*Picks up phone* "Hello, hello? Uh, if you're hearing this, then you know the drill."
Here it is! The long awaited first chapter of "Exit, Purused by a Fox!" Sorry that it took so long.
I do not own any of the characters in Five Nights at Freddy's. They belong to the wonderful Scott Cawthon.
Every Girl Has Got an Axe to Grind
"Hello, hello. Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, a magical place for kids and grown-ups alike. Blah, blah, blah. How can I help you?"
Laura Houndstooth hated her job. More specifically, she hated whichever bastard it was that had the bright idea of appointing her with the task of handling customers over the phone. Whoever said that the customer was always right had never worked at the good-for-nothing hellhole that was Freddy Fazbear's Pizza.
Not only that. She hated every inch of the eyesore of a restaurant from the flamboyant purple walls and sticky floors to the tacky stars that dangled from the ceiling like deformed spiders. The children made more ruckus than cicadas during mating season. And if she had to endure "Pizza Party Pals" one more time, she was sure she would go insane.
But she never quit.
Laura was the worst employee in the pizzeria; a title which she relished. The past four years had consisted of showing up late to work and countless dress-code violations. The janitor was still trying to scrub the inappropriate drawings from off of the walls in the women's restrooms. She was almost offended that she hadn't been given an award.
Any other manager would've fired her on the spot. But despite all of the hell she'd given Fazbear Entertainment, they never let her go. It wasn't out of fondness, but out of obligation. And it only made her hate the restaurant more if that was even possible.
RIIIIIIING! RIIIIIIING! RIIIIIIING!
A long-suffering groan escaped her lips. It was too early in the week to deal with stupid people.
"Hello, hello. Fazbear's Pizza, a magical place for pizza and stuff." she said all in one breath, her well-practiced cheery tone almost mechanical.
"Hello. We had my son's birthday party here last week, and your pizza made him sick! He's lactose intolerant and we want a full refund-"
"That's not a question." Laura droned, before promptly hanging up. If the woman wanted five star customer service, she should have called Horace Honey Badger's Honey Burgers.
RIIIIIIING! RIIIIIIING! RIIIIIIING!
"Is this Freddy Fazbear's Pizza?"
"No, this is Laura."
Around 5:00, she took notice of two rows of preset tables which had been roped off and uniformly lined with tell-tale party hats.
Two fucking birthday parties. On the same night. On the one day that the day shift guard was on vacation.
It wasn't the thought of having to deal with at least twenty screaming children that made her blood boil. It was the dimwitted parents who dropped off their kids for hours on end and expected the employees to babysit. Freddy Fazbear's Pizza had a dodgy track record when it came to taking responsibility for the safety of its customers and employees.
"For fuck's sake," she grumbled, tearing the phone from the receiver. She inhaled sharply before answering.
"Hello, hello. Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, a fantasy place where pizza and magic come to life and shit. This had better be worth my time."
"Uhhh...hi. I-I uh, saw an advertisement for a job opening for a night watchman in the paper. Is—is that position still available?" the speaker was male, with a clear voice that sounded more boyish than manly.
"As a matter of fact...yes," she said slowly, her lip curling. "It's been free for...two weeks now."
The last idiot who'd signed up for the job had quit after the first night, rambling on about the restaurant being haunted. Laura may or may not have put the idea in his mind.
"Great! When can I come in for an interview?" She could almost hear the anxiety in his voice melting away.
"Whenever you're free."
"Cool! I'll be right over then!"
"Perfect. By the way...what's your name?"
"Oh! Uh, Mike. Mike Schmidt."
"And how do you spell that?" She scrambled under the counter for a pen and scrap of paper, somehow managing to keep the phone wedged between her shoulder and chin.
"And that...is all I needed. Thank you."
"You're welcome, uhhh..." he trailed off.
"Laura." she said quickly.
"Got it. I'll be there in uh, fifteen minutes."
"Don't mention it. Take your time. Later."
As soon as the call ended, Laura wasted no time in rummaging through the drawers until she found the blank nametags and a permanent marker.
A young man that could only be Mike Schmidt stumbled through the door precisely fifteen minutes later.
He blinked rapidly, as if trying to allow time for his eyes to adjust to the brightness of the room. His thin cheeks heated up in apology whenever he accidentally made eye contact with one of the children.
"That'll be $22.50. Thanks for coming. Thanks for leaving." Laura said, shoving the receipt at the disgruntled mother on the other side of the counter. The woman let out a small hmph, before stalking off with her children in tow.
As she attended to the next customer, she glanced at the newcomer out of the corner of her eye as he approached.
He was a spindly slip of a boy with scruffy brown hair that stuck up every which way, giving him the appearance of a walking paintbrush with unruly bristles. Was he really wearing a graphic t-shirt to a job interview?
"You must be Laura," he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners like old denim when he smiled. He extended a hand. "I'm Mike. Well. You've uh, probably figured that out by now.
She just stared at him. She honestly couldn't tell if his awkwardness was endearing or just plain annoying.
He slowly withdrew his hand and rubbed the back of his neck, smiling uncomfortably.
"Can you please tell me where the manager's office is?" he asked, recovering quickly. He then added, "I-if it isn't any trouble."
She jabbed a finger in the direction of the east hall.
"Uh, okay. Thanks, I guess. I'd better get a move on then. Wish me luck." he gave Laura a jittery smile before disappearing down the dark hallway.
Hardly ten minutes later, Mike reappeared, looking like a child who found out that Christmas came early.
"Feast your eyes upon the new night watchman!" he exclaimed, gesturing grandly like a game show host.
She grimaced. No one was proud of working at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza.
"How do I look?" he pulled on his new security guard jacket, which was the same violent shade of purple as the walls. He seemed blissfully unaware of the dirty looks being aimed in his direction. "Pretty snazzy, huh?"
"Well, tonight's the big night. I'm gonna need plenty of shut-eye. Gotta make a good first impression." Mike rocked back and forth on the heels of his old sneakers.
"Well, don't let me stop you." she replied offhandedly, opening a magazine.
After a couple of minutes of silence (well, as quiet as it gets when there are over two dozen children shrieking in a relentless cacaphony of sugar-madness), she slowly looked up. He was still standing there, his hands jammed into his pockets and the corners of his mouth lifting into a small, uncertain, but hopeful smile.
"What?" she asked with a drawn-out sigh, planting her palms on her hips.
Mike tugged at the collar of his Spiderman tee. "Uh, I was wondering...would you...like to uh, I don't know, go out for coffee or something-"
"Well, you uh, y-you seem nice-" He was cut off mid-babble by a derisive snort from Laura.
Nice? The only remotely sunny thing about her was the color of her hair. Mike was either idealistic to a fault or he was one of those guys that couldn't find a date and wound up taking their sister to prom.
He seemed to realize the implications of his words and immediately began to backpedal.
"No, no, no! I-I didn't mean it like that. I don't even like you-"
Laura raised an eyebrow, her eyes flashing behind her horn-rimmed glasses.
"No, I m-mean that I just met you and all!" he said, his face tinged pink with the desperation to get his point across without embarrassing himself further. "I meant as a friend."
"In coffee, or-"
"In making friends."
Mike blinked as if she had just poured a pitcher of cold water over his head. That probably would have been a bit kinder.
"O-okay, uh, never mind! Bad timing, I guess. Maybe some other time. See you around." he smiled weakly, turning to leave. She sighed again, seeing that she'd have to let him down the hard way.
"By the way, I hope you like your nametag. Made it just for you." she said coolly, her eyes never leaving her magazine.
Mike furrowed his brow before examining his nametag:
Hello! My name is Mike Shit.
He looked at it long and hard before crumpling it up and flinging it to the checkered floor.
"This is exactly why you kids are going to a private school," said an unamused father to his two children who were snickering quietly.
When she finally looked up, she got a fleeting glimpse of a purple jacket disappearing through the glass door. She was being harsh, but she didn't want to give the poor boy false hope. It was for the best.
At first glance, Mike Schmidt didn't seem any different from the rest of the stupid college boys that preceded him. But something about that smile told her otherwise. That he was different. Stubborn. Optimistic.
Optimism would get that boy killed tonight if he wasn't careful.
Well, there you go! I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter. A lot of elements from the first draft of the story are still here. One thing that hasn't changed is that Laura is still a jerkass. And that's all you need to know about her...for now.
Horace Honey Badger's Honey Burgers is a fictional Chuck E. Cheese knockoff I created. It was the silliest, stupidest restaurant name I could come up with.
From the bottom of my heart, thank you for reading! Until then, see you on the flip side!