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The ink demon sat in the dark room lit only by a single projector thats sitting very still on the table in middle of the room, letting himself listen to the sounds of a pipe clanging, a searcher or two groaning, a lost one muttering to themselves. But there was one more familiar thing accompanying along with those sounds, the demon could faintly hear the radio playing in the other room, well-aged tunes from the 1930's echoing through the halls. The demon was leaning against the wall staring blankly at the projector screen in front of him, just watching the episode of he's little cartoon series being somewhat repeated on loop.
Of course he knows what cartoon is playing currently in front of him, that being named "Tasty trio troubles", created around the year 1935 that features the main characters of the short like the butcher gang, Charley, Barley and Edgar, the main star of the cartoon with the same name as him, while also having a tall cartoon wolf named Boris being a cameo in this episode. Basically the 2 minute cartoon is about the butcher gang trying to get more money and they end up getting a "job" at a restaurant that only specializes in making burgers, the main star of the show, Bendy, refusing to give them any money and ends up getting chased by them in the end. This cartoon has been repeated again and again and the ink demon himself didn't even bother to change the reels to find the other ones to watch another short or turn off the projector.
While staring blankly, his mind was slightly fascinated on every singular detail and how it's done because it still manages to blow him away despite seeing these episodes a thousand times. Just looking at the moving pictures of cartoon characters moving around and interacting with one another, seeing how the movements and postures of full of energy and life, not really real kind of life but life regardless is the most coolest thing he's ever seen, animation is truly a work of artistic expression in his eyes. But he didn't pay full close attention to what the other characters and what they're doing on screen, he had his focus on a one small looking character that almost looked slightly identical to the ink demon, or better wording... The demon looks sorta similar to the small impling character on the screen.
The small devil horns, the headshape, the bowtie, the signature smile, the gloves with the two dots in the front and everything. They are the same person that share some features in common, but there was alot more that made them not similar in a way that his creator wanted him to be like, Bendy is short and round, the ink demon is tall and both boney and skeletal, Bendy had pie cut eyes, the ink demon doesn't, Bendy has two gloves, the ink demon has one and one human like hand, Bendy is perfect, and the ink demon isn't. Due to that, the ink demon didn't look at his cartoon counterpart with admiration and joy and hopes in wanting to be someone as succesful as him. No, everytime he looked at bendy he felt nothing but distaste, anger, rage, and disgust all together. Because that's the one thing that he couldn't be. He couldn't be perfect. The one thing his creator wanted, a perfect little demon that is similar to his cartoon counterpart, but didn't get all he got was something the opposite of what he wanted. A failed expirement, a failed attempt to create the one thing he wanted to the point he locked him up in the infirmary because of the result he got, the demon hoped that he'd come back and was doing just some funny joke to mess with him.
So he waited for days... The days were turning into weeks, and those weeks morphed into months… The constant and shadowing worry in his heart began to fold him over, each silent moment being bombarded with the intrusive and inevitable thought... He lied to him...
God did he felt like a fool, a blind silly little fool, and it didn't take long enough to figure out why he wasn't coming back...
He abandoned him, locked him up for what felt like an internity just to mess with his now broken mindset. Just thinking about both his cartoon counterpart and his creator never fails to make the ink demons messed up mind into a more frenzied mess, hurling insults at himself left and right and some pretty bad ideas that would just make everything worse. He wanted it to just shut up, he knew he was a failure, he knew he was letting everyone down, he knew he was a mistake to begin with, just some big mistake of a creation that shouldn't exist.
But, God did it hurt to have to be reminded constantly of it.
At this point, he couldn't take listening to his own thoughts anymore, he snapped, losing control of himself completely. The ink demon felt his whole body shaking in pure rage, he tackled the projector causing the nitrate-coated film reels to fall out and break upon impact, the projector soon followed as the ink demon teared it apart, throwing it to a nearby wall letting it break even more, he continued to destroy and throw the things around the room he was in: like the shelves, the chairs, the small table that holds the projector, tearing down posters along with the cardboard cutouts of the cartoon demon. But he still somehow couldn't calm down even after destroying everything in the room, so he resorted curling both his hands into fists and hitting a nearby wall, over and over and over and over and over again, the wooden wall starting to break because of it. With the sound of wood cracking the wall is completely broken leaving a medium sized hole on the wooden wall, spinal cords forming up its lower back as the Ink demon seethes, his slightly twitching "ears" ringing.
If he was given a voice and had the ability to scream he would've taken that opportunity, he would've let it all out with that one scream from the amount of pain of living here in this goddamn prison feels like. He wanted to believe it was all a bad dream for a second. That he wasn't here. That his creator didn't lock him up because of how he looked. That he isn't constantly going through this endless cycle of painful torture and going through things he cannot control. He wanted to pretend. Please, God, if nothing else just let him pretend. Is that all too much to ask? In a place that is unforgiving as this studio, it most definitely was.
With a long tired and exasperated but quiet sigh, the ink demon feels both his muscles and fists unroll like loosened springs, he shook his head reluctantly, refusing the heat in his nonexistent eyes to allow his emotions to boil over again. It would only make it worse… He turned his entire body to the direction to where the door is, he dragged his knee up then down, letting his foot take a step onto the creaky wooden floor, he slides his crooked leg, he repeated the action, walking towards the door and stopped when he got in front of it. Pulling out his gloved hand, he reached out twisted the doorknob left and right before opening it completely, light briefly flooded the room as he opened the door, before darkness took over the place he was in once more as he stepped out of the room and shut the door. The demon shifts his body towards the slightly longer hallway which has two paths that lead to the toy factory and the other to a different area, he walked not minding the inky veins appearing on the walls and in the floor because his mind is too miserable to worry at this point anymore.
He walked all the way at the end and went through the wall using an inky portal that helps him travel faster from point A to point B. He just needs to be alone without listening to sounds of bits and parts of the studio working anymore.
Droplets of ink dripping down and hitting the stone floor echoed out, along the water flowing down, probably having corpses of people in there also moving along in the water as well, same goes for the cave making sounds, giving the place more ambience. The ink demon did not mind it however, he just kept walking, walking through the quieter parts of the studio, the cave's scent wasn't all that pleasant to smell. As the scent of dust and of soggy rain wear off his nonexistent nose, he picked up a new smell whilst walking through the cave. It smelt... somewhat fresh, like a fruit of some kind, the new scent went through his "nostrils". His mind begins to wonder where it's coming from, normally this studio would smell of dry ink. But this new type of smell confuses the demon even more. The scent grew closer and closer as he kept walking, he saw something that managed to find the answer to his question.
Vines adorned with thorns and leaves covered parts of the walls, but what actually caught his attention was what was beneath the vines. There were plants, flowers, just sitting there, in perfect shape. The ink demon stood there, observing the plants neatly, petals flowing along with the stigma of the flower producing more and more pollen, creating the fresh and soft scent through out the part of this cave.
...So that's where the smell came from... Interesting.
The demon found himself sitting down next to the plants, observing their peaceful movements, at the same time knowing that these don't move at all, they're not hostile or threatening like most things around here were, well... Except for one and that's his follower, Sammy Lawrence, but either way he didn't really care about that insane music director. But about these small, frail things are a bit of a different feeling somehow, perhaps they don't mind the tall inky demon being in their presence. But again, he wasn't that dumb enough to realize they can't do anything, they can't move, talk, or have the ability to breathe. All they can do is just sit there, looking like it's morely there for decoration for something if anything, but he kind of knows it's not possible for every little thing to just pop up here and there and it's basically become the most normal thing to happen in the studio, because of course... He's been here for over 30 years now and has gotten completely used to something summoning completely out of nowhere. Alright, so now that he known that these aren't actually living breathing beings, another thought came in his mind, he wondered how these fragile little things felt like.
Well, it's about time to figure out.
Curiously, the ink demon pulled his gloved hand out and reached out to give one plant a poke, but flinched away as he saw the plant slightly move from the touch. God, his sense of fear is coming back again isn't it? He shouldn't be afraid, he's supposed to be the big bad guy that everyone's afraid of. Shaking it off, he hesitantly poked the plant again, and again before gliding his hand down to slowly trace the small lines from the leaves. It felt... Nice and soft. Soft like a blanket, and smooth texture like a marble. He kept tracing the lines of leaves with his thumb for quite while, letting himself feel the texture that they give, before gliding his hand slightly upwards and letting his fingers felt the petals as well. And they felt soft and smooth just like the leaves that he touched earlier.
And for some reason, he liked it. Somehow, it made him genuinely feel calm and happy. In fact, he liked it so much that he pulled one of the flowers from the ground and brought it close to his face, letting the stigma and the petals softly grace his face as he nuzzled the plant in his hands a bit, his horns flapping a bit in a positive manner, almost looking like stimming as he happily played with the flower in his hands.
For the first time in years, he managed to find something that isn't afraid of him for once, and that's a new and exciting feeling that he will forever cherish for as long as he'll live. And that will be forever, and he wouldn't have it any other way.