Dawn Chorus (Proxies x Reader)

Rabbit

"How does this place have water and electricity?"

I haven't used my voice at all since he broke my arm. It sounds mousy, weak. I'm unsure in using it, the amount of effort and air it takes to push out clear words, causing my volume to fluctuate between syllables. Masky slowly opens his eyes. His head falls back, and he stares at the ceiling. The shrug is small, almost unnoticeable.

"Don't know. Don't question it." It's a statement, not a command.

"Does it get fixed when you lose power?"

"Yeah."

"Someone must own this place."

"No shit. No one ever comes to check." He lets his head roll to the side to smirk at me. "Why? Hoping for a rescue party, sweetheart?"

"No, just don't want to freeze to death when winter hits." I pull my knees up to my chest, as much as I can with my arm in the way. The next words spill out before I can question where the thoughts come from, "place is probably owned by another puppet anyways, no one who'd help me. Has me thinking your boss has a lot of workers and you guys got the shit end of the stick with the jobs."

There is a beat of silence, then he scoffs. "What has you thinking that?"

"I don't know." I chew my cheek, pick at the carpet, try to shut myself up fruitlessly. "A single functional, well-maintained cabin conveniently stocked with fresh food when you got back kind of screams someone else helping you, someone with money. Hard to manipulate this world without it."

Bitterness seeps into my voice, into my veins. I'm not sure where it comes from, but it runs deep and hot through my body like it has always been there and I'm just now acknowledging it.

"Are you speaking from experience?"

If Masky had asked, it would be mocking, but the questions comes out cold, genuine, maybe even a bit accusatory from Hoodie. He stands in the threshold of the hall, no mask on. It's rare to see him without a mask. The emptiness in his eyes unsettles me. His mask seems more like his face than the human one staring me down, the cold smile twitching on his lips.

"Yes, I've experienced poverty," I mutter.

He cocks his head to the side, a flash of emotion shifting through his eyes. That isn't what he meant. I know that isn't what he meant, but I won't play into their insistence that I'm not human. It's all I've ever been. Monsters are just keen on seeing other monsters in normal people.

"How old are you?" Hoodie asks.

"Three," I snap back before I can think better of it.

Masky snorts. He roughly ruffles the hair he told me not to re-tangle. I flinch from the sudden touch.

"Yeah, you are a fucking toddler," he says.

Hoodie starts to walk into the living room. I try not to flinch at each step, not recoil as he draws near. He drops into the chair rather heavily. Even that motion is unnaturally quiet. Was he the one stifling all noise in the forest, not his boss? He leans forward and down to get his face near mine. I regret sitting on the floor.

"I think you're very old," Hoodie says lowly.

I jerk back at that, no longer able to hold myself still. I sneer at him. Masky snorts again, mild amusement across his face. The amusement flickers some when our eyes meet and he quickly looks away.

"Stop tormenting her, Brian. I don't feel like dealing with a brat when you set her off," Masky grumbles.

They sometimes call each other those human names in the house. I don't dare. I try not to refer to them at all really. A thick silence settles. Hoodie leans back in the chair, and Masky closes his eyes again. He looks exhausted, heavy bags under his eyes and a slump through his entire body, but a slight smile curls at the edge of his lips. A weird tension had been flickering through the cabin since our arrival. It finally seems to be leaking away. Maybe that's why Hoodie is maskless right now, though Toby has said Hoodie is normally wearing his mask, even to sleep. Hurried footsteps come from the kitchen.