her mind.

Yes. Another chance.

I see.

“Well, whether or not you want to talk or not, that's okay. I'm used to talking to myself, so uh, I guess I’ll just go on and monologue, or something!” He slid down against the door, and Taco found herself moving closer to the door to hear him better.

“Um…so I won't ask how you’ve been doing, since it's probably been not-so-great. Heheh, believe me I understand.” He sighed. “I'm sure you remember how I acted way back then, in Season 1? A huge jerk, yeah. Not the greatest person, I’ll admit. And, um, it wasn't fun, believe it or not, being a not-great person. Of course, I didn't realize that at the time. It wasn't until when the season ended that I realized that I was alone.”

Taco sighed, leaning her head against the door. If it were any other night, one in which she was dry, rested, and not feeling like utter crap, then she would have probably fired back with a defensive rant.

“You probably won't believe it, but…well, it's hard for me to talk about, and I still kind of hold a grudge against OJ for this, but…it was raining, too, on the night I came back to ask for forgiveness. It was cold and wet, and I thought I’d get hypothermia or frostbite if I stayed outside for much longer. So I tried, wrote a whole long apology note and everything. All that got was my butt kicked back to the curb. But hey! At least he gave me a sweet, orange umbrella, right!?” Sarcasm was ripe in his voice, and Taco found herself rolling her eyes at the tone. Balloon huffed, as if sensing her gesture.

“Honestly, I didn't even notice you sneak in here. But it was probably a much better idea than groveling. You were always the clever, quick-thinking type. Me? I was just a meaner version of Knife.”

“Oh, please.” Taco found herself mumbling. Her voice was shot, thick with a cough, and she cleared her throat. “No one can be more brutish than that ironically-dull kitchen appliance.”

“So you can talk!” Balloon laughed from behind the door. “Ah, I forgot you turned British.”

Taco laughed, wheezing a little bit, but a laugh nonetheless. “I was always British, I'm just a very good actor.”

“Sure, sure.” Balloon said sarcastically again. They went quiet, and Taco sensed Balloon had something to say. But before he could speak, she cut him off.

“I appreciate your words of comfort, but I'm afraid our situations aren't so similar anymore.” She looked down to her black-gloved hands, ripped at some seams and still damp with rainwater. “Gods know how, but you got Suitcase on your side, and managed to complete a nice little redemption arc. Me? I can’t say I’ve even started one.”

“Really?” Balloon hummed. “Well, Lightbulb told me she thinks you’re getting there, slowly but surely. Don’t know how true that is, but what I do know is that turning over a new leaf is always easier with a friend by your side.”

Taco scoffed. “But I don’t-”

“Balloon? What are you doing, sitting in front of the storage closet?”

Taco’s eyes widened, and she scrambled to her feet. She stared at the door, straining her ears to hear that voice again.

“You don’t have any friends, you say?” Balloon said, a smirk evident in his voice.

Taco pushed the door open, accidentally slamming Balloon in the face; but she couldn't care less. A relieved grin stretched across her face.

“MePad!”

MePad’s eyes flickered brightly as Taco’s lithe body barreled into him. That was sure to leave a bruise on her skin, but considering how she was hugging him with all of her strength, she didn’t care, and MePad wasn’t about to spoil the moment. He wrapped his arms around her back, feeling relief melt off him in waves. For something who claimed not to feel emotion, he certainly was getting a little soft.

Taco’s own relief was short lived, however, as when she opened her eyes again she was met with a few people staring at her. Microphone, of course, was looking at her with concern in her dark eyes. OJ was behind her, arms crossed and clearly only begrudging her presence in his hotel. Balloon had emerged from behind the door, rubbing his red cheek, looked less than happy about being slammed in the face, but still held a small look of pride.

They were staring at her, waiting for her to…speak. Do anything at all. So, Taco pushed MePad away, cleared her throat and fought the urge to look away. Instead, she stared them all right in their eyes.

Alright, Taco. Say something, she thought to herself. Speak your lies, and manipulate them into letting you stay. Or at least, to not say anything. Blame it on MePad, he surely wouldn't mind. Yes! MePad teleported us here and- and I had no say. Perfect.

Mind made up, Taco opened her mouth to explain…only for her lungs to seize up and a fit of wet coughing to wrack her body.

How embarrassing…

MePad made a distressed beep! at her sickness, trying to pat her back like she was a choking baby (which she wasn’t, thank you very much). Even still, she kept her head held high and her back straight and attempted to smoothen out her wrinkled shirt. She had class, elegance, and a simple cold wouldn't stop her from appearing her usual posh self.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Taco raspily muttered, waving MePad’s concerned arms away from her. She coughed into her fist once more before facing the dumbfounded group. “Honestly, OJ, you should up the security on this fancy little hotel you have here. You’d be surprised-” “Taco.” Microphone strode up to her, arms crossed and face scrutinizing. Taco swallowed discreetly, but still stood her ground against her former friend. Even if sweat dripped down the back of her neck, and her cold fingers began to tremble. The taller girl stopped in front of her, her face hesitant as she stared Taco down.

“M…Microphone, I-”

“Shut up.” Microphone said quietly. Taco blinked, a little surprised.

“But I-”

“Just- just shut up.” She was still keeping her distance from Taco, and yet she looked…worried.

Worried for Taco, of all people. The way she stared into her eyes was stifling with hatred, and yet softened with concern. Taco…didn't know what to say to make this better.

The air was thick, as if Microphone had something more to say but she couldn't get it out.

“OJ, do we have any more dry towels? Or spare clothes? And is the fire still going?”

OJ looked at Mic with a small smile on his face. “Who do you take me for?” He looked back at Taco, the corners of his mouth only twitching just slightly.

“Listen, we can work this out later.” OJ said to her, turning to the stairs. He paused, giving her a once-over again, and sighed. “Once you don't look like you’re about to keel over with a flu.”

“I am not-!”

“According to my health sensors, your body temperature is higher than average, and you are at risk of suffering from exhaustion and hypothermia. I strongly encourage you to sit by the fire, even for an hour or two, Taco.” MePad said, concern replacing his apathetic tone of voice.

“Trust me, you do not want to develop pneumonia.” Balloon, emerging from behind MePad, shuddered.

“Please, Taco, just this once?” Microphone was practically begging her. Huh, strange, she was acting as if they were still friends…

“Alright, alright, alright!” She pressed a hand to her temples to soothe a developing headache. “All of you, quit your yakking. I’m…I’m coming.”

Microphone smiled, the tension in her face melting into relief. Hesitant, she extended her hand to Taco.

Hopeful to begin again, Taco took it.

“Achoo!”

Swaddled in towels and blanket so much that she resembled a burrito, Taco warmed herself by the fire. She leaned against Mic, who, despite obviously still uneasy about Taco’s presence, had a comforting arm around her as she huddled near the fire. MePad was humming quietly, fans running to keep him from overheating. Taco closed her eyes, ready to give in and fall into a deep sleep that would surely cure her of whatever illness she had developed, when she was stirred awake by heavy footsteps.

A teacup clinked down beside her, on a plain white saucer. It smelled of lemons and ginger, and was still lightly steaming. The warm ceramic chased the damp chill away from her fingertips, and she breathed in the calming aroma as best she could through her stuffy nose.

“Thank you.” She muttered, looking up at the person who had handed her the cup; only to find him part-way up the stairs. He stopped and looked back, and Taco’s eyes widened.

There was something in Pickle’s stony look that proved he was not one to forgive as quickly as Microphone. And yet, he had still brewed her a cup of her favorite tea, and (even if begrudgingly) accepted her into his home.

He simply gave her a subtle nod, and continued on his way. Taco took a sip of the warm drink and smiled.

#another fanfic!#enjoy :)#inanimate insanity #ii taco #taco ii #ii mepad #mepad ii #tacopad #ii balloon #tacomic #rosin writes #ii fanfic #also posted on ao3 #but on my main acc

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