A Final Straw, Chica
“So, when exactly are we doing this?”
Chica shouldered her way past a tall human, glancing quizzically at Goldie before turning back to watch where she was going. The fact that he would ask that in a crowded hallway completely exasperated her- Does he really wanna talk about this here of all places?- but none of the boys seemed perturbed so she just let it go.
“Not at lunch,” Bonnie didn’t even hesitate to answer, and Chica, whose face was turned away from the rabbit, rolled her eyes. Of course we’re not confrontin’ them at lunch, she thought, frowning to herself. Literally half the school would be there. “Putting them on the spot in front of half the student body would not be a good idea.”
“Yeah,” Goldie agreed, sighing. She briefly glanced at him, noting his eyes on the ceiling above. He looked almost thoughtful as he added, “It’d probably send Salvage into a panic attack. Which would instantly earn the others’ hatred forever, I’m sure.”
Had the circumstances been different, Chica would have laughed at his words. She turned her attention ahead of her again, skirting around a cat and dog who were chatting amicably, completely unaware or uncaring of how they were blocking the hallways.
“Probably, yeah,” Freddy gave. “But we can’t try in math class, either, since Jeggs, Creol, and Walker are in there, too.”
Chica’s eye twitched, thinking about the three students that enjoyed making school hell for everyone- no matter who or what you were, those three had their eyes on you. You, your friends, and your reputation. It was incredibly annoying... and much to Chica’s displeasure, she had to put up with two of them on a daily basis.
Well, technically speaking no I don’t, she mused, glancing towards her friends. In fact we’ll probably have to drop Creol and Jeggs if we’re really gonna try and get Salvage’s lot on our side.
“We could just wait until tomorrow,” Foxy suggested, though Chica could tell by Bonnie’s brief frown that it was not an option that would be accepted. “Y’know, when we have to talk to ‘em one-on-one anyway.”
It was a good point, Chica had to admit. She couldn’t help but say, though she was being more sardonic than serious, “Or if ya want we could just wait until Monday. You guys could try in gym.”
She wasn’t serious about the latter part, of course- it was all or nothing, just as they’d all agreed the day before. It’s all of us or none of us, and we chose the former. Yes, Chica knew very well that she would not be exempt from their plan, even if Kain appeared to be in much better shape than the other four.
“I don’t think approachin’ ‘em as a group- our group or their group or both- is a good idea, actually,” Goldie started slowly, and Chica almost sighed as she realized he thought she was being serious.
I really need to work on my sarcastic voice, I think.
“Why not?” Foxy asked, clearly confused, and Chica looked over at them to hear the explanation too. Of course she knew why it would be bad- approaching them as a group might seem like an attack- but she wasn’t quite following Goldie’s exact train of thought.
“Well,” Goldie started, nearly saintly patience in his voice, “they would probably react to us as a collective but we want ‘em to react as individuals, like they did in Dr. Schmidt’s class that very first day, right?”
Ah. It made sense; as a collective, they wouldn’t be open. At all. She thought back, remembering how she had noticed Bonnie watching Rodriguez- would Rodriguez have reacted the same way, the way that tipped Bonnie off that something was wrong, had he been with one or more of his friends? And Fischbach appears kinda neutral, but he definitely doesn’t trust us- he puts himself between us and his friends.
Yes, Chica realized, it made perfect sense. They needed to approach them on an individual basis- something more personal, more... more like hunting, she realized, and the thought made her feel almost sick.
Separate them from the pack.
“So basically,” she started, glancing over at them, “we approach them one-on-one, not as groups.”
“Right,” Goldie said, nodding his confirmation. Chica hesitated, unsure of how to word what she was thinking. Should I go sensitive or blatant?
She didn’t want to outright compare her friends- or herself- to hunters, but... how do I point that out without insult?
After a moment or two of thought, she started, “Seems a little... predatorial, doesn’t it?” She looked towards her friends with a frown, clearly conflicted about this. It was one thing to approach them as individuals, but to purposefully approach them when they were vulnerable? “I mean, separate them from the pack...”
There was a brief moment of silence between the friends as they really registered her words, an air about them that told her they didn’t like it any more than she did.
Ever the level-headed one, though, Freddy spoke up and said, “It’s either that or let ‘em influence each others’ reactions.” Chica didn’t have a response, pausing and watching him as he peeked into the classroom. “They’re already suspicious of us, they’ll be on alert even alone- if we approach ‘em as a group or all at the same time it might be seen as some kind of attack and put ‘em on even higher alert.”
She knew he was right, but she sighed and said, “I feel like we’re makin’ war plans.” None of them even attempted to refute her words; that was exactly what it felt like, after all. Bad war plans, but war plans all the same. “This is ridiculous,” she added, frustration slipping into her voice, “they’re classmates the same age as us, we should be able to just approach them.”
And whose fault is it you can’t?
Shut up, voice of reason.
None of them answered her, and they all stepped inside the classroom. Freddy and Goldie slid into their assigned seats, and Foxy dropped down into his own behind Goldie. Bonnie and Chica went for the seats next to Goldie and Foxy, respectively, and as they slipped into the seats that they both knew they’d be vacating in the next minute or two, they turned towards Foxy. The twins did the same thing, and all four of them leaned closer to Foxy’s desk in some semblance of a circle.
“So,” Foxy started, his voice low so it wouldn’t carry to the teacher sitting at his desk, “not here and not lunch, but you’re determined to try today?” The bell in the hallway let out a warning shriek, but none of them paid it any mind. “With the way they were actin’ yesterday they might not even come today.”
“They’re here,” Freddy was quick to inform them. “I saw them this morning in the hall. They seem much more, ah...” the brown bear trailed off, a small frown tugging at his lips as if he were searching for the right descriptor. Chica watched him patiently. “... alive today,” Freddy finished, his tone almost soft as he said the words.
There was a short silence as they took in Freddy’s words. So they’re definitely here, Chica mused silently to herself. Aloud, she suggested, “We could try in art.” As if needing to justify her words, she added, “There’s not that many people in there.”
Even as she said it, she remembered a blonde-haired cheerleader squealing as her pencil lead snapped. Chica grimaced; That’s a no-go.
“Ashley Creol is,” Goldie voiced her thoughts, shaking his head in dismissal. “We approach them within her sight and the rumour mill will go wild.” Chica had to give him that point. Sure, Salvage and his friends gave very little consideration to rumours and the such, but... it would still complicate things for them. “Plus,” the bear continued unexpectedly, “they stick together in that corner- and we definitely don’t want to approach them when they have their backs to a corner.”
Good point. She frowned as Foxy said, “Yeah, we don’t want that.” Obviously, she agreed silently, lightly tapping her fingers on the desk. “Really, I think we should wait for Monday, there’re less conflictin’ factors-”
“Excuse me.”
The voice was soft and somewhat deep, a mostly unfamiliar voice to Chica, and she straightened up to look at the group of friends watching them warily. Foxy’s mouth snapped shut with a painful-sounding clack, and Bonnie even from behind looked like a deer in the headlights. Chica noted briefly that Freddy wasn’t shocked at all as he calmly turned around to face the students they had just been talking about.
Fischbach cleared his throat and turned to look at Bonnie, specifically. “You’re in my seat,” he said, his expression wary but his tone civil. Chica scanned over the group’s faces, noting they all looked wary and somewhat suspicious, but none of them appeared disturbed or nervous.
They didn’t hear us, she realized, and almost immediately she felt her heartrate slow down. She hadn’t even noticed it spike. Thank goodness.
“Oh-right,” Bonnie muttered, appearing to finally come to his senses as he quickly slid out of the desk. Realizing she was sitting in Kain’s seat, Chica simply stood up and stepped back to her own sitting diagonally back from Kain’s and settled back down, just barely catching Bonnie’s short apology.
Chica watched as the group watched them all suspiciously- quizzically, even- before they slowly split up to take their seats. As Kain sat down, she threw Chica a suspicious glance, but her gaz was on the bear in front of her before Chica could even consider responding.
That was fine, though. Chica had nothing to say.
She hated to admit that she was at a complete loss at how to go forward.
“Chica, y’know food is for eatin’ and not awkwardly scootin’ ‘round your plate, right?”
Letting out a breath, she glanced up at Foxy, unimpressed. “I had no clue,” she deadpanned, watching the fox snort. “Besides, don’t single me out, Bonnie’s not eatin’ either.”
“That’s ‘cause he’s busy psychoanalyzin’ why little rabbit deigned to inform him he injured,” Goldie spoke up, glancing towards Bonnie. The rabbit in question just rolled his eyes at Goldie’s words, but he made no move to try and correct Goldie so Chica decided there must have been some truth to his words.
“Little rabbit?” Chica questioned, raising a brow at her friend. Goldie’s gaze passed over her shoulder towards the student athletes on her other side. “Ah, right.”
The bell overhead rang, and the students all began standing up. Chica packed away what was left of her lunch and followed suit, heading towards the art room with her friends. There was, of course, no doubt in her mind that there’d be no talking about it in the art studio; every day that week, Salvage’s group were always there long before lunch ended.
“I wonder what’s in store today,” Goldie mused aloud.
“No good, I’m sure,” Freddy answered without missing a beat. “Remember what he said yesterday? Don’t wear your good clothes. Ink stains.”
“What are we supposed to wear then, rags?” Chica snorted, glancing over at her friends. “My parents don’t make a habit of buying me “bad clothes” after all.”
“Mine used to,” Foxy hummed thoughtfully, grinning. “Remember the days o’ youth, lads and lass? When mud puddles were all the rage and jumping in the pond fully clothed was awesome.”
“You say that as if it’s not anymore,” Goldie joked, lightly elbowing the fox. “Come on, don’t even try to deny, you still jump in your swimming pool in your school clothes.”
“I plead the fifth,” Foxy sniffed mock-scornfully and Chica snorted, shaking her head. However, a glance at Goldie, Freddy, and Bonnie showed that none of them were even smiling.
Instead, the three shared an odd look, as though they had just realized something that neither Chica nor Foxy were privy to. She didn’t get a chance to ask before they reached the art studio and stepped inside.
Mr. Fritz was in the middle of the classroom, setting up a still life, and in the back corner the group of friends were huddled close together, each peering curiously at Salvage’s phone. They looked amused.
Chica glanced towards Foxy who in turn just shrugged, unsure of what to make of it, and they went to set up their easels around the still life. The short time passed and more people filed in, each setting their easels up in a chosen location, and as the bell for class rang Salvage slid his phone in his pocket and went to his own already-set-up easel.
His friends followed suit.
Kain seemed to be saying something to Fischbach, but Chica was unable to catch it from the other side of the studio. Mr. Fritz set his hands on his hips, looking around at all of them with a grin.
“Alright then,” he started as he usually did, “today’s lesson; negative space!” Chica raised a brow as immediately Rodriguez groaned and Kain covered her face with her hands. Salvage and Fischbach just shared a knowing look as Mangle snickered at their friends’ horror.
The rest of the class, like Chica, had no idea what- no, wait, Freddy doesn’t look confused. Dammit, he looked it up, didn’t he?
“Therefore,” the instructor continued, gesturing towards the still life. “You’re not drawing what you do see... but what you don’t see.”
There was a brief silence before someone, Chica wasn’t sure who, deadpanned, “What.”
Mr. Smith looked way too amused. “Take this for example,” he said, setting his hand on an oddly triangular- pyramidal?- vase sitting on top of what looked suspiciously like an industrial-sized toilet paper roll. “Under normal circumstances I would have you draw this,” he emphasized his words by tapping the side of the vase. “However, today you will draw this.” He moved his hand to the space between the vase and a candle, moving his finger around the empty space.
Across the room, Chica noticed that Salvage’s group had already begun drawing.
“So basically we draw the space between the objects?” she summarized amusedly, turning her attention back to the teacher.
“Exactly!” Mr. Smith flashed her a grin. “And to make things better,” he added, strolling over to a shelf next to the storage room, “you’ll be filling in the empty space... with ink.”
His declaration was met by silence. The human sighed dramatically. “Kids these days,” he muttered, picking a bottle of ink up. “Once you’ve drawn out the negative space, you’ll come over here and pour some of this liquid into a cup.” He tapped a clear plastic cup sitting next to the ink. “You’ll take a paintbrush and fill the negative space in with ink, but be careful- this stuff will ruin clothes.”
With that warning and little else said, the instructor walked away to do... who knows what.
Chica sighed and turned back to her paper, frowning. How do you draw what isn’t there? she asked herself, though she already knew the answer. Eying the still life, the chicken began sketching out what she saw- excuse me, what she didn’t see.
It was hardly a minute later that her easel jerked and Foxy yelped, tripping over the leg and startling Chica. Blinking, she watched as her backerboard practically leapt at Foxy, landing heavily on his back.
Then she noticed the ink.
Her eyes darted up towards the group across from them, all of whom turned pretty much as one to look at the commotion just to find the thick black liquid flying through the air towards them.
Why the hell were you already getting ink?! she mentally demanded of the fox, watching as Rodriguez and Blanc both dropped their pencils and darted away. Kain took the more risky approach of diving behind her taller friends, and strangely enough neither of them moved.
Then, before Chica could even blink, the ink hit its mark, spattering across Salvage and Fischbach’s clothes and even their fur in thin tendrils.
Beside Chica, someone began laughing. Unsure of what else she could do, Chica picked the board up off of Foxy’s back. As Freddy quickly stepped over to help Foxy to his feet Chica caught his Oh, shit.
Yeah, oh shit, she wanted to say, biting her tongue. We’re s’posed to be gettin’ on their good side!
Chica honestly wasn’t sure what to expect now, simply waiting to see how Salvage and Fischbach would respond. However, as Kain peeked out from behind them, Salvage simply looked at Fischbach, his surprise slipping into a small grin.
Immediately the chicken was struck dumb; He’s amused?
“Hey, Al,” the rabbit started casually, “you got a little somethin’ on your shirt.”
He’s making a joke of it.
She watched dumbfoundedly as Fischbach just smirked and tapped his cheek, obviously informing the rabbit without a single word about the spiderweb of ink across his cheek and eye. Salvage’s green eyes widened and his hand flew up to the exact location of the ink, and Chica realized he hadn’t even noticed it.
Salvage’s friends were grinning now, too, clearly amused by their friends’ plight. The chicken allowed herself to relax; they knew it was an accident. They weren’t mad. Foxy’s little trip hadn’t completely derailed everything before they even started.
“Well, Springtrap,” a familiar voice laughed from next to Chica, and instantly she tensed up again, glancing over towards Ashley Creol. The cheerleader was leering over towards the unpopular students, leaning on her easel as if it was cool. “Now you’ve got something to match that ugly scar, huh?”
There was a brief silence as Slavage’s friends returned to his side, glaring towards the cheerleader. Salvage’s own expression was rather blank, as though he wasn’t really affected by the insult, but even Fischbach and Kain were eying the cheerleader with ill-concealed anger.
Then something shocking happened.
“Yeah,” Rodriguez started, though his tone was obviously not in agreement as he sneered back at the cheerleader, eyes narrowed, “but it would match so much better with your dead black heart.”
Oh snap.
“If she even has one,” Blanc added with a snort, eying Creol. Chica glanced at the cheerleader, noticing her own smirk had slid away to be replaced with shock.
“True,” the blue rabbit gave, crossing his arms and staring Creol down. It was at that moment Chica was sure she knew what true hatred looked like, but then she glanced at the bruise lingering on the rabbit’s face- the bruise she hadn’t even noticed the day before- and rethought her observation. “Someone like her is nothing but an empty husk, anyway, feeding off of everyone else’s misery.”
There was a brief shocked silence. Chica just barely heard Bonnie mutter, “Damn, he’s never said anything like that about us.” It was true.
Was it ironic, she wondered, that Rodriguez would throw such a heavy insult at Creol when he wouldn’t throw that same insult at his, quote unquote, “worst enemy?”
“What did you say, you Mexican fuck?!”
Wait what the fuck did you just say?
Chica growled, “Excuse me?” under her breath. Mexican fuck, ya say? You insinuatin’ somethin’?!
“For the record,” Rodriguez drawled, “I’m Spanish, not Mexican. Learn geography!”
“Whatever,” Creol scoffed with absolutely no care at all, turning her nose up and looking at her perfectly manicured nails. Chica scowled deeply at her, the harsh gleam in her stare turning into a full-on glare. “You still speak a stupid language, anyway.”
The fuck, Creol? She took a lot of pleasure in imagining her fist in the human’s face; That’s my language and my ethnicity you’re insulting!
“I beg to differ,” she hissed, though it didn’t appear that Creol heard her.
Apparently, Rodriguez didn’t take too kindly to the insult to their shared mother tongue, either, as she heard him snarl. A quick glance showed him a step or two closer and Salvage’s hand on his shoulder, but now even Salvage was glaring at Creol.
It was satisfying at that moment to see so many glaring eyes directed at Creol, especially knowing it was well-earned.
Unable to continue his approach, the small rabbit settled for sneering at the cheerleader. “Oh please,” he started, his voice dripping with venom, “at least Spanish makes sense, English is so weird- it’s an amalgamation of different languages.” Chica couldn’t help but have slightly more respect for Rodriguez as he gasped mockingly towards the human, covering his mouth in feigned horror. He clearly did not care that Creol’s lackeys were staring at him angrily. “Oops, sorry, I forgot- bimbos don’t know big words like amalgamation!”
Personally, Chica mused, she herself would have thrown in some Spanish. Just to add insult to injury to the cheerleader. And to watch her squirm in discomfort.
But that was just what Chica would do.
Creol fell out of her haughty pose, her cheeks flushed a rather disturbing shade of puce. “I will-” she started, but then suddenly Mr. Fritz was there and when did he even leave?
“That’s enough, you two!” he interrupted, not quite shouting as he glared between Rodriguez and Creol. Immediately both parties backed down, what seemed like a potential fight dispersing with those four angry words. “Act your age, all of you!”
Chica bit her tongue to keep from spitting out, When she grows up maybe.
“Sorry, Mr. Smith,” Salvage immediately spoke up, pulling Rodriguez back beside him. “Won’t happen again.”
Rodriguez muttered something, Chica noticed, but Fischbach was the only one who acknowledged him with a slight glare that clearly said “shut up.”
Mr. Smith turned his attention to the entire class, saying, “Get back to work, all of you. Mr. Salvage, Mr. Fischbach, if you need to go home and change clothes, you’re excused.” Notably, neither Animal made a motion to leave. Mr. Smith’s gaze fell on Foxy and Chica could have sworn she heard the fox squeak dreadfully. “No more accidents, Mr. Jones.”
“R-right, got it,” Foxy agreed quickly, nervously.
“Ms. Sanchez,” Mr. Smith suddenly said, and she tensed up as that ticked gaze landed on her, “secure your backerboard properly, and Ms. Creol, easels are not for leaning!” Chica glanced down, realizing the backerboard was still in her hands. Quickly she set it back on her easel and turned to look at Sanchez, scowling and opening her mouth to tell the girl off. “Mr. Fazbear, get that smirk off your face, and Ms. Sanchez, whatever you’re about to say; don’t.”
Chica’s beak snapped shut and she settled for glaring at the cheerleader. Then, without a single extra word, Mr. Smith whirled around and stalked back across the room.
The air was tense at best and Chica scowled, turning to properly secure her backerboard this time. Then, too quietly for Mr. Smith to catch, she muttered to the human, “For the record, Creol, Spanish is my first language. And I was born in Mexico.”
She turned away from the human to look at her drawing again. No one else said a word.
“That fucking bitch,” Chica immediately burst out the moment the door was closed. That day it was Freddy in the driver seat. “Who the hell does she think she is?!”
“Calm down, Chica,” Bonnie started, though his tone clearly stated that he wasn’t any happier about this than she was. “Creol’s a moron but no need to call for her head on a platter.”
“Oh we’ll see about that,” Chica hissed, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms. “So much for speaking to them today, by the way.”
“Oi!” Foxy immediately protested, leaning forward from his place in the back. “I was afraid of gettin’ punched or somethin’! It looked like Rodriguez was ready to claw the human’s eyes out, and I’m the one who started that mess!”
“I think they knew you trippin’ was an accident,” Freddy sighed, glancing into the rearview mirror. “They were amused right up until Creol started talkin’.”
“But hell, I was not expecting them to actually respond to her,” Bonnie sighed, shaking his head.
“Uh, hello?” Chica started, looking at her friends exasperatedly. “The bitch is a racist, if you ask me they should have responded with ink to her face!”
“Isn’t that racist?” Foxy muttered, and he very pointedly ignored the glare Chica sent his way.
“That is not what I meant, Foxy, and you know it,” she growled, more than a little ticked off at him for the comment.
“Right, sorry, I shouldn’t’ve said that,” Foxy agreed, holding his hands up placatingly.
“To be honest I was kinda hopin’ she’d trip and fall in the ink on the floor,” Freddy admitted, pulling out onto the road. “And I was thinkin’ maybe, y’know, this is the final straw kind’a thing.”
“I really don’t want to associate with a racist,” Goldie deadpanned, perfectly summing up everything the five of them were thinking. “But we do need to think about this rationally, guys.”
“I am,” Chica snarked, crossing one leg over the other and looking out the window. “Not sure if you’ve noticed this, Goldie, but I just happen to be Mexican,” she added sarcastically.
“Yes, I am aware, Chica,” Goldie assured her, “and you’ve got every right to give her the cold shoulder and even tell her to fuck off.”
“Then what’s the problem there?”
“It wasn’t aimed at you?” Foxy suggested, though his tone clearly said I know that’s no excuse.
“Doesn’t matter, racist is racist,” she stated matter-of-factly.
“Well... yeah, you’re right,” Goldie agreed with a sigh, unable to refute her words. “I-”
“How about,” Bonnie interrupted suddenly, “we talk about something else. Not related to Creol, not related to Rodriguez and them, not related to school.”
“That seems to be all we’ve talked about this week,” Freddy observed from his place in the front, and Chica let out a soft sigh because about that they were definitely right.
“Sunday,” she started, looking back towards them. “Y’all wanna go to the park Saturday, so what’s on the planner Sunday?”
“We could go swimmin’ at our house,” Goldie suggested, looking over the shoulder of his seat. “If it’s not rainin’ we can retract the awning.”
“If it’s rainin’, swimmin’ don’t sound like a good idea,” Freddy snorted, shaking his head. “How about if it’s sunny we swim and if it’s rainin’ we, I dunno, go to the bowlin’ alley or stay in and watch a movie?”
Bonnie coughed a few times, and Chica raised a brow at him as he said, “Jam session.”
“Smooth,” she complimented, leaning forwards with a smirk. “And totally inconspicuous.” Bonnie just grinned back at her, flicking an ear over his shoulder.
“I know, I’m the best at that,” he joked and Chica snorted along with Foxy, leaning back again. “No but seriously, jam session.”
“You always vote jam session,” Goldie sighed dramatically. “Do ya ever want to do anythin’ else?”
“Nope!”
Chica couldn’t help but laugh at her friend’s matter-of-fact answer, shaking her had at the goofy little grin on his face. Honestly, there are people scared of this silly rabbit? She couldn’t imagine ever being scared of him... but then again, she was one of the few people allowed to see him with that ridiculously cheesy grin of his.
She was suddenly reminded of the time he threw her in the swimming pool when they were twelve... fun times. She was, as Miss Mattie-Mae and the Fazbears had said later, “spittin’ mad” and chased him throughout the entire Fazbear manor, only stopping when they both ran straight into “papa Fazbear” as they had always affectionately called him.
The other three boys were practically dying of laughter out by the pool. She rectified that by pushing them all in when they least expected it.
It was glorious.
“What are you thinkin’ about, Chica?”
Blinking, Chica realized she was grinning and Bonnie was looking at her with a raised brow. In front of them the twins were talking about something or other, and Foxy looked as though his attention was split between them, Bonnie and Chica, and the world passing by outside his window.
“Eh,” she started dismissively, “just remembering that summer day when we were twelve.”
“Which summer day?” the rabbit asked conversationally, settling back in his seat. A quick glance out the window showed Chica they were, once again, headed to the Fazbear’s home.
“Y’know, that time you threw me in the pool and I chased you through the house,” she expanded, turning her gaze back to him. “And then you just stood there and watched me push these three cretins in.”
“Who’s a cretin now?” Freddy immediately asked and Chica snorted, glancing at the suddenly-attentive bears in the front seats.
“Of course you’d tune in for that,” Bonnie laughed, looking towards the driving bear.
“I remember that day,” Foxy sighed happily from behind Bonnie. “What a fun day that was.”
“Except that Chica was wearin’ white,” Goldie snorted. “Lookin’ back on it-”
“If ya wanna be able to talk later, Goldie, I suggest ya shut up,” Chica warned him, though her threat was empty. She would never hurt her friends, and they all knew that.
Still, Goldie just laughed. “Got it,” he assured her, throwing her a mock salute through the side mirror. She grinned.
She really loved her brothers.