Chapter Text
Joey Drew Studios was hiring.
They seemed like they were always hiring, the ad in the newspaper taking up a good quarter of the page every day. Most wanted ads ran for a few days, maybe a couple of weeks, but the large, bold letters and tagline about imagination and dreams and whatnot had been there for a solid three months now like they just couldn't get anyone to take the gig.
If it hadn't been sitting there so forlorn for so long, Eliza Miller never would have considered it. Even as she approached the studio for her audition she was considering high tailing it back home. She wore her best dress and her nicest shoes, and clutched her horn in shaking hands – what were they going to say? A woman asking to play in a big studio's band, asking to play Jazz and Swing and all other sorts of things that would be considered unseemly for a gal to be involved in. She expected them to scoff the instant they saw her, to send her home without even a glance to her repertoire.
She still expected it when she came her first day for work, being stared down by the music director – a thin man with a sharp chin, serious face and heavy brows that perched atop his eyes like a pair of caterpillars to give him an expression of a man perpetually annoyed with the world around him. Or maybe he was just perpetually annoyed, clothes liberally spattered in ink and shaking it out of his folders of sheet music with curses that were only half a decibel short of shouting.
The music department was in a basement level of a studio filled with a maze of corridors and overlarge pipes – pipes that weren't properly braced, pipes that leaked and split apart at the seams, sending waterfalls of thick black ink cascading over unsuspecting pedestrians, flooding hallways, ruining weeks of paperwork. Every department struggled with the ink, but the music department seemed to have the worst luck with it – the bursting pipes seemed to be targeting poor Sammy Lawrence, inspiring fits of hurling ink-soaked staff paper across the orchestra pit on his way to... somewhere. Wherever it was he disappeared to when he was having one of his breakdowns.
Given the working conditions presented to her in just the first few weeks, Eliza could see why that ad had sat in the paper for so long. It really spoke to the man's tenacity – or perhaps his tenuous grasp on sanity – that Sammy remained as Joey Drew Studio's music director despite the ink, despite the maintenance crew always in the way trying to hastily patch whatever new leak had sprung, despite the nonchalant hand waving of Joey Drew himself, offering little more than some anecdote about hard work and dreams and blah blah blah. Well, a little ink may send Sammy into fits of rage and might have stained her best shoes, but Eliza decided it was no reason to give up on her dream. How many orchestras were even willing to hire women performers in this era? In this economy? To have her foot in the door at all was too good to give up, too enticing. The possibilities that stretched out before her seemed too dazzling – though she often had to remind herself to take a hefty pinch of salt with Joey's slogans and inspirational speeches. Especially when she found herself repeating them to her friends, You just have to keep dreaming! Dreaming dreaming dreaming!
But still, how thrilling! This studio was going places, and Eliza was damned and determined to go with it even if it meant hiking her skirt up to her garters to wade through the latest flood, or giving up on wearing good shoes and skirts to the studio at all. She gladly traded her crinolines for more washable trousers, linen that could take a few stains – everyone sported ink stains in their clothes here anyway. No one could really judge her for having pant legs with blackened hems. There was no way she could risk leaving, letting go of that open door, being left behind while the studio succeeded without her. And for what? A few stains? A few ruined pairs of shoes? When her music could live on through posterity? When the opportunity was there to become even more than just a horn in the orchestra? She might get to sing! She might even get to voice a character and oh how magical that would be to be the voice of a beloved character that would remain long after she was gone. It would be downright foolish to leave now and she would never ever stop kicking herself if she let herself be left behind.
And besides, who wouldn't have a grand ole time making music for a darling little character like Bendy? He was so charming, and the animators seemed so delighted with him – right up until he started wandering around the studio.
Or, well, what Joey said was Bendy was wandering around the studio. Save for a few trademark elements, the creature that suddenly appeared and began shambling about didn't look a thing like the cartoon character. Instead of big eyes and sweet little grin, horns that seemed merely cut from the circular shape of his head, this Bendy had long horns that shifted and wiggled a bit as he moved, like they were made of gelatin. His eyes, if there were eyes at all, were hidden under layers of black that seemed to be melting down his face, framing a too-wide grin that trembled around the edges, as if struggling under the strain to keep smiling; a haggard, stained bow tie slumped on a thin neck; and instead of the short, round body of the toon, this Bendy was tall, sharply angular and thin, seeming emaciated, his spine jutting out with ridges that lent him a particularly unsettling air; only one hand had a white glove, the other's fingers a bit too long and sharp to fit the soft roundness of the gloved hand, and it was missing his shiny black dancing shoes.
It was startling, to say the least, hobbling along like it was in pain or like the joints in its knees were too loose. It would be found standing in corridors like he couldn’t see anyone, head whipping around to find the sources of voices or the clicking of heels or the squeaking of floorboards and shuffle after them.
The studio atmosphere changed immediately. People would only traverse the halls in groups, afraid of being cornered alone by the ominous looking creature. Some yelled at it, ushering it out of their work space like chasing off a stray animal searching for scraps among trash. Joey wasn’t any more pleased with the situation than anyone else, loudly arguing with the maintenance crew and the contractors about it, about the money he’d spent on it, and how very very wrong it was. It wasn’t what he wanted! It wasn’t what he paid for!
Joey’s vocal displeasure certainly seemed to do something. The creature didn’t roam nearly as much or as widely, but instead took to hiding in various places. Quiet, empty places, where no one expected it to be until they wandered in and discovered they weren’t alone.
Like the musicians’ lounge, where Eliza wandered while Sammy gave them all five for one of his angry ink-splattered fits. She wasn’t expecting to find the grinning creature sitting on the floor by the wall as she entered, and to her credit she managed not to scream – she just hastily retreated and closed the door quickly behind her.
Seeing her reaction, the other band members seemingly guessed at what lay beyond, and grumbled as they headed upstairs to get some air. Eliza, perhaps foolishly, remained where she was, still gripping the door’s handle. It didn’t rattle like someone on the other side was trying to pull it open, there was no force or struggle to suggest she was being pursued. If she listened, she could only hear the dripping of ink from those leaky pipes, and the soft hiccuping of someone trying to steady their breath. No growling, no crashing of furniture or breaking glass. No shattering ceramics or outraged screams – Sammy made more noise than the creature did.
Maybe it had left? Gone out another way while she was retreating?
She wasn’t sure what compelled her to do it, but slowly Eliza cracked the door open and peeked inside again.
Bendy was where she’d left it, on the floor, its back to the wall. Perhaps it had shuffled over a few inches to be in the relative shelter of the table, but it didn’t seem keen on getting up as she pushed the door open a little further and slipped inside. She took a step forward. Then another. Its arms wound more tightly around its chest and its knees drew up higher to hide its face behind, but otherwise… there was no reaction. No swiping at legs from under the table, no growling, no discordant voices chanting in Latin. Instead, it seemed… just sad. Sad and maybe a little afraid of her as she approached.
Not without good reason, she supposed, thinking of all the broken coffee mugs people had hurled at the creature when it startled them. It had never hurt anyone, just ambling around being curious about the goings on of its new home, following the sounds of footsteps and chatter to want to be where the people were and see what was going on, but the response from the crew had definitely been hostile to it. It was a wonder it hadn’t bitten anyone yet. Any stray dog would have lashed out for all the grief the grinning demon had been given.
She gave it a wide berth as she headed for the vending machine, pulling out a bottle of soda – and as inspiration struck her, she pulled out a second one as well. She cracked the caps off both and approached Bendy, stooping down a little ways away to avoid looming over it. “Hello there.”
The horned head whipped around towards her voice, but the body crushed itself closer together. The trembling grin was almost a painful looking grimace instead, and the bony body shivered slightly, like the animation frames were slightly misaligned with each other. It was a little hard to look at, and Eliza had to blink a few times to ease the ache in her eyes. She offered one of the soda bottles towards it. “Would you like one…?”
She still wasn’t sure if it could see, so she sloshed the liquid around gently to make it bubble. Its head tilted towards the sound and after a few moments of deliberation, the gloved hand reached oh so timidly for the offered bottle as though it might be a trap. Eliza held still for him to get his fingers curled around it, trying to be sure he had a decent grip before she let go. “There you go, buddy,” she murmured gently, reminded of the hungry dog she’d tamed in the alleyway behind her apartment. Make yourself small, speak softly, and make no sudden movements. This was how we showed scared animals we meant them no harm.
When Bendy only held the bottle in its hand, she lifted the remaining one to her mouth and took a few demonstrative gulps. Curious, the creature mimicked her, those enormous teeth parting for dark soda to splash over a gray tongue. There was a moment of contemplation before it seemed to perk up at the fizz and sweetness. “Good yeah?” Eliza grinned at the way it guzzled down the rest of the soda, not willing to risk it being taken away perhaps? Some dogs were like that, scarfing down whatever they got hold of out of fear of losing it. Maybe smaller treats would be better for taming this one. And maybe it wasn’t terribly ladylike, but she couldn’t stamp down the snicker that escaped when the creature belched, looking startled by the effects of guzzling carbonated drinks.
“So you’re Bendy, huh?” The question distracted the creature from fiddling with the empty glass bottle, cocking its head towards Eliza as she settled on the floor a little bit closer to it and offered out her hand, palm up, fingers loose. She held it there as an offering, and while she wasn’t sure whether or not it could see, it had fixed the turn of its head in line with her outstretched hand. “My name is Eliza. Eliza Miller.”
The bottle was placed delicately on the floor and the gloved hand reached gingerly to hers. It hovered, and retreated, fingers flexing uncertainly before it reached again. The white fabric of a glove almost reached the tips of her fingers-
“BREAK’S OVER. GET IN THE PIT. ALL OF YOU.” Sammy could have been an opera star; he had a voice that carried through a space easily, penetrating walls and rattling through pipes so that he seemed to be everywhere at once, only slightly muffled by the distance. Eliza and Bendy both gave a start at the noise, the white hand snapping away to his chest like he’d been burned, or caught doing something bad – a child with its hands caught reaching into a cookie jar.
“Tsk.” Eliza stood and stretched, taking a moment to shake out her legs to get the blood flowing again after her crouching. “Sounds like Sammy’s ready to keep playing.” She looked at the creature – at him, at Bendy, she corrected herself quietly – and offered the remaining half of soda. “Do you want the rest? I shouldn’t guzzle it before I play or I’ll get sugar in my horn.”
Bendy took the offered drink, holding it against his chest to keep it steady while he watched her grab a mug, fill it from the sink, and wash down the drink before hurrying for the door. “It was nice to meet you, Bendy!” She glanced back as she pushed through, waving a hand as a kind of habit when hastily leaving a room – and though she couldn’t afford the luxury of time to take a second glance what with Sammy shouting and the sound of hurried footsteps to get to their places, she thought she saw a dark eye peeking through the oozing black veil that covered his face.
Probably just her imagination though.
=
As it turns out, giving a demon sugar was kind of a bad idea.
The band was swinging, the tempo bouncy and quick. Sammy seemed to have relaxed some after his brief disappearance, shoulders shimmying side to side with the music while his baton swung in that familiar 4 point beat, toe tapping. He was always in his best mood when the whole band was really feeling one of his compositions.
The page flipped. The drums were cued in. The baton bounced.
A clarinet let out an ungodly shriek that was definitely not in the sheet music.
The whole thing ground to a sudden clamorous halt. “CHARLIE!” Sammy jabbed the baton in the clarinet’s direction like he really wanted to stab the man in the forehead with it for breaking the spell of his good mood. A few of his fellow woodwinds had similar feelings, judging by the way they squinted sidelong at him. “What the Hell was that, Charlie?!”
Charlie’s hand went to push back his hair, eyes fixed on his mouthpiece. “Sorry, Sammy! I- I just thought I saw something. Broke my reed.”
“Well get another one.” He waved his baton dismissively, glancing around behind them to see if he could spy what might have spooked their clarinet. Seeing nothing, he huffed at the group at large and flipped his score back a few pages. “Alright let’s pick it back up at measure one twenty three. PERCUSSION! DON’T BE LATE THIS TIME. Your cue is ON THREE. NOT FOUR! If you come in on four instead of three I will come back there and kill you.” The baton tapped out a bit of a test tempo on the music stand before lifting up. “And a one and a two...”
The band picked back up. The drums managed to cue in on time. It was a more involved score than the simple background tunes and Foley work for the usual episode, a longer piece the animators would probably be syncing their work to for a while yet. A dance sequence, probably. Their show was the dancing demon after all. If a character was going to dance, well their little devil darling certainly needed some catchy music to move his feet to now didn’t he?
The pages turned. The violins took the forefront of the melody while the trombone slurred a call and response to them. Sammy was relaxing again, into his happy place, seeing his work coming to fruition.
A short series of misplaced timpani hits broke the relative peace and Sammy spun away from his music stand, stepped down from his podium, walked a small circuit and climbed back up, arms spread wide. “What was that?!”
“I saw it! I saw it!” Once the errant device had been fetched from where it had flown across the drum heads, a mallet pointed frantically towards the darkened projection booth. There was no Norman today, no episode prepared for them to feed music and sound effects into running on the projector, just the darkened box that loomed over the orchestra pit.
Sammy glanced up at the box and back at his percussionist. “You shouldn’t have seen anything because the only place you should be looking is RIGHT HERE.” Sammy gestured to the baton in his hand like a magician revealing a trick, but his face was set in a glower like said magician was trying to set the audience on fire with his mind. He shook the baton for good measure. “EYES GO HERE. NOT THERE.” He jabbed it towards the dark booth.
“GOT IT? NOT THERE. HERE. EYES GO HERE.”
Sammy offered only a frustrated noise when he turned back to his score. While his music played well put him in a good mood, his music played badly – well not badly but awkwardly with many interruptions – put him in a really really bad mood. The band was quiet and still while he flipped back, trying to decide where to start again.
While the music director grumbled, Eliza’s eyes wandered to the box in question. It was dark inside, but she thought she could make out a slightly darker shadow near the window, a crescent shape? No, a pair of curving horns. A pair of curving horns that rose up far enough along the edge of the window to start to see the edges of a too wide grin
She wasn’t the only one who noticed the teeth judging by a slight jump to her left. Her fellow horn shrank under Sammy’s reproachful glare as he lifted his baton for attention. “Alright, measure two fifty nine. Take the repeat and then follow through to the coda. And a one and a two...”
Eliza tried to keep her attention on Sammy, but now that she was painfully aware of Bendy up in the projectionist’s booth, she couldn’t not glance his way between measures. He had his face pressed up against the glass now, his grin on full display, the inky veil a little smooshed as his teeth parted and a gray tongue peeked out at the people down below. When that didn’t elicit a reaction from the band, his fingers hooked into the corners of his mouth and pulled it down, tongue waggling wildly.
A saxophone honked in surprise, and Eliza counted herself lucky that Sammy couldn’t immediately identify the blat of noise of a horn being snorted into. Exasperated, Sammy’s arms listlessly swung out the last few beats and sent the baton flying across the room behind him. “Whaaaaaaat what what what WHAT are you all doing?!” He turned and looked up at the box, but Bendy had ducked out of sight again, leaving Sammy staring at empty shadows. “There is nothing up there! You shouldn’t even be looking up there! SO WATCH THE BATON!”
He moved to gesture with the item in question, only to realize he’d thrown it away in his earlier fit. With a heavy sigh, he left the podium to retrieve it.
As soon as Sammy was off the step, Bendy was back in the window. Film canisters framed his head like giant ears and he wobbled side to side. Someone giggled. Sammy whirled around, baton in hand like a dowsing rod seeking out the offending noise, and any joviality instantly dried up. Bendy, however, looked immensely pleased with himself at even that small reaction of amusement, his grin stretching somehow wider before he ducked out of sight again to hide from Sammy. “I swear to God if you weren’t all so hard to replace...” the music director grumbled and heaved a world-weary sigh as he stomped back up onto the podium, straightening out his shirt. “No more interruptions! I just want to get through to the end of the song. Okay? Okay.”
Once the director’s back was to the booth Bendy had stood up in the window again, mirroring Sammy’s hand gestures while he spoke. The ever-present grin, looking so very pleased with himself at the chaos unfolding down below, created a juxtaposition with the director’s frustrated motions that should not have been as funny as it was. Judging by the sudden fits of coughing around her to muffle snickering, Eliza wasn’t the only one to think so. Sammy stared at his band, baton raised expectantly. Everyone waited with bated breath to be cued in, Sammy with his hands poised letting his narrowed gaze sweep across the waiting orchestra, but instead of bringing down his hands for the beat he spun around to glare at the projection box.
As soon as Sammy so much as twitched in his direction, Bendy had disappeared. How he could duck that fast, Eliza wasn’t sure; she chalked it up to his being not quite human. Sammy glared at the box regardless, suspicious of it as he turned slowly back to his band. “Same place as last time. And a one and a two...”
Perhaps it was a bit childish, but Eliza found it was difficult to keep her focus on Sammy the way she should when she knew Bendy was probably doing something in the window overhead. As far as she could tell, Bendy was reveling in having an audience for his antics – one that didn’t throw things at him because he was too close too suddenly, and no one had screamed yet which was basically a new record between Bendy and the studio crew. It must have been a very different experience from his past couple of months of shuffling around the studio, and while she couldn’t blame him for milking the experience for all it was worth, she was also dreading what Sammy would do when he caught him in the act interrupting his work.
They got a bit of a reprieve from his antics while the song progressed, moving from the jazzy swing to the more soulful waltz of the next act. Sammy wasn’t quite as relaxed as he was the first time he got into the groove of his song, but his shoulders had eased from their hunch and he swayed side to side in a small dance while he counted out the beat under his breath, “One two three, one two three, one two three...”
Movements among the shadows overhead caught her gaze and Eliza couldn’t help her curiosity. Bendy had found one of Wally’s mops – a very recently used one judging from the way it was dripping – and held it upside down in his arms as his partner for the waltz. Eliza choked on a laugh, earning a coughing fit that got a narrow-eyed glare from Sammy as she reached for her water and tried not to make eye contact.
Maybe the waltz was easier for him? Bendy seemed to have a bit of trouble with his legs to keep up with a fast paced swing like the first act but he was still The Dancing Demon. Was it frustrating for him, Eliza wondered, to not be able to move as quick as his title demanded? Did it make him sad that he couldn’t dance the way he was expected to? Or maybe he just needed more time? Maybe he’d grow into it, in a way? Maybe he’d grow into his lanky limbs and too large grin given enough time, fill out the fragile looking form a bit more. Maybe if he had time he’d grow into his title, and be dancing in the halls the way Joey wanted him to be.
Her musing was interrupted by the faint splat of the wet mop bristles hitting the booth’s window and the blat of surprised horns and honk of woodwinds. The baton went flying to the side this time, Sammy’s hands on his face slowly massaging his eyes and temples as he fought for composure in the face of his giggling orchestra.
Giggling which only escalated from the noise of Bendy hurling Wally’s mop down the stairwell to hide the evidence and ducking out of sight. There was still diluted ink splattered on the window when Sammy turned and glared up at the booth. “That’s it. Whoever is up there is about to get my shoe in their ass,” the music director growled, pushing up his sleeves as he stormed towards the stairwell. Bendy’s grin peeked over the box’s edge once more before hiding away in the shadows.
Eliza winced as Sammy stomped his way up the stairs. Oh this wouldn’t end well, would it?
The light flicked on in the projection box and Sammy moved into view from the door, hands on his hips, looking around the space for the source of his band’s distraction. He shuffled around boxes and checked behind the projectors, behind doors, but it was a relatively small space, made smaller with the light illuminating its dimensions. Shoulders hiked in frustration, he moved to the window to gesture at his band, to flourish out his arms to show there was nothing upstairs that should be drawing their attention – and his face shifted. The narrowed glare turned to wide eyed alarm and the band shuffled anxiously in their seats as Sammy turned and ran back down the stairs.
The timpani rang out. Just quietly. The merest tap of a finger against the large drum head.
And someone screamed.
Immediately there was chaos, the band fleeing the orchestra pit in alarm and confusion and a blend of the two. Eliza turned, startled by the ruckus but still drawn by curiosity to finds its source.
Bendy was somehow there, behind the drums and gongs and bells. How he had gotten from the projection booth to the orchestra pit undetected in the time Sammy had gone upstairs, she couldn’t begin to fathom, but here he was. Huddled back against the projector screen wall while the majority of the band ran away from him.
The playfulness his grin had built up earlier had vanished, the edges trembling in the same sort of grimace she’d seen before in the lounge. His arms had pulled close to his frail body, and the dripping black veil seemed to be runnier, spreading to his limbs, leaving a dark trail in his wake. He seemed confused, and why wouldn’t he be? They’d been tolerating him when he’d been at a distance, behind the glass – but now they were scared, now they were loud. Maybe it was the noise alone that made it so alarming for him? What with the way he navigated the studio, always cocking his head towards footsteps to follow; what with the way he didn’t seem to see very well, and the way sound carried through the huge chamber with its acoustic layout.
Eliza stood. In the chaos around her, she was sure he couldn’t hear her chair squeak. She should move closer, cautiously. She could reach out to him perhaps. Calm him down maybe. Help him. He seemed so hurt and confused…
A rough hand on her arm yanked her away. She stumbled on the steps, but the man’s grasp didn’t let up for her to retrieve her errant shoe until they were outside the music department. Sammy’s voice screaming for Joey to ‘come get your thing’ carried through the halls, through the pipes. Eliza shook off his hand and swatted his arm. Bobby, her fellow horn player, managed to look offended at the reproach. “What in God’s name do you think you’re doing manhandlin’ a woman like that?”
“You were just standing there like a deer in the road! What was I supposed to do?!”
“You were supposed to let me handle it myself!”
“And get eaten? Get your soul stolen by a demon?!”
“He ain’t done nobody no harm!” The sentiment would have carried more weight if it weren’t for her missing shoe, if it weren’t for the drawl that crept up in her anger. The thud of a bare foot didn’t have the same impact as the stomping of a firm heel. The drawl of a southerner didn’t have the same impact as the clipped tones of an educated city woman. Maybe it would have been different if she’d had her shoe, if she’d controlled her tone. Maybe they would have taken her more seriously, listened to her more quickly.
But maybe it didn’t matter; maybe it would never matter. Bobby waved a dismissive hand. “Bah! Fine! Get eaten next time! See if I care!” He shoved through the loitering musicians to head upstairs, already pulling a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket.
Eliza glared at his retreating back, straightening herself out before heading back into the pit. Her single shoe clicked oddly in the new silence of the abandoned auditorium. New silence in which she had hoped to hear the soft breathing of before, to hear some sign of where he’d hidden himself this time. But there was no sign of Bendy on the stage.
She fetched her shoe, balancing awkwardly to fit it back onto her foot before looking around. No one hiding in the projection booth to make silly faces, the lights still on from Sammy’s hasty retreat. No oddly bulging curtains. No misplaced instruments but for the ones left behind in the chaos of the band fleeing. Nothing broken. It was as though the demon had never been there except for the streaky puddle in the percussion section that simply led straight into a wall.
Eliza smoothed her palm over the surface of the wall, searching for seams, searching for notches or imperfections that might reveal a hidden door, a secret corridor for sneaking around the studio; but it was smooth and solid. No sign of a door, no secrets to reveal with a hidden button, and no clear indication of how Bendy got through. Was it magic? Was it because of what he was, a demon? Was he a demon at all? Sure, the character was a demon, a little devil darling, a mischief maker with a heart of gold, but was Bendy in the flesh – so to speak – actually a demon? He didn’t seem too interested in the usual demon-y things. He didn’t seem interested in collecting souls or tormenting those around him. What torment he did bring seemed to be an accident, brought about by the superstitions of those he interacted with. It seemed to make him sad to upset them.
Which was rather in character, wasn’t it? Bendy of the cartoons wanted so badly to make friends. He cried when his snowman melted. He fled from confrontation with Boris. He tried his best to be helpful to people. And what would happen to a character like that, if he was made monstrous so people were scared of him? What would happen to him if he was turned away constantly? If he was rejected by everyone around him? If it was impossible to make the friends he was so desperate for?
What would happen to someone so sweet-natured, to be treated so badly? A dog will be sweet if you’re kind to it, a dog will love you if you only show it a little love in return. But if you start to beat it, kick it, hurt it, starve it? No doubt it’ll lash out and bite.
Would Bendy lash out? Would he bite? All anyone seemed to do was to kick the scared pup. How long would that sweet and cowardly nature tolerate the treatment he was being put through?
“Fascinating what one can do with a little imagination, isn’t it?” Eliza flattened herself to the wall in alarm of the voice to her left, hand over her frantically beating heart. She must have been quite absorbed in her study of the wall to not have heard Joey Drew approaching, leaning heavily on his cane. He offered her only a faint grin, turning his attention to the wall she’d been staring at, perhaps trying to see what had been so interesting to her. She wasn’t sure if he saw the smears of black ink on the floor that led to it. She wasn’t sure if his statement had been addressed to her, or just an idle musing, or if it was one of his anecdotes to try to unruffle Sammy’s ruffled feathers.
Sammy hovered behind him, stewing. His face was red with frustration, his eyes almost completely hidden in the shadow of his furrowed brow. Eliza scooted away from the imminent explosion, but neither man seemed to notice her retreat. Joey merely launched into one of his spiels about belief and trust and how they’re going to get it right next time while Sammy fretted about the demon sneaking around interrupting their rehearsals and Joey’s unwillingness to find a temporary solution for both the demon and the ink that plagued them.
Well. It seemed like rehearsal was off for now. The band was scattered and some had left together to get a few drinks for their frazzled nerves. A couple of other girls were chatting the halls, their tones fretful as they wondered what Joey would do about the demon stalking them.
If he was stalking anyone he was doing a damn poor job of it. Eliza couldn’t find him anywhere.
If he wanted to hide, she supposed he had good reason for it. Still, she was reluctant to leave without … what?
Without what?
Patting him on the head? Telling him he was okay? Telling him it wasn’t his fault? That he didn’t do anything wrong? He was a seven foot tall demon creature, not a child with a skinned knee.
And yet…
Well. If he wanted to hide, there was little she could do about it. With all the sublevels of the studio, she’d never find him on her own at this rate, but tomorrow was another day. Maybe tomorrow would be better.
The studio was mostly deserted for the night by the time she gave up her search. Before she left, she bought a soda from the vending machine and cracked the top off to leave it on the lounge’s table. A note card was neatly folded next to it with Bendy’s name written on it – though she wasn’t sure if he could read. So a crude doodle of his face would have to suffice. A circle for his head. A smaller circle for the cut out of his horns. A couple of dots for eyes and a little smile. And a little heart. Just because.
There. Since Wally was already gone home, if the bottle was drank by the time she came in tomorrow, she’d know Bendy had gotten it. Hopefully he would understand it was a gift for him. Had he ever received a gift before? What a sad thought. She’ll have to do something about that.