Chapter Text
All my style, all my grace
All I tried to save my face
Taco was not the sort of person to see others as purely good, nor purely bad for that matter. She supposed most people didn’t, actually, but she seemed to be the only one to care enough to draw attention to it. To put in her best effort to reveal all that had been wrong with this..game that MePhone had been leading. To say she had a bad feeling about it would be an understatement..she was simply too blind to see it at first in her earlier days of being on the show.
Her attempts to aid those in the show had been all but weak. Not without their flaws, of course (but wasn’t everyone?).
Most people simply decide to draw attention to the flaws of those whom they considered unconventional, and those people only. Taco was one of these unfortunate souls (who says she doesn’t deserve it though?), an angel so demonic in nature that even she doubted herself.
She had decided then that the show would burn, and if she had to burn with it, then so be it. Perhaps it hadn’t been so wise to burn those who had been caught in the crossfire, though (because not everyone was quite as deceitful as she; not as deserving of damnation), even with their flaws that Taco sought to oh-so-carefully reveal on those rising platforms.
It was all a shame, really (a shame she had to turn out this way), something that could not be fixed even with an abundance of all the forgiveness in the world.
All she could really do was sit and watch as others rebuilt their lives into something more desirable, almost free (they would never be free) and something like a sense of who they were. Everyone was forgiven, the gift of a fresh start so carelessly tossed into their grasp; all except for Taco.
Her mind was blank (not truly), overcrowded so badly that she could almost think of nothing at the point she was at.
And sometimes it was not, it surrounded her, it surrounded everything, the world (or at least what she knew of it). It was the thoughts, the feelings, all that balled up into something she so often threw out with any semblance of a want to connect with others. She could not afford to do so,despite all that she yearned for.
“Taco”
Soon she would have to return to reality, where consequences would be faced, where she was breathing, living (but were any of them really living?), where others would see her, know her, judge her for all that she had done.
She could not dictate their choices (Whatever deity above knows she tried), only her own.
“Taco?”
The competition was over now, and everyone was expected to break free of their code (of their purpose, ultimately useless for anything but being a reflection of their host’s own trauma); Taco was tired of this talk. She had broken free (never free) ever since the first finale, the end of the first scheme- unless that was only another line of code, unusually complex for… what was MePhone, a six year old?
She was another tiny creature created by a child playing god (despite his own knowledge), but she would not allow herself to remain insignificant.
“Taco??”
She had not then, and she had told herself she would not now. However, that was only becoming all the more difficult.
“Have you signed up for a role yet?”
Taco awoke from whatever sort of self-inflicted trance she was in, her gaze trailing to her left at with Suitcase stood, worry etched into her facial expression.
Whatever could that be for? Sure, leading this new society (if you could call it that) was… quite difficult, even alongside the other two season winners. But this worry seemed more so directed at Taco herself, which she shrugged off without much further of a thought.
Apparently something showed up on Taco’s expression that drove Suitcase to elaborate. Or perhaps she was simply getting uncomfortable, stared at by the traitor of the show. Likely part of another plot (why was Taco thinking this, she wasn’t even plotting anything?).
Suitcase shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “We need everyone capable to sign up for a role. It’d be really helpful, unless there’s some reason you can’t help..? I’m sure we’d understand..?”
They wanted her help.
Basically, they were desperate.
Either that or they wanted to get some use out of her now that she wasn’t a threat to them (so they thought, or rather as she promised).
Taco only looked at Suitcase for a few more seconds, searching for any signs of an ulterior motive. “It’s fine, I’m sure I’d be willing.”
Suitcase nodded, and she opened to reveal a sign up sheet taped to her inside (her face barely off of the floor now, poor her). Taco pulled a pen out of her shell and reached over in order to write on the paper.
Safety crew
Hospital worker
Tour guide
Other or none (see OSC heads for more info)
And the list went on. Certainly many jobs to fill, now that they couldn’t have everything served to them on a silver platter.
Taco didn’t trust herself enough to be on safety crew, and she doubted anyone else did either. They also wouldn’t trust her to work in a hospital with other people’s lives at risk.
She couldn’t cook, and it might get uncomfortable considering that she was food herself.
Tour guide could work, she supposed. A bit exhausting in her opinion though. She would consider it as an alternative.
She contemplated simply choosing other/none, but then people might think that she didn’t care. That she wasn’t trying. Now, that just wasn’t true, was it?
These were not optimal choices. Safety crew and hospital worker were important, of course, although they’d do just fine without tour guides. Any new objects (puppets with invisible strings, so blissfully unaware) who made it out of MeLife could get by fine on their own. If they couldn’t then what’s the use?
Food was a problem, as well as the supply of electricity. Construction had already begun.
“A restaurant would be in order, wouldn’t you say? We cannot keep on with the food rations situation, and I’m sure it would be nice to have somewhere a bit more.. comfortable, to eat.”
Suitcase closed herself up again. “Uh.. yeah, that’s a good idea. Can’t believe we forgot the food situation. Would you mind setting that up..?”
Now, most people would see this as unnecessary added work to do- even if Taco was currently doing nothing but sit there and wallow- but she saw this as an opportunity.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
All my guts, try to spill
All my holes, try to fill
Reality Restaurant. The name was a bit on the nose for Taco’s taste, but Tea Kettle suggested it and Taco didn’t care enough to correct it with something better (something brilliant, no less..certainly).
It’d been open for a couple months now, with Taco greeting those who enter and showing them to their seats. She supposed it was okay, though many objects didn’t exactly seem thrilled to see her.
Others worked in the kitchen and such, but Taco didn’t pay much mind to them. She stood and watched, analyzing what they’d say to each other, the glances that they’d make in her direction. They thought she didn’t hear every hushed thought about her (every doubt of her morality), choosing to cast a blind eye to the obviousness of their tainted nature. Unforgiving (rightfully so) but even so not caring enough to act even a bit friendly towards her. Even the slightest polite remark would be an improvement, and even if they made one it was so painfully obvious that they meant none of it.
Taco’s gaze lazily wandered over towards the objects sitting at one of the tables- a couple of newbies, seemingly talking away without a care in the world (for they did not know what she had done; caught up in their own sins and unknowing of hers).
Taco exhaled slowly, stepping off of the stool that she had to stand on in order to see over the greeting table (or..whatever it’s called) at the front entrance.
She headed around the corner to where more of the restaurant tables were, and faces both familiar and not were sat at various of them. Eyes half lidded with fatigue, she spotted Microphone at one of the booths, leaning over the table to listen intently as Soap explained some oh-so-interesting thing that was surely happening to her. Taco stood somewhat awkwardly, not caring to fix her stature, as Mic glanced in her direction. The taller girl’s smile wavered for a second before she processed who was standing before her, giving a small wave.
Something grew within Taco, within her being- as strange as that sounds. A blossom of warmth, and a blossom of guilt (thorns piercing her insides, painful in a way she despised yet adored in the same way).
Oh, the pain. Excruciating, but yearning always for those whom would never adore Taco in the same way.
Beautiful, beautiful blossoms.
Taco raised her hand at Microphone in return, turning away before she could do any worse. Worse. Sinking lower, sinking lowest, a shameful-
Hmm.
She felt a hand on her shell, and she startled backwards, shoving it off. “Get the hell off,” she hissed, still unsure of who it had been but sure that anyone and everyone would take the opportunity to hurt her.
“..Sorry. Jeez.” Soap muttered, taking a couple steps back. “Just wondering if you were ok.”
“Don’t do that,” Taco snapped back half-heartedly, unsure if she actually meant it or not, but caught in the moment nonetheless.
Mic frowned, and the thorns within Taco grew, gnawing at her insides.
She was painfully aware of everything around her; half of the residents of the society all staring at her from their seats around the restaurant.
Pickle. Test Tube. Nickel. Soap. Fan. Balloon. Microphone. More of them. All of them. The hate plastered across their faces (the cloud in Taco’s brain intensifying what she assumed to be there; what she was sure to be there). She so very wanted to yell at them, to berate them, to spill her insides out in front of them and make them all sorry for her. Make them feel for her as she felt so horribly for everything she’d done (and everything she would do to clean away their sins).
Taco was in the restaurant bathroom before she knew it,
coughing and
hacking and
hoping and
knowing
It was all over
All of it
All of her
Those petals in the sink, landing so delicately as her lungs turned inside out. Causing ripples across the surface of the water..
One after another, one breath staggering ahead of the next, her hands gripping the edges of the sink.
The blossoms had made their way up to her lungs, their sickly vines wrapping around the insides and leaving her gasping and hunched over. In the dark, dirty bathroom nonetheless (a pathetic thought).
Taco’s head throbbed as she tried to get ahold of herself and steady her breathing (despite the part of her that almost willed the pain to grow stronger), and she sunk to the bathroom floor as the sound of incomprehensible voices rung out from behind the door. Taunting, leering at her, criticizing her for all she’d done to fix things. Fix everything. Fix nothing and let it all break apart into pieces, beginning with her very own shell.
She dug her fingers deeper into the surface of the sink, fingertips throbbing from the pressure as she pulled herself back up. She fought against herself in order to continue on, one last sputtering cough leaving her body before she left through the back door. A few bloody petals left her mouth as she walked through the doorway, and they lay to rest on the cold bathroom floor.
She was in the kitchen now, and to her slight annoyance, several objects were working in there. Trophy, Nickel, and Bonesaw; while the rest of the workers were on break. Taco glanced out of the window looking out into the dining area- everyone whom had been seated previously had left.
Trophy fumbled with a pan over a stove, Nickel having to steady him at the last second.
“Dude, I’m starting to think that you were not the best pick to be a cook.”
“Bonesaw agrees.”
“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean??”
Taco’s eyes narrowed as she traced a path across the kitchen, different scenarios playing out in her head.
She had said it would burn- the show, the mistakes, her heart- and she couldn’t back down now, could she?
She’d promised (an oath taken with silver tongue) she’d be “better”, sworn on nonviolence and the offer of forgiveness that she had never been given. She never would, so what was the point of their foolish existence? The show was over, their lies all told and purpose fulfilled. Taco was always meant to be the end, whether MePhone intended it in her creation or not.
Even now away from everyone, Taco could hear it! She could hear everything, everything said behind her back and everything spat in her face. And still they feigned kindness towards her!
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
All my troubles on a burning pile
All lit up and I start to smile
The heat rose around Taco, who stood stiffly in the center of the kitchen. Screaming in her head, screaming at her head.. the miserable pleas of those who she had already wronged, those who in turn wronged her.
That’s how the world worked. A wrong after a wrong after a wrong
A cycle of disgusting deeds
Until eventually
Everyone has taken too sharp of a turn
And burnt themselves to death.
Trophy and Nickel laid against the wall, their metal half melted. Their faces a grotesque half-and-half, one side twisted in their last seconds of pain and the other side twisted from the gentle circling of flames. Taco did not spare them a glance as she left the building through the window, admittedly beginning to shake a bit.
It was a work accident.
A pity.
She stumbled to the ground after climbing out the window, fingers digging into the dirt as she tried to ground herself. She could see the fire burning brighter and brighter behind her as black spots began to cover her vision. Her lips twitched upwards slightly, as if they wanted to smile. To laugh at her and at all the things she’d ruined. She coughed as she slipped into unconsciousness, the terrified voices of other objects growing nearer and nearer to her.
“What the hell??”
“FIRE- PUT THE FIRE OUT”
“TACO!”
“TACO?!”
“Where are Nickel and Trophy??”
“Bonesaw thinks they’re still in the building!”
“SHIT SOMEONE GET THE FIRE EXTINGUISHER SOMEBODY PLEASE”
“Get her to the hospital!!”
“OH MY MEPHONE”
“WATCH OUT I’M BREAKING DOWN THE DOOR”
The last thing Taco felt as she fell completely unconscious was a pair of shaking hands lifting her off of the ground.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Fire raged in her mind, a friend who would assist her in her purpose yet an enemy who would bring about her end. She knew this; she only waited for its uncaring grasp to pull her into a state she could never return from.
Not today, though, she supposed.
The bed creaked underneath her as she tugged the thin white sheets off of herself, eyes slowly adjusting to the bright lights of the hospital. She turned side to side, limbs aching, in order to make sure that she was not under supervision. She broke herself free from several wires digging into her skin (she was not in control, the puppet strings would forever remain), huffing to herself as she stepped down from the bed.
Taco walked through the door, arm still stinging slightly.
Salt watched as she left, her eyes boring into Taco’s back
Watching
Knowing
Degrading
Most of the day was a blur after that, memories fading into each other and fighting for dominance in Taco’s mind. She didn’t try to comprehend most of it at this point.
The Hoot building
Their broken leaders
Burning
The smell of ash so sweet
To be frank, Taco didn’t remember when she had gotten the gasoline. She didn’t remember the match she lit.
She only remembered the sickening relief she experienced from it, a weight taken off of her shoulders after every failure was burnt to the ground. The suitcase and the cabinet; admirable but ultimately useless, and only another reminder of the games that had ruined her life. Had ruined all of their chances at something resembling a life.
The orange juice had escaped, regrettably. He had spotted Taco among her flames, a million emotions etched into his face and his very soul.
That evening, funerals had been held. Investigations had begun.
Taco only saw it clearer now; how they tossed accusations at each other so easily. They blamed each other for what they had witnessed, sentencing others to damnation without reason.
Taco knew reason, she knew the payment.
They had made it painfully aware to her that anyone in the wrong would face this payment. She was only enforcing what she had experienced firsthand from them.
What had she become? Why couldn’t she think? Why had her judgement been meddled and twisted and thrown in the cellar to rot, something tossed aside when her desire for connection had?
Her thoughts looped around in circles, incomprehensible wants and needs and knowledge of her own feeble existence- existence that could mean something if she really wanted it to, could mean everything to a dying object whom had never paid her much mind before.
They would now, they would be sorry- not to her but to the very ground they had to walk on, to the earth which had to be host to their horrible existence.
And as the fire spread so did the thorns within Taco,
tangling
Strangling
Punishing
Driving her onward
She stood in an area made unrecognizable, the only thing visible being the fire around her and the hands grabbing at her as they grew weaker, hoping to drag her down with them as she died.
A singed pile of brown fur, a melted blue glob
Fried technology, something reminiscent of cob
Shakers of white and grey gasping at each other’s sides
Taco tried not to look at the suffering around her. A bit grotesque even for her, she must say. It doesn’t matter how they lived their lives or whatever difference they made, nobody would ever care because all that the outside world knew of them was the game show. That suffering was entertainment to them, so why not this?
Remnants of a wood arch came crashing down overtop of her, and she made an effort to get out of the way. It landed on one of her legs, and she pulled desperately at it before she could think to stop.
Her leg came free, but a chunk of skin and flesh was ripped from it as it did so. It was caught in the fallen wood,beautiful and disgusting and a reminder of her losses all the same. Taco let out a shriek of pain despite her attempt to remain in indifference, and she clutched at where the flesh had once been bound to her. She dragged herself along the ground, trying to avoid where the fire burnt hottest. Her knees scraped along the uneven floor, sending smaller shocks of pain throughout her body.
She deserved
Everything
A hand grabbed at her desperately, latching onto one of her tomatoes. Taco pulled herself forward in order to evade the grasp of the dying object, several of her tomatoes being lost in the process. She kicked back blindly behind her, sending the object tumbling backwards.
Taco grabbed at the debris beside her, pulling herself towards the nearest doorway in hopes of a second of salvation. Her stomach twisted at the sight she was met with. There was no denying this, despite all of the bodies she had ignored in order to save whatever sliver of sanity she may have still had left.
A face she was so used to seeing, so used to having to hold off on talking to. But now Microphone stared straight at her, agony and betrayal and hopelessness clear in her expression as she fought for her life in the fire.
Microphone knew it was Taco. It was all Taco.
Taco was always the problem and always would be, and now it had only grown past what anyone could control and she had only brought further suffering.
She promised.
She promised to be better.
She would never be worthy of forgiveness, despite all of her bitter ramblings about how the others had been so unfairly unforgiving of her.
And now they would all be damned, herself included.
Microphone knew. She knew she should never have trusted someone who only knew how to hurt.
The blossoms knew something that Microphone never would, though. The slightest hope that taco had kept all this time. The hope that perhaps she could be loved, too.
But nobody loves a monster.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
If I catch fire then I’ll take my turn
To burn and burn and burn
Encircled by flames of its own creation, the thing kneeled. It hacked and heaved and hoped it would die, it would be over, and it could lay to rest
But never rest knowing its own actions
Throned vines scraped its throat, making their way through its mouth.
The thing choked, grasping at the plants growing within. Its scorched fingers tried to grab at them, pull them out, provide relief. The roots had grown deep within, so this struggle was to no avail.
It pulled at the soft flowers budding along the vines, which only seemed to grow back twice as quickly each time.
Its insides were gone, it was all gone, it was only this guilt which occupied it now,expanding within more and more as each second ticked by. The suffocating squeeze on its lungs grew tighter and tighter, and it wondered how it was even still alive.
The roots broke through its shell, causing it to gasp in indescribable pain as cracks spread across its surface.
The thing stilled for a moment before stopping its crawl at the edge of the cliff, its bleary eyes only barely able to see the ground far beneath.
It hoped to jump, but it died far before it could muster the ability to do so.