Chapter Text
"Attention, everyone, attention!" called Celia, clapping her hands and gazing down at the house's denizens. Florence stood faithfully at her right side, clasping and unclasping her hands nervously. Wallace's stalwart presence loomed at Celia's left.
The objects turned to look at their mayor in surprise. Celia did not often do public addresses; this must be important. Was there a leak somewhere? Or maybe—Arma began to beep nervously—a fire had started?
"What's going on?"
"Is there an emergency?"
"Of a sort," said Celia gravely.
Farya, who was in the middle of applying stitches to Koa where Hoove had run into him, began to tremble with excitement. Koa was asleep, and took no notice.
"Is there an intruder?" asked Dorian quickly, putting a hand up to his earpiece unnecessarily and adding, "Wyndolyn, what've you got?"
"All clear here, boss," replied Wyndolyn, who was standing three feet from him, with a sarcastic salute.
"Someone broken, then?" asked Tony, twirling a Philip's head—the star-shaped screwdriver—in his hand. "Aight, who I gotta fix? I hope it's not Washford again, I hate when he leaks all over—"
"Were I not already in the purest blush of health, your blathering would surely wrest my good spirits from my body," snapped Washford.
"Oh yeah?" Tony had not understood a single word of that, but knew from the tone that he was being insulted. "Lucky fer you, I can be the bigger man and fix ya anyway, ya overgrown—uh—" He struggled to find a word for something that washes, but is smaller and simpler and dumber than a washing machine.
"Tony, be nice!" warned Rainey as Washford took an intimidating step forward.
"I am being nice! I offered to fix 'im—"
"That's not—"
"I'm just—"
"WALL!!!"
Wallace's thunderous voice shook the room, making everyone rattle where they were, snapping their attention back to Celia immediately. Even Koa's eyes opened briefly before closing again.
Wallace huffed with satisfaction before giving Celia a thumbs-up.
"Thank you, Wallace," sighed Celia in exasperation. "Anyway, as I was saying, there is an important matter that you all must be aware of, bordering on emergency."
"Then get on with it," said Eddie gruffly. "I can't fix anything if I don't know what's wrong." Tony nodded sagely at this, muttering to Rainey, "See, this guy knows what I'm talkin' about."
Celia cleared her throat, making Tony snap his jaw shut quickly, then placed the tips of her fingers together, inhaling deeply to regain her poise. "Today,” she announced at last, “our human will be leaving the house."
Bathsheba and Rebel immediately burst into hysterics at such a ludicrous joke, but quieted just as quickly at Celia's cold regard. She wasn't joking.
Holly was the first to speak, boisterously exclaiming, "OH-EM-GEE, REALLY!? It's not even a holiday!"
"Going out in this inclement weather?" shouted Telly, their volume set to maximum as usual. "It would be better stayin' where it ain't wetter!"
"What inclement weather?" asked Wyndolyn. "There's not a cloud in the sky!"
Telly switched to the weather channel, showing thunderstorms forecasted for the afternoon. Wyndolyn scoffed dismissively, saying, "Okay, so it might rain at 4pm. It's 9am now. There's no chance our little shut-in's gonna be gone that long."
"I wouldn't take that chance!" yelped Tyrell, twisting his towel buddy nervously. "What if...." He gulped. "...mud gets tracked in?"
Tydus placed a strong, reassuring hand on Tyrell's shoulder, raising her sword. "What legions of filth and waste you face, we face together." Tyrell would have been entirely soothed, if not for the Dipodgenes' cries of, "Death! Death!" that could be heard in the background.
"I'm sorry to interrupt even further, Ms. Mayor," said Abel in his polite drawl, his hat in his hands, "but I don't understand why this is an emergency. Isn't it a good thing our homeowner is goin' out? Ain't it healthy for humans to go outside?" He asked as if he didn't already know, for the benefit of the others.
"Right you are, Abel," replied Celia, grateful to be getting back on track. "Under ordinary circumstances, this should be cause for celebration, especially considering our human has not left the house in several months. However, the reason for this sudden departure is the cause for my alarm."
The objects leaned in expectantly.
"This excursion is to meet a friend...."
"Oh, wonderful!" said Winnifred, beaming as she played with her plait of metallic locs. "Maybe they'll come back here! It would be nice to hear more people walkin' around for a change."
"Maybe they'll go out into the backyard to cloud-gaze—or," gasped Wyndolyn, "play tag!"
"Not with those puny, twig-like stick legs!" shouted Kristof with a huff, folding his massive arms. Wyndolyn blew a raspberry at him, then said, "I can dream, can't I?"
Abel gently brought everyone's attention back once again by saying, "That sounds mighty wonderful, Ms. Mayor... so there must be more to it than that to make you so worried."
"Yes, thank you, Abel. Mac?"
Mac wheeled into view, pushing the bridge of their glasses up their nose nervously.
"Ordinarily, I wouldn't be divulging our human's personal info like this," they began, "but Mayor Celia is right—this is kind of an emergency. This 'friend' is actually this mega-huge influencer on Instaglam, and our human agreed to meet her immediately when she asked."
"Oh my gawd," said Lux, their attention finally having been drawn from their phone at the words "influencer on Instaglam," "who is it? How many followers? Why did no one consult me on this?"
Mac smoothly avoided this last question by telling Lux the influencer's handle and substantial follower count, then saying, "Our human started following her a couple weeks ago after seeing a clip of her dog go viral on another platform. Then all of the sudden, there's a message asking to meet up at a nearby café? Something's not adding up. I knew I had to tell Mayor Celia right away, even if...." Mac's lip wobbled, clearly distressed. "...even if it meant betraying our human’s trust. I know the likelihood of this leak being discovered is non-existent, but…."
"You did the right thing, Mac," said Celia gently, patting them on their shoulder. She returned her attention to the whole, her stern expression returning. "This is indeed something that concerns each and every one of us. If this is a scam, it could mean loss of financial stability—"
Monique clutched at her chest. Sophia put an arm around her, her outward expression threatening.
"—predatory loan sharks coming to call—"
Dorian bristled visibly, his usual glower even deeper and darker.
"—or even possible foreclosure. My friends, this is serious, and we need to be prepared for every possibility."
"Including the possibility that this influencer is actually just an old friend that happened to get famous?" asked Beverly, bemused.
"There's nothing to confirm that in the message history," said Mac sadly. "Unless there was some understanding there that wasn't present in the texts, this seems like a clear case of someone making a poor decision because they're starstruck."
"Are you sure?" asked Maggie suspiciously, raising her spyglass and peering into Mac's face, making them shrink away from her. "Are you absolutely certain? If you let me take a look at the messages, I could—"
"N-no!" cried Mac, covering their face with their hands to escape Maggie's scrutiny. "I've already said enough as it is! I couldn't live with myself if I revealed any more personal information!"
The door to the bedroom clacked shut and Dorian blinked, his attention drawn away momentarily. Everyone watched with varied looks of astonishment as you, dressed practically in a t-shirt and jeans, slid down the stairs on Stella's handrail and collected Phoenicia, Monique, and the enigmatic ring of keys that Koa repeatedly kept finding tucked into his armpit, from where Abel held them near Front Dorian. You looked happy, but nervous, an expression the objects were not used to seeing on you.
"Please be safe!" called Celia worriedly as Phoenicia and Monique disappeared into denim pockets. "We look forward to your report upon your return!"
"Eek, I'm so excited!" came Phoenicia's squeal. "I hope they take a picture together! I'm so uploading it to Placebook!"
"I wish I could have your optimism," groaned Monique, the sounds of her worry the last heard as Front Dorian shut behind you with a soft click. The house fell into an uneasy silence.
"No umbrella, jacket, or coat?" shouted Telly as the weather channel appeared above their head once again. "Was Tony still planning on digging a moat?"
There were mutterings about "whack flows" coming from the bathroom, but Telly couldn't hear them above their own voice and the sudden breakout of chatter from the household objects.
Feeling the meeting had finally adjourned itself, Celia took a deep breath and moved her consciousness up onto the roof, where she could watch the human's car trundle away. She had yet to meet the car, the old thing that sat rusting in the driveway. She wondered if they felt happy to be used again after so long, to finally move according to the purpose of their design. Being both incapable of moving and unfamiliar with the idea of "being used" like some tool or utility, Celia could only muse on what-ifs as she watched a dark cloud form on the horizon, many miles away.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
You're used to the house being quiet—you're the only one who lives there, after all, and you never have guests—but if only you knew how loud the house actually was, how alive with life and talk and laughter it was at all times, you would have been stunned by the solemn silence that gripped it after you left that day. Your presence was like an electrical current that kept each object suspended in anticipation of being touched, being used.... Even those disinclined to being handled, like Eddie and Volt, who kept themselves busy regardless of your activity, felt the absence starkly with no lights being turned on or off, no appliance being used. Airyn flew in and out of Hector's grates in heavy gusts like sighs. Even the Hanks couldn't find the usual gusto to train in this dismal atmosphere.
Not everyone in the house was so pessimistic, however. Parker and Chance conspired in gleeful whispers in the attic, going over game plans on what to do should you return with a group of friends, looking for an activity to do indoors while sheltering from the storm.
"If it's a casual visit, they might want a quick game of Sandy Land, but if they're stuck indoors for a while, we could have a session 0."
"Ooh, and this friend is an influencer; what if she films the game!?"
"Just think! We could be featured on Destination 20!"
"Or Critical Goal!"
They giggled like schoolgirls.
"Silence, whelps!" snapped Sophia, who had been pacing nearby, gazing out the window above her safe like a watchdog. "Can't you find somewhere else to prattle on about your pathetic game for pathetic nerds?"
"Ignore her," said Chance, unaffected. "She's been mad at me ever since that time we tried to roleplay together. I don't know what game she was playing, but I was playing G&G. Why would I call my own player 'Dungeon Mistress'? What edition is that from?"
"SILENCE!" barked Sophia as Parker and Chance shot her incredulous looks.
Prissy sat with Wyndolyn downstairs, watching the passers-by on the sidewalk out front. While Wyndolyn was perhaps the most hopeful of all about the situation, dreaming up backyard barbecues and raucous dance parties, Prissy was enamored with the idea of you bringing home a new object. She looked around, wondering aloud what object you might deem a necessary addition, and what kind of friend they would turn out to be.
"An umbrella, most likely," replied Wyndolyn flatly, "and probably a real wet blanket at that."
"Naw, I hope it's a parasol," came Curt's voice from across the room. "Those things can throw some serious shade!"
"No one was talking to you, Curt."
"I thought it was funny," Rod assured his friend, and they high-fived. Prissy and Wyndolyn rolled their eyes.
Noon passed, and still you had not returned. Lux had been begrudgingly petitioned to keep an eye on Phoenicia's Placebook profile, which they did with surprising dutifulness, only getting distracted by their other apps a few times. Perhaps it was care for you, but more than likely, it was envy at the prospect of Phoenicia getting to meet a famous influencer that they could not. Phoenicia's feed, however, did not update, adding to the uneasiness in the house. When Timothy alerted everyone that it was now 2pm, Fantina burst into tears, screeching that if it wasn't for the threat of rain, she would run out there and find you herself. How she thought herself capable of leaving was anyone's guess, but it only dampened the atmosphere more. 3pm came, and the sky outside darkened considerably. At 3:45pm, it started to rain, and when Lady Memoria drifted down the stairs to get some reprieve from Parker and Chance's noisome antics, Fantina shrieked something about not being prepared for your funeral, and fainted. Lady Memoria raised her eyebrows as Sinclaire spat cold water on Fantina's face, making River shout in indignation.
"What on earth is going on down here?" asked Lady Memoria, taking in the sullen expressions on everyone's faces. "Don't tell me we actually need to prepare a funeral?" She smirked as if she quite liked the idea.
"Nothin' like that, Lady Memoria," said Abel sheepishly, twiddling his hat in his hands. "I guess you didn't hear about our human goin' out fer the day.... S'got the whole house in a real tizzy."
"I gleaned as much from those silly games in the attic," replied Lady Memoria, her fingers stroking the head of her Poo-Chi absentmindedly. "What I'm wondering is why it's causing such an upset. Such acts of god have occurred before."
Scandalabria took it upon himself to explain the danger they thought you to be in, his eyes alight with wicked glee at the prospect of some such dramatic tragedy befalling you. Truthfully, the idea of being mistaken for an antique in the ensuing estate sale enthralled him. Lady Memoria frowned as he relayed the story, then turned to Lux and said, "What was this friend's name? Not the Instaglam handle—her actual name."
Lux found her name listed on her profile. Lady Memoria frowned even deeper at this, then turned and called up the stairs for Diana.
Diana appeared moments later, rocking back and forth with her arms outstretched as if attempting to steady herself on one of Duncan's balance boards. She winced at the attention being given to her, muttering to herself as her eyes darted from one curious face to the next.
"And there are so many watching, like the play I was in, watching even before I go onstage, watching even after I leave, but there is no play today, no, so why are they here, or have they always been here...?"
"Diana," said Lady Memoria coaxingly, "I'm going to tell you a name, and I would like for you to tell me if you can find it in your memories. Can you do that for me?"
Diana looked up at Lady Memoria with a glazed expression. "A name? What's in a name? That was in the play too, the play that they've been watching ever since that day, over and over...."
"Diana, I need you to focus. Can you focus for me?"
Diana's eyes cleared somewhat. She furrowed her brow in concentration. "I... I can try...."
"Good. Ready?" When Diana nodded jerkily, Lady Memoria told her the name and Diana's expression bloomed with happiness, then confusion, then anger, and finally sadness, which lingered with her until she collapsed into a sobbing mess on the floor. Lady Memoria grimaced, then produced a photograph from within her boa. The surrounding objects all leaned in to look. There were two humans in the photo, one of them clearly you, though much younger. The other was a girl of the same age, and though the similarities between her and the influencer were somewhat hidden behind filters and highlights, the eyes were unmistakable. In the photograph, both of you smiled widely for the camera, the self-consciousness of adolescence having not admonished the raised chins, chapped noses, and gapped teeth of your youth just yet. Lady Memoria allowed each object present to get a good look before turning the photograph over and looking at the back.
"There's a stranger's name written on the back, but I couldn't be sure until Diana confirmed it.... They used to be childhood friends, didn't they, Diana?"
"Betrayed!" wailed Diana from the floor. "Cast aside like dirty socks!" Dirk scoffed, but she ignored him and went on. "Freshman year of high school, first day, she ignored me! And when I tried to talk to her in the cafeteria, she dumped her lunch tray on me! And every day after that, she sought me out, and...!" She burst into renewed tears. Freddy patted her on the back awkwardly, offering her some ice cream.
"So it is an old friend! I was technically right!" laughed Beverly, but she sobered immediately at the withering look the others gave her. She coughed, embarrassed, saying, "Sorry. Anyway, um, so, if she turned into a bully, why would she want to meet up again? Or, better question, why would our human even agree to meeting her?"
"Nostalgia does funny things to humans' minds," mused Lady Memoria smugly, slipping the photograph back into her boa. "It is quite possible that the human decided to accept the invitation to meet under the pretense that things should be different now, blinded by the memories of a glorious youth spent in happiness and frivolity." She bit her lip sensually at the thought. "What a silly fool. Risking that wound being torn open once again just for the smallest glimpse of what used to be...."
She was momentarily lost in a reverie that she was clearly enjoying too much, but was brought back by Diana's continued wracking sobs on the floor. She sighed and helped her to her feet, then, bidding the others farewell, led Diana back upstairs. The objects of the kitchen and dining room stood in contemplative silence. Fantina was still unconscious on the floor, sopping wet.
"Nostalgia is truly a vile temptress," murmured Friar Errol, the coil upon his head heating to a dull orange as he patted his flushed cheeks with a handkerchief. It was unclear whether he was referring to the phenomenon of nostalgia or the dark lady who had just left them, and he did not elaborate; he merely bid the group farewell and returned to his cloister within the air fryer. The others soon followed suit, departing wordlessly, one by one. The rain began to beat on Wyndolyn relentlessly. Timothy watched 4pm come and go.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
The thunderstorm had reached such a pitch that no one heard your car pull up the drive at 6:30pm. It was only when Front Dorian let out a relieved exhale, then suddenly opened to the deafening sound of wind and rain, that every consciousness in the house became alert and focused on you as you came in, soaked head to toe. You looked absolutely miserable, but you still closed Dorian gently, pushing his latch slowly into place rather than slamming him shut. You were not any more aware of him than you were of anyone else in the house, but that just made everyone respect you more: No matter your mood, no matter what happened, you were always so careful with your things. No one was ever slammed around or, god forbid, broken in fits of rage or excitement. You were as considerate as a human unaware of another's consciousness could be; today was no exception, even though you looked like you were about to cry. You carefully plodded to the bathroom to remove your wet clothes and grab Tyrell; then, with dry hands, you removed Phoenicia, Monique, and your car keys from your pockets, where you had done your best to keep them dry. You gave them each ginger pats with Tyrell to try to capture stray droplets of water before using him to dry up the puddles you had tracked onto Florence. The objects watched you work, stripped to your undergarments with sopping wet hair, in silence, until you finished. You brought Tyrell to Harper promptly, your head hung low, then plodded off to the bathroom. The sounds of Johnny's singing began, along with Amir's usual complaints, before Cylia turned to Phoenicia and finally asked, "What on earth happened?"
"I'm so sorry, y'all!" cried Phoenicia, cupping her face with her hands in distress. "There was no signal in that café and the WiFi was down, so I couldn't update—and by the time they were heading to the next spot, I was so distracted that I—"
"Monique!" shouted Sophia, nearly tripping over Stella as she rushed to her friend, looking her over worriedly. "Are you all right? Are you diminished? Let mommy take a look at you."
"I am intact," Monique assured her, smiling gratefully at her friend's attentions. "I was not spent at all. Little Miss Influencer paid for everything."
"Hmph, disgraceful!" huffed Dasha, folding her considerable arms across her broad chest. "They should have arm-wrestled for honor of paying for date."
"Oh-ho-hoooo, it wasn't a date," Phoenicia assured her, shaking her head and grimacing. "Faaaaar from it. The farthest it could be. In fact, if there was such a thing as a date for people who hate each other, that would've been it."
"So what—" Cylia began questioning, but paused when she heard Johnny stop singing abruptly, and the water turn off. That was the shortest shower you had ever taken. Even Bathsheba, in all her self-centeredness, expressed a vaguely-concerned sentiment that she should have been used instead, to get rid of the chill of the rain—and so she could hear all the juicy gossip firsthand, of course.
You emerged from the bathroom wrapped in another towel, your face just as miserable as it had been before your shower, and plodded off upstairs to get dressed.
"With a face like that, I could believe your singing was finally heard, Johnny," said Amir with a cruel laugh. Johnny snapped back that Amir was just jealous.
Upstairs, Betty watched as you sullenly dragged clothes out from your closet, biting her lip with concern. You looked completely drained. She longed to hold you in her embrace, to envelop you in warmth and comfort, carrying you away from all your worries. She waited patiently, but was disappointed when you did not lie down on her, but instead went back downstairs. You trudged down the hall and into the kitchen, then over to the mini bar, where you poured yourself a drink.
The objects watched in alarmed concern as you poured yourself drink after drink, ignoring Chairemi and instead seating yourself on the floor, eventually setting the glass aside and drinking straight from the bottle. You began to sway, eyes focused blearily on the yellow wallpaper opposite you, until you thought you could see someone standing there. The features were difficult to discern, but in your inebriated state, you decided you wanted to talk, even if it was to an imaginary audience. Surely there was no harm in entertaining despair while intoxicated, right?
"Thish, thish right here... s'why I don't leave the house," you hiccuped to the vague figure. "I've got no friendsh... 'cept Sam, but I think she'sh only friends with me cuz m'life's a joke, and she thinksh s'funny... but it wash nice to imagine that I coulda had that again... that real friendship... like before...."
You took another swig from your bottle, completely unaware that the entire house was watching you with baited breath. Sure, there were those watching just for the spectacle—Tina was staring at you with glittering eyes, like you were the greatest episode of Love on Triangle Island she had ever seen—but most were watching with concern. Abel especially seemed desperate to reach out to you, to help you, but there was no way for him to reach you. All he could do was watch helplessly as you drank yourself further into your stupor. You continued on, addressing the vague figure in the wallpaper that you were surely imagining:
"I thought enough time had passhed. I thought things coulda been different. I shoulda known... I shoulda known she would be the shame. She treated me to food, then a movie, then—hic—then more food... she wash recordin' the whole time. Made me feel weird. Couldn't understand why she wash recording.... And then when she wanted—hic—to go shoppin', I told her no! and then... then the mask fell off. She got angry. Turnsh out I wash her charity work for th'week, and not lettin' her buy me shtuff was ruinin' the video she had planned... and everythin' was jus’ like high shchool again." You sniffled. Beverly reached to place an incorporeal hand on your shoulder, but jumped back in surprise as you suddenly shouted, "Well, I don't need more shtuff! Maybe I am poor, but I have everythin' I need, and then shome! I mean, look at dis piano!"
Keyes recoiled at the sight of you wobbling to your feet and heading over to her, bottle in hand.
"Lookit that! Da's classy!" You proceeded to push keys at random, pretending to play, and even though your composition would have made Johnny Splash look like Hans Zimmerman, even the hyper-critical Keyes could find nothing to say to the pathetic figure you struck on her bench. She merely closed her eyes, attempting to enjoy the feeling of your fingers stroking her ivories, always gentle even while drunk, but finding it difficult with the constant, discordant notes.
"Honestly, I would've stuck it out just to get the free shit," said Lux, watching you with a bored expression.
"Not everyone has yer... standards," said Gaia through gritted teeth, wincing as you attempted to pitch-match a note on the far-right end of the keyboard.
"Oh-em-gee, you are so right. My standards are, like, really high and unattainable for other people."
"High... right."
You stopped pretending to play and looked down at your bottle, which was now empty. You got up from the bench and staggered over to Abel, placing the bottle down on a coaster. You stood for a moment, swaying, staring into space. Then you turned back toward the yellow wallpaper as if you had heard it hissing insults at you.
"My shtuff is jus' fine," you told the wallpaper resolutely. "Better than fine—I love my shtuff. I love my houshe! S'a good—hic—good houshe fulla good things. No shtupid iiinflueeenzaa-err—" You paused, certain you had said it wrong but still pleased with the inadvertent insult. "—is gonna convince me otherwise. Shhhhcrew her! Shcrew—" Your foot caught on one of Abel's legs, and though he did instinctively throw out his arms, the manifestation of his limbs passed through you like that of a ghost, and you hit the floor with a loud thud. You laughed weakly to yourself, gazing up at the ceiling, completely unaware of Cylia looking back at you with a small, sad smile. You rolled over onto your stomach and spread your arms wide, as if trying to embrace the foundation, your cheek pressed against the wood.
"G'night, houshe," you mumbled with a contented sigh. "I love you."
Tears began to slide down Florence's cheeks as she wrapped her arms around you, pained by the knowledge you would never feel them, gazing up at Cylia helplessly.
"We love you too, human," murmured Cylia. "More than you know."