⋆｡˚⋆˚✧-=Chapter Six=-✧˚⋆｡˚⋆
Moonglow shimmers through dirt-tinted windows.
The showroom of Fazbear's Pizzeria is empty and cleaned up- chairs on top of bare tables and purple, star-scattered curtains drawn over the stage. The appliances are off in the kitchen, dishes washed and in their places. The arcade is silent with soft humming of electricity flowing from outlets into shut down game devices.
Up a staircase out of view from the showroom, Vincent is settling into bed. Dropping onto his mattress, an exhausted groan rumbles out of him. His deep purple hair sprawls across the blanket, frizzy and just as flattened out as him. His uniform is messily piled in front of the bed, hat on the doorknob. The red bow that usually ties his ponytail together is draped over the handle of one of the drawers on his dresser.
"This place sucks...so much ass..." he sighs. He sits up slowly with small groans and grunts. He props himself on his forearms and looks into the mirror on the right end of the dresser. He examines himself- the scars all over his body. "Hmph..." he grumpily huffs.
"You've seen better days, Graves. Of all the power you have now, you just can't go back to who you were." He runs his fingers along the long scar across his nose and then the one across his chest. "Battle scars of a war you never ended. Of a war your dear son started."
He snarls and sits straight. "Wah, wah. Poor Afton." A mocking young voice echoes out from thin air. Vincent stiffens. "A war never necessary." The little girl snarls out.
"Never necessary?" He repeats in irritation. "My son died because Michael wanted to be a cunt! My little boy. He did nothing to deserve it." He barks back.
"Maybe if you were more present, he wouldn't have acted that way. Children only behave based on their environment."
"Oh, so it's my fault for having a job?"
"It's your fault for never teaching and disciplining your children properly."
"Yeah, whatever. I was busy with a job that took up most of my hours awake. I can't be blamed. We had three children. It wasn't just me taking care of them."
"I know it was, like, the 70's. But that's extremely sexist." Vincent rolls his eyes at the audible arm crossing. "You were the father- the role model for the boys in the family."
"I don't need parenting advice decades late from a dead child. Clearly your parents weren't good either if I was able to just talk my way into stealing you away." He waves the voice off. He scoffs. "Besides, my little one was great. A crybaby, but a good kid. And Elizabeth-" he trails off.
He looks down. "She was my princess."
"Is that why she ignored your direct orders not to go near that freaky robot?"
"HEY!" He snaps up at the air, panting. "Do not talk about her that way! She was a child, she didn't know any better! She listened well and knew right from wrong. But she had her moments. Curiosity was her biggest weakness." Panting turns into shaky breathing and soft whimpers. He tilts his head with a sadly reminiscent smile. "She just wanted to meet the robot I made for her...of her. Baby was her. Baby was my greatest gift for her."
The little girl sighs and scoffs. "Don't act like the robot wasn't a death trap. It has a remnant scoop in its stomach."
Vincent covers his face with his hands, tears slipping between his fingers. "I know..." he softly cries. "I know. I know. I know! I know what I made! I know what I did!" He stands and growls. "I know exactly I had done and the consequences! I just never thought it would cost me my family that way! I never, ever thought they'd die to my own creations."
He looks around furiously. "Quit hiding, Cassidy! If you have shit to say, say it to my face, brat!" He grins. "Or are you too scared to face your killer? Huh? Huh?? Are you a scared little girl? Like you were when I was slicing you up?!" His eyes widen, pupils dilating. The grin on his lips stretches wide. "Remember that? When you were crying and kicking? When I was holding you by the mouth against the floor?"
The grown man startles as the little girl named Cassidy manifests in his face. Her eyes are just as wide as his, enraged and staring into him. "When I bit your hand like a rabid dog? When I kicked you in the chest? When I swore I'd never let you get away with it?"
"Ahhh, there you are!" Vincent laughs a bit, sadistic and long gone. "Finally showing face. You've got some guts to clapback." He smirks, narrowing his eyes at her. "More guts than you did after I disembowled you."
Cassidy snarls loud. "You're sick. Disgusting." She glares at him. "You say it was to rebuild your family. To get your son back, just like Murray did. But you enjoyed what you did. You revel in the memories. You can't lie to us."
"So what if I did? Two things can be true, child. I can enjoy tearing kids apart in the name of ressurecting my own."
Cassidy shakes her head. "No wonder he never speaks to anyone. He's still terrified of what his father became. He saw it all, Afton. You really think he wants to return to someone who had fun murdering children?"
Vincent looks her over, gradually draining the manic behavior into realization.
He stares at the floor in self hatred. "He doesn't want to come back to me. He hates me. He despises me." He breathes in a panic, starting an anxiety attack.
He blinks. He throws his head back and starts laughing like he heard the funniest joke of his life. Cassidy jumps back. "Why do I care? Im already dead! I have no family! I've known for a long time now- the bloodlust inside me is all that's left!" He laughs a little more, far too deranged to care how it seems.
Cassidy stares at him in pure disgust. "I knew you were nothing less of a monster." She sighs. "I'm glad he trusts me...at least he still have someone to care." She dissipates into nothingness.
Vincent fades out of laughter and into hefty breathing. He stumbles a bit and crumbles onto his bed. She's right...I'm terrible. I'll never be a dad again...
He rolls onto his back. He stares at the ceiling.
A bottle of vodka appears above him in a swirl of purple and grey mist.
He sighs and snatches it out of the air. He pops it open and shoves it against his lips. He chugs the alcohol aggressively. So what? I was never meant to be one...
