* ‣ @starwished : there shouldn’t be a 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙵𝙾𝚁𝚃 found in lost spaces – that inherent desire, the humane nature of it’s need. the animatronic wonders if she’s the only one that’s felt it ; that hunger to explore beyond her bonds. it motivates her form towards exploration, out from the daycare, out further, and 𝗳𝘂𝗿𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿, and 𝒇𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 … it’s dark where she arrives, where the desecrated remains of bots not given life reside - and sound, like drops, like – steps ? ❝ 𝘀𝘂𝗻𝗻𝘆 ? ❞ no. sun wouldn’t be here. ( 𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐓: 𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆. ) ❝ … oh dear - now w - wh – who would you be ? ❞ / hands stella 2 you in marketable plushie form
)
the rabbit , however , was far from what one would deem an explorer . an explorer was one who didn’t shy away from the open , where any and all eyes could see them . no , they were one meant for the shadows , those dark and narrow places where monsters under the bed resided . NOT BY ANY CHOICE OF THEIR OWN , to say they were content to sit where the sun would never find them and collect dust would be more than a misjudgment , but spring bonnie’s gold tarnished long ago .
so here they were , wandering in the dark like always . there’s a box of old posters and memorabilia in their arms , held close to their chest ; digging through storage was one of the few things spring had to keep themself occupied with —— besides talking to the walls , of course —— and the past was familiar , safe , as apposed to the overbearing RAINBOW NEON AND CHROME of the future . though before they can make it to their usual corner and settle into nostalgia’s bittersweet embrace , there’s a voice cutting through the suffocating yet routinely silence . a voice addressing them . stumbling to an unsteady halt , rigid in their place , the box slips from their grasp and hits the floor with a thump .
if the rabbit could do so , they’d be holding their breath , a lump forming in their throat . they stare ahead , eyes frantically darting around in an attempt to spot something through the static layering their vision / ears twitching every which way . slowly , with the creak of rusted metal , the springtrap takes an experimental step forward , then another , their head turning to the side to see —— a ‘bot they didn’t recognize . a spark of anxiety shoots up their spine , hands uselessly clenching and unclenching as they looked the stranger up and down . suddenly , spring was very aware of their molded , grimy appearance / of their matted fur in place of shiny steel and plastic .
the worn animatronic fumbles , sputters . their voice sounds like BROKEN GLASS . ❝ i - i — hh - h , i - i’m — ‘m not … y’a - ain’t s’pposed t - to — ❞
𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱𝗻'𝘁 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀.
---- ʸᵒᵘ ˢʰᵒᵘˡᵈ'ᵛᵉ ˢᵗᵃʸᵉᵈ ᶤᶰ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵒᶠᶠᶤᶜᵉˑ
it’s at the very sight that something within her crumbles into utter turmoil. a snap -- like a chord being struck back into its place. a hand, that launches out from her side, reaching forward ; and stops, once her vision has cleared, right in its tracks.
( what was that? ) she holds her own wrist in restraint. the sound of steel creaking below her fingertips. ( SYSTEMS PROCESSING: UNKNOWN DATA HAS BREACHED THE ANIMATRONIC INFORMATION CENTER. ) she can’t question it for long - a scene, small and swift as she was in cleansing it, has been made, and she clears her vocal box, taking a curious step back.
❝ you are not apart of thi - this facility . ❞ it comes off as clinical, odd. for a moment, it does not sound like her ; not like the animatronic that first beckoned out. it sounds cautious. hesitant. she clears it once more, a shake of her own form that jingles with bells and decorations, before she bends down ever so slightly. matching the yellow rabbit’s eyes with her. she finally releases her own hand once it stops tremoring.
𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝘀 𝗴𝗿𝗮𝘃𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝘄𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗴.
something in her body --- 𝙞𝙨 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙞𝙩 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙𝙣'𝙩 𝙗𝙚.
❝ ... i’m -- sorry, dear . i’m not quite sure what got to me for a moment . i suppose you caught me by surprise . ❞ it’s a better form to phrase it as. 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚢. ( she can’t help but scan every bit that soaks into her eyes. of rot and MUCK . age, tattered and scattered across time. and that thought -- right there. the one that itches at the back of her cerebral systems. )
❝ though, i’m sure . . . i might’ve scared you a bit more, poor thing . ❞
she can tell, simply looking at them. she’s seen it once before -- children who would cower behind the counters, tuck themselves behind their parents, the ones who would look around, breathing in and out as if it would be their last. this one is scared. 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐍𝐎 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄. ❝ there’s no need to be afraid . ❞ a soft glow emanates itself from star-traced freckles. warm, courtesy of heating devices, and kind to the eyes -- like a decoration of moonlights, reflecting themselves onto the nearby surfaces. ❝ you have a name, don’t you ? ❞ everyone had a name. ( some simply had yet to be given one. some ... )
❝ my name i -- is --- ❞ ( 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑺𝑯𝑶𝑼𝑳𝑫'𝑽𝑬 --- )
❝ s -- stella . stella stars . and you ? ❞
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