The Character Break Room

Ezra
"Sounds like fun. What if we all poked the same person at once?"

NEW DAY

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Cricket

I recently discovered that it's hard to turn a doorknob when you're a cat. If I stretched on my hind legs, I could aaalmost reach it. Almost. I was only off by . . . a few inches. Jacky finally took pity and wrote a pet door leading in, but otherwised stayed out of the situation. I was thankful for that. Even if the pet door was a little degrading. I would have rathered she . . . I dunno, blown the door down in some dramatic fashion, or the like.

I pushed through the pet door, sniffing around at the big furnature. It was a whole new perspective, being a foot tall. I noticed things I'd never have before. It was fascinating. With a leap, I landed on one of the fluffier couches.

Peter

I followed in through the pet door after Cricket. How degrading. Just like all the other things the authors did to us. I had a new perspective of the room, but I didn't pay much attention to it. I crossed to a carpeted corner (with...what was that thing Winter was talking about...Added Alliterative Appeal?), circled around exactly three times, and settled down.

Cricket

"Everybody wants t' be a cat~" I murmered to myself, as I climbed onto the backrest of the sofa and curled up. "So, what all 'appened this morning?" I pressed gently.

Peter

"Eh, nothing," I woofed in response, my eyes closed.

Nothing.

Insightful. Downright damn enlightening.

...I wasn't really sure why I was being so cynical today; I just was.

Cricket

I wasn't getting anywhere with this, was I? "A'right . . . something's not right 'ere. You're not yourself, mate." I settled further into the couch.

Peter

"Eh," I replied with a sort of doggy shrug.

I got the feeling that, somewhere, a certain teenage girl was banging her head against the nearest solid object. Just an inkling.

Cricket

I eyed him, frowning. Why did he have to play like that? "Peter . . ." He was acting half-dead, and I had to admit it was getting to me. Just a little. It isn't a good feeling, when a friend's hurting. I crouched and lept to the floor again, padding to the carpet he was on. "If dogs can smile . . ." I bowed to try to look him in the eye. "Smile for me?"

Peter

Belgian shepherds often looked like they were smiling when you saw them from the front because of their long, slightly downward-pointing snouts.

Somehow, though it was really no surprise, I was the Belgian shepherd who managed to not do that. Winter said so.

"Nhn," I mumbled, my eyes sort of half-closed. "You know I never do that."

Cricket

"Aye . . . and it bothers me. A lot," I mewed, still crouching in front of him. I was trying to get his attention, I suppose. Whether or not it was working, I wasn't sure. But, it was worth a shot. "It's, ah . . . a bit worse now, honestly." Please, please listen? For once? I watched him hopefully.

Peter

"You know I'll smile if I find a reason to," I told him, still not exactly looking at him. More like looking through him. "And what do you mean? What's worse?"

Cricket

My face fell a little. Was it just me, or was I invisible? He never listened, just . . . gave an automatic response. "But then, you never do," I said softly. "Peter, you're . . . 'alf dead, like this. Like you're barely there. 'Ow can you keep like that, caring about nothing?"

Peter

"I dunno," I said with another shrug. "It's not hard, really. And I don't care about nothing."

It really was very easy, just like Winter said it had been for her. The section of her brain that held the information from that time was sealed away and dark, pushed to some far, desolate corner where it could sit, rot, and be forgotten. Of course, she never would be able to forget it completely, what with her photographic memory.

But that was beside the point.

The point was that I had read through those files, and found that severing nearly all (though at that point she had severed all) of my ties from everything else was stunningly easy. All I had to do was cut the cords, and I fell away.

Cricket

I realized then that I hadn't meant how he went about staying like that, but how could he. I knew perfectly well how to slip into nothingness, but . . . why would he do that? "I know it's not 'ard. It's fairly easy, honestly. But y'know . . . I'm always trying t' stay posotive, for friends as much as myself. For once, could you do th' same? If for five minutes, try? Please?"

Peter

I paused for a moment before curling up even tighter, burying my face under my long and incredibly fluffy tail. I didn't want to shut Cricket out, but I didn't see any other options. Positive...was not me. It might have been me over a decade ago, when I was still filled with that childish optimism, but that passed pretty quickly. And I was completely desensitized from optimism by the time I hit nine years old.

"You know I've never been a positive thinker," I mumbled quietly.

I knew I was paining him, but he'd get over it. He'd come to forget soon enough.

Cricket

So.

Alright.

Fine.

I just stared for a moment, feeling an uncanny sense of betrayal. He'd just shut me out like a bad memory. He couldn't have listened, just once? Every time I tried to tell him the posotives, he blew it off. Suddenly, I felt a lot heavier, like the air was thicker. Thanks . . . thanks for that, friend.

"A'right. Fine," I said after a moment. "Don't try. Ignore me. After all, who would ever listen t' th' ramblings of some crazy kid like me?" I turned and padded to a couch, jumping onto it, almost dissapearing against the dark fabric; just my intention. As I curled up, I felt my eyes soften a little. "Thanks for being there."

Peter

Aw, gods damn it. He'd taken that the wrong way.

"Look," I mumbled. Always with the mumbling. "It's not like I'm trying to shut you out or anything; more like I'm shutting myself in. You can forget easier when things are out of sight."

Out of sight, out of mind. That's how the saying went.

And I'd had it. I'd had enough of everything. Last night was just...the straw that broke the camel's back. Wow. Two idioms in the span of a few seconds. But it was the truth. So I was dealing with it in the only way I knew how to: avoidance. Just close the door, so neither party can see what's going on. My friends would be somewhat disappointed at first, but they'd move on and forget. The Four would become the Three, and that would be that.

Cricket

". . . You act like that makes a difference," I said softly, turning my head to look at him again. "See, either way, I'm on th' outside. A'right. Fine, I'm tired of trying t' get in. You want t' be alone? You are." That hurt to say, but I was just . . . tired of failing. I gave up. It was getting nowhere, and I was tired of giving him the time of day if he didn't want it. I could deal with it. Maybe this way, I was actually granting him a last favor. I would just leave him alone.

I tucked my head under my tail. It was a convenient replacement for my bangs.

Peter

Finally.

And he would get over it. Because he was Cricket, and Cricket got over things. Reliably. He and Marley were the smiling optimists, after all.

I was the guy that was always just sort of there. I tagged along...which was certainly a lot different from my canon role with my canon group of four friends. Outside of the story for which I was created, I was just that guy standing over there. You don't always notice that guy, and when he isn't standing over there, you don't really realize he's missing. It might cross your mind, but it slips it again soon enough.

I mean, really, what was I?

...And I supposed I should thank Jacky at some point for pulling the bullshit that sparked all my existential thinking. It was really easy to disconnect yourself from everything when you thought existentially. Of course, it was that mindset that made me want to disconnect myself in the first place. So I guess the whole thing could be summed up pretty easily: This was Jacky's fault. She'd put down that backbreaking straw, after all.

Screw it, I just didn't care anymore.

I rose to my paws, heading back across the room towards the door.

Cricket

I heard Peter leave. A part of myself itched to follow him, but it was only out of habit, nothing more.

Well . . . maybe not.

No . . . no, I wanted to follow him, really bad. I needed things to go back to normal, like they were, just the four of us. I wanted my friend back, and it took a lot of painful reminders to keep me stuck to that couch. He wasn't a friend, he was a traitor. He didn't care about us, he only cared about his 'shutting out the world'. He wasn't worth it, and he didn't want it. I would only annoy him. A pest.

I buried my nose further into the couch, forcing the thoughts again and again. Anything to keep me on that couch. That's what he wanted . . . aye?

Ezra

I unhappily pushed through the pet door, I hated being a dog. Cricket was curled up on the couch, I padded over to him. "You okay?" I asked, poking him with my paw.

(Cheating. This is copypasta'd from TNCP, just so you know what happened to Crick. CHAT CROSSOVER. WOOT.)

Cricket

I just curled up tighter into the couch, pretending not to hear Ezra. Why would I want to talk about it? Peter . . . wasn't there anymore, and I wouldn't allow myself to go find him. Ever. Just . . . leave him alone, because that's what he wanted. Aye, forget about him.

I needed to distract myself.

Just . . . stop . . . thinking. No more reminders. He was out of the picture, and all I had to do was toss his memory onto the pile of 'ignore's. Friends were the hardest to toss into that pile. See, I wouldn't have a problem ignoring an enemy encounter, but mix a friend into that equation and the memory digs deep and clings like a stain. So, what to do?

Stop. Thinking.

I slipped off the couch and padded to the door without a word. Peter wasn't anywhere to be seen once I got into the hall . . . damnit, don't worry about him. Just walk aimlessly. Damn, I wish I could whistle when I was a cat. I hummed instead as I slunk through the halls, looking for something stupid to do. Waitpardon . . . there was a door cracked open.

I knew that door . . . there were a lot of people I didn't particularily like in there . . . and the door was cracked open.

That . . . that was a distraction.

I don't remember making the decision, just the numb recognition that for some odd reason, I saw that open door as a way out of my own thoughts. It could have death written all over it, but it was a way out. So, I slid inside, absolutely silent, and found a shadowed spot near a booth.

Marley
I walk in, the same empty feeling filling me. No, not even empty. Empty was something. This was nothing. Nothing at all. I sat down on a couch, feeling strangely tired. Not that tiredness made me unhappy, it was just something I happened to notice. I yawned involuntarily.

Cricket

I slipped in after Marley, drumming my fingers against my side as I thought of what to say. It was so hard to talk to her now, like talking to a brick wall. I used to just . . . click with her, aye. " 'ello . . ." I said finally, running a hand through my hair. I'd almost called her Marley. No, this wasn't Marley.

Marley
I looked over at him, just watching for a few moments "Cricket" I said finally, something sparking in my eyes. When was the last time I had my medication? Longer than the doctor suggested. I pulled a needle out from my bag, ready to inject it into my arm. I was supposed to sterilize my arm, and the needle itself, but I didn't bother to this time.