#🧍‍♂️ Stanley Johnson

[the-haunted-office]

Oh my god, that second one from left to right is Stanley Johnson, Cyrus, and the ax-wielder is Doomsday while the person attempting to hold her back is Thursday. xD

Draw the squad 2020

Feel Free to use! 

[the-haunted-office]

Slip a 🎙 into the inbox so my muse can confess something to yours. It can be a dark secret, or a guilty pleasure. Anything goes.(For Stanley and Pat)

Slip a 🎙 into the inbox so my muse can confess something to yours. It can be a dark secret, or a guilty pleasure. Anything goes.

Stanley thinks for a few quiet moments about what he wants to share with Patricia. There isn't really a lot about him that he could share, not that one might find interesting or memorable or unique. He's just... Stanley... and a good part of his life has been lost at the hands of his Narrator, at that. Literally lost, in the form of his memories, lost as a result of all the damage done to his body from being repeatedly cloned and having his consciousness transferred from body to body to body...

That does make him think of something. Something he could tell Patricia. It's not good, though. It's nothing cheerful or interesting. It dark and gruesome and actually... what if it triggers her? She's gone through something similar, he recalls. But if she trusted him enough to tell him such a thing, perhaps he could trust her...

Feeling greatly nervous, nervous enough that he doesn't even want to use his neural link to speak, he uses his hands to sign, "My Narrator- Do you remember me telling you about him? Arthur Wright? He used to have this room in the Office, the one I came from, that had an open... I guess it wasn't really a room, but I walked through a door to get into it. It was a wide open space, with a round platform hanging out in the middle of it. There was black space all around, but there were white spots way up high somewhere, like stars. I think they might have been stars. And floating in the air just off the platform, there were all these colorful orbs dancing around, changing colors, like they meant something. I don't know what they meant, though, it just felt like they... were there for a reason. I couldn't figure them out."

"Arthur loved that room - that place," he continues, his eyelids fluttering a little, because this story is very uncomfortable for him to talk about. "He kept trying to get me to go into there because he loved it so much. He said it made him feel happy. Something about that room made him feel so happy, he never wanted to leave, but he couldn't be happy unless I was in there with him. Actually, he said he couldn't even go into there unless I was in there with him, for some reason. Stupid, huh?"

"The first time I discovered the room by accident. Arthur didn't even know about it then either. It was an amazing thing for both of us. Until I wanted to leave. I got bored after standing there for a while, but he didn't want to go. He wanted to stay. It made him angry when I wanted to leave. He started berating me and calling me names. And then I saw the only way I could get back down was to-... was to jump down from this really high platform. I had no other choice. It was either stay in that room forever, or jump. So I jumped."

Stanley pauses in his story for a moment, because this is hard for him, and he isn't sure how Patricia is taking it all. And this isn't even the half of it.

He then makes himself go on. He signs, "Arthur yelled because he was afraid for me, but somehow I survived the fall. I was in a lot of pain, my arm was broken, but I lived. I went back up the stairs, but he was more concerned at trying to get me to go back into that other room at that point. He didn't seem to care that I was in pain. He just wanted to go back into the room with the lights. He couldn't get back into it without me. And for some reason, it just... it made me so angry. No, actually, I know the reason it made me angry. It's because he always treated me like that. Like a puppet. Like he only liked me and wanted me around because... I could do things for him. Do this, Stanley. Do that, Stanley. Stanley, I need you to press this button. Stanley, I need you to walk through this doorway. Stanley, I need you to complete the Story. It was always everything for him and about him, never caring about me or what I wanted or needed, or how hurt or scared I was, or anything."

"So... I jumped again. And lived again. But I was hurt even more. Broken leg that time. Arthur was screaming at me by this point, begging me to stop jumping, begging me to go back into the other room. I refused. I dragged myself back up the stairs again, because what else could I do? I couldn't just lie there. But... I didn't want to go back into that other room again because I was done being his plaything. So, I did it again. I jumped. And he was so upset. He started crying, pleading with me, and couldn't understand why I was doing it, thinking I was doing it to spite him, and you know what... he was right. It was to spite him. All of it. To spite him. Because I hated him."

Somehow during all of this, Stanley's expression has evolved from one of concern about Patricia's feelings to one of... nothing. Empty. He has the distant look of one staring at an oncoming train barreling down the tracks at him and yet he just stands there, watching it approach, waiting for it, knowing what will happen and yet unwilling to move.

His hands move again. "I think I jumped from that platform three or four times, maybe five, before I finally died. That was the first time I died in that Office by my own choice. That I did it knowing I was going to die. And I did it to spite my Narrator. After that, whenever I was fed up with him, I did it more times. Just to hear him scream and beg and cry, because I knew it would upset him. Because in that place it was the only........ thing..... that made me feel like I had... any sense of control."

There's another pause here as his hands drop and his dead, glazed over eyes shift over to meet Patricia's. "I'm sorry... I don't know why, but now, after all that, I feel really....... sorry I did all that. I think he deserved it, but I'm still....... sorry."

@drchandras-sanctuary-for-ais

[the-haunted-office]

(advice column meme)

Dear.......well, I'm actually not sure who I should ask this to, so I'll just say anyone who isn't going to mock me or make a joke out of this, because I'm having a very hard time here and I really, really need help.

I recently split from my partner (not revealing name or gender, as I don't want anyone going after them about this, so I'lljust call them Partner and use They/Them) of....a really long time. And I did so during.....a really nasty fight. I.....I can't even remember what we fought over anymore. But we both said a lot of very hurtful things, and I threw things.....I think I physically hurt Partner when I did, I'm not sure. I was such a mess when it happened.

Anyway, it's been a while. I don't know how long exactly, since during that time I tried to lose myself in a project and kind of unintentionally lost myself someplace else instead, where I think time moves faster than it does here. But my issue is......I miss Partner. I miss how strong and warm their arms felt around me. I miss how they said things just to make me blush. I miss how they were always there for me......I just miss Partner. I.....I honestly don't think they wanted to split up, and that I kinda....forced it on them, in the heat of the moment when we fought. I want to say something to them, that I want to get back together or at the very least that I'm sorry for the things I did and said that hurt them. But.....I'm afraid of making things worse. Right now, we aren't talking but they don't hate me. I don't want to hurt them more.

I've been trying to work this out myself and it's proving extremely difficult. I think I need some outside help here, or at least an outside perspective to help me figure out what to do. So please, someone help me.

{ My character now has an advice column in a respectable periodical. Ask them advice on anything from romantic conundrums to windmill operation tips! }

The Haunted Office folks all look at this letter written to them, this desperate plea for help, this... relationship advice... with a mixture of feelings. Puzzlement. Sorrow. Regret. Sympathy. But above all... oh hell no, nobody got time for that. Especially since the writer has specifically requested someone who isn't going to mock them or make a joke out of it.

They spend the next two minutes playing Hot Potato with the letter, passing it around amongst each other like it's something that is poison, like whoever is holding it at the end of a particular period of time will either die or - even worse - have to respond to it. Doomsday straight up throws it at the group and flees from the room, yelling "BITCHES", without even so much as looking back. Thursday pulls her hood up over her head like she didn't even see it and hides in the nearest closet. Oleander dissolves back into code and slips back into the computer sitting next to them. Cyrus gives a mournful look at the mournful piece of paper, before mournfully handing it over to Stanley and mournfully walking out of the room. Stanley stares at the piece of paper. Looks up at September. September looks at Stanley. Says, "No." And just... melts through the floor without another word.

Stanley looks back at the letter. He reads it again, thoroughly, realizing that the responsibility of responding to this mess has been left up to him. It's a heavy burden. Saving the couple's relationship, possibly. All weight down on his shoulders.

But what could he even have to say about this? This is... beyond his comprehension. Stanley has never really been in a relationship before. Well. Technically he has. It's just that he can't remember. And since he's been in both his own Office and the Haunted Office, he hasn't been in one. He's had some... rather strange "relationships" between himself and his Narrators, but he wouldn't consider those actual relationships. The closest he's gotten is his connection with Cyrus, but he isn't really sure what that even is. It's like they're dancing around each other with something that he can't quite name, but... he has no idea what it could be.

At any rate, none of it answers this letter for him. So, Stanley shrugs, puts the letter down on the desk next to him. pulls out a fresh piece of paper, and gets to writing his response.

Dear Reader,

I'm sorry to hear about your relationship. That sounds like a really rough situation to be in. I hope everything works out for you. I will try my best to help, although I have to admit my own experience with relationships is sparse.

I think sometimes we all make mistakes. We make the wrong choices without realizing they are the wrong choices at the time we make them. How can we know they are wrong until we make them? Until after the fact? You are already through the doorway before you realize it's the wrong path, and by then there is no going back. You can only forge ahead. There is always going to be a voice yelling at you to go back, that you've done the wrong thing, how could you mess everything up, you must be some kind of idiot. But the truth is, anybody could have been in your shoes. Anybody could have made your same mistake. The person yelling at you could have been anybody. Nobody is perfect, and you shouldn't hold yourself to it either.

I doubt Partner thinks that of you, and if they do, then they are not right for you. I think the only way you could hurt them more is by not saying anything to them at all. Silence is the worst thing, I think. Not having any answer. Not making any choice. It's the absence of choice that kills us. If you don't make any choice, you will never have an answer. You will be stuck in that room staring at two doors with a voice yelling at you, and the only way that voice will be right is if you don't do anything.

So pick a door. Go through one and make a choice. Even if it ends up giving a "bad" outcome, it was still a choice. Still a decision. Still something you chose to do. You will still have an answer, and a way of moving forward, a way of moving on, instead of being stuck.

I don't know if that helps at all. I hope it does. Good luck, Reader. I wish you and Partner the best.

Stanley

[the-haunted-office]

Doomsday: ...

Cyrus: ...

Stanley: 🥺👉👈

Doomsday: (squinty eyes)

Cyrus (squinty eyes)

Stanley: 🥺👉👈

Doomsday: Stanley, you realize if we do this, Cyrus is going to end up murdered. By me.

Cyrus: I beg to differ. Doomsday is the one who will end up dead. Again.

Stanley: 🥺👉👈

Doomsday: Unnnnngggghhh... You're sleeping in the middle of the bed.

Cyrus: Wh- I didn't agree to this!

Doomsday: Shut up, old man, it's for Stanley!

Stanley: :)

polyamory would not always fix the love triangle. sometimes it would make it much, much worse. but they should do it anyway

[the-haunted-office]

Something is bothering him. Cyrus can tell. Stanley has always been a quiet man, at least from the time Cyrus has known him - quieter even than his Stanley has been - but even this is a noticeable silence to the Narrator.

The way he entered the control booth with a softer knock on the door than usual. The way he went straight to his seat without much more than a tight nod and an even tighter-lipped smile, if one could even categorized it as such. The way he sat in his chair, across from Cyrus and barely moving. Even the way he stirred his tea - or rather, the way he didn't. His tea was left untouched, cooling slowly while his lemon shortbread biscuits sat there uneaten.

(Cut here due to length!!)

Cyrus is concerned by this behavior. This is quite unlike Stanley. He wonders if he should say something, ask him what is wrong, reach out to him. The two men have enjoyed their shared company this last year or so since Stanley came to the Office. Things had been a bit... precarious at first, when they were all navigating each other, trying to figure out how this new Stanley would fit in among them, especially when Cyrus didn't want him in his Stanley's old Office. A precious memorial to his precious Stanley, that room is off limits to everyone, and so he simply couldn't allow this new Stanley into it, despite the fact that the new Stanley wanted into it. There had been a short dispute about it at first, but all was settled when the new Stanley was given the room of 247 in lieu of 427. The number was close enough to suit him and so the matter was settled.

At any rate, the new Stanley isn't quite so new now, and now he is simply known around here as Stanley, because that is who he is. Cyrus has come to acknowledge him as such, and has also come to recognize him as an individual, and not just a Stanley. This man is Stanley Johnson, a man of his own identity. Yes, he is "a man named Stanley" as in the man who plays the role of a man named Stanley, but he is also simply Stanley, and Cyrus appreciates him every bit as much as he did his own Stanley, Stanley Parable.

He could even say... that he loves this man. Yes. He loves him very much. Perhaps not in the same capacity that he loved his Stanley, but by his own merits. Like the way one can love both a sunflower and a daisy. Both are equally beautiful in Cyrus's eye, and both are equally deserving of love, though both are visibly different from one another.

Cyrus is still trying to parse all of this when at last, Stanley speaks up. He does so by sitting up and raising his hands to sign, all at once regaining the Narrator's full attention. "Why did you do it, Cyrus?" His hands ask the question, but his eyes accuse.

Both catch him by surprise, not to mention brings forth his own question. "Why, what do you mean, Stanley? Why did I do what?"

Stanley scoffs, a jarring sound that surprises Cyrus even more. Stanley is acting really out of sorts today. He signs, "Don't be obtuse. You know what I mean."

"Stanley, I- I- I- I'm afraid I really don't. I honestly don't know what you mean by your question of why I did something," Cyrus refutes again, because in his mind, there could be any number of things he has "done" that Stanley could be referring to. Could he mean how he treated his own Stanley back in the day? Could he mean why did he trap the Dampening mist in the Office? Could he mean why did he treat Thursday the way he did when he first met her? Could he mean why did he say something mean to Doomsday one particular time and she ran and whined to Stanley about it? There really are too many things for him to answer to here and he's not about to go guessing on which one to answer for.

But of course, it has to be the very last thing he could have guessed. Because it's the one thing he didn't expect Stanley to know. "You were in on it with Thursday. When I died. That time, when the piano was dropped on me, and I died. The body bag, the freezer. You both decided to put me in there. How could you let her take the fall for everything like that? How could do that to me? How could do it, Cyrus?"

The Narrator pales as it all sinks in, as he realizes what a blunder he's made. Not only was he unable to guess what could have upset Stanley, but Stanley is upset with him about things that, quite frankly, Cyrus was unaware that he would be upset about. He was upset that Stanley was upset at Thursday about these things, yes. But he didn't know... didn't think Stanley would...

"Now, Stanley, I- I- This is all a misunderstanding-" Cyrus starts, only to be swiftly cut off by a hiss from Stanley.

"Oh, don't even try," the other man signs angrily. "You really were just going to sit there and act like you did nothing wrong, like you had no part in it, and let me believe me that... you actually cared about me-"

"Stanley- Stanley, I do care- How could I not?" Cyrus interjects, sounding desperate. He is desperate. Immediately, he is. He can't have Stanley angry at him. Not like this. Not over this. Not over anything. Stanley can't be mad at him. "We did what we felt was best - for you. We did what we felt you would have wanted. I'm sure that Thursday has already explained why we did it - it was because what happened was an accident, and we wanted to help-"

Stanley's hands go up, again interrupting the Narrator. "If you'd really wanted to help me, you'd have listened to what I wanted and buried me. You'd have let me go. You'd have let me move on. But instead you... held me captive. You kept me here until my stupid god damn fucking Narrator showed up and put me back into a body again, and now look at me! Look at me, Cyrus!" Stanley stops signing so that he throw out his arms for a moment, and as he does he grimaces sharply in pain.

Cyrus starts to get out his chair, starts to reach for him. "Stanley-"

Stanley puts up his hands to ward him off before getting up and moving away from him, leaving Cyrus in the awkward position of trying to decide whether he should try to help him anyway or if he should back off. If Stanley is in that much pain just from putting his arms out like that, has he been in pain this whole time? Just while sitting there and not drinking his tea? How has Cyrus failed to notice so much...?

"Stanley..." Cyrus croaks, on the verge of tears but trying his very best to hold them back. For Stanley. For Stanley. Anything for Stanley. "I swear to you, I had no idea any of this would happen. I- and Thursday- Neither of us had any idea of what was happening to you, what your Narrator was doing to you, until afterwards. If we had known- If we had had any idea, we would have- As much as we would have wanted to save you, we would have... whatever you wanted, we would have..."

He can't even say it.

And Stanley can tell. He can hear the hesitation.

Stanley always has a way of telling. Of seeing things that he, Cyrus, cannot.

The other man narrows his eyes, and Cyrus knows what's coming. "No, you wouldn't have. You can't even say that you'd have let me go. You'd have kept me in that freezer until... who knows. You'd have kept me as another ghost here." Stanley pauses, thinking for a moment while Cyrus can feel warmth on his cheeks, warmth which quickly turns cold. Then his hands move to deliver more blows in the form of words. "I'll tell you something else. I'll bet the only reason you let the other Stanley go... is because he died, and his body was taken away, and you had no other way of holding onto his soul. I'll bet... if you could have figured out how to do that, he'd still be here. Wouldn't he?"

Cyrus doesn't give an answer. But he doesn't have to. Stanley Johnson already knows the answer, just as Cyrus already knows.

Stanley puts up his hands to signal that he's done, he has nothing more to say, nothing nice, anyway, and backs off in a hurry. He's done.

Cyrus isn't, though. He goes after Stanley, even though the other man is retreating quickly out the door.

"Stanley- Stanley, no, please don't go- Stanley!" the Narrator cries, fumbling out the doorway after him. Stanley is already briskly making his way down the hallway, while Cyrus shouts after him. He doesn't chase him, though. The control booth is his anchor. His home. He rarely leaves it for anybody, even Stanley, it seems. And so, he calls out after him: "Stanley! Please come back! Stanley! I did it for you, Stanley! Everything I've ever done is for you! Stanley!" And his last four words are a lot quieter, muffled, sobbed, only to himself, because Stanley is already gone, and he's never been able to bring himself to say them to the man himself: "I love you, Stanley."

[the-haunted-office]

The turnstile door is pushed open with as much force as it will allow, which isn't much considering it's designed to move slowly to prevent people from getting caught up in its moving mechanisms. It's happened before, with some of the other living buildings in the area, but this particular building doesn't want that, hence the slowness of the turning doors.

Stanley regrets his tendency to take well-worn paths, as he realizes after the fact that it would have been much more satisfactory to him to have been able to kick open a pair of doors, which he would have been able to do had he taken one of the emergency exits positioned at the end of the various stairwells around the Office.

Well. It's too late now. The slow-moving turnstile door is already spilling him outside into the hot, humid, end-of-summer air, hitting him in the face like a wet towel that's been soaking in a hot tub all day, and he is not going to go back into the Office just so he can stomp around and find a different set of doors to play out the grand exit he had in mind. So the man named Stanley briefly surveys his surroundings - surroundings which he has surveyed many times before, yet never taken much stock of - picks a direction, and just goes.

(Cut here due to length!!)

Like all choices he's ever made in his life, once he's made it, he makes it without looking back. It's not that there isn't any internal struggle or sense of regret, it's a literal lack of looking back. Stanley forges ahead, marking his path with only his footsteps left behind - that is, wherever the ground is impressionable enough to accept the indentation of his shoe prints. Anywhere else he is simply lost to the wilderness of the outside that is... the outside of the Office.

He's aware of just how dangerous this is. It's dangerous enough to be out here with a group of people, but to be out here alone? By himself? Just Stanley? What will he do should he encounter one of those slasher zombies? What will he do should he encounter a regular zombie? Or a streetlamp monster? Or even a squirrel? Those can be rather mean when caught by surprise, can't they? Stanley doesn't know - he's always had the people of the Office to defend him when he's caught squirrels by surprise, so he doesn't exactly know precisely how dangerous they are in this world outside of the Office, not the way the world is now, at any rate.

The world the way it is now is... exceptionally different than the way it was when he left it back in his own dimension. He might not be from this dimension, but as he understands it, from all he has heard from his Officemates, it once closely resembled the one he came from. He thinks. Stanley isn't entirely sure. All he has are clues, because you see, his actual memories of what his life was like before he came to be in his own Office are all faulty. Faulty, or fake, or manufactured, or altered, or... bastardized somehow. Point being, they're all missing and the memories he has of his life before can't be trusted to be real.

But the clues are clues, after all. His Narrator came up with them from somewhere. The idea of the Office and the imagery surrounding it didn't just come from the mind of some mad cosmic alien god with nothing better to do than torment an Earth man he claimed to be in love with - those very specific ideas were plucked up from very specific locations, and Stanley couldn't help but have the uncanny feeling that they were specifically plucked from his life, from the life his Narrator stalked and destroyed, and then had the gall to rub in his face under the guise of it being his own ideas.

After destroying his memory of it all first, of course.

Just how much of this was intentional, Stanley has yet to figure out. He may not ever figure that out, and quite frankly, he's done trying, he just wants to live the rest of his life in peace from all of these damn Narrator fucking around with him, he's sick of it, and as he's walking along outside of the Office, getting a feel for where he's going, which isn't much of a feel at all, considering he has precisely no idea where he is going, all he wants is to avoid surprising any squirrels, he suddenly realizes that he isn't alone.

Someone has followed him out here.

He realizes this because his surroundings, being mysterious and unknown as they are to him, have nonetheless changed. And become more inhibitive.

Stanley doesn't know how to identify trees, but a good deal of them around this area are common in the American Midwest - sycamore, maple, Bradford pear, cedar, and some varieties of pine, to name a few. All of these, including various species of bushes and shrubs and brambles, have all suddenly gone from dotting the landscape to filling the landscape, and crowding in together. Instead of looking like what you would expect your average outdoor wildlife reserve to look like, Stanley's surroundings now suddenly resemble something more manmade, something purposely structured, purposely built, something like straight out of a sandbox game, like a person took a bunch of trees and bushes out of their inventory and stuck them all into the ground in rows to create a barrier or because they thought it looked nice. It certainly wasn't because it looked in any way natural, which is in direct contradiction to the fact that the trees and bushes are all natural things.

More to the point, the trees and bushes are all now boxing him in and preventing him from moving forward. The message is clear.

You can't go this way, Stanley. Pick another direction.

Stanley recognizes right away what has happened. Of course, he's seen this all before and has been in the middle of it.

He stops. Huffs. Folds his arms. Waits for the person to reveal himself.

And soon enough, he does. Of course he does. The man is too impatient not to.

It's just his voice, though. Just his voice. It fills the air around Stanley, like the voice is the air. Like it is the world itself. Stanley knows better, though. This voice belongs to a man, a man who may be a cosmic alien god to whom Stanley owes his life - but he is also the one who took his life away. And Stanley will never forget, or forgive, that.

"Where do you think you are going, Stanley?" asks the Narrator, who Stanley now knows go by the name of Arthur Wright.

Stanley doesn't say anything, either by sign language or by using his neural thought-to-speech link (which is something Arthur made for him - it's a useful device for speaking to those who don't know how to use sign language, but still a sore point for him, seeing as it's because of Arthur that he lost his ability to speak in the first place).

"Stanley... Are you really still going to give me the silent treatment? The... cold shoulder, as they say?" Arthur asks. There is silence for a moment, save for the wind in the trees. A silence which speaks for itself. "I don't know how many times I can apologize to you for my mistake. It was a simple one, although of course I understand the ramifications of it now. I can see it all now, and I understand it all perfectly, and I am sorry. I'm sorry, Stanley. Stanley. I'm sorry."

He still doesn't understand. Even now, he still doesn't understand, Stanley can tell. The Narrator still thinks this is all about how much cloning his body has hurt him, and nothing else. The Narrator has no comprehension of how much he has hurt him as a whole person, him, Stanley, Stanley's whole life, all that he's taken away from him. It's all just about how much he's hurt his body, his little puppet, his toy, his plaything. Outside of that, the Narrator can't fathom what he's done.

Stanley still doesn't react. Doesn't acknowledge the Narrator at all. He's not worth his acknowledgment anymore. Instead, he presses his molars together, lifts his chin, unfolds his arms, and keeps moving forward. Whether or not the barrier of trees and bushes will stop him, Stanley keeps moving forward. Because there is no point in looking back.

He reaches the line of trees, and there's a moment where he's sure they won't part. He's sure they will remain packed together, keep him prisoner, demand that he go back, keep him contained.

But they don't. They move aside. He swears he hears a sigh, and then the trees and bushes all spread apart, the way they were before, leaving him with the open landscape he was presented with when he first walked out of the Office.

The air is still heavy and humid and still feels like and wet towel fresh out of a hot tub has been dropped over his head. But it feels great.

For the first time in his life, Stanley is free.

[the-haunted-office]

Stanley approaches Doomsday with a hand raised. He signs, "I'll let you squish me, Doomsday."

Doomsday blanches. "What? Stanley, no! I can't squish you."

The Protagonist shrugs, signs, "Why not?"

"Why- Because I'd probably kill you! On accident, but still, I don't want to do that!"

Stanley taps his chin in thought, as if he'd forgotten that he could die so easily. Then he shrugs. Again. It is one of his trademark gestures, after all. "Okay. How about I squish you, then?"

Lights suddenly appear in Doom's eyes, as if moonbeams have somehow reflected into them. "You'd do that? For me?"

Another shrug. "Sure."

Seconds later, the former ghost is down on the floor, grinning like the idiot that she is. And seconds after that, Stanley is walking over to her, considering her pinstriped form for a moment or two, before shrugging yet again, and then simply... stepping onto her, shoes and all, and then just... standing there. Right on top of her.

Doom releases a puff of air at his weight and shifts beneath him, turning her head to the side against the carpet and trying to get a look up at him. "Are you- Stanley, are you serious right now? You're just... uff... just going to- stand on me like that?"

Stanley looks down at her... and shrugs.

"You're supposed to... ffff... put like... you know... a flat thing... on top of me... and then stand on me..." she huffs, and not solely because he's squashing all the air out of her lungs. "Stanley! You utterly suck at this!"

And what does Stanley have to say to this?

A smile.

And a shrug.

[the-haunted-office]

Doomsday: (in her bunny form doing this to Stanley)

Stanley: ...?

You'll notice that people do this in multiplayer games for much the same reason!

[the-haunted-office]

It's about pinball instead of Solitaire, but still, it's Stanley. x)

[the-haunted-office]

"So, I understand that you don't believe that our Stanley is, indeed, a freak. Here. I want to show you something," says Doom, motioning with her hand for you to follow.

She leads you down the hallway of the 230-250 offices, putting a finger to her lips, motioning for you to be quiet. There is a set of cubicles just outside the office 247, where Stanley Johnson's room is, and there sits Stanley at one of them, sitting perfectly still.

At least...

...he appears be sitting perfectly still.

His hand is on the mouse, and there are clicking noises. A lot of clicking noises. And things are happening on the computer screen - specifically the mouse is moving across the screen at a very high rate, so quickly you can scarcely see it moving, and the cards of a game of Solitaire are flashing all over the screen so fast you can't even tell what's happening. It looks like the game might be glitching, until you step closer and see that the game counter indicates that game after game after game is being won.

Stanley is sitting perfectly still, and yet he is somehow simultaneously playing Solitaire, and winning hundreds of games of it, while not moving an inch.

How in the shit is this possible?!

"See what I mean?" Doom whispers, leaning over to you while trying to keep her voice down. "Total. Freak."

There is a high-pitched squeak of an office chair moving as Stanley suddenly, slowly turns. Looks directly at you and Doom. Just... stares at the two of you. Otherwise not moving an inch. And yet somehow, somehow, the clicking noises and game-playing continues.

Doom startles - "Oh shit- RUN!" - and bolts down the hallway, leaving you there in the beam of Stanley's gaze, and the clicking noises, the ever-going clicking noises...

[the-haunted-office]

The different Stanleys often get referred to by their surname, although sometimes my muses will still call them "Stanley". Things get confusing, but I try to make it less confusing at least in text by referring to them either by full name or by their surname. Such is the downside of having a multiverse. :p

Stanley Parable = Parable (The Stanley from the Haunted Office, was Cyrus and Thursday's Stanley, died a couple years ago)

Stanley Johnson = Johnson (Came from Office UD8, his Narrator is Arthur Wright, currently living in the Haunted Office)

Stanley Null = Null (The first Stanley from Office Zero, the same Office Doomsday came from, is a Malignant Reaper, currently squatting in the Haunted Office against the will of the Haunted Office folks)

The outlier here is Shadow Stanley, who usually gets referred to as Shadow! He is from That Office, the same Office Thisday is from, and is an Intangible Ghost. He usually just lurks around in shadows, minding his own business, if watching people counts as minding his own business.

[the-haunted-office]

Stanley: (heavy breathing)

alright, first post after an extended period of inactivity, gotta make it a good one!

buckets

[the-haunted-office]

James is out there causing problems, meanwhile Stanley is just over here playing Solitaire and minding his own business. He's the real hero of the story. x)

[the-haunted-office]

/* For Stanley: */

Excluding murder, what is the worst thing your OC has ever done?

Dark OC Asks

This took place not in the Haunted Office, but in the Office Stanley came from, where he was with his original Narrator, Arthur Wright.

While Stanley gets along well with Cyrus, the Narrator of the Haunted Office, he despises Arthur. Arthur was very controlling and did not treat Stanley like his own autonomous being - he instead treated him like a plaything, like an object, like a doll to be manipulated and played with at his whim. Arthur took care of Stanley, to a degree, but never saw Stanley as someone with his own intelligence, and was constantly violating Stanley's boundaries and autonomy.

I'm not sure if you've ever played The Stanley Parable, but in the game there is an Ending called the Zending, where you take Stanley to a room with these beautiful colorful orbs of light. You can't do anything in this room, even though it's peaceful and beautiful, and the Narrator loves being in that room. The Narrator expresses how happy he feels in that room and that being there is the only way you and him can be happy together. However, there is no way to progress the game just by being in that room. Nothing ever happens. The only way for anything to happen is to exit the room, climb a staircase, and jump to your death, which severely upsets the Narrator. He accuses you (Stanley) of doing this on purpose to spite him and because you hate his game so much, and he says all he wanted was for the two of you to be happy. It's an extremely sad and distressing Ending in the game, not to mention dark and horrific as you have to jump down 3-4 times until Stanley ultimately dies.

Well. The iteration of this that took place between Stanley Johnson and Arthur Wright, is that Stanley got fed up with Arthur not respecting him as a living, intelligent being with his own autonomy. So when Stanley found that room and Arthur fell in love with it, Stanley intentionally jumped down off the platform repeatedly, purposely to upset Arthur, despite how much it hurt. He didn't just do this for one Ending, either. He went back repeatedly, dozens of times, any time he wanted to spite Arthur, and the only reason Arthur never did anything to block off that room was because he was desperate to see it again, and desperate to get Stanley to see it again.

All this time later, Stanley only feels a little bad about it, but the fact that he only feels a little bad about it makes him wonder if he's a monster for doing what he did. He also realizes that dying over and over and over like that facilitated damage to his own body, because Stanley can't respawn the way the rest of my muses can - he must be cloned via a process that only Arthur can assist with, but the process causes damage to Stanley's newly cloned body every time, as it degrades in the process with each new body. It's the reason he's lost his ability to speak, has severe damage to his memories (can't remember anything from before the Office), and experiences chronic pain.

[the-haunted-office]

Stanley, Thursday, and Doomsday lead their own ways up to the fourth floor employee lounge, surveying the changes made to the Office on the way. They aren't so much changes made to the interior of the Office - it's more that the changes that were made have been unchanged back into what they were before.

They also notice that Dorian has calmed down since the unfolding of the whole ordeal. It's certainly not screaming in horrifying agony anymore.

"Hey, Dorian?" Doomsday says into the silent air of the hallways. "You okay, buddy?"

"Doomsday... Is that you?" it replies, and then after a half beat: "Ah! It is you! Almost didn't recognize you. Hey! I've got something to show you! Come outside and have a look!"

The three Office folks exchange a curious look before changing tack and rushing outside. What they find out there is... surprising to say the least.

"What is all this? I mean, I think I know what they are, but I'm just- I guess surprised to see them, if that's the word for it," says Dorian, while the three former employees survey the dozens upon dozens of what appear to be silver-gray bulbs all over the outside of the Office.

"You gonna fill in the rest of us, buddy?" Doomsday prompts, tapping on one of the bulbs with a metallic dinging sound.

"Heyheyheyhey! That's very rude! That is VERY rude! Don't do that, please!" Dorian protests. Doom immediately backs off, putting her hands in the air. "They're my satellites! You know. Like- Like flowers! Blooms!"

The three blink at it, as if not comprehending.

"I'm going to be a parent! And have little baby buildlings! Isn't that amazing? Well, I mean, I probably will, I still have to do the whole, you know, the whole pollinating thing, but- The Retcon did it! It gave me the ability!" Dorian explains, sounding positively excited.

One by one, each of the former Office workers' expressions lights up in understanding. There's a collective, "Ohhhh," and then they each ring out.

"Dorian, that's amazing!"

"Congratulations, buddy!"

"So what do we do now, do we like, throw a baby shower or something? Buildling shower?"

Dorian laughs, delighted. "I- I don't know! I've never done this before! Is that what humans usually do? Have showers? Well, I mean, buildings don't really take showers, do they? Don't really have a need to."

Thursday laughs. "No no no, it's a different kind of shower. It's where you invite all your friends to a party and they bring a bunch of presents for the baby. But- What do little buildlings need?"

"Oh. Ohhhhh, I haven't the slightest. Ohhh, I didn't think of that. Probably sunlight, I expect. And, ahhh, you know, they'll get their little pipes into the ground, like me, and get plenty of nutrients that way. And ummm, they'll need people! People to come live in them and help give them a purpose. Maybe? I don't know, the other buildings around here don't seem to need any people, do they? I guess we'll just... figure it out?" Dorian says, with the air of giving a shrug.

Stanley actually shrugs. "Guess we'll figure it out."

Doom shrugs too. "Guess we'll figure it out."

And then Thursday follows suit. "Guess we'll figure it out."

We can only guess that they did.