#good morening btw i didn't sleep

[espytalks]

The studio

Couldn't sleep, so here's take 2 of the thing I tried to write the other day. fair warning though it gets dark.

Knox didn't know how he got there, or why, but he figured since he was there, it wouldn't hurt to look around the old studio. His footsteps echoed loudly in the silent halls, floorboards creaking every now and then as he stepped on a loose board. Such a place, so empty and quiet, might have seemed creepy and menacing to anyone else, and Knox did take note of that, but despite the haunted aesthetic, he felt completely safe. He knew this place, even after all these years. How can you be afraid of your own home? 

He walked slowly through the halls, observing posters of cartoons that were barely finished, rushed in order to meet deadlines. He felt a twinge of sympathy for the artists. In the short time he lived there, he could tell they were overworked and stressed, and in hindsight he realized they probably were underpaid as well, promised money from profits that never came. They had hoped, too late, that bringing in living toons would ease the workload, would help out the employees at the studio, but in the end the cost to make them was too high. Not long after Knox came into existence, the company shut down, and the studio was abandoned.

Knox always meant to come back some day. To remember the good times he had at the studio, but time slipped away from him. He had gotten busy, with other projects, with his own deadlines, until the thought was pushed further and further to the back of his mind. But now, he had a chance to make up for his forgotten promise, and stepped into each room carefully, taking in every detail. 

There was the writer's desks, papers semi-organised, but yellowed with age. There were pens and ink bottles laying around, and some papers had half finished stories written on them, and some crumpled up in trash bins nearby. Knox figured those must be failed first drafts. He picked up a page from one of the desks, but the writing was too messy for him to read. He hoped it had made sense to the person who wrote it.

He moved on to the storyboarding area, small pieces of paper with quick drawings on them taped to the wall, but only filling about a third of the space. Another sign of work half done. Perhaps this is a bit depressing, Knox thought, before moving on to the background artists room.

He walked immediately to a specific desk, out of habit. A wonderful woman used to work there, who he remembered well. She was so kind, and patient as he asked questions, and let him watch her work. He always admired her talent, and speed. She could get may detailed backgrounds done incredibly fast compared to the others at the studio, so she was often ahead of schedule.

She liked to talk about her dog Owen, a mutt she has taken into her life years ago, and had been having some health problems when the studio was at its end. But she was always optimistic, insisting he was still his happy little self. He realized suddenly that she was almost certainly gone now, and he felt an all too familiar ache in his heart at the thought. She seemed so full of life, and energy. The thought that he'd never see her again...? He suddenly felt terrible he never thought to try to visit her one last time. He took a moment to hold back tears and collect himself. He had gotten good at hiding this feeling, at least in appearance. 

Once he calmed down, he continued on towards the back of the studio. There was the directors office, and the music department. He spent quite a while in the latter, observing instruments he had no idea how to use decades ago, but could now play with relative ease, especially the piano, an instrument he particularly enjoyed practicing on at home. He took the time to dust it off, and played a melody off the top of his head. 

When he was satisfied, he moved once more, passing by Kevin the janitors' closet. He was a grumpy old man who- 

Wait. Knox never knew a Kevin at this studio. He was the only one there who went by that name, he was certain. So why did he suddenly feel so sure another of his namesake had worked there? He was suddenly dizzy, and held a hand out to study himself, five fingers pressed firmly against a wall. When the moment passed, he looked around in confusion. What was he doing again? 

Oh right, he thought, feeling silly, a four fingered hand smoothed down stray fur on his head. He was walking through the studio. Of course. And he was coming up to the final room. Behind a door he knew to be locked was a room he had only been in once, and only briefly, in his life. It was locked soon after he was born, the first room to be abandoned. He, along with the rest of the studio, had ignored the room, but now Knox was filled with curiosity. He wanted to see the machine that made him. 

He tried the handle, and was surprised to find it unlocked. He supposed that made it easier on him. He didn't quite feel like snooping around for an hour looking for keys. He entered the room, and, for the first time, observed with detail the ink machine. 

It was huge, taking up the whole wall, with pipes, switches, and gears in seemingly random and unnecessary places. The main part, however, had four large pipes leading into large containers of some sort of ink. Another pipe stuck out from the front, leading to a glass box in the center of the room. He figured that was where the mixture ended up, and somehow it turned into a cartoon character? It didn't make sense to him. 

Even by toon logic, he felt it was a bit weird that that was all it took. Maybe something happened inside it when he turned it on? It certainly made a lot of mess whenever it was operational. Ink stains were all over the place in the room, and many spots on the machine were black from ink that was never cleaned. He groaned in annoyance. This darn thing was a pain ta clean. And ya had to turn it on ta clean some parts of it, too, and half the time it just added to the problem. He was about to turn it on to clean it when Knox realized he shouldn't know how to do that. Why did he know how to do that? 

The dizziness came again, and he swayed, knocking himself back into the machine. Through the fuzziness in his head he heard switches click, and gears starting to turn. He started to panic, and backed up, trying to think clearly, but failing. Suddenly he could feel his foot slipping on something, and he felt himself falling back, and then hitting something hard. The box in the center of the room.

He stood up, mind suddenly clear, but was instantly met with a wall that wasnt there before. He tried all the sides, but all met with the same result. He was trapped. 

The machine was running. 

Gears turned.

Lights glowed. 

Pipes started to run through 80 year old ink. 

And it was going to run right in to the box Knox was trapped in. 

Knox was terrified. He banged against the walls, yelling at the top of his lungs, hoping someone, anyone, could hear him before it's too late, before the ink flowed and filled the chamber, before he drowned in the very think he was made of.

But nobody came.

Ink pored down, slowly at first, but multiplying in strength. Soon, his pants were soaked in knee high black liquid that was rising fast.

Ink pored down hard on his head as he desperately tried to ram into the walls, to make a crack large enough for the pressure to shatter the box, but the ink was slowing him down. It reached chest height, and all he could do was try to keep his head above the ink, as it rose above his shoulders, to his neck, until it was nearly full, and he was gasping for air. 

One final gulp of precious air, and he was submerged. His heart was beating fast, and he knew he wouldn't be able to hold hold breath for long. Just a few more seconds, just hold on a few more seconds, and someone will come. He was sure of it. Just a few more - 

He couldn't hold it in any longer. He breathed out, and inhaled out of reflex, despise trying not to. And the burning pain was worse than holding his breath. He spasmed, trying to breathe, trying to be rid of the ink on his lungs, but all that came was more ink, more ink, more ink, more- 

The pain was starting to fade. Everything was starting to fade. He couldn't move. He tried, but everything was fading black, black like ink. He was sinking. And he thought, weakly, that he didn’t want to die. A wave of deja vu hit him before everything went dark, and he couldn't think anymore. 

---

---

And with a jolt, Knox sat up, gasping, in bed. His heart was pounding, as if to remind him that yes, it's still working, you're still alive, just breathe, now that there's finally air. He realized then that it was just the nightmare. He felt a rush of relief, and used that to slowly calm his breathing. 

Owen hopped into the bed at the moment, tilting his head to the side in confusion, or perhaps worry? It must have been, because he gestured at Knox, as if to ask him if he was alright. Knox realized he must have been making quite a bit of noise and woke the cartoon puppy up. He forced a small smile to comfort him. 

"It was just a bad dream, Pup pup," He said, surprisingly calm for how he felt just moments ago. "I'm alright. No need to worry." 

The puppy's posture became more relaxed as he grew less worried. He walked up closer to Knox and nudged him in the arm, and when Knox raised it, Owen circled around himself before lying down next to his owner. He closed his eyes, and the message was clear: he was going to sleep next to Knox to comfort him. 

Knox smiled, for real this time, at the gesture, before looking at his alarm clock. 4:13, it said. He didn't have to be up for a few more hours. He debated whether to get up and start the day early, but after a few minutes, Owen looked up and whined.

Go to sleep, ya big doof, he seemed to be saying. And Knox did feel tired. Maybe he could try to get son more rest, though he doubted he would actually fall asleep. He laid down, closed his eyes, and tried to relax.

---

Knox almost missed the alarm three hours later because of the dream he had. Owen had somehow gotten wings, and was trying to get him to be a pirate for revenge against an octopus. It was absolutely ridiculous in hindsight, but it was, without a doubt, the best dream he had in years.

Knox smiled a lot that day.