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Taco had found herself at one of Hotel Oj’s get-togethers.
Surprising. Yes. She often avoided these little parties because she really didn’t see the point in attempting to mingle with other objects who found her off-putting at best and frightening at worst.
That and having to constantly avoid any other taller objects from bumping into her because they couldn’t spare an extra half second to glance down when walking was… Bothersome.
But nevertheless… The drinks were. Okay. The food was just whatever anyone could grab out of the pantry. The lights and music were a bit too much and did little to hide the lack of anything remotely interesting happening.
So, yes, she had a rather long laundry list written about how she, frankly, detested Oj's damn parties. He seemed like he could never stop throwing get-togethers, though, maybe as some attempt to chase the brief stint he had as the season's host. She hoped that the new construction happening on the Island would quell his fervor for her and everyone else's sake.
Alas.
Despite the aforementioned list. She was still here. Still standing on the gaudy red carpeted floor. Near one of the red, faded couches. Holding an equally red solo cup that held some random alcoholic drink, various objects shouted and chatted over the music.
She was here for one reason, really, to put it plainly. Mic had asked. Well, okay. Maybe she didn’t exactly ask, but she did make some offhand comment about how she wished Taco would join her to one of these, and of course, that was enough to stir some semblance of nicety in Taco. So. She obliged.
That's all. She was just waiting for Mic. She could spare to wait for Mic. At least to humor her flighty fantasies about making Taco socialize. Even if she was starting to regret it.
Taco tapped her foot against the floor. A little. Taco could humor her a little. Just a little. She’d wait another minute or two.
She spared a glance at a crowd of objects, making eye contact with Soap, who was chatting with Clover. Soap looked at her, eyebrows raising. Oh shoot.
Taco quickly glanced away, feeling a spike of anxiety course through her as she caught the others' attention. She took a sip from her cup and started to look around for anything that would make her seem busy.
She failed. Of course, because Soap broke off from the group, excusing herself, before making her way towards Taco.
Taco sucked in a breath, forcing a placid smile. Shit. She knew to keep her sentences short around Soap, at least.
“Taco!” Soap said as she stopped in front of the smaller object. Soap held what seemed to be a cup of water in a gloved hand.
“Ah. Soap..! Hello.” Taco said, raising her voice and praying it came out in a polite tone.
“Heyyyyy- how are you doing, huh- didn’t expect to see you here.” Soap continued.
“I’m doing. Fine. I suppose- I-” Taco started.
“Hey- uh,” Soap interjected, leaning forward slightly. “So you haven’t- seen Microphone anywhere, have you?”
Taco’s leafy ears pinned back. Right.
"Ah- No," Taco said, the pace at which she tapped her foot quickened. She reached her free hand to scratch at the back of her shell.
"Really-" Soap drawled, raising an eyebrow. "That's a bit strange, since you two are usually so-" She raised her hands with pointer fingers pressed together. "Close." She spat with a stinging hiss sound.
Taco's lettuce ears twitched with uncertainty at what Soap was... implying so she lifted the red solo cup to her lips and drained it of its contents instead. Staring at the ground at her feet. Hoping she didn't choke.
"Uh- Okay." Soap shook herself, her mouth twitching into a brief smile. "Hey, well." She pointed a finger gun at Taco and clicked her tongue. "Let me know if you see her, I guess- she was sorta looking forward to tonight, is all." She looked off into the crowd with a distant look before giving a final shrug of her shoulders.
Taco swallowed the brandy and burned her throat as she did. "Right. Okay. Y-es." Her voice cracked, falling silent.
The two paused. The beat of the music reverberated through the room, lights pulsing.
Soap stared down at Taco. Taco continued to stare at the carpeted floor. Taco's breath quickened just slightly; she thumbed her now-empty cup, feeling its ridges.
Wow! She hated this, and she hated this party! Couldn't Soap read her? She was turned away, avoiding eye contact. Her disinterest should be clear.
Go away. Now. Soap. Thank you. Taco thought, mind starting to race.
"Right.. right.. Ah- see you around then." Soap motioned with her cup before moving away, walking back into the crowd of objects, muttering something faint under her breath.
Taco clenched her teeth before forcing an exhale, shaking off the feeling of being a frozen prey animal. Her hand tightened around the plastic cup with a small crunch. Echoing the constricting feeling she felt around herself.
She wasn't sure if Soap liked her very much. Or anyone for that matter, but that much was... obvious to her, she supposed.
When did she get so bad at being... charming? Goodness. That had been bad. Really bad. She needed to get a grip. Ack.
Soap had brought up a valid concern to Taco, at least. She hadn't seen Microphone’s familiar windscreen head pop up in the crowd yet, and she had gotten quite good at keeping an eye out for her.
Apparently. It seemed Microphone had the right idea. So, if the latter was refusing to show. It was likely time for Taco to bid her goodbye as well. Not that there was much for her to stick around for if Mic wasn't around, anyway.
It was good that the two had decided to share a room. Taco made her way back, squeezing her eyes shut occasionally to fight off the growing feeling of being overwhelmed. She at least hoped Microphone would be back here.
She swiped the key card at the door, waited for it to click, and swung the door open.
The hotel room seemed empty. Dark. Taco blinked, squinting her eyes toward the unmade beds near the center of the room. The sheets were tangled, pulled up from where they were tucked, and sprawled out across the floor into a trail that led to the open balcony doors.
Taco noticed the screen door was left pulled open as she inched closer, the sky outside was dark blue as the sun began to set further and further. The porch was faintly illuminated by a single orange bulb.
The microphone sat on the porch floor against the railing, her back turned from Taco, with her legs tucked between the metal bars and dangling off its edge. The smell of cigarettes in the air was strong, a small black ashtray was on the floor next to her, and two discarded cigarette butts were left smoldering in a pile of ash. A third was in Microphone’s hand.
“Microphone?” The smaller object called out.
Microphone jolted in place, flinching as she immediately spiraled into a coughing fit. She waved her arm, attempting to drive off the smoke.
“Oh- shoot-” She coughed into her palm. “T-aco-!” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed while putting out the unfinished cig in her tray. “Taco!” She tried again as she turned to face her smaller friend, a shaky smile on her face.
Taco’s eyes lingered on the used ashtray. Mic had once confined her to the fact that she only smoked when her stress became immeasurable. At least that was how Taco had remembered it.
“Are you… Alright?” Taco raised her eyebrows, eyes flicking to meet Microphone’s gaze with a look of concern.
“Wah- psssh-!” Mic waved her hand. “Me? Yeah! I-I’m like. So fine-” She trailed off with nervous laughter. “Sooo fine.”
“Right.” Taco huffed, her face dropping with how unconvinced she was. “Well- Alright.” She cleared her throat. “Ah- Soap had asked for you when you failed to show up at the party. So-” Taco waved with her hand, attempting to act less awkward than she felt. “Well. I decide to elope also- it was turning out to be quite a bore, honestly-”
"Wai- wait you-" Mic's antennae raised gently, a slow, surprised look grew on her face. "You went? Like... actually...?" She interrupted.
"I apologize," Taco said, sliding the screen door open a bit further. "If I had known you weren't available, I wouldn't have gone without you." She said, plainly.
Mic raised her smile into something small and lopsided, a fanged crooked tooth poking from the tilt of her lips. She gave a breathy laugh. "No- no that's- good to hear." She nodded, light. "Hey, you're getting out at least. That's more than I can say." Continuing, a tired tone crept into her voice; she gave Taco a finger gun for emphasis.
"Sure.” Taco chirruped.
Microphone shifted, using her weight to pull her legs up from where they hung, she brought her knees to her chest and swung over, sitting to face Taco.
“I should be apologizing to you, really.” She shrugged. “Ugh- I just.” She pressed a balled fist to her temple before dragging her hand down her windscreen.
“I have like- NO idea what happened I-” She motioned erratically with her hands as the end of her cord tail began to twitch in an agitated rhythm. “UHm- uh-” She pressed her hands in a repeated motion, seeking some form of pressure.
“Like- I swear I was gonna just finish work- and-an- go to- nap for a bit, y’know.” She raised a hand to the back of her housing, continuing to flap her other hand in front of her chest, near her power button. “But that nap ended up being like- what? 5 hours? Yeah! Oops- and then it was like SUPER late- to go and-”
Mic continued to ramble, her antenna twitching back and forth as her words became more hurried as she tried to cobble together an excuse.
Taco quietly followed along with her string of words, ears twitching at every comment that mentioned her prior lack of sleep or boasted about how long she had gone without a proper meal. Hmm. Taco narrowed her eyes, watching Microphone's expression. The dark circles under Microphone’s eyes had grown… rather deep, visible. Concerning.
She had seemed to have found the source of Microphone’s problems.
"I'm being stupid." Mic sighed as she finished, winded from her rant.
“Whatever do you mean..?” Taco said, half listening, mainly seeking to goad her taller friend into some confession.
“I mean- I should have gone right-?” Microphone brought a finger to her mouth and chewed the end of it. She growled, biting down harder. “UGH-! I knew it. Things are already weird between Soap and me, and now she's gonna think- now she's.” Microphone hummed with worry, growing more erratic.
"I believe you're being perfectly reasonable." Taco continued, calm. Keeping her tone even. “I don’t fault you.” She added a flourish of her wrist. “In fact, I would have preferred staying behind as well. Especially with… the… tiredness you carry.”
Microphone stared down at Taco, using her arms to pull herself a bit closer to her companion. Microphone breathing was quickened, still wrung out from the rant and from excessive smoking. Her eyes shone as the night sky continued to darken around them, somewhere bugs and the like began to chirp and chitter.
"I'm... sorry." Microphone said, gulping down the cool air.
"There's no one here to apologize to," Taco said as soon as the other finished.
A guilty expression briefly flickered across Microphone's features, the corners of her mouth twitching into a small pout as she looked down at Taco. Taco felt her brow soften as she held the others' gaze.
"Yeah. Okay." Mic exhaled, releasing a bit of tension. "Okay."
Taco ignored how her form began to tremble as the temperature began to drop. She leaned against the railing, attempting to show that she was in fact, relaxed and definitely not caught off guard.
“So- I take it you haven’t been… erm-” She clenched her teeth, suddenly feeling awkward. “Resting well?”
The microphone’s antennas stood straight. Trembling at a point. She stared straight down over the balcony.
Pause. The sound of trees rustling.
“Your silence only proves my point- y’know,” Taco said, coy.
Microphone let out a “Tch,” turning sharply to face Taco again.
“And I can assess you haven’t eaten all day as well? Hmm?” Taco continued to press.
Microphone growled, “UGH! YEAH- maybe- yeah. Maybe.” She seethed, her tolerance for Taco beginning to wane.
“Oh- please. With your track record,” Taco said, haughtily.
"Not like you're any better-" Microphone snapped, sharp and quick, in a way that made her voice coil pitch into a whine. The end of her cord tail lashed on the floor, low and quick.
"I'm not." Taco paused, clicking her teeth. She dipped her head forward. "I'm saying it from experience! Goddess knows that I- am familiar with the look of many sleepless nights-" Taco forced herself to laugh and end it on a lighter note. “And well- I can see you wearing it well.”
Microphone, shoulders slumped, struggling from the weight they carried. She leaned forward, eyes still twisted shut as she continued to press against the metal railing of the balcony, ignoring the way the chips of black paint flaked around her. She hummed, deep and low from the back of her throat. Exhausted.
"Yeahhhh. I guess you would know more than anyone. Wouldn't you...?" Slow. As if every word tumbled from her like a stone. Almost as if she were resigning from herself.
A cool wind rustled the branches of trees. It buffeted the screen door, causing a loud rattling sound. Taco shrank back a bit, squinting her eyes against the biting cold. She could see Microphone’s frame shiver against the night sky.
Taco stared. Idly counting the beats. Watching how the dull yellow porch light reflected off the case that connected her head to the rest of her shoulders. Seeing how it bounced. Eyes trained on the brightest part that shone.
She couldn't force Microphone to do anything she didn't want to. She knew that. She wouldn't want that.
She bit the inside of her mouth till it hurt.
It didn't change the fact that she just wanted to open her mouth and say snide and biting. I wasn't asking. It wasn't a suggestion. You're going to go inside and lie down and feel warm because that's how objects, good and kind and caring objects like you, should feel. You're going to rest.
You're going to feel better. You'll let me do this one thing for you.
Let me do this one last thing for you. Please.
"Right- well." Taco started, wavering as soon as she did. Her mind felt pinpricked, searching for some logical solution that would help.
Please.
Instead, she sucked her breath in, ignoring how hollow her lungs felt despite the sudden intake of cool winter air. Grinning, bearing her teeth, the only way she knew how. Exposes gums and all.
"I'm going to make dinner." Short. Terse. Tense.
"Taco-" Microphone’s antennae jumped up, alert. "You don't have to-" She was already halfway standing, eyes wide, apologetic. Before Taco could continue.
"I'm going to make dinner." She continued, pushing. A sweeter tilt added to her voice. She turned with flowery movement for good measure as she stepped back into the dingy hotel room.
"And-" Taco swallowed again, keeping her voice light and airy. "I would be- you're welcome to-" Faltering. "Decide...! If... you'd.. like to join me." She continued stepping back into the slightly less dark hotel room.
She paused. Taco counted her breath.
Every step she took ached, as she tried to slow herself down into a crawl. She held her breath, almost feeling the seconds tick away in her mind as she stalled. One tiny foot step in front of the other. Till pressure built against the roof of her mouth.
Please. Follow me. I'm sorry for making you follow me again.
"Wait-" Her ears twitched as she heard Microphone quickly scrabble up, shifting as she hurriedly stepped over herself. The slide and click of the screen door, followed by the tug of the curtains shutting.
"Alright- hold up." Mic said. Falling into place.
She heard the quickened breath. The presence trailing her was familiar. The footsteps that shuffled behind her. Comforting. Rewarding.
A quick exhale. Relief. Despite the cold, she felt a bead of sweat trail down her shell, she quickly dabbed at it with the palm of her hand before Microphone could see her in a better light.
Meeple. Why couldn't she have just asked?
They were back in the halls of the hotel. Both made a beeline for the stairwell that would bring them down to the large hotel kitchen.
Taco forced herself to keep pace alongside Microphone, despite how her shorter legs made it a struggle. She would occasionally steal a glance over at Microphone. Debating whether what she was doing was the right idea.
"Soo..." Mic started again, knitting her fingers together. She tilted her head. "You… can.. cook?"
No.
"I work at a restaurant," Taco said.
"Oh! What! Yeah, as a host!" Microphone snorted, playful despite her sleepy demeanor. "Uh-huh- yeah, and that's all the proof I need. Right."
"Obviously." Taco felt the first genuine smile of the night twitch across her features.
Mic made a "I don't believe you but okay" noise from the back of her throat, vocal coil vibrating.
Taco huffed to hide the laughter she felt escaping her. Flushing as she could feel Microphone roll her eyes at her.
“I-” Microphone paused as they stood in front of the door to the stairwell. “Y’know- Y- Didn’t like- have to do this. For uh-” She opened the door for Taco.
"I never said you HAD to have a meal," Taco said, stepping through and making her way up. "I'm pleased you came back inside, at least. It's quite freezing out there." She said over her shoulder.
"O-oh. Sorry...!" Microphone’s voice dipped before becoming a squeak as she spoke from the side of her mouth. Her teeth tightened together. Her “sorry for assuming” voice
You're losing her. Sharp anxiety stabbed into Taco's stomach.
"B-but-! I'm- more- Ah. more than happy to share with you. Of course!" Taco added, hurriedly.
"Right-!" Mic laughed, sputtering. She pressed a hand against the back of her casing, awkwardness in her fidgeting. "No- right. Yeah. Course. Cuz I'm like- starving geez-" Microphone made a queasy look, lowering her hands to her stomach.
Taco laughed at that; it echoed as the two continued their way down. She felt some cageyness leave her.
The two had reached the kitchens, walking in through the metal doors.
The kitchens were, as always, a bit of a mess. Of course, no proper staff had ever been hired to manage the kitchen despite the many stoves, ovens, fryers, and walk-in fridges it boasted. So many times it was left… neglected, the air around them hung, kitchen-stale. Most objects preferred to take what they could from the pantry anyway.
Some remnants of the party were littered around the kitchen; there were uncorked bottles of champagne along with tall stemmed glasses sitting on a counter. Someone took the fryer and made themselves some fritters, pointedly eating them and leaving nothing but crumbs on the counter.
Taco was glad that the new Reality Restaurant would mean less of… whatever this was.
“Okay. Now- Let’s.” Taco said, placing her hands at her side. Great. She sucked in air through her teeth. Now she had to convince Mic she could cook. “Uh- Mic.” Taco glanced at her. “I believe there’s chicken stock in one of these fridges… Somewhere. If you could find it for me.”
“Oh! Yup-! uhh-” Mic clapped her hands together and uttered a trill, making a beeline for the short steel mini-fridges that lined the counters, opening and closing them as she went down the line.
Okay. Okay! She’d make soup. Soup was easy to make. Easy. Nobody could mess up a soup.
She turned on her heel as Microphone kept searching, opening one of the doors to a small room that held various preserved foods. There were shelves of mostly unused spices, Tupperware containers of flour and sugar, and boxes and cans of more foodstuffs.
Unfortunately, there was no way Taco was going to reach anything on the top shelf. So she quickly scanned the bags that were the closest to her and grabbed whatever seemed the easiest to work with.
She popped back out of the room. Mic was standing near one of the stoves, having found a pot to pour the stock next to her into.
“Lentils?” Microphone said, staring down at Taco with a confused expression, her brow arching and antenna pinning back in tentative apprehension.
Mic was known for her pickiness when it came to certain foods. Especially anything new that deviated from the usual microwavable meals she would have. Not that Taco blamed her, but right now she was more focused on providing something a bit healthier and filling.
“Lentils,” Taco parroted, now examining the bag with closer expectation. “I suspect we’ll have to wash these. Do you- mind…?”
“Oh!” The microphone’s antennas jumped slightly as she reached out, grabbing Taco firmly from her sides. As soon as Taco’s feet lifted off the floor, the smaller object immediately felt her muscles relax, her grip growing limp. She quickly seized, clenching at the bag and reeling herself back in before it could fall to the floor.
Mic plopped her down onto the counter near the large kitchen sink before moving to fetch some kind of strainer. Taco shook her head, blearily, fighting off the sense of fuzziness. She occupied her hands and funneled her frustration into opening the bag instead.
“I- guess I should thank you or- something, huh?” Microphone said as she took the open bag from Taco, not quite meeting her eyes. “I don’t think- I would have bothered- remember or- yeah.” Mic shrugs.
“I certainly wouldn’t object to that,” Taco said, moving to sit at the edge of the counter as Microphone washed their meal.
Microphone snorted, placing her hands on the edge of the sink. “Yeah. Then. Thanks.” Mic was gazing steadily at her, brow raised in some form of amusement.
“Think nothing of it.” She said, feeling something twinge in the back of her shell and reverberate through her before rising to the back of her throat. Meeple. She really wished she had something to do with her hands now.
“No- I mean I’m.” Microphone straightens herself, rising to her full height again. “I uh- like appreciate it- I guess. Didn’t-”
Expect it? No. Of course, she didn’t. Taco had surprised herself as well. Taco’s mind surged; the sincerity of it all was beginning to coil around her and constrict her. Right. Well. Right.
"Ah- well- I had to- Knowing you. What have you had for lunch? Hmh...!" She pressed a finger to her chin, attempting to lighten the mood with a quip. She followed the motion with a tilt of her head for emphasis, her ears flopping over. "3 cigarettes and oh what are those little circular peanut butter and sandwich things called again?”
Microphone gawked, mouth wide with her eyes widening a touch. "Oh-! Oh!" She sputtered, flabbergasted, shaking her head. "Screw you, dude!" She laughed. "Uh-huh- like you're much better- what'd you eat today, huh?"
"Nothing of note," Taco said, with some semblance of relief.
"Exactly! Oh uh- emphasize on the nothing." Mic hissed through her teeth. "A pb and J is a perfectly acceptable meal... It's a sandwich!" She said, flailing her arms for emphasis.
"Not when you're having 5 energy drinks- and it's not really a sandwich, is it?" Taco tsk’ed, she dropped her gaze to their neglected setup. "Put the lentils in the pot, will you?"
Mic punched her on the shoulder as she passed by, making Taco wince with a sharp “Ack-h!” as she doubled over slightly, but she still couldn’t fight the soft smile that grew on her face. She hopes Microphone can’t read her expression from here.
Mic giggled to herself, pouring the stock and food together before turning the stove to a simmer. Finally, the food was a step closer to being done. Back to idly waiting.
Microphone occupied herself by rocking back and forth on the end of her heels, hands folded behind her back as she produced some string of noises to fill the empty air while the stock ticked hotter and hotter.
“So.” Taco starts. “I can… assume.” She knits her fingers together. “That you- haven’t been sleeping much, either? Your ahem- habit of- sleeping.. Or shall I say. Lack of habit." Taco laughs, pained. "Erm-! Shall we circle back to that?” Again. Continuing to push further. Slightly. Careful.
Microphone’s antenna twitches, letting Taco know she’s heard her. She doesn’t respond.
“Taco…” Steady, scolding. Too far.
Taco looks away. Fidgets. Taps her fingers on the counter. Sorry.
“I- I’m just pointing out-” She smiles- no smirks, tries to keep her face even. Her form is cool and calm.
“Pointing out- What?” Microphone responds, voice hitching an octave.
“Nothing- Nothing. I-” Taco raises her hands, palms up. Defensive.
The microphone shifts, inching closer to where Taco is seated. Plants her hands on the counter, on both sides of Taco. Leans, no. Looms further. Closing the gap between them. Taco’s view shrinks, narrowing her world to Mic’s questioning expression.
“I-” Taco said, throat going dry. She can hear her heartbeat thump in her own ears, and she knows from experience it’s something Microphone can pick up on as well, if the tilt of her head to angle her antenna better confirms anything. “Just.” She struggles.
The end of Microphone’s antenna twitches slightly, falling into rhythm with her pulse.
“You-? You what?” Microphone questions, eyes narrowing. Pressing herself closer into the counter, leaning forward, and forcing the smaller object to inch away.
"I'm not asking you to promise me anything." Taco stammered. "Just-" She sighs, defeated.
Microphone’s eyebrows raise at the word, antenna twitch. “I wasn’t under the impression I’d be making any.”
“No.” Taco’s teeth click. “I wouldn’t- I’m not saying that- I..I’m saying- Worry- I just w-” Taco’s eyes darted away, landing back on the boiling pot next to them. “Ah- food.” The words tumble from her mouth, awkwardly, as she points.
The pot boils, bubbles popping with enough intensity to make the lid of the pot quiver. It rattles, a metallic sound as it hisses.
Microphone squeaks and moves to save their food. Taco lets out a sharp exhale of relief as she does, steadying herself with a hand to her shell. Thankful for the distraction.
The pot gives a final rumble before bubbling to a stop as Microphone cuts the heat to it. She opens the lid, cringing back as steam hits her point-blank in the face, causing her face to scrunch. She discards the lid in the sink. Before fishing bowls and utensils for the two.
Taco watches as Microphone prepares; she sniffs the air slightly; it feels a tick warmer in the room as the brothlike, appetizing smell wafts in the air. Savory with a tinge of salt. Taco’s stomach growls, reminding her of its own neglected hunger.
The microphone reappears with two bowls in hand. “Huh, it doesn't look too bad.. I think?” Face showing her apprehension as she sets the food down.
Taco can’t complain. A meal is a meal, and she's had worse. She has a spoonful, it's warm and good. Tangy with salt and garlic. It goes down easily enough.
Microphone trains her eyes on Taco, still skeptical. She pops a spoonful into her mouth, scrunching her face, ready to judge, but her expression quickly changes. Her eyes widened in surprise, softening. Her antenna falls lax, and the end of her cord tail begins to wag. She takes a bite, and then another and another. A hum of content builds in her as she wipes a smear of soup from the corner of her mouth between spoonfuls. Continuing eagerly, messily. Realizing how starved she feels.
Taco Binks. Suddenly realizes she's been staring at Microphone with a wonky smile plastered across her face. She jerks her head away and busies herself with her own bowl, awkwardly slurping to fill the air. She hopes the warmth that spreads across her face is from the food and not whatever it is that stirs in her chest.
Microphone finishes her bowl first. She moves to help herself for seconds, hesitating slightly as if Taco would object. Taco is more than happy to see it, she places her own empty serving down, resting her hands on her knees as Microphone does. Letting her gaze trail away, hoping her body language reflects anything but judgment.
Microphone eats again, this time less hurried, less worried of scorn.
Taco understands the sentiment.
The food settles in their gut, full and warm. The taller object seems to visibly relax further.
“Ahem- uh.” The electrical lights above them hum as Microphone tries to spark a conversation again. “Soooo…. Do you- ever wonder why Oj throws all these- parties all the time? And stuff? Cuz- uh I do.” Microphone motions with her spoon.
“Oh. It’s because he’s an alcoholic.” Taco casually says.
“GHK-?” Microphone chokes on her spoonful. “Wh-what- WHAT..?” She sputters.
Taco makes a shushing motion. “Well, that’s just my theory anyway.” She continues, kicking her leg as she sits.
“Wait- like? Really?” Microphone said, voice pitching with surprise. “For real..?”
“You notice a lot when people actively avoid trying to get your attention- y’know.” Taco continues. “I, in particular, have noticed his frequent visits to here- the kitchen-” She sucks in a breath. “Especially the fridges where most alcoholic beverages are stored. I assume all these little-” She flicks her wrists. “Festivities are an excuse to day drink, really. Outside of when he already does.”
“Huh? Huh.” Microphone lowered her spoon as she processed everything. She pursed her lip, brow furrowing as she tried to recall any familiar behavior from Oj that she’s seen herself. “Hmm. Makes sense-” Her antenna twitched, still slightly skeptical. “I think.”
Microphone sets her bowl down, leaving it in the sink to be cleaned later.
“Uh-” She turns to Taco again, antenna slightly skewed as she tilts her head. There's an expression across her face, a small hint of something in her eyes, Taco can’t quite. Read. Microphone had always been hard to get a read on.
“You notice a lot, don’t you?” Microphone chuckles, voice low, almost charmed. She leans against the counter again, right next to Taco, her arms crossed.
Ah. Void. Mic has caught her, hasn’t she? She must think Taco is a huge- what the word. Creep. A big utter creep for pushing Mic to… do this.
“I-!” Taco feels a sharp spike of fear shoot through her. “Ah-hm! Well.” She brings her hand to her chin, feigning composure. “I suppose- one must- remain…” She tilts her body, leaf ears flopping to the side. “Sharp… if they want to…” She makes a motion with her hand, choosing her words carefully. “Eh.. settle in with… all these objects.” She cringes internally.
Microphone makes a face at her, as if she finds the concept utterly ridiculous, before letting out a short snort of laughter. She shakes her head, eyes closed, chuckling slightly.
Taco’s ears briefly prick up to her shell before swiveling back up as Microphone stares down at her.
“Ohh.. Okay.” Another snort. “Well, then. If you're so keen-eyed then…! You must know who’s been taking my headphones. Yeah?” She drops her hand onto Taco's head, resting it on her filling and shell.
The light touch makes Taco freeze, breath getting caught in the back of her throat. Oh- Meeple? She feels sweat start to build as Microphone continues to stare down at her, an eyebrow raised. Somehow still carrying a small smirk on her face. Taco feels her stomach twist, threatening to dispel its contents.
Oh. Okay. Think, Taco. Think rationally and clearly here. She could be honest - or- because! Well. Yes. She Knew. But that would be so strange to admit to keep track of, especially.
What? Was this a test?!? Was Microphone testing her?!?!?!!
Her eyes dart up at Mircophone and then back down. Oh wow- she's been stalling too long- Microphone definitely probably most likely finds her hesitating weird right. Oh meeple. But she asked, and she can’t not- not answer Microphones query. Taco struggles. It was her, after all.
“Ah-! Hmm- I- it- IT’S- TISSUES!” She squawks, before her brain has any time to process what's coming out of her mouth. She jolts forward slightly, as it's ripped from her mouth in a slightly strangled cry. She stops herself from slapping her hands over her mouth in horror and manages to wrangle herself into settling back down again.
She looks back up at Microphone, scared, frankly. Hoping for her scorn. Or maybe even- approval. Or.
Microphone faces scrunches again, endeared. She snorts- almost doubling over in a small fit of giggles, before leaning back. Letting out a sharp laugh, loud enough to make Taco flinch.
Microphone straightens herself, brows furrowing in a serious expression. “Tissues,” said with a cadence that let Taco know she was joking. She clenches her fist, mockingly. “I knew it…!” She speaks with pointed exaggeration.
Taco can’t help against the small twitch of her mouth as she watches Microphone. Despite how her heartbeat jumped at the pressing. Pheew. If Mic found that it was fine..? Er- she supposed.. It was?
Microphone steps away, looking back at Taco. A smile still on her face, but with a growing tiredness in her eyes. “Geez- your-” She half-mumbles something, her string of words too incoherent for Taco to pick up on, no matter how hard she strains. Microphone yawns, interrupting herself as she presses her knuckles into her eye, rubbing.
Taco suddenly feels worn as well, eyelids dropping as Mic's drowsiness seeps into her. but with a light fuzziness, happy. Maybe. Content. Pleased.
“I suppose it’s time we retire to our beds.” She says, slowly, ending her sentence with a short yawn.
Microphone grunts in agreement. She reaches toward Taco, helping the smaller object down. The same feeling from earlier surges forward, and more fuzziness clouds Taco’s mind like thick cotton, but she’s too tired to fight it this time; she loosens in Microphone’s grip.
The cold tile of the kitchen floor wakes her up just enough to follow behind Microphone, half stumbling and tripping over her own short legs. They make their way out of the kitchen and back up towards their rooms, still talking and snickering to themselves as they do.
When they reach the rooms, it's Microphone that swipes her keycard, opening the door for the two of them. Taco creeps her way in, trailing silently, turning to use their shared bathroom to wash up before bed, before a soft cushioning sound interrupts her thoughts.
She hazily jumps back into focus, leaning to look down into the room. Mic has decidedly gone to bed already, however. Hmm. Taco’s bed is the one nearest to the door, which is the one Mic has flopped down on, face down, mumbling. The sheets tangle and shift as she gets comfortable, kicking her legs and arms out with a satisfied huff.
Taco’s leaf ears raise. Hmm. Alright. No worries. She can just use Microphones bed for the night. The girl was tired anyway; Taco wouldn’t fault her. It was just a bed. Just a bed, what difference did it make? Taco reassured herself as she turned, stepping into the bathrooms to wash up.
She cleans up, turns the faucet off with a squeak as she dries her hands. Leaves the light on with the door opened just a crack, letting a sliver of light through in case Mic changed her mind. She sneaked through the room, towards the other bed, as quietly as she could. Ears pricked, twitching at the hushed sounds of Mic’s breathing. Stepping forward timidly.
“Taco,” Microphone’s voice calls, making the smaller object still. There's a short soft groan as she rolls over, rustling sheets.
“What is it..? Mic?” Taco replies in a whisper.
Another short string of mumbles. “Hey.” Microphone’s eyes are open, just a crack, and she squints at Taco from over the mattress.
Microphone pats the bedding next to her, once, twice. Her hand stills.
Taco makes a confused expression, shrugs, questioning.
Microphone pats the bed again, in quick succession this time. Making a grumbled sound, fighting her laziness. “Cmere.” She says, finally, voice hoarse.
Oh. Oh.
Taco’s legs move before she has a chance to think. She forces herself to hesitate. Almost hating that she does. She swallows her resignation thickly, before her throat is too dry to. Continuing to take steps forward, making sure her pace is even and not too eager as she does.
Hauls herself up on the bed, hoping her trembling hands aren’t noticeable in the low light. Sits on the edge, feels Microphone’s presence beside her, almost scorching herself on it.
Microphone’s breaths draw quieter and quieter. Her eyes are shut as she curls into herself, slightly shivering.
Taco scoots a bit closer, as close as the pit in her stomach allows. Staring down at Mic’s sleepy form.
Her hand moves on its own, hovering over Microphone’s head delicately. Something inside Taco wants to brush against the metal grooves of her grill, run it over its texture. Touch the detailing. The small dents. It’s scars.
Her fingers twitch.
What the hell is Taco doing? What does she think shes-
She darts her hand out, instead grabbing at the blankets and pulling them over Microphone. A quick save of her character, letting out a shaking exhale from her tight chest.
Microphone grunts, almost annoyed. Reaches a hand out. Randomly feeling for Taco. Fingers lightly grazing the back of Taco’s shell, drawing a shiver from the smaller object. Before pulling the other object closer, drawing her near into the crook under her head. Taco fully goes limp, truly unable to do anything against it. Doesn’t turn to look up at her.
Taco draws her arms and legs close to herself, afraid of making any further movements. Mic is near her. Near her. Holding her. Close. Like it’s something she wants. Taco feels her metal, how it’s cold against her shell, feels it simmer with electricity. It’s enough to make Taco fully short-circuit. Almost.
Almost, as she tries to rein herself in. Keep her breathing even. Hope that Mic doesn’t notice. Hope.
“Back in the- kitchen-” Microphone’s eyes flutter open, desperately fighting the thralls of sleep. “You- s-said.” Yawns. “You- Uh. Worry- about me?” She mutters, drawing Taco’s attention.
Shit.
Fuck.
Taco had hoped Microphone had forgotten.
Taco swallows again, pulling the sheets up closer to her, as if she could hide herself. Every muscle feels stark, tense. Vibrating with panic. Something inside Taco twinges, tells her to run.
“Yes.” Taco forces the word out against her own mind, snaps her mouth shut. Stopping herself from spilling. From saying yes. From saying more. Yes. I worry, Mic. I worry so much. I worry and worry and. “Sorry- I.” She adds, punctuated, failing.
She feels Microphone shrug around her, cutting her off. Feels the way Mic hums into her with every breath.
“Don’t b- S’ fine.” She says, murmuring after a beat.
“S’ cute.” Final.
Mic lifts her arm, pulling the sheets so they cover Taco as well. Flops her arm over Taco.
Oh.
Fuck.
Microphone rests back down into the pillow, resting her head slightly on Taco, almost using her as a headrest, nuzzling into her leafy filling. Finally losing the fight against sleep as she shuts her eyes, relaxing. Breathing. Sleeping. Holding onto Taco.
Taco’s mind races with questions. Pressing. Eyes widening as she stares at the ceiling, very glad Microphone can’t make her out in the dark.
Taco’s stomach drops, and she clenches the sheets in her hand, wringing them to fight from strangling herself.
“Oh- Fuck.” Taco hisses. When Mic can’t hear her.
Taco is sure she isn’t going to get much sleep tonight.