Work Text:
1 - something out of a fever dream
(literally none of these n-"lyric"s relate to the drabble. i. just like them :Dc.)
When Battat woke up this morning with a pounding head and a sickly warm flush to his face, the first thing he thought of was not 'Ah, maybe I should skip work today, I'm clearly unwell', or 'I'm going to die in this bed with my bones melting in my body', like a normal pippins of his stature, oh no, no, no!!
Rather than sparing a second to his visibly-draining health, his first thought made this average friday was...
Was he late to his Mike shift today?
The answer was no, supplied a half-functioning TV-Time clock, the only decor on the empty walls of a large backstage supply room, a well-kept secret hidden to most. Sparing no time for the blinding migraine that lingered like a persistent bruise on his temple, he stood up from his uncomfortable position on the room's singular piece of furniture, a couch. Stars immediately burst from behind his eyelids, dizziness threatening to pull him back down and never let him get up again. He shook it off anyways, noiselessly grumbling to himself as he shed his usual pippin-typical poncho and replaced it with a padded-up suit and a foam, microphone-shaped head, a cartoonishly wide smile the only facial feature on it.
Time to start the day, he supposed.
...
Really, he shouldn't have expected to last half-way through the day, collapsing onto the floor at his first break that shift, run thoroughly ragged with Tenna's constant demands. The die was tired, a constant nagging headache and lead-ridden bones making him unconsciously curl into himself, uncaring of the discomfort that typically accompanied flopping onto the hard floor. In the fuzzy darkness that filled his vision, he could faintly hear heavy footsteps and high-pitched music notes nearby. Which was weird, his last thoughts said, nobody usually came near the backstage room.
He only had seconds to finish that line in his head, static-like unconsciousness dragging him quickly into oblivion.
●●●●●●●●●●●●➤
Waking up with a gasp, he opened his eyes to dimmed fluorescent lights, and soft sheets underneath him, replacing the expected cold tile he had laid on just hours (or perhaps even just minutes, he couldn't tell) ago. The facial-featureless front of a zapper greeted him, along with the pitch-black outline of a shadowguy by their side.
”Ah, hey there lil guy, youse running a fever, so s’not good to be walkin around in dis state.” The tall zapper said, voicing a surprising southern accent rather than the usual Brooklyn one that the other zappers had. The shadowguy just smiled, lounging on the side of the bed with its legs crossed.
"Ugh.. What?! No, no, I'm fine!!"
The other darkner mimicked a loud incorrect buzzer noise on it's saxophone.
"!!❌❌❌!!"
"Plue, lets not startle the guy, yeahs?"
The die moved his head as best as he could, swaddled in the cushiony pillows that surrounded him, eyes squinting to see the grey-blue walls of the room he was in. It seemed to be of a standard TV-Time issued apartment unit, not unlike the one he had left unused for months, too busy spending his days at Tenna's beck and call.
Speaking of which, his memory was a bit fuzzy, but.. wasn't he in-costume when he fell? Tenna still needed those papers filed, didn't he..?
The realisation of error hit him like a brick, and he straightened up alarmingly fast, scanning the surroundings to see his Mike costume folded neatly at the foot of the bed, the head being pawed at by the curious shadowguy.
"Ah, so we's was right."
...
"Youse been Mike this whole time, havent'cha."
A course of panic raced through Battat's spine, the remote's words confirming his sinking suspicions, and he quickly turned to face the knowing zapper.
"Wha-WHAT!!!???HAHANOOOO... NOOFCOURSENOTWHYWOULDIEVER-I- I MEANWHOWOULDEVER. OKAYYOUKNOWWHAT!! ITHINKIMALLGOODNOW- UM AHAHAHAHA-THANKS!! IREALLYHAVETOGO BYE-'
The die panicked, scrambling out of the -admittedly- warm blankets that smothered him, immediately proving his earlier statement wrong as he tripped on nothing, losing his balance and collapsing onto the floor (again). Large hands hurriedly picked him up, though he lay limp, embarrassed and defeated. Time to face the music, he supposed. Nothing ever went his way for long, so it was idiotic to have let this charade drag on.
"Hey, hey, relax bud", the taller darkner requested, gently pushing the ill die back onto the mattress. "Wes not gonna hurt you."
The shadowguy inched a bit closer, sporting a cat-like smirk and their cool pair of shades. Ah, the die had almost forgotten he was there at all, the darkner being even more silent than most of his kind, not even speaking a single word (a single note?).
"♪~ (•▽•)?"
...Oh...?
"He's fine Plues, but.."
The zapper turned back to look at Battat, softening at the die's clearly defensive posture; shoulders hitched and clearly ready to run again if need be.
"It's alright to take a break sometimes, lil fella. You don't look like yous slept in a while, and... youse a bit scrawny, even for a pippins"
The die just stared incredulously, unsure whether that was meant as an insult or not. What? These weird strangers decide to straight-up kidnap him, restrain him to a bed like a sickly child, give him a heart attack with his revealed secret, and still feel the need to insult him?? He glares, but decides to mercifully let it go though, unwilling to continue on that path of conversation (really, and so what if he skipped a few meals now and then? He's a busy guy, you know!!).
He looked away, hoping that the zapper was done with their observations, dread lacing his plastic as he awaited the inevitable snitching of his underpaid fellow employees. A large hand patted his shoulders, startling him and causing an unwanted shiver to run through him at the contact. How embarrassing, to lose control over just a bit of touch.
"Youse alright there, buddy?"
"I'm fine."
A curt answer, already given so many times. It was unlikely that the zapper wasn't suspicious now, but Battat just averted his eyes, praying that they ignored it. Unfortunately, life never went his way, and he spared a quick glance to the side just to be faced with the (somehow) sad-looking face of the remote,
"You knows it's okay to ask for help now and den, right? Y'know, me and Plues here would be happy to help ya out!"
"(^o^)/~♬ˎˊ˗!!"
"Agh, wh-what??"
The two shared an expression with each other that Battat couldn't decipher, the shadow
"It don't seem like youse doing too good on your own bud, and wes not snitches. Plues good at all that sound-design stuff, and we zappers are tough guys, so wes helpful in our own ways!"
The shadowguy hummed an agreement, before whipping out a standard tommy-gun (??? im not a gun expert dont come for me) and letting out a threatening note.
"Oh yeahs, Plues likes the costume too."
"W-WHAT????"
He couldn't really disagree with the barrel of a gun straight to his face, so he reluctantly allowed the other two to join him, though only after getting thoroughly padded down with fever pads and blankets was he allowed to leave the bed to take them to the Mike Room (tm!!).
This couldn't get any worse than it was anyways.
2 - hey rat parade, can you carry me home?
((Set; a few months, maybe even a year or two (who knows~) later))
It was approaching about 4 in the morning when Jongler entered Battat’s ‘theory room’ (which wasn’t really a room, per se, but rather a small space in the Mike Room™, set aside for the green die’s ever-growing corkboard full of notes), searching for the smaller darkner, who hadn’t shown up back to the trio's shared apartment last night (an idea from Pluey, who reasoned that it was easier to share rent, though Jongler suspected the shadowguy just wanted to be a bit closer to the other two). It was becoming a sort of routine now; Battat would stay up late at his board every other night, hyper-focused on some new scrap of 'evidence', sometimes creeping out of their shared bedroom only to collapse (about 5 to 6 undiluted espressos in) of sleep deprivation, and leaving the other two to find his slumped-over body at his desk in the morning.
Jongler didn’t get his obsession over this 'Mike' guy, nor did Pluey (even though the two agreed to help him with the charade), but they’d never judge, of-course, and they found it sweet when the die felt comfortable enough with them to go on a tangent about it (They both hoped he knew that they genuinely did enjoy listening to him talk). But this was starting to be a bit too much.
"..Ey boss..?"
They called out into the seemingly empty room. It was desolate, save for the giant corkboard taking up half a wall, and the plain wooden desk beside it, half covered in stacks of surprisingly well-organised papers.
"Mmmn.."
Behind the aforementioned desk came a soft noise, mumbled and so very quiet, that the zapper was unsure they would’ve heard it if the room wasn’t as silent as it was at the moment (as it always was, to be honest).
”Boss?”, they called out again, a bit softer this time, as they peeked behind the table.
There, arms wrapped around his legs on the cold tile of the floor, was Battat, huddled up in his green poncho and letting out little snores. Jongler sighed faintly under their breath, eye (????) furrowing in concern.
They reached down to gently pick the tiny die up, and carefully re-adjusted him in their arms so he wouldn’t wake. Thankfully, aside from squirming a bit when being lifted, Battat made no sign of stirring from his sleep. Walking (‘Hopping? Perhaps that was a better word for it’, they thought to themself absent-mindedly.) back to their shared unit, lowly humming a tune under their breath, they took a minute to examine their partner's face. It was rare that the die relaxed, and it was visible in the dark circles under their eyes and the way that, even in sleep, his brows were still ever-so-slightly furrowed, and the tension he always carried around still clung to his form.
"This ain't healthy boss, and yous knows it.."
Unfortunately, Battat was a light sleeper, and, however quiet they tried to make their voice, Jongler's statement was enough to wake him up.
"Mggh... Jongler..?"
"Oh! Hey Boss, feelin' al'ight there??"
No answer from the die, aside from a dazed, half-asleep blink.
He turned a bit, burying his face into the zapper's uniform, soft cloth meeting hard, cube-shaped plastic.
"Mmggnn.. M' tired.."
Jongler let out a small chuckle at that, knowing that the die would likely explode of embarrassment when he remembered this in the morning, and then looked up to see that they weren't far from their destination.
"It's okay, we's almost there anyways."
Juggling (jonglering?) the other in one arm, they opened the door to their apartment, gently settling him down on their shared bed (again, the excuse was to 'save space and money'.. not that convincing, but the other two went with it). Pluey had already left for their Mike shift, so the room was empty as of now. They sat down beside him, laying the plush comforter over his small frame. Lightly petting his head (earning them a tiny grumble and pout in response), Jongler turned to leave, not wanting to disturb the other.
However, the zapper was stopped by a tug on their uniform. They turned to see the die, face flushed a sweet apple-green, avoiding eye contact but not letting go.
"Uh.. Yes, boss?"
Thought it was clear the smaller one was hesitating, even in his half-asleep state, to say whatever it was they wanted to, Battat blurted out a quick word out before he could regret it.
"..Stay?"
The taller darkner softened, somewhat surprised at the rare show of... want, from the other. He was never one to ask for help, or for anything to be honest, from others, so they were pleased to know he was comfortable enough to ask this of them, even if it was such a tiny request.
"Of course."
They shuffled underneath the covers, the die curling up into the space beside them, tentatively trying to sneakily inch closer to the other. The zapper caught on quickly though, huffing a small laugh under their breath and pulling the other in by the waist (which drew a small squeak from his mouth), the two ending up cuddling beneath the blanket. Jongler stayed awake a bit more, getting to slowly listen to their co-workers's breathing steadily settle down into the calm breathing of true sleep, not the unconsciousness they'd fall into and call 'rest'. They were soundless and still, content to spend this moment with the other in silence.
And so the two lay there, the shorter nestled in the big arms wrapped around them, and the taller basking in the tranquil darkness of the room, a soft tune whistled under their breath.
...
"You'se really gots to fix your sleep schedule sooner or later."
3 - i am feeling well, but i can't be alone
For about two weeks, the coffee machine in the Mike room had been de-installed. For good reason too, the smallest of the group was on the verge of an overdose with every cup he substituted for a night of sleep. The two taller darkners were starting to wean him off the caffeine, but unfortunately, the slow process had some side effects. Shaking, irritability, and a disrupted sleep schedule that often ended in him collapsing at the most random hours, his body used to day-long shifts without break.
And also, case in point, the die was starting to scratch again.
A nervous habit, the other two had observed, something he'd do when either nervous or worked up about something. It was usually the latter, as it was right now, the die pacing around the room and running his hands up and down his arms. Sharp nails left tiny scratches on his plastic, green-tinted lines scraping against his fingertips (it would be the equivalent of your skin turning red when you scratched at it, except darkners don't have blood) and standing out on his white skin.
He'd been softly scolded by the other two on the matter a couple of times already, but he confessed once, that his addiction to the liquid (an unfortunate effect of his Pippin origin) caused his nerves to work up overtime to catch up with his horrendous work shifts, and his arms often shook when he drank over a cup of the recommended amount (now, even with the lack of caffeine coursing through his veins, he still shook a bit, unwanted tremors running through his arms when he surpassed the 10th hour of consciousness). It annoyed him, and the feeling was uncomfortable, and it added to the uncomfortable feeling he'd get when his hands were idle. Scratching at them provided something for his hands to do, and the feeling helped ground him sometimes, the slight pain off-setting the trembling in his arms. Pluey could relate somewhat, with the idleness of ones hands part. They enjoyed doing something with them, leaving them at it's sides for long felt weird. For them, they enjoyed shaking their hands in a flapping manner or dancing around like they usually did, and Jongler liked to fiddle with the buttons of their suit, or twiddle with their fingers and knuckles, even through the thick boxer gloves they wore in-costume.
He needed something to do with his hands, yes.. But what would Battat enjoy doing?
A 2d lightbulb unexpectedly appeared over the shadowguy's head, comically lighting up like it would in one of those old cartoons that Tenna would often play for Kris.
"!!🎷!!!!!!!!!!🎷!!!🎷🎷🎷🎷🎷!!!!~\(^o^)"
The shadow-clad darkner pounced on the other, startling him enough to drop his own arms, and throwing the both of them onto the floor.
"EEP! Gah, not now Pluey, I'm a little busy here! A-And don't go around jumping on me all of a sudden!"
"!~🎷(^_^)/...?"
"No!? Plue, you can't just knock me down then ask to be pet, of all things!! Plus, now's really not the time."
"../ᐠ｡‸｡ᐟ\.."
Really, nobody could resist a cat's sad little pouting face, and the green darkner was no stronger than anyone else faced with the wet eyes of a scorned feline. Battat sighed, clearly a tad annoyed, but thankfully not that much so.
"Fine, but ONLY this once. Capiche?"
"♫!!🎷ฅ(ᵔ꒳ ᵔマ.ᐟ"
(it was never just 'this once', and they both knew it.)
The shadowguy made a triumphant music note, picking the die up (who let out a string of surprised 'put me down!'s) and plopping him on the nearby couch, laying down on their thighs like an overgrown lap.. lapcat? It was funny, that even outside his mikesuit, the shadowguy was always rather feline-like (the other two gladly accepted this however, what was one 'weirdo' to two more?). Green-tinted fingers started to scratch lightly behind the shadowguy's ears, soft purring accompanying the action.
The die was slow, steadily combing through black fur, so careful not to pinch into the other's skin or snag a claw on a tangle. So mindful with others, yet not a care about how his own skin held indents from his clawing? Pluey sighed internally, their purring quieting down a pitch and drawing the attention of the other.
"Pluey? You okay there?"
"♪.."
A sad noise escaped the cat-darkner, who was eyeing the unfading scratches of green on the die's arm. Battat grimaced, a flash of guilt creeping across his face, he didn't mean to worry them about it.
"It's fine Plue, don't worry about it.."
The other frowned, sitting up to grab at his arm. It wasn't shaking so badly anymore, but the small trembles still persisted. The die softly pried his arm away, though he immediately brought it back up to the shadowguys hair, scritching at the spot he was at a few minutes ago.
"~?"
"No, no, its.. You're good, that's all."
"Mrrp?? ₍^._.^₎??"
"Yeah, yeah, it's... It's nice, actually. It helps."
"!!~(^o^)??"
The shadowguy let out a happy tune, curling around the smaller one and nuzzling into his neck, startling a cute giggle out of the die.
"Heh, Pluey that tickles!"
The only response to that was a soft nip to the neck, and the purring continued.
"♬~ >:o!"*
(* I didn't say you could stop petting me!!)
(+ 1 bonus round !! - it wasn't the right time to say "i miss you")
(ik that isnt rlly the exact lyric but.)
(It sounded like the start of a very bad "a, b, and c all walk into a bar" joke.)
A green die, a defective remote control, and a cat-eared shadowguy all sat in the Mike room, watching the heroes of the legend fight against the Roaring Knight itself from the surveillance video screen. The three outcasts were snuggled close together on the floor, Pluey's tail wrapping loosely around the other two, and Jongler leaning their head on the small die, who was squished snugly into the middle.
There was no need for being Mike this time, Tenna having had his breakdown long ago, the three mike's leaving along with the rest, worn-out and weary of the television's selfish demands, unwilling to keep helping to catch the innocent trio of teens.
They were tired, in general.
So there they were, huddled together and illuminated only by the dying lights of the room.
"I.. I know this isn't.. the best time to say this, but-"
A pause.
"I love you two."
"We loves you too, boss."
A soft jazz note was the only reply from Pluey, who had an equally soft smile on their face.
They were all tired, but, leaning onto their loved ones, without the need to do much else, none of them truly cared.
…
The thing was, since Tenna’s mental collapse basically tore apart TV World, the darkners who belonged to it.. started to petrify, no longer needing to serve their role or purpose back in the light world. Ramb had petrified a while back, the barkeep disappearing backstage into the unused game-room, only for his corpse to be found by a pippins (specifically, the one who was always seen at his bar). Soon after, a few zappers started to grey, and some shadowguys solidified during their jazz session backstage. The process had sped up substantially when Tenna met his unfortunate end, slayed by the Roaring Knight's pitch-black sword. And by now, most were panicking, others were partying, and some were saying their goodbyes, savoring the last of their moments before cold stone crept over their bodies.
However, there were exceptions.
Pippins were rule breakers, everybody knew that. Gamblers, cheaters, and scammers, all of them were little tricksters who took pleasure in robbing others of their points in some way or another. Though their species originally hailed from Card Kingdom, the small darkners were always hopping from one Dark World to another. And as dice, their 'purpose' wasn't exactly 'set in stone', so to speak, and they never really belonged to one place or the other, so they were immune to the petrification that would typically follow such realm-jumping. Those selfish little things had no need for the fear of something that would never affect them. (ahg theyre adorable tho who could ever hate them)
Battat, regardless of his odd behaviour and off-colored tint, was still a pippins.
Which meant that while his partners, no longer tethered to their light-made purpose, slowly were consumed by stone, all he could do... was watch. All he could do was stay with them, selfishly wallow in their fast-fading warmth, and say nothing, because what good would it do, really? He was never good with words. It was alright though, they would likely tell him, his presence would always be more than enough for them.
Jongler started to hum a soft tune, as they always did when the quiet felt a bit oppressing, this one being hushed and vaguely reminiscent of the cold, snowy darkness outside of the studio.
Pluey followed the melody along as best as they could too, light jazz and a zappers buzz replacing the sombre hush of the room, the flickering fluorescent lights slowly dimming along with them, highlighting the tiles with a warm, dulling yellow. A light mint blush covering his face, Battat also started to hum, their voice a bit raspy and cracked from the hopelessness that threatened to crawl out his throat and choke him with a mangled sob. The mellow tune carried along, slow yet steady, gently lulling them into a comfortable state, calming the despondent panic, that settled into ones nerves and ached so terribly, into a shaky buzz that wept beneath the skin.
It wasn't ideal to spend their last moments cramped and cold on the floor, Battat thought. But the other two seemed content to spend the last few seconds of life cozily snuggled together, watching the snow fall and listening to the other's quietly dwindling heartbeats.
As the slight melody started to fade, and the warmth of their partner's bodies around him gradually turned to the cold solidness of stone, the green pippins let out a small sob, the grey arms (and tail) wrapped around him feeling like a cruel mockery of a hug. In the silence of the small room, the fluorescent lights died down, and the two statues by his side were lit solely by the moon shining through the singular window on the wall, forming looming shadows that coiled around the small die, cradling him in its empty embrace. It held none of the comfort he had been gently ushered to get used to, no warmth and no love, and so the only thing the poor thing could do now was curl into himself and weep, all alone once again.
●●●●●●➤ I played the weird route btw. this is the weird route. tenna’s GONE too. (^_^)/ giggles