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It was just another run in The Stanley Parable. Not that the eponymous protagonist really cared. In fact, he was leisurely strolling through the unsurprisingly empty office building. The looping of time was just a monotonous cycle.
“All of his coworkers were gone. What could it mean? Stanley decided to go to the meeting room...”
He supposed the Narrator occasionally broke that cycle. Or at least made it less boring.
“...all of his coworkers were gone. What could it mean? Perhaps they got bored by Stanley and decided to leave. Or maybe, they were offended by him calling them boring and decided to teach him a lesson by disappearing.”
Mmm, that felt like a misinterpretation. Stanley didn’t think the Narrator was boring. Other descriptive phrases, many of which weren’t very flattering, certainly applied. But not boring.
“And one could argue that you misinterpreted what I said, Stanley,” the words were snippy, but didn’t really cut. “My intention was to refer to your coworkers, and your coworkers only. Not use them as a metaphor for how I feel.”
Stanley had dropped into a chair, spinning around and around. He stopped, then immediately regretted it as his head began to spin too.
“Serves you right.”
Whatever. Stanley’s original point was the Narrator made this looping parable a little more entertaining. He hopped up from his chair (also regretting that, as he was still dizzy) and began walking to the Employee Lounge. Also, though not related to what he said earlier, Stanley was going on break.
“Seriously? You’ve basically been ‘on break’ for eternity, Stanley. And your button pressing tasks can hardly be considered a job!”
Oh, and who gave the Narrator the right to decide whether something was a job?
“That- that was an overstep on my part. Apologies. Still, I see no point in why you need to take a break. Does the story I meticulously crafted for you not provide a restful respite?”
Stanley entered the lounge, throwing himself down onto a squishy, slightly scratchy sofa. Respite from the Narrator? Nope. And he didn’t need to think very hard to prove the parable was the opposite of restful.
“And you’re a sweet angel of a protagonist.”
Stanley cupped his hands under his chin, attempting to look benevolent and innocent. Of course! The most obedient and pleasant main character ever! He smiled up at the ceiling. The ceiling made no response. A beat passed. Then they both broke into laughter, one hearty and deep, the other silent wheezing.
“Oh goodness, Stanley, don’t we have the most jovial moments sometimes? Well, I suppose it’s only fair I let you have a proper break. While you scurry around doing... whatever it is you do, I’ll be relaxing myself. Toodles~!”
And with that, the voice was gone.
Stanley was left looking at the ceiling.
He sat there for a few moments, blinking. Then he shrugged. Oh, well. He decided to pour himself a cup of coffee. Okay, maybe picking up a mug from the floor wasn’t the greatest idea, but he probably wouldn’t die from it, and why would bacteria exist in the parable, and wait, there were perfectly good mugs sitting on the table, and this coffee tasted awful.
It was extremely bitter, though that was probably because it was black coffee. Oddly enough, there was a sharp lemony flavor. Although he wasn’t really sure if it was lemon, having never eaten lemons or lemon flavored things. He set the cup down. The taste was still in his mouth. Gross. He could hear the Narrator laughing at him. He imagined it, actually. Stanley wasn’t sure if the Narrator was paying attention to the game anymore.
Setting the mug on the table (it’d be gone with the reset), Stanley was pleasantly surprised to find that both doors were open, allowing him to retrace his steps. He wandered all the way back to the two open doors, then glanced down and realized that there was a thin yellow rectangle snaking ahead of him. The Adventure Line™? No, it™ didn’t seem like the type to appear outside the Confusion Ending. And this... rectangle was a much brighter yellow.
The worst of his curiosity got him, and he gingerly stepped on the end of the rectangle. No reaction. He bent down and lifted it. Huh. It was smooth, like a soft ribbon, and he got the sense that it was just as delicate.
But the voice that sounded through the room was the complete opposite.
“My dear Stanley.” Yet there was no affection in the Narrator’s voice. “If you would be so inclined as to not pick me up, I’d be quite grateful.”
The employee immediately dropped the arrow. Uh. Sorry?
“Hmph. A little more sincerity would be appreciated, but apology accepted.”
There was a whip-like crack (unnecessarily loud, thought Stanley) as the shape scooted away from him, then vanished. Soon, a yellow arrow returned, rising as it went until the tip was level with Stanley’s gaze.
So… this was the Narrator’s physical form?
The arrow let out an annoyed huff. “Oh no, this is an evil spirit mimicking your precious Narrator’s voice and has come to steal your soul.”
Did Stanley even have one?
“What?” That threw it off guard. “I mean- why wouldn’t you have one, Stanley? Well. It would certainly explain your heartless nature.”
He grinned at that. Oh okay. This was definitely his Narrator.
“Of course this is my physical form, Stanley! Just how thick is that skull of yours?”
Oh, first it insulted his character, then it went after his intelligence? Now he was tempted to grab the arrow again, just to see its reaction.
“I- please don’t do that.” Stanley didn’t miss how the Narrator shrank away from him.
Okay, yeah, that was a bit far.
“...apologies for the insults, Stanley. I didn’t mean any of them.”
And he was sorry for grabbing him without consent.
“Thank you.”
Stanley then turned around and began walking back towards the Employee Lounge. Now, if his arrow friend didn’t mind, he was going to take a nap. As he went, he heard the soft rustle of… something sliding across the carpet.
“If my plaid clad friend doesn’t mind,” despite the mimicry, the Narrator’s voice wasn’t mocking. “I would like to join you.”
The Narrator? Taking a nap? Consider Stanley astounded. He arrived in the lounge, wasting no time in laying down on the scratchy blue fabric. Truthfully, it wasn’t that comfortable, but he didn’t feel like trekking over to his “apartment.” He closed his eyes, resigning himself to half an hour of sleep at most.
“Stanley.”
He opened his eyes, looking up at the ceiling. He didn’t feel like locating the arrow. Yes. What?
“You mentioned… hm, consent earlier.”
That got him turning onto his side. The Narrator was several feet away from the couch, its triangular tip pointed at Stanley. It was also noticeably shorter; maybe 4 or 5 feet long. What about consent?
“I- ahem. Well, certainly it’d make sense to ask you first but-” The arrow lowered, beginning to curl into himself.
But what? Come on, Narrator, Stanley was too tired to bite.
“Bite?? What are you, some rabid-” it sighed. “Ugh, I don’t understand why I put up with your antics. Anyways, my question is simply… awkward to ask. You know what? I don’t even think I should bother you with asking.”
Spit it out. Clearly the Narrator wanted to ask, and Stanley didn’t mind at all. Also… if he sounded snappish, that’s just because he was tired. Not to mention getting irritated by the Narrator beating around the bush.
“Alright, fine! May- May I sleep with you?”
His eyebrows raised at that question. That was certainly a way to phrase a question.
“I-I don’t mean it in a sexual manner, Stanley! If your mind is going down the gutter, the least you can do is not take me with you.”
He managed an amused smile. He didn’t mean it in a sexual way either. Sex wasn’t his thing.
“Ah. I apologize if that sounded like an accusation….”
Don’t worry about it. Just come over here so Stanley could sleep.
“You don’t want to go to your apartment?”
Mm. He didn’t want to bother. Now get over here. Unless the Narrator was retracting his initial request.
The yellow arrow swayed for a few moments. Then it slid over to Stanley, hesitating as it reached the couch. He just looked back at it, half hoping his permission was clear through his eyes. Apparently it was, as the Narrator climbed onto the couch, curling close to Stanley.
“Hm.”
What now.
“...you’re very warm.”
Oh. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that.
“Both physically and emotionally.”
Hey. Stanley shut his eyes, unable to stop a small, tired smile from appearing on his face. Whatever. G’night, Narrator.
“Rest well, Stanley.”
Sleeping in the employee lounge, Stanley found this was much better than pushing buttons, both literally and metaphorically.