Chapter Text
SLAM! The overhanging metal door slams to the ground. The power of the deafening impact causes waves of air to hurl the toons in the elevator. Loose candies and tapes fly out of pockets, Poppy attempts and fails a roll, tumbling to the ground, and Shrimpo is launched owing to his small stature but is saved by Boxten, who pulls Shrimpo overhead to cushion his fall. It works, and the prize is uncontrollable wheezing. All for a toon who can't express gratitude to save his life. Wonderful.
The difficulty of getting a good sucking breath endures even when the physical weight is removed. His chest is continuously crushed by an unseen weight. His body curls up against a wall as he hacks up a storm. He keeps kicking the wall with his foot so he can do something, anything, physically. Boxten goes to the point behind his head but is interrupted since the intended task has already been completed. The metal crank is turned, restoring bodily functioning to a semi-normal state.
“Aw gee. Thanks Po-” Boxten sees who it is and quickly switches mid-route, “Shrimpo. Shrimpo. Thanks, Shrimpo.”
Lo and behold, it was Shrimpo standing behind him, wounding the level. The original target is collecting dropped items and tapes. Boxten's gaze falters, and he gives a feeble thumbs up in compensation. Shrimpo focuses his gaze. A scowl is already etched upon the face. But there's no ranting, yelling, or anything. At most, Boxten receives a punch to the shoulder.
“I hate you for being stupid. But I hate it less than falling on the floor.” Shrimpo turns away, going to pick his and only his items. He doesn’t care about the rest.
The bandage is not among the fallen items. Despite kicking away items and escalating search among abandoned bandage boxes and medkits, it hasn’t shown up. It's annoying enough that he has to worry about it, but the fact that he wasted time looking for nothing and looked stupid in the process makes it worse. Fury and demanding to know where it was would often be the first step. But, honestly, the amount of ichor shed and the sheer amount of anguish undergone make it hardly worthwhile. On numerous occasions, it almost resulted in the loss of others. The main issue is that losing Poppy and Boxten is more nerve-racking than anything else. An emotion that transcends annoyance. Finn is a friend. But he feels genuine respect for those two. Sure, they are still annoying and whiny and everything. But, going through hundreds of runs with them, and being the first toon they saved, is something he cannot shake off. He finds himself… caring about them, even when they aren’t around.
Jeez. This endless hell is significantly reducing the edge the TV series required.
Behind him there are soft taps on the floor. A hand on his shoulder stops him before he can turn around. Adjusting her dress, Poppy kneels while peeling off the adhesive bandage. She’s had it. After hundreds of runs where injury is almost guaranteed, actively oozing ichor is no longer as frightening. Poppy expertly covers Shrimpo's back wound. Shrimpo shivers by the colorful material that sticks on the skin, although it doesn’t last.
“Man, I never thought we’d actually beat the big 100! This is totally grounds for celebration,” Poppy says.
Shrimpo is kicking the hatch Dandy usually pops out of. “YOU BETTER GIVE ME GOOD ITEMS OR ELSE!” Same insult as before.
Boxten remains seated, rubbing his stomach and actually breathing correctly. Poppy sits next to him. She plops the collected items in front of them and gestures like she’s serving a grand buffet.
The elevator crawls endlessly down the shaft. They can hear metal grinding against metal, cogs creaking at work, and medical hum fluttering all about them. Dingy interiors endure as depths reveal deeper graves each time. There is visible rust in the elevator's corners.
Routine has become a big thing post-shutdown. Routine helps stave off insanity. Some use it, others crave it. No in-between. Given this, it's reasonable to assume that good memorization will follow. So, when Dandy does not emerge from the hatch after around three seconds, heads turn.
Shrimpo is a little taken aback by Dandy's absence, but it doesn’t stop him from stomping right away. The louder volume is the sole change. Poppy stands up to have a closer look at the hatch. Boxten does the same. With differing intensities, the three eye the hatch.
“WHERE ARE YOU? I HATE WAITING FOR YOU! WHY ARE YOU BEING—“
Stomp. An ear-grating metallic sound bounces off the walls. Surroundings scratch and shake together. The elevator's gears twist like someone straining to open a pickle jar. The elevator twitches, unsure whether to turn up and keep going down. As a reflex, Poppy yanks Shirmpo back to make sure he has the railing. He screams at her at yanking him, but he does stick to the railing.
An anticipation game begins. Things have the potential to fully collapse with every twitch. There is a danger that someone could shatter every time metal shreds. They might hear a snap and plummet at any time. Poppy can feel Boxten cling to her arm.
They wait, and wait, and wait for something to happen. Anything to break the silence.
Clink.
Weightlessness. Then, it drops.