#Lost But Not Forgotten (Joey Drew Studios)

[queenofcats17]

The Ink Demonth 13

Today is Children

===========================================

There were no children in Joey Drew Studios.

It was not a place for them.

Once, there had been children. Excitable children, tugging at their parents' clothing and pointing at the exciting people and sights within the studio. Children who had believed in the lies about a pencil and a dream. But they were gone now. Now, there were only monsters. Shadows of people long gone lumbering through the ruin of a place long forgotten.

And yet... There was the little demon.

The little demon who liked to play with his toy train. The little demon who drew pictures on loose pieces of paper he found. The little demon who was so small and so innocent. Almost like a child. The demon usually ran from anyone who came close to him, but even when he didn't... the Lost Ones couldn't bring themselves to hurt him.

Sometimes they'd offer candy bars or other snacks from the vending machines. The demon didn't usually let them get close enough to actually hand the items off, so they'd usually place them on the ground and slide them over. They knew Wilson said the followers of the Ink Demon had to be punished but... this little demon was so small. It didn't look like he'd hurt a fly. So... It had to be fine to leave him be, right? He wasn't hurting anyone.

Sometimes the Lost Ones would save toys they came across, just in case they ran into the little demon. They didn't always give the toys to the demon, though. Sometimes they kept the toys for themselves, finding some comfort in the small items. They needed small comforts. It was all too easy to lose themselves in despair, to let themselves be consumed by the buzzing well of voices.

Not to mention, it wasn't like anyone else was using the toys.

There were no children in Joey Drew Studios.

And there never would be again.

[ask-the-friendly-ink-demon]

this is also what my jack officially looks like! he’s a big searcher naga boyo uwu since the miner searcher was squished in the same spot he was- i’d imagine that the two must of merged together in order to keep themselves strable and such- resulting in this boy

[dot-cant-write]

A Different Chord - Sammy Lawrence x Reader (Part 7)

It’s not a very good day at work, for you or for Sammy Lawrence.

————————————————————————

It had been two weeks since the strange incident with Sammy Lawrence. You’d honestly begun to walk on eggshells around him- what if he snapped or something? You hated to imagine it, but given his breakdown when you and Wally goofed off… Yeah, you really didn’t want to see that side of him again.

You tried to shake it off best you could, though. You had Wally to talk to anyway, and though he had some crazy theories about the music director, he was still your best friend. At least he could make you laugh in these weird times at Joey Drew Studios.

————————————————————————

Today was an even worse day at work than the day Sammy lost it.

Henry was leaving. Henry, your favorite person in the art department, was leaving. You begged to know why. Hunched over his desk, packing his remaining few things away, he replied “I just don’t think I’m needed anymore. And the studio is becoming something else. I don’t want to be a part of Joey’s… projects.”

Henry shook his head sadly. He had left a sketch on his desk- his first sketch of Bendy the Dancing Demon. He hefted up his box of art supplies and looked at the desk once more. Smiling sadly, he said “Goodbye, old friend.” Then, he turned to you. “Good luck out there, kiddo. And be careful. If things get weird… You might want to consider leaving too.” He placed a hand on your shoulder, his box of belongings in the other, and smiled again before turning and heading for the exit without another word.

————————————————————————

“I just can’t believe he’s gone,” you lamented to Wally on your way to the music department.

“Who’s gone?” Sammy Lawrence appeared around the corner, carrying sheet music.

“Henry. He left the studio this morning,” Wally answered.

“Damn. It’s a shame. He and Joey founded this place,” The music director said.

You shook your head sadly. Sammy frowned.

“C’mon, (Y/N). Follow me.” Sammy led you further down the hall, and Wally waved to you as you followed the music director hesitantly.

Sammy led you to his office. He closed the door behind you. “You okay?” He asked.

He actually seemed.. Concerned. It was like he’d forgotten all about you and Wally getting into trouble.

“I’ll be fine. I’m just really going to miss him. He was a big part of the art department. It won’t be the same without him.”

Sammy thought for a moment. “I wonder why he left. Joey and Henry started this together, like I said. It’s weird he’d just give up on it.”

You hesitated. “He said he didn’t want to be a part of Joey’s projects. I don’t even know what projects he’s talking about.”

You explained what Henry had told you, about getting out of the studio if things got strange.

Sammy’s expression shifted just slightly for a moment. Then he returned to his usual stoic self.

“Projects, huh? Interesting. I agree with Henry, though. Get the hell out of here if things go awry. It might not be so safe anymore.” He turned away and started shuffling through sheet music.

“Sammy, why would I feel unsafe here? Joey’s just a bit overzealous, that’s all. Right?”

Sammy didn’t respond immediately. “It’s.. Complicated. Joey has a lot of big ideas in his mind, I’m sure. Just be careful with him. He’s not trustworthy. He’ll take advantage of you.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll be careful, but I still don’t get what I should be worried about.”

Sammy took your hands. “Good. Just be careful, that’s all I ask. Don’t be like some of us.”

You barely heard him- you were too focused on the fact that he was holding your hands?? The composer almost never sounded kind, and actual physical affection was way out of left field for him. Not to mention his hands were ice cold. And a little shaky. Ink stained his fingertips.

“Uh-huh… Um… Sammy?” You glanced down at your hands in his. Sammy immediately let go and backed away.

“Sorry. Um. That’s all. Sorry about Henry. Anyways. I have songs to write.”

And at that, he rushed you out of his office. What the heck was that all about? you wondered.

Wally was right. Sammy Lawrence was acting stranger and stranger. And you wanted to find out why.

———————————————————————

Sammy’s POV:

Sammy Lawrence pushed you out of his office, and as soon as you were out of sight, he put his face in his hands.

“What the hell is wrong with me…” he mumbled.

The truth was, Sammy knew exactly what was wrong. Somehow, some way, he swallowed ink. Could’ve been the burst pipes. Could’ve been the way he nervously bit the tip of his pen when he didn’t know what to write. All that mattered was that he swallowed ink.

And now he couldn’t control himself. He was more manic. He wasn’t thinking before he acted anymore. He wasn’t himself.

Shakily, Sammy reached into his desk drawer, pulling out a well of ink.

“Don’t be like some of us…” he repeated to himself.

Sammy lifted the inkwell to his lips.

[purplechaosguardian]

Cyclebreakers

The studio newcomer meets a legend

Audrey had never expected to find a relatively normal looking human down here. Granted, she never thought she would fight monsters made of ink or running and hiding from a demon, or having superpowers, so maybe she’d be better off if she just started bracing herself for the strangest outcomes. Nevertheless, she had to blink hard, just to make sure her eyes weren’t deceiving her, just to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating, that there wasn’t a person that was so close, yet so far away, with only a panel of glass between them.

Nope, he still sat on the stool, scribbling away in the notebook, like his life depended on it. Knowing this place, it might very well be.

Audrey cleared her throat, suddenly finding it very dry. “Hello? Sir? Can you help me?” The man turned his head ever so slightly towards her. “You must be really lost if you’re asking me for help.” Despite everything, Audrey had to fight to hold back laughter. If only he even knew half of it. “I’m just looking for answers. About the Keepers. Wilson. The Cycle. Anything could help.” How much do you know about what happened here? How long have you been here? What do you know about Joey Drew?

“What’s your name?” It was the only bit of information about herself the past few hours hasn’t forced her to question. “Audrey. What’s yours?” “Honestly, I’ve almost forgotten.” He placed his notebook on the stool, and Audrey had let out a gasp when she was met with the face of the most tired man she’d ever seen. And she thought she looked exhausted after working all night. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I-.” The man spoke up once more. “Don’t worry about it, I look rough, I know. But as for your question, my name is Henry. Henry Stein.”

“Have you been a prisoner long?” “When the Keepers think you’re a threat to their plans, they lock you away. Forever. Still, it’s given me time to think. Things like: if you haven’t eaten in years, you might not be human. Still, I’d rather it be me than him, although I guess it doesn’t really matter anymore.” Henry smiled, completely deprived of joy or mirth. Audrey couldn’t believe it. Henry was just an old man, she couldn’t imagine that he could be seen as much of a threat to anyone. “Why would you be a threat to them?” Henry came closer to the window. “I’m what they call a Cyclebreaker. Once upon a time, I knew how to start the cycle over. And when that happens, everything begins again. Completely new.” He sighed, out of exhaustion or frustration, Audrey couldn’t tell. “Obviously Wilson and the Keepers don’t want that to happen.”

Resetting the cycle. That may very well be the answer she’s looking for. A chance to start things over, before everything went to hell. A chance to make everything right. “How did you do it?” “Reset the cycle?” Henry pointed to his right. “It turns out, the Ink Demon himself is the key. This world is his, but even he must obey its rules. For now at least. If you can get him to look at something very specific, it will reset everything.” “What is it?” Henry held an ink stained finger up, turning back to the stool and picking up his notebook, drawing as he spoke. “It’s just a reel of film, labeled with the words, ‘The End’.” He held the notebook to the glass for her to see, and Audrey committed every last detail to memory. “I can see it in my mind everyday.” Henry motioned to his left. “They keep it upstairs in the Pit.”

Audrey nodded, filled with determination. “I’ll see if I can break in and steal it. Maybe, if I reset the cycle, we can make things better for everyone here.” Henry stared at her with a look of concern. “And what about you?” God, there were so many things Audrey could say, so many things she wanted, but all that could come out was “I just wanna go home.” Henry nodded, a feeling of solidarity between the two of them. “So did I.” He turned, about to walk back to his seat, but stopped to give her a genuine smile. “Good luck Audrey. If you need me again, you know where to find me.”

He had his back to her once again, and Audrey headed towards the Pit, filled with renewed vigor. She had to bring an end to this. For herself, for Henry and Alice, for Bendy and every other poor soul trapped in this hell with her. She just had to.

[never-ending-studio]

Full BATDR trailer breakdown

This is just a shot for shot breakdown of everything that we see in the trailer aswell as casual observations. Theories and predictions for gameplay and story to follow.

We are introduced to Audrey, in a full colour studio. The studio in which she draws does not depict the studio we seen in the games, instead having a walls made of bricks and actual windows. There’s narration of Audrey saying “Another late night, another crazy day.”

We zoom in and, after a full shot of Audrey’s human face, see that she is drawing a bendy cartoon with a red bowtie as opposed to the usual white one. 

The screen fades to black and we get one shot of a real-world hallway with a framed picture of a man at the end wearing a red tie. Given context clues we will soon discuss we can assume this is a portrait of Joey Drew. Over this shot we can hear Audrey ask “What was that?” in a fearful tone. 

We then meet Wilson, an old man who’s blind in at least one eye (it’s hard to tell if he’s blind in both as shadow covers the other), Under his eye there appears to be a claw like scar. His only line in this scene is to say “Audrey.” On either side of him is a banner for a film by Arch Gate Pictures. The text on it reads “Arch Gate Pictures Presents: Joey Drew, The Man And The Demon.” On the banner we see a portrait Joey Drew (bearing resemblance to the portrait we see in the hallway) and a cartoon Bendy. Behind Wilson, and indeed obscured by Wilson, appears to something with one of the now iconic ink pipes leading to it. It looks a little small to be an ink machine by my estimation.

We then get a couple of flashes of light and then a scene with Audreys hands reaching up towards the light, in a scene semi-reminicent of the ink tunnel you have to go through when you die in BATIM. We then see a fully inked Audrey run up to a mirror asking “What’s wrong with me?” in a panicked state. This is the first scene in the trailer that takes place in the cartoon studio. 

We then a scene of a Lost One (for those like me who’ve forgotten this is a full bodied ink creacher rather than a half bodied ink creacher) with a bag over its head and pinned to a wall with a wrench which has the GENT logo on it as well as several bits of metal. Written beside it is “Demon Follower”.  

There is then a shot of the Heavenly Toys factory entrance which to my knowlege is unchanged from the first game. 

We then get a shot of a bar-like enviroment. It appears to be well used with bottles and plates still on the tables. On one wall there are three cabinets; A vending machine-like cabinet labeled ‘Dream Supply’, the well known ‘Little Miracle Station’, and a cabinet labeled ‘Tasty Eats’. Above the three cabinets is a sign reading “Vil Louge’ with the ‘o’ changed to be a Bendy head. It’s fairly safe to assume the cut of letters spell “Devil.” On the other wall there a several signs and posters. From left to right these are:

A ‘Work Hard, Work Happy’ poster from the first game

A traffic stop sign

Three lisence plates, the letters reading “210-414”, “OUTATIME”, and “SLW-287B”

There is also a poster from “O’Dougles Fizz House Soda Pop.” aswell as a poster for what appears to be bacon soup. The writing on this poster is harder to see but from what we do see it’s likely to read “If it’s not Briar Label it’s not enough!”

We then get a shot of the entrance to a new area called “Artist’s Rest”, it’s welcome sign being on a platform above a fountain of ink with a sleeping cartoon Bendy as the header.  

There is then a shakier shot of a fan with ‘sunlight’ streaming through, possibly from the POV of something hiding. Artistically this scene seems to be to show off the games lighting effects on dust. 

There is then a shot of two posters, both the same in design. They depict a cartoon, and eyeless Wilson. Not blind, but with literal holes for eyes. His left hand is raised in an ambiguous gesture. The poster reads, in order of importance, “Relax; Wilson Knows Your Purpose.” with a tagline of “The Man Who Killed The Ink Demon!” 

Throughout these last seven scenes (since we first entered the cartoon world) we’ve heard a mini monologue from Wilson. I wasn’t entirely sure how to add this in so I will simply transcribe it now.

“Attention children of the machine, for 211 days you have lived without the ink demon haunting your steps. I banished him away, in return I ask just a little favour; there is a stranger. Bring her to me.”

At the end of Wilson’s speech there are a series of quick scenes:

A piper falling from a height, ready to battle

Audrey running through a section of the studio. She passes a desk with an interesting symbol* on it and at the end of the section a “Sent From Above” poster with Alice’s head scratched out. Audrey carries a pipe labeled GENT

A massively bloated ink creacher lurching through a door. Several wooden planks protrude from it’s inky mass

A shot of Audrey climbing a brick wall to a platform

A piper attempting to reach into the miracle station, biting and clawing aimlessly

A cabinet being opened, inside there a two bacon soup cans, an inkwell, a thmble of thread, a bottle, and a sparkling piece of paper with a gear drawn on it. In the shelf underneath there is a Boris plush

Audrey struggling to open a door.

Audrey placing the GENT pipe, now revealed to have some sort of battery attached to the back, into what looks to be a revamped Ink Maker from the first game*

A sentient Lost One wearing a pair of googles and a length of rope around it’s torso he says in a raspy, almost elderly voice “Thank you very much for your help”

Audrey examining a baseball with the words “Bud Louis” written on it. In the background is an open cabinet, there appears to be a battery inside, glowing faintly, and on the table a tape recorder, the same model as from the first game

*The interesting symbol

*The battery powered pipe

There is then a slightly longer cut scene in which we meet a woman with a british voice. She wears a doll like mask with hair that looks equally fabricated. She wears a black scarf and a dress. Her hands appear to be at least somewhat human. She says

“Almost everyone here either can’t speak or they’re completely mad”. 

There is another series of quicker scenes: 

We see the silhouette of a very human person sitting cross legged on the floor swaying side to side with properly rendered hair. A first of the series I believe. They laugh maniacally

Audrey tapping a flickering lightbulb thats next to the sign “Atrium Supply”. It is a part of a list of places labled, Lounge, Kitchen, Storage and others which we can’t read. Their lightbulbs glow normally. 

Audrey hides in what is clearly the Devil Lounge, looking at the posters. A Lost One without any distinguishing features cries out “No one wants you here!”

Another slightly longer cut scene where we see our old pal Alison Pendle. She confronts Audrey saying

“Now now, I’m not going to hurt you,” she notices Audrey’s completely inked hand and says “look, you need some help” She holds Audrey’s inked hand. Audrey yanks it away and says “Don’t touch me!”  

There is then a shot of a hallway like area with a door in the middle. There’s a sign on the door reading “bed storage” on a Bendy Silhoette and a neon sign that with three “Z’s” on it. Over this shot Alison says 

“Above everthing else, stay away from the Ink Demon.” 

We fade to black and Audrey asks “What’s an Ink Demon?”

We then have a shot of a room with a Bendy cut out and a ‘Little Devil Darling’ poster. The bendy cut out had a stake of metal rammed through the center, like the demon follower we saw at begining. There is also a metal stake through the poster aswell as some scratch marks. The silhouette of a new variant of the Ink Demon over shadows this. Thios new variant has a similar stature to the O.G Ink demon with horns like Beast Bendy. On it’s shoulders awell as possibly on it’s back are long, curved, needle-like spikes. Over this scene Audrey and Allison continue their conversation. 

“He likes to smile,  and he kills anything that moves.”

We then cut to a full body shot of Audrey with her voice over saying “Here goes nothing.” Behind her a door labeled “Unsafe Area: Please Have Your Identifcation Ready.” Along with the GENT logo. 

Here we get another series of quick scenes:

A shot of a full street with shops (A grocers, and bowling alley, and a pharmacy) along with some broken down old-fashioned cars that block the street aswell as barrels. There is also a sign that hints to a subway.  

A scene quickly racing down some vent shafts, of note theres an interesting electrical blue light to be seen as we race past. 

A monsterous gloved hand reaching into a hiding space that has a different interior than that of a miracle station. 

 A menacing shot of a Piper, a Fisher, and a Striker

Footage of Audrey fighting some Lost Ones with the GENT pipe (without battery)

A wall with the writing “She Was The Fourth” written on it in very large letters, crouching beside it a humanoid figure, similar to the one we saw before with human hair. However this time they sit still. In this scene there is also a desk with pencils in a cup which I feel may be important but it may also be nothing.

Audrey climbing a ladder

Two inky hands reaching about to climb over a sheer drop (though in appearance they have the same form as Audrey's both hands are fully inked whereas Audrey only has one fully inked hand, this is either a new enemy or Audrey with a progressed ink transformation)

Audrey climbing into a miracle station

Malice using a tommy gun

Audrey obsorbing / disintegrating a searcher

Audrey pulling a lever which then sparks

Audrey jumping over a ledge to seemingly surprise attack a Lost One

When then get a title card for the game and a last minute reveal of a little toon bendy. Audrey open a door that has bars on it to this toon bendy who is playing with a toy train.  His horns slightly mishapen like the new monster Bendy variant. 

“Bendy?” we hear Audrey ask. He then then meets our gaze.

End of trailer.

[sunny6677]

THE AUDIO LOGS OF ANDREW HUDSON.

SUMMARY: The following are real audio tapes of tapes left by an animator at the forgotten studio Joey Drew Studios. Please ensure that you are ready to listen with these with caution, dear listener. What you may hear may cause you to never want to hear again. What you may picture may make you never want to see again. Please be aware of the consequences you may have if you do not have permission to listen to these tapes. If not permitted, then [REDACTED]. You have been warned.

(This is fiction btw, so no worries-- I know some people with anxiety issues might think this is real so this is just a clarification.)

TW FOR CHAPTER/TAPE: NONE.

TW FOR SERIES: MANIPULATION, TRANSFORMATION, UNHEALTHY MINDSET, OBSESSIONS, CULTS, CULT MENTIONS, MURDER.

----------------------------

TAPE #9

THE VOICE OF SAMMY LAWRENCE.

FEBRUARY 6TH, 1933.

----------------------------

"That damn janitor has been more annoying ever since he started hanging out with Mr. Hudson. Due to his constant whining and yelling, I can't even focus on my work. He and that twit.. they're always wondering around, causing mayhem. I wouldn't be surprised if they end up driving me completely insane."

"I'll be in my office, trying to work on the tunes that Joey insists on me making— when suddenly those two fools will barge in and start running about like absolute morons. They'll yell, they'll scream, they'll shout. And I usually can't get back to work until they finally, finally leave."

"And the worst part is that damn janitor is starting to lose the damn keys even more. He found his keys once, and 30 minutes later, he lost them again— arghh— and excusing it with 'just having a good time with Andrew'. Andrew.. that man is going to drive me completely insane if he and the samn janitor keep prancing around like this is some playground."

[SAMMY SIGHS.]

"No worries, Sammy, best get back to your songs.. you wouldn't want to keep Joey waiting, would you?"

-----------------------------------

NOTES: NONE.

[sur-un-fil]

Ink demonth 2022 - Responsibility

Or... What kind of responsibilities does he have?

Chapter 3: 1940- 1959

Joey slowly opened the door to the ink machine room. He didn't have to report his presence in the Studio, as he was expected and didn't have time to deal with Sammy's whining. He just wanted to see how it went. It was the first time he had used a "donor" he had not sacrificed himself, and whose body was so damaged... But nothing was to be lost, was it? Maybe it would give an interesting result all the same. And when the ink had completely corrupted the body, there would be no more obvious evidence of any murder in his Studio. So he would have killed two birds with one stone.

But when he turned on the light, there was nothing in the big tray under the machine's outlet pipe. It was splattered with still-liquid ink, yes, but his latest test subject was not there. That was surprising, usually they were too weak, dazed or busy crying like calves to move. Joey clicked his tongue, annoyed. Where had this idiot gone? He began to walk slowly around the ink machine, noticing that the silence was only disturbed by his own footsteps, and really hoping he wouldn't have to look for that thing in every department. He stood up and glanced at his watch. Time was running out. He looked around the room, and a voice suddenly sounded behind his back.

"You look familiar."

Joey flinched and turned sharply. Between him and the door stood a being made of ink, almost as well-shaped as Lawrence, looking at him thoughtfully. The only thing that distinguished him from the others was his neck. It was bisected with a visible gap wide enough for Joey to see one end of the door on the other side. Yet his upper neck and head stood straight on his shoulders with nothing holding them back. 'Interesting. The cause of the subject's death obviously impacts the ink form it adopts afterwards. I wasn't sure, but it's obvious now. I'll have to tell the others so we can take it into account in future tests.' That said, he was unusable in this state. He might as well take advantage of his calm to gain his trust and solve the problem right away. He smiled at him.

"Really? That's quite flattering. Do you remember anything else?"

"No. I woke up here, in the dark. I... I don't know how I got here."

"It's perfectly normal, don't worry."

"Normal? Why? Did I have an accident?"

"In a way, yes. If you'll come with me, I'll be able to..."

"I can't remember my name. Or... Or my face. Why have I forgotten my own face? Or the colour of my skin? And... I don't remember my family, or any event in my life before I woke up here!" His voice became more and more shrill, turning into a long, terrified scream as he looked down at his hands. "What is THIS? WHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME?"

Joey held back a grimace as he thought about the noise. He kept his composure and his smile, trying to be reassuring.

"It's all right. You fell in the ink, that's all. Join me and I can help you..."

'...by putting you back in the tank as dry as possible for another run through the ink machine,' he thought, discreetly checking that he had the keys to open the hatch. Yes, they were in his pocket.

"Can you really?"

"Yes, of course. That ink machine is mine. I know exactly what to do to make it work, you just have to trust me."

The being, who had taken a step towards him, stopped at that word.

"Trust? No, not you, Mr. Drew."

He looked very briefly astonished that he could recognise him, and then his voice became charged with anger.

"Yes, I remember now! You spent your time lying to us! About the ink, about the disappearances, and even about the bankruptcy of the Studio. I suspected it and I was on the lookout, it was so obvious that even those three kids were investigating and... Kids! They had decided to search the Studio! I hope nothing happened to them. It's strange that I don't remember anything after talking to them... I left them, and when I came back I heard a noise behind me... I felt this horrible pain in my neck... And then..."

His voice died. He looked again at his hands, at the machine and then at Joey.

"IT'S YOU! YOU'RE THE REASON I DIED!"

He threw himself at him, his fingers stretched forward.

"IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!"

Without backing down, Joey uttered a single word and the being collapsed in a heap before him. He shrugged, brushing a drop of ink off his cheek with his thumb.

"I don't like to talk about faults. There have been mistakes made, and some unfortunate accidents, yes. But that's no reason to give up. I'm not just doing it for myself, you know, but in memory of those who gave their time and their lives for this dream. It's my responsibility to carry on regardless."

Joey allowed himself a small smile.

"I'm sure you don't want to have 'lost your head' in vain either, Norman. Besides, it makes me think..."

He glanced thoughtfully at the vat, reached for his keys and opened it, ignoring the sounds halfway between sobs and pleas that the being was painfully trying to make. He plunged his hand into the ink that lapped fearlessly at it and groped for a moment, before managing to grasp by the hair what he was looking for. He pulled it out, too soaked with ink to bleed any more, and tossed it carelessly into the first open box he saw. Leaving the hatch gaping, he then grabbed a large shovel and a bucket, and walked over to the inky being, who was shaking a little more with every step he took towards him.

"Let's see how your mind will stand up to the ink without your head. I don't think you're going to keep much of it, and I have to say I'd be fine with that. It would be really annoying if you kept that much fortitude and managed to retain so many memories next time. You could be a detestable influence on others... I can't allow that, unfortunately. Keeping morale up has always been one of my most important responsibilities, you know? And I take my responsibilities very seriously."

NEXT

PREVIOUS

[hello-im-not-a-possum]

YEEHAW IT’S MIDNIGHT WHICH MEANS IT’S AUGUST 1ST WHICH MEANS INK DEMONTH SO I CAN FINALLY POST THIS NOW:

1. Pride

Diversity win! There is not a single cishet in the hivemind of ink creatures (To their knowledge) that you slaughter on a daily basis to make yourself beautiful! AKA: Possum has a fuck ton of LBGT+ headcanons regarding the BATIM cast and is happy to use this DeMonth prompt to indulge them. (Set before the loop starts, but after Buddy Boris meets/befriends the lost ones.)

Malice flicked through the channels of her cameras, trying to find more prey in her territory, and stopped when she saw a gathering of the lost and the searching (and exactly one Boris, the most perfect one she had ever seen.) in the Heavenly toy’s lobby, their prophet was brazenly sitting on the side of the waterfall as if he did not fear the ink when he should have.

Her ears steamed with anger as she saw that group, it was far too large for her to deal with on her own and too far away from the Projectionist’s grounds for her to manage to lure him to them. But on the bright side, she could learn some important information from them, after all, with how casually the prophet was sitting and gesturing and how the other freaks in the crowd were responding, this was clearly not one of his normal sermons.

(“I still find it rather funny that almost none of us are straight and that the few straight ones among us are trans, it’s like all this time we thought we were sheep hiding away in wolves’ clothing among wolves, unaware that the “wolves” were simply other sheep in hiding as well!”)

[Funnily enough, I’d rather be a sheep than a wolf, I think it makes more sense for me to be an animal that’s helpful to others but also easily scared.] The Boris wrote on a typewriter. [Or at least, I wish I had some kind of input on what I am, but I doubt I’d make myself an animal…]

(“Speaking of which...”) The lost one next to the wolf whispered in his ear as she looked over his typing. (“How are you holding up, Buddy?”)

Instead of typing, the wolf drew himself shrugging and put a bunch of question marks around him, then stuck the drawn-on paper in his typewriter and added to it.

[It’s hard to think most of the time, Boris always seems stronger when I’m alone, but I know the Ink demon will find us if I stay with you, this hunger is driving me crazy, and I just wanna go home. But on the bright side, I don’t have to deal with periods, chest pain from binding, or people condescendingly calling me ‘Miss Lewek’ anymore.]

She turned on the sound in that room, watching them like one would watch a Tv drama, but what she heard caught her off guard.

“So as long as we’re being honest about ourselves with each other…” The lost one stood up and pointed accusingly at Sammy. “Were you and Joey and a thing all along before the machine came into the picture!?”

If she was drinking water, she would’ve spat it right back out. Sammy, with Joey?! In the latter’s dreams, maybe! Even a few of the other lost ones looked shocked at the question, the Boris even gasped loud enough for it to be audible.

“Technically yes, but not by choice, mind you.”

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”

What the fuck indeed random lost one. The angel wished that she didn’t hear that, but now that she couldn’t unsee it, at least it made a little bit of sense in hindsight. After all, in her eyes, they were awful enough to deserve each other.

“...Why?”

“It’s just, well... somebody had to keep his eyes from wandering to the lambs- err- younger, more naive, less experienced employees, not children (to my knowledge). And at the time, I really thought that he did at least care about me beyond our work relationships, at least a little bit…  But from what I’ve seen, I believe the only things he had ever truly loved were himself, and the idealized versions he had made of other people. His ‘dream versions’ of them, if you will.”

“And this whole time, I thought he was running off with Susie with all those lunch dates! Or where the three of you all… yaknow, *together* together?”

 “Not knowingly… However I wouldn’t put it past Joey to cheat on people. As for Susie... I did like her, maybe even love her in a way, but I doubt I could ever love her in the way she wanted me to love her, and-or love her carnally. I don’t even think I could fake it like I could for Joey, she was never signing my checks and wasn’t holding that over my head so I’d be too disgusted to even try.”

Malice was almost about to march down there herself and push him into the ink, but she knew this troupe all too well, and knew that sometimes this place worked on story logic, he’s now going to say something that alters the context of that statement enough to not justify her going over there and slam dunking him into the ink.

“Now that I think of it, I don’t think that I’ve ever loved… anyone in that sense. I can’t think of a single person or situation where the idea of doing that is anything other than gross at best. In fact, there was someone who was close to me a long time ago, someone who, while I have long forgotten now, would perhaps even be what one could consider a soulmate. Even then, the mere thought of doing that with them still makes me queasy…” The prophet sighed. “I suppose I am simply meant to remain alone in religious celibacy. A relationship of that kind would interfere too much with my worship anyway.”

"Ahh fahr foehck's sake... I can't believe dat it's dis foehckin stupid..." A more lucid, absolute giant of a searcher in the back of the crowd slapped his forehead.

“It?” Malice repeated curiously. “Huh… maybe it and I had more in common than we thought.”

“You're clearly a sex-repoehlsed asexual, you doehmbass! literally everyahne who's ever been in de dark poehddles at de same time as you figured dis ooeht befahre you ded!” He shouted through cupped hands. “celibate people are people who WANT sex, boeht dahn't poehrsue it fahr variooehs reasahns, dey ARE NAHT people who are desgoehsted wit sex to de point where dey legitimately throw oehp and feel 'ahrreble after doin de nahrmal vanella stoehff! Stahp foehckin foehckin people when you're clearly naht cahmfortable wit it, and you and future partner..s? 'll be 'appier wit yooehr rahmantic poehrsuits!”

The searcher, upon realizing that he had furiously sworn at the Prophet, their leader, the one who does not fear anything within the studio, not even the deepest depths of the dark puddles, and most terrifyingly of all; the former music director, he slinked into a puddle within the crowd in fear of being the target of reawakened ancient wrath. Everybody else looked back and forth to the prophet and back at the searcher who spoke out as they remained in stunned silence, even their eavesdropper was worried for his fate, even if in her case she feared how the show would end rather than his outcome. Surprisingly, and luckily for him, the Prophet broke the tense silence by laughing in that caught-off-guard tone of it.

“While you were rather… crude about it, what you’ve said does make a lot more sense then Joey being so bad at sex that he turned me away from men altogether, even if it is funny to assume that he was.”

“A-aye… and I can't believe dat you wrahte an entire foehckin sahng abooeht it! 'ow ded you naht get fired fahr dat?!”

“Good question, I wish I could remember the answer…”

[Maybe you had blackmail on Drew?] The Boris typed out and handed to Sammy.

“Yeah, maybe because you used to be so close to him, you saw skeletons that Joey would want to keep in the closet” His lost-one friend added.

“Like HIMSELF!” A voice from the back added, making the others in the room burst into laughter.

With the tension in the room gone, the group just went back to talking about either journeys they took to become comfortable with themselves, or the various past relationships that they had, or wished they had or in some peoples’ cases, all three.

Malice continued to watch them bitterly. It was as if they had either forgotten what the outside world was like to people like them or they simply didn’t care, and she wasn’t thinking about the ink that made up their bodies. Part of her envied how freely they had talked about themselves and each other, part of her felt like she had been smacked across the face, and a third part of her felt lonely. All of them seemed so happy telling their stories and building each other up, and here she was hiding away with her own story that she had wished to bury.

However, there was no iron clad law stating that she couldn’t tell them her own story. In fact, maybe if she came out of her own cage, made Sammy understand that big part of why voicing Alice was so important to her, made sure that it understood that as the very first explicitly female character she voiced, that Alice Angel was more than a beloved character to her, that she was a part of her, the biggest symbol of her own femininity, then maybe it would recognize the error of its ways. Maybe it would see how devastating it would be to be shunted aside without notice in favor of someone newer, prettier, ‘more feminine’...

She shut off the camera and thought it over, and she made up her mind. While she still didn’t want to share her story with everyone, Sammy needed to know it. Whether the Prophet liked it or not, she was going to pay it a visit.

[nayialovecat]

SATIM's B-day - Day 5 - Ink People

Today Theme: Ink People - division and way of functioning.

Bonus: Searchers from Cover.

I know that this topic in my comic and all AUs to BATIM that I create is the most controversial and confusing. What does the ink people look like in SATIM? Well, first of all, there is no division known from game here, which seemed terribly artificial to me when I started creating SATIM. Because if we assume that all inky entities - these are former Joey Drew Studios employees - why do we separate them into Lost Ones who look like humans and Searchers that we chase with an ax? I mean, this segregation is only by they physical traits. I didn't like it very much.

That's why the first thing I did in my AU - I obliterated all divisions based on appearance. My inky breed doesn't care about looks. Do you have glowing eyes or not? What does it matter? You have a jaw, a smooth face, or dangling inky tabs - nobody cares. How many fingers do you have? Five or four? Or maybe even less? Do you have legs or are you an ink blot from the waist down? It doesn't matter either. You're an inky human anyway, you belong to the same race as everyone else.

When it comes to gender… there is no gender in SATIM. They are all asexual, but in the comic you can see a division between female and male individuals. Well, many people remember some details of their human life and build their identity on that. Some, however, simply decide on their own name or gender - 'cause they want to be male or female. When Sammy or another character refers to someone as he/she, it means that knows the person or asked for gender second ago. However, there is quite a large group of inky people who have not made such a choice. And anticipating possible questions... I would like to remind you that the action takes place at a time when many of the concepts we use today did not exist or were not popularized.

Then I divided this whole race not by appearance, but by lifestyle and mental state - people who lost hope, lost faith, plunged into endless depression, i.e. the Lost Ones group known from chapter 4. The second group are those who still have a purpose, who believe that they will get out of the Workshop or simply don't care about their past lifes and try to live a pleasant life in new conditions, looking for things that will allow them to have fun in Bendyland in every cycle. Or they just want to survive a little longer. These are generally called Searchers - and include all the ink characters in the comic that aren't in the Lost Ones' Hideout. In addition to them, there is finally a small group of people who do not belong to any of these groups - those who are not in despair, but also do not need to look for anything. People who have found their goal, their purpose, their place in the Workshop and feel completely fulfilled. Such people are: Barman the Bartender, Brody the Shepherd and finally Sammy the Prophet! And also those associated with him - such as Jack or John Dot. This group doesn't have a name of its own, but will take offense at you if you call them Lost Ones, and Sammy will also be offended for calling him Searcher.

Finally there is another large group of inky people - but they haven't appeared in the comic story yet, so I won't talk about them... shh... secret, spoilers…

In the game, however, we have clearly neutral ink people (except chapter 5) - and aggressive blots. And, often forgotten, swollen and non-aggressive blots. It's because of them, among others, I decided to change some "Searchers" from the game into Brody's Sheep.

Coming back to the aggressive blots... I started to think about it - and that's how the concept of "Mindless" was born. Mindless Searcher, as their full name sounds, is still an inky man - but one who has lost all of their humanity as a result of the negative effects of Liquid Ink and don't quite know who they are, what they do, etc. The only thing that drives them is their need to search - but they don't know what they're looking for. They show aggression towards everything that gets in their way and it takes a lot of effort to communicate with them. As Sammy says, "You can teach a Mindless to do one thing at a time at most."

How do Ink People work? I try to present it on a regular basis in subsequent strips, but on the important issues: they don't need to eat, drink or sleep. They do get tired, yes, of course, but they only need some moments to rest to regain their full strength. Everyone (whether or not they have a mouth) is able to consume ink and sometimes other foods (mainly liquids). Everyone (whether or not they have eyes) can see equally well. The lack of legs does not interfere with movement. Being fatter or thinner does not make much of a difference to your physical performance. There are differences between them in the strength or ability of perception - but what they result from remains a mystery. Maybe the influences of their old human bodies?

Hope the above explanation clears up a bit about the ink race. If you have any questions - feel free to ask them here or on Tumblr, I'll be happy to answer them, unless the answers make too many spoilers.

When I drew this cover, I wanted every character on it to be a hero. That is why some of the characters are heroes who already existed, some were yet to be created. There is no Jack, or Cleaner, or John Dot - 'cause they didn't exist as characters back then. Nevertheless, each of them (except for Bernard, whose debut moved to the second serie) appeared in the first serie. Sometimes they were less important, sometimes more. Let's take a look at all of them. 1. Searcher from "Predator". Not so important, but he has his own long strip. 2. Searcher from "Gears and Hearts BONUS" - also insignificant, but appeared as a background also in "Gossip". 3. Searcher from "Bitter Snack" - not very important, but he (or she) already existed when I drew the cover. 4. Sara from "Movie Night" - member of the Movie Club (or actually its president, but you don't know it yet, so - SPOILER!), who temporarily appeared in two strips: "Movie Night" and "Membership", but will appear in the first serie, and then she will play his role in the second... 5. Bernard is the one who didn't appear in the first series (even as a backdrop), but he is an important character that exist when I drew the cover. I wish I had had time to introduce him to you. 6. Number 12 from "Shepherd and his sheep" - played a large part in this strip and also appeared as a background in "Brody's Free Time". The only one who is Lost One here :3 7. Searcher from "Gift from Prophet" - apparently an insignificant character, but some gave him a name (hi there, Sur-Un-Fil), and he appeared in a total of 3 stripes: "Gift from Prophet", "Guardian Angel BONUS" and "Bar stories", where he again played a more important role. Their appearance is slightly different from the cover, but in most cases the most important elements of the appearance are preserved.

Time for your today question and task! It's all about Ink People.

QUESTION: What are the two favourite games of the Bar-goers?

QUEST: Come up with a bar game, this time about Boris.

[mwolf0epsilon]

Spooky prompt with Norman x Sammy

Summary: After getting accidentally locked in the studio after-hours, Norman and Sammy feel less alone than they should of...

Closing prompt requests for now! Got something else I want to focus on for a while that I'm hoping you lot may enjoy.

---

[[MORE]]

It was a bit of an inevitability that one day this scenario came to play, being locked in for the night after Wally mistakingly assumed all personal had vacated the premises. What was unexpected was that it happened to two people on the very same night...

The people in question however? What with Sammy's new habit of isolating himself in a secret and tightly locked corner he'd claimed for himself, and Norman's proficiency in getting inside nooks and crannies no one else thought a nearly 7 foot tall man could fit? Definitely the sort to escape the janitor's notice and end up in this conundrum... Especially considering they'd clocked out many hours prior to Wally cleaning up and setting off for the night. If anything, they deserved it for being exceptionally sneaky.

"Fantastic..." The blond composer groaned as he watched the much taller projectionist give up on trying to fiddle with the lock. Cheapskate as Joey was, Mr. Drew seemed to at least invest in some very tight security. Likely a courtesy of GENT when the studio's partnership with the company arose. "Just what I needed, to be kept from my bed another night because Franks decided to go home early."

"N'aw. I reckon it ain't that early... When I was comin' upstairs the clock read 'bout 2:50..." He tapped his chin in thought and snapped the pin of his cravat back into place, no longer needing it to act as a makeshift lockpick. "Must be witchin' hour just 'bout now. Takes these old bones o' mine a while to get up here all quick-like..."

"3AM? Already?!" Sammy worried his lower lip as he realized how sidetracked he'd become. He should get a clock into his sanctuary at some point to avoid something like this in the near future. "Abigail is going to kill me... She must have waited all night..."

"Yous could always just call the landline an' say yous as busy as a one-legged cat in a sandbox." Norman offered with a smile that was bordering on the mischievous "In kinder words no doubt."

"She'd spit fire over the phone if I woke her up at 3 in the morning." He grimaced as he rejected such an idea. "The one thing she inherited from her mother is the capacity to transform into a fire-spitting drake if you wake her up at an ungodly hour..."

At such a notion Norman couldn't help grin and guffaw at the sight of Samuel Lawrence in all his peacock-like might, cowering away from a positively irate 18 year old girl with his tail between his shaking legs.

"Well, slap my head and call me silly! Yous still got your funny bone somewhere in that pile of highfalutin' grouchiness." The Louisianan's smile only grew as Sammy glares up at him. "Hey now, don't yous go lookin' so sour. It's good that yous is still yourself... Even after..."

"I'd rather not talk about that, thank you very much!" The musician knew exactly what Norman was referring to and he cut the topic short immediately. "Lets focus on the fact we're both trapped for the night. I don't know about you but I, for one, am starving and exhausted."

The projectionist nodded, conceding to the fact they should head to the breakroom and see if anyone had forgotten their packed lunch, or if maybe Lottie had left some non-perishables in the cabinets next to the stove. Like canned beans or maybe even canned fruit.

"I'm so hungry my belly thinks my throat's been cut... Tell yous what, if we gots the ingredients I could make us my Nanna's go to dish for when we was lil' tots growin' up." An easy enough meal that was effortless to make, and gave him enough time to see if Grant still had those blankets in his office while his companion ate

"And what's that?" Sammy asked, eyebrow raising.

"A peanut butter and jelly sandwich." Norman winked, which earned him a groan. "N'aw don't you go dissin' my poor Nanna's cookin' she was a skilled lady, but we was several youngins! And we was growin' bigger every day."

"I'll say... You're as large as a breeding bull." With better taste in clothes, albeit often overdressed for the occasion.

"You askin' for a ride, cowboy?" The mischief returned to Norman's grin as he noted Sammy's unusual fondness for boots rather than dress shoes. A more practical choice in his humble opinion.

"Buy me dinner, you pig." The blond dismissed, albeit unable to keep a smile off his face. "A man of my caliber deserves proper servicing, wouldn't you agree?"

Before the conversation could get any bit lewder, a noise downstairs halted their banter altogether. The two instinctively turned their heads towards the stairs, twin expressions of concern as they assessed what they had both just heard. It had sounded like clattering, down in Dr. Hackenbush's tiny little infermary.

"You hear that?" An unnecessary question, as Sammy knew for a fact Norman had. Still it felt better to acknowledge it aloud.

"Somethin' yes... Probably them lousy paper-thin pipes again... I don't know where Mr. Connor is gettin' the metal for 'em but I have half a mind t' tell him off for gettin' such shoddy materials." He looked unnerved more so than curious. Maybe a little irritable as the noisy pipework distracted him just as much as it did Sammy.

"You'd think they were made of flimsy tin...Either way let's uh, let's go eat down in the breakroom." The blond shook his head and began making his way to the stairs. If there was anything in Hackenbush's workspace it's not like it could get to them. The damn thing had been locked for a while, until the Doctor's services were needed. Something about preventing people from stealing his sedatives or whatever.

He was probably worked up over a raccoon either way. The dang things kept getting in through the ventilation. Just the other day Wally had fought one over a donut of all things...And lost.

"Yeah..." The towering projectionist followed, quieter now. Pensive. "Might as well fill our bellies an' get some shut-eye... Tomorrow if we is lucky, Drew might let us go home an' shower."

"Maybe..." Sammy nodded. As reasonable as it was that a raccoon was the likely cause of the strange noise, he couldn't help feel like it might be something more sinister. He was sure Norman felt the same too, as neither were strangers to Joey's... Less than savoury dealings with criminals and charlatans. But the thoughts of a bit of sleep and a shower in the morning were much more interesting and inviting thoughts than to worry about his paranoia. "Maybe not."

"We'll see, now won't we?"

"Guess we will."

That night the pipes sounded louder somehow. It felt like they were calling to them even... Whether or not Norman heard the calls was debatable, as the man was harder to read than a Russian dictionary, but Sammy swore up and down that he could hear his name in the flow... It spooked him terribly.

Never again, he thought, would he let himself sleep over-night in this damnable studio. He already wasted enough time in there after all. Living in it was nowhere in his future. Even if it meant he could spend an entire night or two shooting the breeze with a man that both infuriated him and made his heart go soft.

[hoodieimp]

Hi @tanteichan1412! I’m your Secret Satan!

This is a tad bit late but only because I ended up going ABSOLUTELY HAM on the prompt lmao

Hope you enjoy!

///

Buddy was in trouble. 

It was supposed to be just another supply run. Nothing too exciting. Leave the safehouse, venture down into the unknown, grab whatever he could carry, and head back without getting caught. 

Except this time, he couldn't get back. Which was impossible--no matter how mazelike and confusing these lower floors got, there was always the elevator room at the center of everything, like an anchor. 

But now, somehow, the elevator had vanished.

Buddy had simply tried retracing his steps at first, thinking he'd gotten turned around. That lasted all of five minutes before he realized he'd walked past the same Miracle Station three times in a row. 

Was the studio alive somehow?

He imagined the rooms shuffling around like a deck of cards, rearranging themselves to trap him, boxing him into a corner while that demon slowly closed in, inky dark shadows sweeping round to the sound of a booming heartbeat--

Buddy jolted back to himself. Dimly, he realized his own heart was thudding away in his ears. 

Focus, Buddy. Calm down.

Five senses. That would help. 

Touch: The weight of the headlamp bobbing atop his head. A stack of objects in his arms, his pitiful attempt at “supplies”: moldering books, a couple of bones (best not to think too hard about where those came from, or how tasty he found them), sloshing inkwells (handled with extreme care), and an old radio. 

Sound: Floorboards creaking. The groans of the building as it settled. Ink gurgling in the pipes overhead. No demon heartbeat or hissing breathing, thankfully. 

Smell: Ink, omnipresent and chemical. Nothing new there. 

Sight: The corridor twisting off into the darkness ahead. Peeling posters on the walls. Everything colored in the same dull shades of sepia as the rest of this bizarre underworld. Like something out of a comic strip, not a real building. 

Taste: Nothing. Even the awful salty aftertaste of bacon soup had long since faded from the back of his throat. 

At the thought of soup, his stomach growled, low and plaintive. Right, that was another problem. He hadn't come across a vending machine in a while. Lately, whenever he tried to go for too long without eating, the half-aware fragment of Boris that shared his head would start clamouring and making it hard for him to think straight. 

Even now, Buddy could feel the alien prickling in the back of his mind, demanding he start sniffing out his next snack. He mentally pushed it away, but he had the feeling Boris wouldn't stay quiet for long. 

He couldn't afford to lose himself right now. Not until he found the way back…

“Hello…?”

Buddy's ears shot up.

He had to be imagining things, right? That was probably just an echo, or some trick of the pipes. There was no way he’d just heard--

"Is someone there? Hello?”

He definitely wasn't imagining it. That was a voice, a girl's voice, coming from somewhere nearby.

Could it be…?

Without even thinking, Buddy found himself sprinting down the corridor in his usual galumphing run, his appetite all but forgotten, items jingling and clanking about in his arms as he swayed comically in an effort to keep his balance. The headlamp bounced off his head and clattered away unheeded.     

He skidded around the corner on one foot--and there she was, standing in a little alcove with her back to him. He barely even slowed down as he bounded towards her, wishing, hoping with the whole of his heart, crying out over and over: Dot, Dot, it's me, it's Buddy, I found you, I--!!

She spun around.

He skidded to a halt as realization hit him like a load of bricks. 

That wasn't Dot. 

Even with the ink steadily washing away his old life, Buddy could still murkily recall Dot, her blonde hair and flashing glasses. The girl before him had hair as dark as...well, ink, falling in elaborate curls around her face, and a notable lack of glasses. 

And her eyes…

They glowed, a flat pupil-less gold like a pair of lamps. He'd seen eyes like that before--on the poor lost souls that wandered the halls, ink-drenched and wailing. 

Not on a human being. 

Was she even human...? 

He took a step towards this stranger to peer closer, momentarily forgetting how odd and intimidating he must look, as a gangly cartoon wolf with an armful of bones. 

"Stay back!" She brandished something--a bizarre-looking tangle of pipes with a wire antenna sticking out of it, sizzling and throwing off sparks like a cattle prod. It was undoubtedly some sort of weapon. 

Buddy immediately backed off, ears wilting, trying to look as non-threatening as possible. The girl lowered the pipe-thing slowly, not taking her eyes off of him. 

"You scared me," she said quietly. Now that Buddy could hear her clearly, she didn’t sound a thing like Dot at all. Lower, more melodious. "Running all Hell-for-leather out of nowhere like that...I thought you might be, I dunno, the Demon coming after me or something.” 

So she'd run into Bendy, too. 

"You can understand me, right?” she said suddenly, peering right back at Buddy. “I’m not just talking to myself like a crazy person?”

Buddy nodded vigorously and tapped the side of his head for good measure.

“What about you? Can you talk at all?"

Buddy, foolishly, started to respond out loud, before he caught himself. He shook his head. 

Buddy held up an insistent finger. Wait, wait, let me show you. 

"Right...I should’ve figured, you didn’t exactly talk much in the cartoons, either.” 

Normally he kept a pen and paper on him, but all the pens were currently stashed back at the safehouse--not that he was heading back there anything soon. There were the books he’d collected--but no, he wanted to read those, not spoil them with scribbling...    

That left one other option. It was one the other denizens of the studio resorted to all the time, and not the neatest, but in a pinch... 

Buddy dashed over to the nearest stretch of blank wall, inkwell in hand. Dipping his finger into the stuff (he couldn’t suppress the shudder that went through him), he began daubing big, blocky letters, painstakingly spelling out a sentence:

My name is Buddy.

"Nice to meet you, Buddy." The girl smiled for the first time, so bright and human that it made Buddy's chest ache. "I'm Audrey. Er...forgive me if I don’t shake your hand." 

Buddy was confused for a second--until he looked down at her hands. Her entire left arm was coated in ink--no, was made of ink, from shoulder to fingertip. Veins of golden light spread from her fingers to connect in a brilliant spiral shape. 

Audrey saw him looking and flashed a wry grin. 

“Freaky, isn’t it?” She held up her strange swirled hand and wiggled the glowing digits. "I've found that cartoons like you tend to, er...vaporize when I touch them with this. It’s...not pretty, to say the least." 

Buddy grimaced. No idea what she meant by that, but it certainly didn’t sound pretty. 

He turned back to the wall and added a new line underneath the first.

Thought you were someone I knew. Been looking for her.

"Guess that makes two of us! I'm looking for somebody, too."

He cocked his head as if to say, Go on? 

"I don't know if you even know who he is, but...I was invited here by a man named Joey Drew."

Buddy recoiled at the name as though it were a physical blow. A whole slew of emotions--recognition, disgust, familiarity, fear--swirled through him, kicking up bits of memories from the depths of his brain.

Joey Drew, the visionary, the dreamer, the liar, the man who'd offered Buddy the world only to rip it all away from him in an instant, who’d meant to keep him as some sort of mindless living attraction--

He shook his head frantically, trying to clear it. 

"Whoa, whoa, easy there--!" Audrey automatically reached out to comfort him, but thought better of it and held back. 

"So you do know Joey. And you’re...scared of him?”

Now that was an understatement. Buddy could hardly even begin to describe how he felt about Mister Drew. It would take an entire hallway’s worth of wall-writing. 

Best to give it to her short and sweet.

And so he dunked his fingers back into the inkwell till they dripped, swiveled back to the wall (Audrey leapt back to avoid the trailing arc of inkblots) and started writing frantically, pressing so hard on the wallpaper that it tore slightly in places. 

He stepped back to reveal the hurried scrawl, much bolder and darker than the first, with the last 'E' trailing off where he'd whipped his hand away: 

He did this to me. 

Audrey’s ink-lined brow furrowed in a mix of concern and confusion. 

"He did...what?" 

Buddy made a whining noise in the back of his throat. Like some sort of vaudeville pantomime act, he gestured broadly and emphatically to himself--down to his oversized paws and raggedy overalls, up to his inhumanly proportioned skull with its big blunt snout. He gripped his floppy ears and tugged on them, hard, as though he could tear them off, peel away Boris’s dopey mug like the head of a costume to reveal his old human face--but of course it only brought dull, scalp-tugging pain. All the while he stared desperately, pleadingly, at Audrey, silently willing her to understand.

And just like that, she did, and her eyes widened in horror. 

"Are you telling me...Did you used to be someone else? Someone...human?" 

Buddy nodded grimly.  

Audrey was speechless. She brought her hand to her mouth, then lowered it, looked from her own warped fingers to the silently trembling figure of Buddy. 

"I...I'm so sorry," she whispered. It was an absurdly small, ineffectual thing to say to something so mind-turningly surreal, but who could blame her? She was talking more to herself than to Buddy now, sounding like she was about to cry. "God...Christ Almighty, Joey, what the fuck have you been doing...?" 

Buddy lowered his gaze to the floor, not sure what to do or say. The two of them stood there for a long while, caught in quiet, existential terror. 

Finally, just when Buddy could barely stand the silence a moment longer, Audrey spoke up again. Her voice was thick. 

“Buddy...listen to me.’

He turned, blinking through tears.

“I’ll be honest with you, I still don’t entirely know what I’m doing here, or what the Hell Joey’s been doing to create…” She waved a hand at the crumbling hallway around them. “All of this. But I do know one thing, and it’s that I’m not going to give up until I get to the bottom of all this. I’m not letting Joey fuck with any more innocent lives.” 

Audrey’s voice darkened with those last few words, and Buddy swore he saw her glowing eyes flare for a split second--but then it was gone.

“What I’m trying to say is...Maybe we can help each other. Work together. We could both find what we’re looking for.” 

She shuffled her weapon to her left hand, and held out the non-inked one towards Buddy. He stared at it, thinking rapidly, trying to parse this sudden turn of events.  

Maybe Audrey could help him. If she’d survived this long on her own, with that strange weapon and even stranger ink limb, surely she wasn’t a pushover. 

As for himself...he did know his way around the studio--current situation notwithstanding. He knew lots of hiding places, at least. How to sneak around where he shouldn’t, keep an eye out for the small things, get out of danger in a pinch…

The more Buddy thought about it, the more he found himself warming to the idea. It would be tougher to look out for someone on top of himself, of that he was sure. Surviving didn’t come easy down here. 

But still...he’d missed having someone by his side. It was comforting. 

Familiar.

And so he took Audrey's hand in his oversized glove and shook it firmly, just once. A handshake that meant business. 

To show he could be trusted. 

[ask-the-friendly-ink-demon]

Darkness

the toons and demons have different reactions to the darkness, some accept it, others hate it, while prowler..... he has mixed feelings and reactions about the darkness.... sometimes he loves it... other times he hates it.... and most times..... he’s afraid of it.....

darkness. the darkness was all the demon could feel after the explosion happened, prowler weakly opened his eyes to see he was in a dark void. like the inky well of voices that he was sent too every time he was ‘killed’ most times he got out. but other times the ink had kept him there longer. the voices driving him mad. but instead of the usual loud voices there were only whispers, like the ones henry had mentioned to him when he got sent there. the demon followed the whispers, hearing his own footfall before seeing an light, rushing over towards it. as he was then in another dark area, before noticing something chained up, with mutiple colors leaking out of it. and cracks and stitches around it too, along with an single eye. he stares in shock as he backs away, was that.... his soul??? he got his answer when the eye glows brightly, shining down a few feet away from him as something else forms from the light and the darkness, an creature with pure purple like skin, first holographic, before glitching into hard purple like crystals for an body, steaming as mutiple eyes opened up, staring down onto the smaller demon as prowler steps back, frowning as he notices just how different this thing was from him. it was everything he hated about himself. the one thing he didint want to become. an monster

his scars steamed as he clutched his chest, glancing down to it to see an hole in it where his heart should be, five months. five months he was trapped inside lanky, and he finally noticed the one thing he was missing that pervented him from fully escaping. his heart.... now that buddy had finally apparently taken down the false king, prowler’s soulless state much of finally reactivated. the two were staring at eachother, as the massive beast slowly took an step, with prowler taking an step back, afraid as the beast stares, it’s horns drooping “I...... I..... I N...NEED.... IT..... W...WE.... N...N...NEED.... IT.....” it says, it’s voice strained and tired and sore. almost like it had been trying to get to him for ages. the toon’s eyes softened but shrunk when he stares at it some more, watching it point to a similar hole in it’s chest, but only more deeper “WE.... NEED.... E....EACH....OTHER.... T....TO... S...SURVIVE...... T...TO D...DESTROY IT..... I.... NEED.... Y....YOU.....” it says, weakly walking over again, before it falls down with a thud, whining as prowler backs away more, staring at the heart, with was weakly pulsing. he’s done this before. back when nomad had him killed by henry. when alpha had bound himself to him they both touched his own soul. he can do this again he doesn’t need this thing anymore! but.... he stares more, frowning as the creature coughs, breaking apart a bit as prowler whines, thinking as he looks back and forth from the soulless variant of him, to his actual soul. before he sighs, walking on over to his own soul, the creature whining and coughing as it tries getting up, pleading “NEED.... YOU..... YOU.... N...NEED... US..... PLEASE... DON’T....” it falls down again, coughing heavily glances back, before he touches the soul as the soulless demon closed up it’s eyes, before feeling an hand nudged it, it glances over, before seeing prowler had brough the soul right in between himself and it, he stares, before picking up it’s own hand and placing it on the soul “we need eachother. but we also need our own soul to survive too....” he says, the soulless creature staring in shock, before it forms an small little smile, it’s tail and prowler’s forming a little fist bump as the demon grinned lightly before he too also places an hand on his soul, the cracks and such healing up slowly, before prowler closes his eyes as the entire area starts flashing... and then. he hears the sounds of something being cut open.....

[queenofcats17]

The Ink Demonth 19

Today’s prompt is entertainment, so I decided to use this post that’s been in my drafts for ages about what the ink creatures do in their free time. 

The inspiration was this post.

@marie-lamb-b also provided some insight on the Butcher Gang.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

The inhabitants of Joey Drew Studios had to be creative when it came to keeping themselves busy. It wasn’t like an abandoned cartoon studio full of monsters had a whole lot in the way of ready-made amusements.

They had to work with what they had to make their own entertainment.

Alice sang and sewed clothes for herself from whatever materials she could find. She couldn’t do a lot with the materials, but it made her feel better. The feeling of the needle sliding through the fabric, the sound of her own humming echoing around the room...It reminded her of better days. It reminded her of when she’d been happy.

Stabbing herself with the needle wasn’t exactly fun, but the pain from that was negligible when compared to the other injuries she’d incurred in the studio.

Singing calmed her down when she was on the verge of losing herself as well. If she closed her eyes and just...focused on the music, it was like nothing else existed. Everything was fine. She was fine. If she closed her eyes, she could picture her home, her parents. She wondered if they missed her.

Sammy spent a lot of time by himself. Despite being the leader of a large cult of Lost Ones and Searchers, he was still an intensely introverted person who needed a lot of alone time to maintain his sanity and not yell at his flock. He holed up in his Sanctuary to compose or write, occasionally with Jack accompanying him when he was having trouble with certain lyrics. 

Sammy didn’t often play music given that his inky form didn’t interact well with strings. But if he concentrated very hard he could hold himself together long enough to play the banjo. The Lost Ones could sometimes coax him into playing and singing for them, but it took a lot of begging. 

It always soothed them to hear him sing. His voice was high and clear, filling their hearts with feelings and memories they’d long forgotten. Those memories were gone once he finished playing, but the feelings remained. 

Sammy had taught a few of the Lost Ones to play instruments as well and they’d managed to smuggle said instruments to the village in order to practice. It provided quite a bit of entertainment for those who weren’t practicing, because there was something inherently funny about watching someone made of ink trying to figure out how to play an instrument without covering it in ink as well. Or clogging the internal components with ink.

The Lost Ones set up games in their village on occasion, although it took time and preparation, so if they wanted to play a game they had to decide in advance. They would set up towers of soup cans and usually use balls of wax to try and knock the towers down. Or they’d just build the towers in the first place. It kept them busy and it was actually rather fun. 

Allison and Tom similarly utilized the soup cans for their own games. They had access to more materials and a smaller space, so their games looked a bit different than those the Lost Ones played. A lot of theirs involved the fish tank. There were also times when Tom would lay his head in Allison’s lap while she sang. It reminded him of their life outside the studio. Even if she didn’t remember it, it made him happy.

The Borises enjoyed playing instruments, even if the majority of them didn’t last long enough to play any truly beautiful music. Still, playing gave them some modicum of comfort before their ultimate deaths. 

The Boris occupying the safehouse spent his time playing the pinball game he’d found in the wall and doodling. He didn’t venture out too often due to the Ink Demon’s tendency to jump scare him. The Ink Demon’s favorite past-time was scaring the other inhabitants of the studio, after all.

And then there were those in the Bendyland warehouse. 

Bertram wasn’t able to move, being trapped in a ride and all, so he had to rely on getting entertainment from visitors. He only ever got three, though. 

The Butcher Gang clones bearing the souls of Lacie, Grant, and Shawn often visited him, both to seek shelter and to cheer him up when he got lonely. Lacie fixed up any issues that might have come up while Shawn just sewed away in a corner. 

Edgar was usually the one in control, which meant that when the trio visited he’d usually want to ride in one of Bertram’s carts. Bertram, begrudgingly, would allow this. The little spider’s smile was too cute to resist. Not to mention, it usually calmed Grant down as well.

The only entertainment the Projectionist ever got was watching the cartoons that played in his labyrinth. Sometimes, if he watched long enough, he almost seemed to remember something. It never lasted long. Soon enough, he was back to his endless trudging. 

[baconsoupforthesoul]

The Ink Demonth - Day 3 - Work

Work Hard, Work Miserable

A/N: Figured I’d write something for Joey’s poor overworked and underappreciated accountant. Grant Cohen deserved a far better boss than Joey Drew. 

His fingers were smudged with ink. They always were now it seemed. There had been a time where as soon as he got even the smallest stain on his hand and he’d go wash up. But now… there just wasn’t time for that.

Grant sighed as he tapped his pen nervously. The numbers before him seemed to blur and swirl on the page. His mind felt hazy, his thoughts fading in and out like static. He could feel his whole body sag, as though an invisible weight was dragging him down. His eyes roamed over the various papers cluttering his desk, some even scattered on the floor around him. His whole work station was a mess. He was a mess.

So lost in his thoughts, numb to the chaos around him, Grant failed to notice a head poking into his office.

“Uhhhhhh,” Wally’s voice breaks Grant out of his stupor. “You alright there pal?”

The accountant blinked up at the janitor, trying to wrangle his thoughts together. “I’m fine,” he answered, rubbing at his eyes. “Did you need something?”

“Uhh, no. Not really. And are ya sure? You look like you’re about to keel over or somethin’,” Wally commented, grimacing as he took in the bags under Grant’s eyes and his wrinkled suit.

“Really, I’m fine,” Grant sighed, looking down at his desk again. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I got a lot of work to do.”

“Alright alright,” Wally conceded, holding his hands up. “Sorry I asked,” he grumbled as he left, leaving Grant alone with his piles of paperwork.

Grant ran a hand through his hair as he looked down at the numbers again. Maybe he just had to add them up again. Perhaps he made a mistake somewhere. There was no way they were this short on money, right?

As the accountant went over his figures again, his mind drifted back to a time when things were so much different. Math used to be his comfort zone. He was no mathematician genius or anything, but there had always been something soothing about sitting down with some numbers, knowing there could be only one answer to the problem. It felt like a puzzle, something to solve, and outsmart. He’d even go so far as to say it was fun sometimes. He always felt some self-satisfaction when he found the solution.

But those days… they were long gone. Grant glanced back at the two ‘Work Hard, Work Happy,’ posters that he had left strewn on the floor of his office. Yeah, this studio had a lot of work but not a lot of happy. Not anymore.

The numbers that had once brought him comfort, made him feel smart, challenged, and confident, brought nothing but dread to him now.

Had he forgotten to carry that one maybe? Did he miss decimal somewhere?

Grant scratched tiredly at the page with his pen, trying to make the numbers give him any other solution than the one they had presented him. Because it really wasn’t a solution but a problem. A big problem.

Where did all the money go? How did they sink this low? How was he going to get everyone’s paychecks out on time? Would they be mad at him? People were counting on their paychecks, and Drew was counting on the funds for more than five other projects he had dreamt up. Where were they going to find the money for all of this?

Grant let the pen fall from his grip and roll down the desk till it fell off and clattered on the floor. He ran his hands through his hair again, pulling at it as he stared at the swirling numbers before him.

It didn’t add up.

He ran a hand over his face and let out a shaky breath. There wasn’t any comfort or solace to be found in these numbers. Only work, work, and more work. Work and misery, as he sat there and tried to think of the best way to break to Mr. Drew. Even if his brain hadn’t been muddled by lack of sleep, Grant didn’t think there was a good way to break this news to his boss.

After sitting there in silence for a while, his eyes dull and hazy, his gaze drifted down to his pen lying on the ground. With a forlorn sigh, he reached down and grabbed the pen. He pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and tried to run the numbers again. And he kept running them until his head finally hit his desk, and he fell asleep.

[insane-control-room]

The Linework

Chapter Two, Segment One

Previous (3.1.5) - Next

Masterpost

Ao3 Full Chapter Link

Wiring

Henry and Joey slumped onto the couch, exhausted.

Johan had forgotten how exhausting it was to be a father, and to add in all the legalities that were added in with the fact that the children were, well, not humans, the whole of the law drained his energy below the baseline.

He was so grateful that Henry was with him to help him get through all of it. Without him….

Well.

He did not want to think about that.

Bertrum, Lacie, Allison, and Susie had all been huge helps as well - not to mention the whole of the studio. Additionally, Dot had offered to babysit for a raise, to which Joey readily agreed - it was just nearing spring, afterall, so even if the government allowed the kids into school, it would still be a long time until classes would start again.

Another thing that twisted Joey’s heart strings were the ages of the children; not quite babies, not quite adolescents, but toddlers. 

Right where he left off with… her.

He was unsure if he was grateful for that or saddened, both sides awkwardly appealing and strangely comforting. To Henry, who had raised Linda, virtually alone (at least he was rather alone until Joey got into the picture), having three little ones running around was only a level up from what he was used to, especially with who little Linda’s best friend was. 

Joey looked over at Henry. His eyes were closed, fingers interlocked and resting over his stomach, his breathing slow and even, yet he was not sleeping. Joey always knew when Henry was asleep.

Johan scooted his way towards him on the couch, curling up to rest his head on his lap. Henry’s hands instantly found their way into his paintbrush hair, running through it over and over.

“What the hell did you do, Joey Drew?” Henry murmured. Johan stiffened, eyes closing tightly, brows arching in thought. He knew this question would come up eventually, and he did not quite know how to face it. “I’m not mad. Really. It’s simply important that I understand.”

“I think I made a mistake in coding,” he mumbled in answer. “I mean, I… I definitely did. B-but it’s not so simple as finding and removing it, ‘cause it’s not a bug, at least not according to the laws of this world. After reprogramming it again, I rewrote the love of death as a love of l-life. And those kids… man, if they aren’t full of life.”

“They’re…” Henry tried to think of words to describe how he was feeling. Incredulous, shocked, happy, afraid, anticipatory. He could not figure out how to word it, so he just went with, “Wow.”

“Mm. You’re wow,” Joey smiled against Henry’s leg, kissing his knee. Henry chuckled, scratching behind Joey’s ear. Joey vibrated, a rumble deep in his chest. Henry laughed quietly. “What?”

“I can see where Bo gets that from,” Henry’s voice calmed Johan, his eyes drifting shut. “Scratches and purring. I was wondering where the second one got picked up from.”

“It is not purring!” Johan remarked indignantly, until Henry grinned devilishly, scratching him right where his jaw met his ear, making his eyes flutter shut, the rumble repeating, louder, accompanied by a quiet whimper. “Mm, ah… Henry… Henry… good….”

“More?” Henry asked, grinning. Joey nodded, eyes closed, a smile gracing his lips, bliss and rapture the entirety of his expression. As soon as Henry continued to adorn Joey with soft touches and sweet comments, a cry came from the kids’ shared bedroom. Henry groaned, Joey grumbling a quiet complaint, but getting up anyways. He returned to the living room with Alice curled up in his arms, her cheeks slightly stained with tears from a nightmare, but now her face was one of tranquility. Henry smiled softly, patting her cheek, cleaning up the small streaks of acetone tears. Part of him wondered why it did not burn through her skin, the other not daring to question it, merely glad that it did not. “She’s so cute.”

“Just like her father,” Joey smiled, pressing a kiss to both of their foreheads, and ran his hand over his girl’s curly blonde hair. The halo that his arm went through sent odd tingles up his arm, like he hit his funny bone, but about five minutes later. “She looks so much like you….”

“And Bendy looks like you,” Henry sighed, wrapping his arm around Joey’s shoulders, leaning his head against his arm. “Boris… well, he’s interesting. Not really sure what I was expecting for him. Not that I was expecting any of them at all.”

“Neither was I,” Joey yawned. Alice snuggled against his chest, holding onto his pin, sucking on her wrist. He looked down at her, eyes strangely misted over, face neutral. Henry could sense that something was heading down wrong paths in Johan’s mind, twisting his thoughts, and Henry hugged him best he could from his vantage point. Joey sighed, sinking into the couch, crumbling into something miserable. “Am I a bad dad, Ray? I feel like I’m running around like a headless chicken. Shouldn’t I be better at this already? After Aramis, after Linda?”

“What?! No, not at all,” Henry assured him. “You’re a better dad than I am, hell, that’s one of the reasons Diane and I broke up, because she saw I wasn’t very good at taking care of Linda, always sending her to my parents, not really being around for her, and when she saw how good you were with kids… well, she got jealous. It brought tension into the relationship. Because of how good of a dad you are.”

“So you’re telling me that you lost out on a normal relationship because of me?” Johan asked, dismayed. Henry laughed, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. “What? It’s true, ain’t it?”

“Not at all, smartypants,” Henry kissed him softly. “We both could see it. She was happy that I was falling in love with you for who you are, Joey. Not because she was upset. She saw that we would be better together, but I constantly denied it, and then I proposed, and now the rest is history. It’s us together now, right? And you’re an amazing father, and I couldn’t ask for anyone else to be a dad with me.”

“Really?” Joey questioned, worriedly chewing on his lip. Henry kissed him again, replying, “Absolutely, you blind fool. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Henry,” Johan mumbled, blushing like a schoolboy. “A-and I mean the same for you. T-to be a dad with you.”

Again, the box under the couch cushions beckoned to him. Would this not be ideal? Would it not be blissfully sweet and romantic? Would it not be wonderful?

Henry’s arm came over his shoulder again, and Joey opened his mouth, yet his courage failed him once more, leaving him to close his mouth slowly, trying to think of what he would even say.

“You’ve been acting weird, lately,” Henry told him, raising an eyebrow. Johan sputtered, his red eyes wide and incredulous. “Almost jumpy.”

“I’m always jumpy.”

“Not this much.”

“That’s very debatable.”

“Oh, hush,” Henry frowned, folding his arms over his chest. Johan missed their warmth immediately, but Alice in his arms prevented him from reaching towards Henry. “There’s something bothering you again, isn't there?”

“Nope.”

“Yuh-huh.”

“Nada.”

“You can be such a liar sometimes, Joey Drew,” Henry’s frown morphed into a scowl. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing, promise.”

“Real promise?”

“Cross my heart.”

[twistedhaloau]

Twisted halo deepdive #3: Cloud 9 studios

Setting

Layout

The studio is nothing like it once was, in a place that was once bustling with busy animators, infighting voice actresses, overworked musicians, and corporate espionage there is now only the dark and quiet embrace of the ink. The studio is slowly falling apart however has now become more of a cursed location rather than a tangible place within our real world. In fact it exists within yet outside of our dimension due to the tampering and influence of the Ink machine dwelling within it.

As mentioned above the studio is falling apart, the walls are leaking, ink is tucked away behind every wall almost always ready to burst through the boards and planks, hallways have been flooded with viscous ink and artificial light is hard to come by. However oddly enough even without electricity the artificial lights run and the walls and planks will always repair themselves much like a wounded body will eventually scab and heal. The place is an eldritch location, a genus loci if you would and it is almost incomprehensible. It contains hallways that twist into impossible architecture, stairways that lead to nowhere, impossibly large oceans of ink and expansive caverns, and an overall structure that is continuously shifting and changing which aids in eating away at the sanity of those who dwell within it. 

Within the studio residents from the ‘real world’ will eventually lose their comprehension of time and space, there are barely any working clocks down in the studio and after a while residents begin to lose track of how many days and nights they have spent within the accursed place. Even if they find a working clock time works very differently in the studio in that it speeds up and slows down in an unpredictable pattern that is extremely disorienting to residents. 

The studio is constantly building upon itself and for this reason you can never truly map out the studio, it is making additions every minute and if you were to reach the edge of the studio you would see planks of wood slowly forming more spaces for you to explore. The studio has grown so massive that it could be considered a country or small world in of itself.

History

Founded in the years just after the Great War, Drew Stein Studios was the creation of two young men with a pencil and a dream, Joey Drew and Henry Stein. In those early years, the studio was hardly known, an old run down office building indistinguishable from the hundreds around it in the outskirts of the city, and in a like fashion, the short animations the duo produced barely scraped the American Zeitgeist of the time. Every now and again a short little animated ad for floor cleaner, or some odd soda, just enough to keep the lights on, and not much more.

That is until the duo captured lightning in a bottle, with the creation of the Bendy cartoons. With the people’s eyes on them, for good or for ill, the duo soon found themselves with a team beneath them. That small team eventually expanded further, to in-house musicians, voice actors, editors and revisionists, the whole nine yards. The studio was no longer surviving, but thriving. 

It thrived, at least, until the book was thrown at them. The Good Book. 

Despite the family friendly antics of the shows seminal character, those of the cloth felt it’s portrayal of one of hells own was bordering on an outright endorsement of satanism. How could a demon, dancing or otherwise, have a kind heart? It was downright unchristian.

They say lightning never strikes twice; and if you asked them, it wouldn’t be clear who caught it this time, but the creation of Alice Angel was not only the solution to their problems with the church, but elevated their ratings to new heights. Her high marketability and decrying of the flapper lifestyle made her an instant favorite within the households of Americans across the nation. Alice soon overshadowed her demonic counterpart, who had taken a role closer to antagonist to the lovely angel, his mischievous streak now no longer being all in good fun. 

With the rapid success and acceptance of their new poster girl, the studio re-branded to Cloud 9 Studios, and production of Alice Episodes kicked into full swing. The Angel herself had been voiceless up until this point- Joey and Henry never agreeing on an actress that could fill her roll- until one miss Susie Campbell, a bright, kind, exuberant girl with the chords to match, chipped in hers. The Angel now had a voice to call her own, and the people fell in love with her all over again. 

But the golden age wouldn't last forever. The economic crash soon to come would put great strain on the studio. They never failed to put out an episode, but everyone felt the scarcity. Tensions grew between the original duo, who now regularly squabbled over matters of business and contributions to the studio’s flagship product. Joey was well known to harass his employees, and though Henry kept his partner in check, the magic of the studio slowly began to bleed out. Even so, not one soul left, whether through loyalty, fear of economic ruin, or fear of Joey's wrath. 

That was, until the second Great War called the young men of America to a foreign shore. The studio hemorrhaged half its work force throughout those months, and had no choice but to replace its staff with a newly emboldened mass of female workers, of which most notably was Allison Pendle. Another voice actress, who’s station was not so lofty as the Lonely Angel herself, but was nonetheless one she took pride in. 

But even this didn't seem to put the studio right again. 

Joey and Henry, over irreconcilable differences, had officially split. Joey had changed. The man was always a notorious womanizer, a common trait for the time, but he went beyond that in the absence of his friend. The quality of the animation dipped in this interim, and while the show still remained popular, it was definitely on the decline. And with it's fall came the rise of Joey’s true colors. 

Abuse, harassment, degradement. It was as if Joey had made it his personal goal to make everyone as miserable as possible. The details of what the employees suffered at the hands of their boss are not well known, but what is, is that poor Susie received the worst of it. So, one day, with a heavy heart, she left her station, and the angel behind. 

With that, the studio’s fate was sealed. The show became lifeless, a husk of its former self. The last trace of heart and soul bled out, and nothing remained to take its place. When ratings dropped, the studio scrambled to squeeze as much money out as possible. Blatant product placement, soulless shilling, the whole nine yards. But it was too late. At least, so it seemed.

Those men from the church had the right of it. Joey had dabbled in the occult, and believed he had finally found a solution. This was his creation, his great work. He could not, would not let the show, the studio that he built with his own two hands go quietly into the night. The characters lacked heart? They lacked soul? Well, what if they were given one? Not one that mattered, oh no, certainly not his. A janitor, a messenger. Someone who wouldn’t be missed. Like peeling away layers of skin, Joey would tear out the workers soul, and feed it into his ink. 

Cloud 9 Studios exploded into popularity once again. The characters seemed livelier than ever, as if they could almost jump off the screen and shake your hand. And while the public was slow to accept her, Allison Pendle was a serviceable replacement for the darling dancing angel. Joey Drew had done it again. 

And yet still it wasn’t to last. His miracle ink soon ran dry, and the characters diminished once again. One life was not enough. Two lives and the cartoon lasted a week. Ten lives and it lasted two. The human soul has diminishing returns, and there was only so much blood he could spill in a day. What could he be missing? Maybe they were all into something. He replaced the soul, in every sense, but these coffin stuffers were the dregs of the studio. They lacked heart. Real love for the show, for the characters. For THE character. 

When he called upon Allison, she answered. Perhaps it was in fear of angering her taskmaster, perhaps a promise slipped off a forked tongue. Whatever the case, Allison made for fine Ink. The weeks passed by, and months after that. With her, the show never lost its luster. Sure there was talk when the angel fell silent, but that was the way of things in the business. The show was at last truly saved. No more lives need be taken. 

But… what of the studio? Sure, it was lucrative beyond measure… but Joey was an old man. Not terrible so, but age wore heavy on his brow. Disease had taken root, and grew within him as an inverse tree. What would become of the studio when he was gone? He built it with his own hands, with his dream and his dream alone. Who would take over when he’s gone? Who could carry on his legacy? Would he be forgotten, his studio turned to rot? No one could stand to the challenge, this he knew. No one was an equal to Joey Drew. In that moment, as he lamented the failure of his cells, he was struck with inspiration. He could breathe life into the pages, he could transfer soul into the inert. His ink had the power to make living that which never lived. What could it do to a person? 

The first experiments were failures, but not without promise. The inken blobs little more than insults in the vague shape of man. But, they did not seem to die. Stomp them, slash them, hack them apart. They would simply retreat into the ink. There was still something missing. The conversion was imperfect, the soul was diminished in the transfer, there was little to sustain the creature spawned. Quantity over Quality was the simple answer to a simple question. 

The machine was the complicated answer. A terrible engine meant to grind the sediment of one's being, with an equally terrible efficiency. Constructed with the help of a dubious contractor, one by one employees were fed into its pipes. Out of fear they willingly, and unknowingly, walked into the slaughter. The creatures that took shape finally had form, a form that delighted Joey. Alice Angel, his greatest success. They were fractured, of course, broken by the trauma of splintering, of a hundred souls swimming in piecemeal. But Joey would be different. Joey would be master of the well. He would rise in the ink. 

Those employees that remained were gathered into the chamber of the machine, and, as the black Ichor spilled forth, each and every one drowned in the ink, their essence siphoned down, deep into the terminus, where Joey sat upon his throne. Joey had defeated death, with not but a pencil, with not but a dream. Or so he believed, as his act of mass murder bore sweet fruit. 

Only the miscalculation of a single handyman, one pipe that could not bear the strain of a thousand lives, burst beneath the pressure. The process was incomplete. Human souls and ink spilled out across the hardwood floor. 

As Joey, in ink clad, was overcome by the flood, one soul saw out through the chasm of screams. One soul saw him weather the viscous current. He was imperfect, and yet the ink still bent and flowed to his will. What could a perfect being accomplish?