Chapter Text

TIME: 1:43 P.M.

LOCATION: AN UNDISCLOSED, POORLY LIT JANITOR'S CLOSET (OR MAYBE JUST A CARDBOARD BOX).

Waxwell: Heheheheheh... Haaaaaheheheheh...

(table slapping: SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK)

Waxwell: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Waxwell: YES! YES! IT IS GODDAMN TIME! The perfect plan! The absolute, undisputed, incredibly illegal, and highly sophisticated PRANK! While that little Goob... that little Tiktok-Brainrotted Noob is completely absent, I, the genius, the mastermind, the apex predator of this entire miserable establishment, will prepare for his ultimate demise!

The Candle paces back and forth at 400x speed. 

Waxwell: Goob thinks he is SOOOO cool! "Oh, look at me, my stringy arms can draw! I understand color theory! I have a healthy relationship with my older sister, Scraps!" BULLCRAP!

Waxwell grabs a piece of chalk and violently draws on a chalkboard that materialized out of nowhere.

Waxwell: Observe! The blueprint of absolute devastation! The "WAXWELL’S LETHAL PRANK"! First, I take this normal, everyday doorway. AND THEN... I rig the ceiling tiles with SEVENTY-FIVE POUNDS OF RAW, UNCOOKED SPAGHETTI!

The Candle pauses, staring at it with bulging, bloodshot eyes.

Waxwell: But wait! Spaghetti isn't violent! It's just Italian! SO! I will mix the spaghetti with... LIVE, ANGRY, CAFFEINATED WASPS! BZZZZZT! BZZZZT! BZZZZZZZZT! STING STING STING! AHAHAHA!

Waxwell slams his head into a desk. He doesn't seem to feel it.

Waxwell: But is it enough? NO! When the spaghetti-wasp trap triggers, it will activate a secondary tripwire! This tripwire is connected to a giant, ACME-brand anvil! And what is on the anvil?! A SECOND, SMALLER ANVIL! And what is on that smaller anvil?! A CHAINSAW DUCT-TAPED TO A HONEY BADGER!

The Candle begins vibrating. 

Waxwell: GOOB WILL WALK IN! HE WILL SAY, "Oh gee, I sure am ready to practice my shading techniques with my weird mismatched paws!" AND THEN—BAM! SPAGHETTI! POW! WASPS! CRASH! DOUBLE ANVIL! VROOM! HONEY BADGER! And the best part? I will be standing right there, pointing and laughing like this!

Waxwell unhinges his jaw like a snake. A deafening, distorted laughing sound plays. It sounds like a car engine failing.

Waxwell:

HOO HOO HEE HEE HAA HAA HOOOOONK!

The Candle stops suddenly. He looks at his own hands.

Waxwell: Wait. The honey badger might eat the wasps.

Silence for 5 seconds. Just the sound of fluorescent lights buzzing.

Waxwell: DOESN'T EFFING MATTER! I will simply replace the honey badger with a LANDMINE! YES! A landmine that shoots hot sauce! It is foolproof! It is invincible! IT IS... wait, what time is it?

Waxwell looks at a watch drawn on his wrist with a sharpie.

Waxwell: OH CRAP, IT'S 2:00 PM! The afternoon! Goob is already in the Art Room! I MUST HURRY! I MUST ASSEMBLE THE DOOM SQUAD!

The Candle attempts to run out the door, but runs face-first into the wall next to it. 

(LOUD BONG SOUND EFFECT)

 Waxwell slowly slides down the wall, leaving a smear, then instantly pops back up and zips through the actual door, leaving a cartoonish dust cloud shaped like a middle finger.

TIME: AFTERNOON (2:15 PM) LOCATION: THE ART FLOOR

The contrast is jarring. The lighting is soft and pleasant. Gentle, royalty-free pieces of piano music are playing at a very reasonable volume. The room smells like graphite and peace.

Goob is sitting at a desk. His rounded square head is tilted in focus, a light yellowish-orange blush resting under his uneven eyes. His long, thick, flexible black string-like arms are resting comfortably on the table. He is holding a very nice, expensive stylus/pencil in his large red paw with blue claws. He is completely zoned into a canvas.

Goob: Alright... just gonna add a little bit of cross-hatching right here... yeah. That's the stuff.

It is a stunning, impossibly detailed, hyper-realistic drawing of Craft and his older sister, Scraps. It perfectly captures her hexagonal yellow head, the salmon-colored folded ears, and the crisp edges of her white cupcake-liner dress. It looks like it belongs in the Louvre.

Goob: I think I really captured her smile in this one. Let me just blend this shadow on her papercraft jawline... gently... gently... smooth it out. Perfect. The lighting source is coming from the top left, which means the cast shadow should fall right across her magenta party cup tail. Ah, art is so relaxing. It is a balm for the soul.

Suddenly, footsteps are heard down the hall. They do not sound like normal footsteps. They sound like someone slamming two wet hams against the linoleum floor at 100 miles per hour. 

SLAP-SLAP-SLAP-SLAP-SLAP-SLAP

The Fluffy Craft doesn't look up from the canvas, his blue freckles on the left and red on the right remaining perfectly still.

Goob: Hm. I should probably use the 4B pencil for the darker values on Scraps's magenta eye lines.

The Art Room door doesn't just open. It explodes. It shatters into a million low-res 3D polygons that clip through the floor. The royalty-free lo-fi music abruptly scratches to a halt.

The Candle is standing in the doorway. He is carrying a massive, towering pile of junk: an anvil, a bucket labeled "SPAGET", a glass jar full of angry vibrating black dots (wasps), a chainsaw, and a landmine painted bright pink. He is sweating profusely.

Waxwell: WWWWWRRRRRRYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!

Waxwell gasps for air, the mic peaking again.

Waxwell: I... HAVE... ARRIVED, BITCH!

Goob casually uses his left blue paw with red claws to brush some eraser dust off his canvas.

Goob: Hey. Close the door, you're letting the draft in.

The Candle drops the entire pile of heavy objects. It makes a deafening metal crashing sound, followed by the sound of a bowling pin falling over, a cat screeching, and a car alarm.

Waxwell: CLOSE THE DOOR?! CLOSE THE DOOR?! I DID NOT COME HERE TO DISCUSS HVAC EFFICIENCY! I CAME HERE TO ENACT... THE PRANK!

Waxwell strikes a dramatic JoJo-style pose, dislocating his own shoulder in the process. A bone-cracking sound plays.

Waxwell: OUCH! AHH! MOTHER OF PEARL!

The Candle shakes it off rapidly.

Waxwell: IGNORE THAT! BEHOLD, YOUR DOOM!

Craft looks at him for exactly one second, crossing his uneven eyes, then looks back at the drawing.

Goob: Is that a bucket of spaghetti?

Waxwell runs up to Goob's desk and aggressively points at the drawing.

Waxwell: IT IS NOT JUST SPAGHETTI! IT IS THE HARBINGER OF YOUR HUMILIATION! WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING?! ARE YOU DRAWING?! WHILE I AM TRYING TO PRANK YOU BY VIOLENCE?! THIS IS HIGHLY DISRESPECTFUL!

Goob: I'm drawing me and my older sister, Scraps. Look. I finally figured out how to render the folds on her cupcake-wrapper dress without making it look like wet plastic.

Waxwell's eyes bulge out of his skull, hovering two inches in front of his face.

Waxwell: FABRIC FOLDS?! I AM HOLDING A LIVE LANDMINE AND YOU ARE TALKING TO ME ABOUT FABRIC FOLDS?!

The Candle slams both hands onto the Fluffy Craft's desk. The desk cracks but holds together.

Waxwell: LISTEN TO ME, YOU LITTLE LEONARDO DA VINCI WANNABE! YOU ARE GOING TO PUT DOWN THAT PENCIL FROM YOUR WEIRD-ASS PAW. YOU ARE GOING TO STAND UP ON YOUR YELLOWISH-ORANGE STRIPED KNEES. YOU ARE GOING TO WALK OVER TO THAT DOORWAY. AND YOU ARE GOING TO LET ME DROP AN ANVIL ON YOUR CRANIUM!

Goob: No thanks, bro. I'm busy.

Waxwell starts pulling his own wax hair out. Clumps of poorly drawn shards of wax fly everywhere.

Waxwell: "NO THANKS"?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN "NO THANKS"?! THIS IS NOT A JOINT COMMITTEE PROPOSAL! THIS IS A FORCED COMEDIC ASSASSINATION! DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT WAS TO CATCH THESE WASPS?! I HAD TO FIGHT A RACCOON BEHIND THE DUMPSTER! HE HAD A KNIFE! THE FUCKING RACCOON HAD A KNIFE! AND YOU WON'T EVEN APPRECIATE MY EFFORT?!

Craft squints at his canvas.

Goob: Hmm. The proportions on Scraps's left ear are bothering me. Do you have an eraser?

Waxwell completely loses his mind. The background changes to a swirling vortex of red and black. Demonic chanting can be heard softly in the background. The Candle’s body begins to distort, stretching vertically and horizontally.

Waxwell: AN ERASER?! I WILL ERASE YOU FROM EXISTENCE!!!

Waxwell picks up the pink landmine and the chainsaw. He turns the chainsaw on. It doesn't sound like a chainsaw. It sounds like a kazoo being blown through a megaphone.

Waxwell: THAT IS IT! THE PRANK IS CANCELLED! WE ARE SKIPPING THE SPAGHETTI! WE ARE SKIPPING THE WASPS! WE ARE GOING STRAIGHT TO... PERISHING! PREPARE TO BECOME A SPLATTER ON THE WALL, ART NERD! ANY LAST WORDS BEFORE I TURN YOU INTO ABSTRACT ART?!

The Fluffy Craft sighs heavily. He slowly puts down his 4B pencil. He places it precisely parallel to his eraser. He looks up at Waxwell. His expression is completely deadpan. Not a single emotion on his fluffy square face.

Goob: Yeah. I have some last words.

Waxwell: HA! LET'S HEAR THEM! BEG FOR MERCY! CRY! WEEP!

Goob: Dodge this, filthy casual.

Goob casually reaches into his body with his massive string-arm. From this, he pulls out a fully loaded, massive, military-grade M16 assault rifle. It is completely physically impossible for it to have fit in there. It gleams with a polished, hyper-realistic metal texture, completely contrasting the cartoon art style of the room.

The Candle's jaw drops all the way to the floor. Literally. It unrolls like a red carpet, tongue rolling out with it.

Waxwell: ...brrrrRRRRUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHH

The silence lasts for exactly one frame.

Craft clicks off the safety.

Goob: Say hello to my little friend. And by little friend, I mean 5.56 NATO rounds at 800 rounds per minute.

The Fluffy Craft pulls the trigger.

DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA!

Waxwell: OOGH! AUGH! EEGH! GAH! MY SPLEEN! NOT MY INTESTINES! I AM ALLERGIC TO BULLETS! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!

Waxwell is hit. But there is no ichor. Instead, the Candle instantly enters a Source Engine T-pose, then wildly flails around the room like a Garry's Mod ragdoll whose physics have glitched into a wall. He violently clips into the ceiling, the floor, the whiteboard, and the spaghetti bucket, making rapid colliding noises.

CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK-CLUNK

Waxwell's voice echoes as if he is falling down an infinite bottomless pit.

Waxwell: TELL MY MOTHER... I NEVER LIKED HER MEATLOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAFFFF...

Waxwell's ragdolling body eventually shoots out the window at Mach 4, breaking the glass and leaving a Waxwell-shaped hole. A faint ding sound is heard as he disappears into the sky like Team Rocket.

Silence returns to the Art Room. The smoke from the M16 barrel spells out "LMAO".

Craft looks at the window, completely unfazed.

Goob: Well. That was annoying.

Goob casually shoves the massive M16 back into his body. It fits perfectly. He sits back down in his chair, his stringy arms scooting him closer to the desk. He picks up his 4B pencil with his red paw.

Goob: Now... where was I? Oh right. The shading on Scraps's tail.

The Fluffy Craft resumes drawing. The gentle, royalty-free piano music miraculously turns back on. The bucket of spaghetti in the corner suddenly explodes on its own, for no reason. Goob does not even blink.

Craft smiles softly at his drawing, adjusting his neck fluff.

Goob: Nice.