#workingatthenightshift

[nefarious-inventor]

workingatthenightshift replied to your post “x. Y'all loving young Will but not regular Will this is old man...”

(( We love all Wills equally in this household ))

x. We love Dave a little less though, don’t we? 

but yes, I agree

[handsomestofthejacks]

ᚡ ෴

It’s not munday but¯\_(ツ)_/¯

ᚡ - Random fact about the mun?

This is the one I should’ve expected but wasn’t prepared to answer, as truthfully I am terrible at speaking about myself. I’ll just say that I’m musically-challenged – for all my attempts to pick up an instrument, I’ve never been able to manage it. The closest I’d gotten was with the piano at a younger age, but that was many years ago.

෴ - Tell us about your day.

It’s consisted of me taking a shower, getting ready for work, and not much else up to this point. But thanks for asking!

[seerchild-archive-blog]

There’s something about Bishop

@workingatthenightshift

It seemed like they would pick up any old person off the street to be a guard these days. Did they even run background checks anymore? The latest kid they’d picked up off the street was a young man who really looked like he didn’t belong here. He had skin white as a sheet, and the trademark purple uniform most fazbear employees wore hung off his shoulders in such a way that you could tell it was obviously too big for him, and his hair was long, thick and messy as Hell; although an interesting thing about him was his eyes, they were purple, but with a bit more hint of blue that made it look a bit more natural.

Word spread quickly about him, and eventually a decision to put him on night shift was put into place, and that a certain nightshift worker would train him, instead of the years-old recordings that sat like dust on the answering machine.

The young man, looking much more like a boy than a man, entered the building on his first night on-shift, it was maybe 30 minutes before it actually began, but he remembered they had suggested he come earlier. He looked down at the map of the building he’d been given and walked down the hallway toward the security office... was... anyone even here? The place was deathly quiet..... supposedly his trainer was supposed to be here..

[myname-is-springtrap]

@workingatthenightshift

Vioull felt like he was dying. All his exposed skin, being his hands and face, were turning red from the sun. It wasn’t even that hot out, which was the odd thing. Weak and wheezing, he dropped to his knees and leaned against the building he had collapsed by.

[not-an-enviable-shift]

@workingatthenightshift

“How often do you think people try to fake their death?”

This is not a common icebreaker, but the man with purple hair didn’t seem to mind. He was bored, and one of the best cures for boredom is a half-relevant survey from a complete stranger. He didn’t bother to look up while asking though, seemingly preoccupied with a pair of white gloves. “Vanishing is one thing, but making a show of being dead is another thing entirely, don’t you think?”

[pushspacetocontinue]

Kneading some directions (closed RP for workingatthenightshift)

@workingatthenightshift He had been here for quite a while. He needed to head back soon. He wanted to make some time for something that he knew was rather important. His plan had been make one last stop but that had come to a halt when he realised he had no clue where that said stop was. He saw a young woman a short distance and slowly approached. He couldn't waste time. He just had to bite the bullet and ask. He kept his distance when he was close enough. He didn't want to make her think he was some kind of creep. "Um, ehehehe, hey, ehehe, I'm sorry to bother you, ma'am, ehehehe, I just wanted to ask you where the Angel Feathers Bakery was, ehehehe, if, if you know, ehehehe..."

[thecutestrobot]

@workingatthenightshift wants to be become friends

“Hello there new friend. How are you doing ?”

“I am Gortys, who are you ?” 

[glcryhound]

@workingatthenightshift | psq starter

Staring at the floor, his thoughts sifted through the day’s events so far. An incident with a malfunctioning CL4P-TP unit he was in the midst of repairing had landed him in the medical bay with a busted lip, split open by a stiff, metal backhand as the robot was attempting a ‘high five.’ Sore not only in body but in spirit too for that rather embarrassing hiccup, Jack tentatively clasps his mouth, sitting back against the wall.

Thinking how nice it would be if he could wipe those annoying robots from existence. 

But of course, that was beyond his control -- for now. He still had a job to perform and a planet to survey, and before he could return to doing either of those roles, he was ordered to get the all-clear from the local physician. All he could do was sit and wait, play the part of a dutiful cog in the Hyperion machine. His time would come...eventually.