Chapter Text
"So. You uh. You got a good voice."
....
"But you uh." He rugs his neck awkwardly and your eyes trace the movement. "Well, I'll be a bit blunt, if you'll excuse me."
His name is Eric Erickson. The others had teased him over that before.
"Your lack of facial expressions? And refusal to talk to us when you aren't recording? It's uh. It's gettin to the rest of the cast." He looks in your eyes before quickly flicking them away. You wonder if he knows about how you dislike eye contact? Probably not. Your eyes probably just creep him out.
"We're a team."
He doesn't really like confrontation, but he was probably the only one who wanted to extend a hand out to you. He's a bit of a pushover like that.
He's too sweet for his own good. And anxious, but you're not one to talk.
"Which means we work together, and well. Talk together?"
He doesn't like the others joking about his name. He always flicks his eyes left when they do. He doesn't look hurt, though. Just mildly annoyed.
"We'd. We'd really appreciate it if you… tried? To talk with us? Or… nod? Or um. Frown?" He doesn't believe this will work. It'd probably be an ego boost for him if you went along with this, help from one anxious mess to another in the confidence department.
Shame though.
Shame it always goes like this for you.
"Well? What do you say?" His eyebrows curl slightly up. Pity? Or just hope that's trying to be held up?
"Friends?" He smiles. He even has a hand out for you to hold.
Every production you've worked on ends up like this. Well. Not all of them. Some of them already have people who know about you in them. And they tell the others. And surprisingly, sometimes the entire cast just. Leaves you be.
It's fine. It's not like you're anything other than an always-guest appearance VA. Specially known for your creepy voices. Sometimes you get to do a season's minor villain too. Those are nice.
But… it does hurt, sometimes. Watching someone come up and try to get you to join the group. It'd feel patronizing, if it didn't feel true.
True that you weren't part of their group.
That you never could be, no matter how hard you tried.
You tried this time too.
Tried hard.
It only ends up with you shaking like a leaf though. Because you can't even manage a whisper, let alone a conversation in your own words.
Ohhh, you've tried a lot of things for this. ASL, writing, even using sound clips from previous productions (your own work and others work too). All attempts to try and get your messages across, to chat. But you can't. Can't even choose a frowny face on a mood chart. Can't nod.
Can't communicate.
It's… it's a miracle you can even get voice acting jobs.
You hate every second of it, even if it's the only thing keeping you alive at this point.
You could actually act back then. Facial movements, gestures, the whole nines. And.
And you could talk.
Now you're just this. Left to wonder when eventually you'd lose your ability to even do this.
You blink at Eric. Just blink.
"... Ah. Al-... Alright then. I'll-we'll just. Leave you be, I guess?" He winces. You watch his hand droops in incrimintes. First 1-stop. 1 2-stop. 1-stop. Then 1, 2, 3, and 4. Stopping at his side. He has a very nice hand. You'd know, he had helped you up when your chair had suddenly tipped before crashing completely. You'd think he (or one of the others) did it, but it had been happening to everyone else. That and other things. You're pretty sure it had been Wilson, the janitor who had a vendetta against Annie from the animation for wiping up a puddle of ink someone had spilled with his rag he had left behind. He seemed to have a vendetta against everyone and everything. Plus, he likes to hang near the department doors when something happens. Might be Annie, though. She seems to disappear too often for things to be a coincidence anymore.
Eric walks away, back to the group with stiff down turned shoulders and head low. Several members scowl at you or turn away. Others look ambivalently annoyed, long accepted that this was 'you'. And 'you' didn't talk.
They leave and you sit, watching as they pack up and leave. Work was over for them. But you sat and stayed until the door closed.
You slowly stood and began your routine of cleaning and checking the equipment. You had accidentally struck a deal with Wilson a while ago.
You clean this floor, and he avoids it like the plague because of you.
You suppose it isn't really a deal, and more so him being creeped out by you and taking the odd benefit of you doing some of his work for him. Meanwhile, you get to make sure that this floor doesn't look like a hurricane came through, and you get to avoid having nails on the floor. Close enough to a deal, you suppose. Even if it was a completely unspoken one.
Besides, it's not as though you had much else to do after work. It was nice watching everyone leave the building as work finished, or work diligently in overtime. Well, not nice for them, since you just creepily watched them while they had to work longer than they wanted to.
As a secret apology, you liked to leave cans of soda in the break room fridge for them to take. It wasn't… great. You knew it was creepy, but hey. You would be leaving as soon as this season was up.
Another new rumor of your weird behavior to be added to the myth of you.
Which was…. Secretly a bit flattering.
Plus it was fun hearing them wonder why you stayed behind so often. Once someone said that you were there to do spy things like leaving bones of rabbits in the walls to steal everyone's luck for yourself (she had wiggled her fingers all spookily before someone had said that was witchcraft, not spy things). It was a hoot and a half to hear her embarrassed squeak when she found a sticky note left on her desk, with a drawing of a bunny in a fedora using a grappling hook. She had stuttered out an apology to you, and had blushed even redder when someone else had told her you weren't the one to leave the note there.
But that was then, and this is now. You're pretty sure she left a while back too.
And right now you had a room to clean, and then a quick break to see who else was staying late.
You grab out some candles from your bag, and use the matches you keep to light them, placing them on plates around the room. It was nice using candles to light up the room as you clean, instead of using the actual lights. Made it less quiet, since you specifically bought crackle candles. You didn't want to make too much noise and disturb anyone working. Plus, the candle light made everything look so pretty and warm. It's nice that you can just change how you view a room by just changing the lighting used.
Up go the chairs, the tables checked for wobbly-ness, everything swept, and finally a quick check to make sure everything looked fine. You don't blow out the candles yet, since you might've missed something, but you do flick the lights on to see better.
Or at least you would if the lights were working.
A sigh drips out of you.
That was another reason for keeping the candles lit. The power liked to fail after dark. Someone keeps using too much power and then fwoosh. Powers out for everyone.
Surprising that you haven't heard anyone grumbling about it yet. The booth for recording was sound proof, but everywhere else wasn't. As such, you'd usually hear someone stomping around a floor up or below by now.
Maybe no one else was here? That'd probably explain why it was so quiet.
Did whoever use too much power just say "fuck it" and leave it off? Or was the generator finally just failing randomly now?
Well, it doesn't really matter, since now, it was your job to get everything back up.
You puff out a final sigh before blowing out all but one candle. No need for the place to be set ablaze because you wanted the lights back on.
Grabbing the final lit candle, you make your slow way down to the basement, down stairs flight upon flight. Strangely, there was this smell that was getting stronger as you went down. It prickled at your nose, making you sneeze a few times. You're going to end up with a cold if you keep going down, you just know it.
However, at this point, if you didn't go down, something bad could probably happen. Better to find out what the cause of this smell was, then end up having the whole building flood and go crashing. Or exploding maybe. Depends on what's making this smell.
Eventually, you have to cover your nose. You're pretty sure it's ink, but wow. This was just too much. You had heard about Mr. Drew previously having a machine to pump ink through the building for animators before, but from what you knew it had been shut down for a while. Had it exploded or something? Why did it have ink in the first place?
Hm. You should avoid touching the ink, then. Other than the obvious "ink is annoying to deal with", there's now also the possibility of it being electrified. Especially if it was the reason the electricity was out.
You should probably also just leave the area once you've found out. You'd rather not pass out. Probably shouldn't even have come down this far. The gas was already making you light headed.
Speaking of gasses, you blow out the candle. You were finally at the basement, and the emergency lights were on. No need to open the door and see if ink gas would have a bad reaction with the fire if there was a giant pocket in there. On the bright side, the emergency lights being on is a good sign. Maybe the ink won't be electrified.
You put your plated candle down next to the door. If nothing else, if someone comes down and sees it, they'll know someone was here.
With that, you open the door.
A wave of ink smell pours out, burning your nose and eyes. Oof. Alright, just gonna leave the door open for a bit before going in.
You sit on the stairs for a bit, pulling out your flip phone. 12:28 am. Not too late, all things considered. You press random buttons on your phone for a bit (secretly messing with your subconscious) so that you'll be able to call -no. Accidentally press the number for your agent, Em. They're an old friend of yours. They're the reason you're still in the acting business, instead of huddling on a bed alone. They're an asshole, but useful. They're technically the starting cause of your … "funk" as they call it. They can't really be held accountable for it though. They knew he was an ass, but so did you. And neither of you two thought he'd get like that. And they helped you afterwards. They don't really have the ability to feel guilty, but they still helped you afterwards. Didn't just drop you like a sack of potatoes like you thought they would. Surprisingly dependable.
Which is why you're currently flicking randomly through your contacts so you can "accidentally" press their button. You won't be able to talk to them, but they'll send someone over to check on you.
You accomplish your goal with a pressed slide across your phone's buttons, ringing them up.
You lift up the phone to your ear to make sure it connects through and stand. You need to do something so you don't subconsciously close the call, so into the room of smell you go.
It still smells awful, but at least it isn't the death smell you were getting earlier.
Everything looks pretty normal until you head deeper and find a section of ink flooding where the floor dipped via stairs.
Guess that explains tha-no. Holy shit no.
Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck, no. There's-theres a body. Two. Wilson? Holy shit.
Hoooo fuck. You don't- no no wait the- the girls moving. She's oh shit.
Oh my god.
Your phone clicks in your ear, and you hear a "hello?" tiredly call out.
You drop your phone to the non flooded part of the floor, probably hurting their ears. Good. They need to be awake. You dip a finger in the ink, and it doesn't shock you. It's so thick, though. Half slime, half ink. But it won't shock you, and isn't so thick you can't move. Good enough. You start wading through the ink as fast as you can to the girl. Ileen? No, it was an "Auh" sound to her name. Olivia maybe? She's in the animation department.
You turn her onto her back. Still breathing. Good. Wilson is… he's almost fully submerged. He's face up, and you can see. He's dead. It… it doesn't matter right now. Now you need to be pulling out the girl. It's a slow process, but every successful step back towards non inked ground fills your body with a shake. Please. Please be okay.
Finally. Finally you drag her onto solid ground. You're… you're not sure what to do, you've never taken lessons for CPR, but you don't think it'd help too much with how viscous the ink in her chest is.
Um. You turn her onto her front. She's not going to be breathing in any more ink if she's facing the down now, and it'll make sure the ink doesn't stay in her lungs. Maybe? Meanwhile you should…. You'll call nine one one. Em should have called someone out here by now, but you should still call 911. You can't talk on it, but maybe if you keep the phone near her, they'll hear her wheezing and come. Christ how the fuck are you going to do this with how hard you're shaking? Wait, no. Maybe Em is still on.
You grab your previously discarded phone and shove it against your ear, while smacking her back to try and help get the ink out. You listen, checking if you're connected to Em (they're there, they're there, oh thank God) before shoving the phone next to the girl's face.
…
She's quiet.
No.
No no no no no
You lift her head, and open her mouth, maybe there's a blockage, you shove your fingers to try and fish it out and-
A splash comes from behind you.
It seems.
It seems...
It seems as though there was something behind you. Maybe you only noticed it now because you were trying so hard to listen for the girl's breathing again. But now, either way. Something was behind you.
And it grabbed onto your legs.
And you
were
dragged
in.
And in.
And in.
Black.
And cold.
And pungent.
And painful.
That's how you'd describe drowning in that ink.
Well.
That's how you'd describe it if you were still alive at least.
But now.
Now it was dark.
Until it wasn't.