Chapter Text
#1993#
The drugstore was not that far from any complex and still felt a while to reach even by running. Tons of individuals would often frequent this drugstore with a reasonable amount of specific intents: some to pick up what they may desperately need, others to hang about and/or account for all the featured prices, and quite the bucket-full just to have at the non-medicinal 'good shit'.
"Ya gonna buy anything, kid?" asked the receptionist (his nametag reading Jason*) who presumably is allowed to test some of the latter to confirm initiation or something.
"Six Marlboro Reds like usual, please," a young 5th grade chicken swiftly replied.
The sets were hastily brought to the countertop and sheepishly paid for. "Say, who are your usuals?"
"My friends, myself, and either one of their parents or another kid who is usually with us, being another relative."
"Younger sibling?"
"Brother, even."
"Have a good smoke sesh."
"You too, if allowed." And with that, the chicken set off to the outside urban world, making her way downtown, walking fast as if to catch a schoolbus despite it being the early weekend. If that part were true, then the Marlboro Reds would be like primers for the young mind. "Damn, these were expensive. Let's see... Ah, Elm Street! Francine** lives here." She walked up to a front door and knocked out a specific theme that's perfect for power outages before a faint voice could be heard saying something along the lines of: "In the garage."
The alloy infrastructure gate had made way by at least a quarter of a yard-measure, and Nirvana could be heard blasting on a record player nearby where a blanketed organ piano was.
"Francine, I got us some cigs. Want any?"
"Not today, Chica, it ain't even a school night."
"You smoke on Fridays."
"That's because they're at least school days."
"Fran, come on, Saturday's the perfect day of the week to cancerize our lungs precisely because it's not a school night.
"Fine." Francine then proceeded to take two cigarettes from her new Marlboro pack. "How's your sis doin', anyway?"
"Still working at the local coffee shop."
"Tom's Diner, still? Seriously?"
"Yeah, she says it pays well."
"I mean, if ya wanna support her financially, we could start our own grunge band."
"That could work, you'd be the main singer, I could play maracas, we'd all have at least one or two songs per album where we all sing together on it, Bonnie could be the lead guitarist- but who's gonna be the drummer?"
"I already called Abby; she said the only thing other than a drum kit that she needs is her big bro Michael's approval."
"Perfect! I mean- Mm."
"Yeah, not the town for us... Anyway, Foxy would be the bassist as soon as he comes back."
"He's planning on going to space?"
"Hopefully that doesn't happen until closer to the second act. We might need an album or two before middle school to find ANY solid fucking footing."
"Then we'd reel in groupies and D.I.L.F.'s before we even graduate!"
"Exactly. Or it'd just be in-band romances, and I'd probably get left out till I myself find someone."
"It's weird enough now, but there is Yoshi."
"Ew no, he's straight!"
"Who else then?"
"I mean, there's always the thot version of you."
"...Are we in the same fanfic? Like, as a general question."
"I don't fucking know, I swear on my goth life!" Both of the two liberal baddies then proceeded to light their Marlboro Reds and jam together to rock while also still conversing about who'll be the first amongst their friend group to get 'rocked'.
Another hard space trip's work would come to a halt, so it would seem. Eager colleagues awaited for when the Arwing would finally land for literally the twenty-seventh or so time, but that was not of the matter as it still marked the return of Peppy Hare, Slippy Toad, Falco Lombardi, and even Fox McCloud, nonetheless. Peppy and McCloud in particular were quite famous as they both had personal ties to James McCloud, one of the greatest star-lords to grace the space force.
"Dad!" Almost immediately one of the various faces in the crowd, being a stark red fox, hustled rather abrasively to hug McCloud - as if the others in the bundle of individual monotony weren't in the way - due to them supposedly being father and son, despite some certain legal circumstances...***
"Hey, champ! Shouldn't you be in class?" the other vulpine chuckled out contentedly.
"Have you forgotten what weekends are? Of course not!"
"Ah. Anyways, we should be gettin' goin', shouldn't we?"
"Yes," Falco half-grumbled, "please do."
A little while later, the father-and-son duo would make their way to a coffee shop simply embroidered as 'Tom's Diner' on the front windows and scour through the daily funnies.
"Did you kill and evil aliens?" the child asked.
McCloud paused for a moment to breathe bittersweet Earth air once more. So many questions, so little time... "Urh, no, actually. We got to practice outer space forensic activities on the moon however, like simulating meteorite-based body farms, so that was fun. Anyways, what have you been up to? Any more tall-as-hell piracy tales akin to those such as the historical legend Blackbeard?"
"We had show-and-tell day a little bit ago, and I showed the whole class my eyepatch!"
"Nice! You didn't lose it, right? One day you might really need it if you ever actually lose an eye."***
"Still got it at 'our cove', where Mango would still be."
"What happened?"
"I don't wish to dampen the mood, so I'll just say 'tis a miracle she's still alive."
"Okay... other than that, how has life been so far for you? ...Find anyone?~"
"Father, no!"
"I'm kidding! (Mostly, at least.) But you know, I was just two years older than you are now when you were born.*** You can tell me pretty much anything."
"Fine, ugh... so there's this one guy my age who's a guitarist and a purple-blueish bunny-"
"Wait, hold on... are you sure about going out with a bunny?"
"You're only worried about that?"
"Well yeah, don't you know about those laws?"
"This country we live in - America of all places - says 'free' in its description, I doubt it'd be against pred/prey."
"If you don't have history, I'm glad. No other comment."
"I feel like that line of yours is gonna be MUCH more relevant less than 30 years after when ts is set. Anyhow, he's got naturally crimson eyes, often sings Lou Reed, is kind-hearted, has a stable enough relationship with his younger siblings, what else..."
"Are either of you at least friends?"
"Yes, and both also with three other girls: Chica Wonderwall, Abby Schmidt, and Francine Fazbear."
"Okay, okay... I just gotta ask this next thing though: do Chica, Francine, Abby, and your-guy-that-you-haven't-shared-the-name-of-with-me-yet have better dads?"
"I really wanna lie but it's not Father's Day, so yes. Francine does: Fred Fazbear, a country singer or something. Definitely pre-grunge."
"Huh, not the rudest thing I've ever had to hear."
"Wait, where's the person who takes everybody's orders to conveniently interrupt any sort of ridiculous verbal expostition dump-"
"Can I take your orders, or are ya still decidin'?" a slim, witchy waitress entered with.
"Uhh..." McCloud paused, unsure of what would follow as, like a movie character, he still hadn't looked at the actual menu yet. What a dingus! "Hey, stay in your own lane, underaged author! No wonder you're autistic," he grumbled at me. THE NERVE OF THIS RUDE HO TO GAIN SENTIENCE!! Anyways, our heroes of the story (if even you the reader could ever dare call them that) were about to genuinely order drinks to more properly feign civilized behaviors.
"I'll have a dragonfruit matcha, please," Foxy swiftly replied.
"Not sure if that exists yet, kid. How about something else to help you take the edge off?" the waitress (whose nametag read Edith W.) solemnly deflected as if it wasn't unusual for waitresses or waiters of such convenience to have emotion.
"Ah shit. Well, in that sense I'll have a medium Old Coke."
"Gurl, that's dead and gone."
"Grape Flavor-Aid?"
"You really wanna have what those kids at Jonestown drank asides from just cyanide? That's cruel and unusual circumstantial appropriation."
"Cherry Coke?"
"We're in Hurricane, not Malibu."
"Pepsi?"
"Not sponsored."
"A homeless guy?"
"Doesn't even look like your guardian here's old enough to legally do that."
"Fucking NyQuil?"
"I wish."
"Sweat."
"It's almost autumn or fall- what the fuck ever season it is."
"RC."
"Our town's not small enough for that to be worth obsessing over."
"'We're in Hurricane, not Malibu'."
"Cherry Co- DAMMIT!!! Fine."
McCloud had finally decided upon his own order by now, what a slowpo- I said nothing, continue with the scene, Fox! You too can probably feel the way the (somehow) older himbo glares at I, the author, right before this chapter continues. "And I'll have a classic black roast."
"...Straight up?" Edith asked.
"Yes, please. Oh! And perhaps with a side of Tom's Dynasty."
"Right on." And with that, she was off to the plot knows where, leaving the vulpines alone in conversation.
"...Ya know her?"
"She's Chica's big sister, so maybe don't try, dad. If I remember correctly, she's only 17, like the youngest a certain 41-year-old character in another volume typically goes."
"Damn, even I'm too old for her," McCloud half-joked.
"How's your morning?" asked a young, wistful girl (who totally doesn't snort lines, folks) of a certain slightly scar-ridden but somehow still bright yellow rabbit boy only two years short of her age.
"Mundane as ever. Haven't seen any of my own 3 biological siblings in a hot minute - it's our fourth year in foster care and they're all grouped together without me for the plot knows what reason - and summer school finally just finished a month ago. How 'bout you, Abs?"
"Honestly, same. Mike's always at work flirting with either Vanessa or Amanda OR BOTH, and all of us [in the friend group] are already supposed to go back to school - in seperate classes, no less - and can't get high behind as much adult's backs."
"...I heard you got invited to be the drummer in a band that Bonnie's in, which seems pretty swell. Who do you think would be the lead singer?"
"I like Chica and all, but I'm pretty sure the primary honors will go to Francine for lore convenience."
Just before Abby had replied to the mischievous lil' sir, her aforementioned older brother Michael Schmidt had returned, coming into a conversing that to him had seemingly no context to be found. "Whuh?"
"Oh, hi Mark."
"Yosh, that's literally copied from another volume of ts."
"Okay, you two, what is the context and where are the 'who is speaking' indicators?"
The underaged shrug addicts drugged briefly- wait.
"Did you seriously ruin this chap', Mike?"
"No, Abby, Yoshi did!"
"JUST BECAUSE I'M NAMED AFTER A TITNETDO CHARACTER??!?"
The room fellnally fin silent- hold up, how sober are writers allowed to be? Eh eh, nothing else I can say to that. I don't want to have to reiterate the entire chapter to get it right so hopefully things work out from here.
"Not to be too exposition-y too quickly, since there's an interesting voice chat happening in https://discord.gg/YjwqTmhU (a voice acting server hosted by toroyachi) right now that the author might be interesting in joining sometime, but how exactly did you get your scars?" Abby questionly curioused- DAMMIT!!
"Well, for starters, I've always had a half-formed ear."
Michael nodded, before briefly contributing his own tragic backstory: "I lost my brother Garrett to a kidnapper some years back, that really fucked me up and left me emotionlessly overprotective."
"Mike, we don't need whole life stories before any climax," Abby shot back at her 'only' big bro.
"...As I was instructed to blurt out, I, uh - this is gonna be hard for me to say."
Say it then, coward- can everyone get back to the scene at hand???
"I... may or may not have outed Bonnie in front of a conservative Mormon party that my foster mom was invited to, I think."
Abby: "I see why you're probably going to be a sociopath a la Nicole."
Mike: "Me too, to be fazfrank."
Yoshi: "But as you can more literally see, he wasn't the only one that got salt rubbed into whatever wounds were already there, as hencefoth I lost the skin of my feet and some of my face and eyelids that day. My mom Theresa almost had to call the police 'cause I think even the pastor joined in. It was pretty bad to say the least."
Mike & Abby: "Yeesh..."
Abby: "God that sounds brutal."
Yoshi: "I think I'm lucky that all I saw of Bon's side of it was him being doused with holy water, and if I had blocked out anything, then good. I'm sure it took a week or two for any of us to recover."
Mike: "Only weeks? I don't think me or Abs would've survived that."
Abby: "...What about your dad?"
Yoshi: "A year or so earlier, as I was told by Lydia, he sort of chased after Theresa's little red car before tripping and facing apparent decapitation by an oncoming ice cream truck driven by crooks. I'm doing much better now after both situations, thankfully, but I dunno about Bonnie."
Mike: Why can I relate, though?
Mike (aloud) & Abby: "Holy shit, that just sounds fucked up..."
Yoshi: "Eh, it's my semi-charmed life."