(Y/P/F) - Your Pride Flag (including Ally)
"What was that, Y/N?"
You coughed, a blush burning into your ears. You had been working here at the Pizza Plex for months and yet you still got edgy when you talk to any of the other employees, let alone the manager.
"Um..." You pressed your hands together in an attempt to hide how shaky they were. "I was wondering if there was any way... um... to give me a different job in the Pizzaplex?"
Olive sucked her teeth, twirling her sparkly gold pen in her fingers.
"Another job..." She chuckled, her glasses catching the light, "Y/N, you are a funny one. Why would you want a new job? You have one here already and that's a whole lot more than most can say."
"I know, that's true." the aggressive tapping of your shoe on the ground echoed around you, "But you see, I've been stuck as the janitor for a very long time, and-" You swallowed down on the lump in your throat, "I wanted something... different, you know. Something to challenge me."
Cocking an eyebrow, Olive leaned forward in her chair. "Doesn't cleaning toilets challenge you enough?"
Ouch. Not fair.
Time to shake off those nerves and play dirty.
"Last time I checked, your understaffed, overworked, out of cash and you've got Fazbear Entertainment crawling up your ass-" Olive blinked "-So maybe it would be a wise choice to consider keeping me. Because here's the catch; if I don't get this promotion, my hours left working here are..." You mock-calculated it on your fingers, "zero."
The effect was perfect. Olive didn't know that talking trash was your way to battle anxiety, and as surprising as it was you now felt a lot more in control. Your body knew how stressed you got when someone fired at you and their coping mechanism was firing right back.
The Manager tapped her long matte black nails on the desk, her tongue in her cheek. God, it was too quiet. Did you take it too far? Were you about to be fired? You wiped your hands on your shirt, your palms sticky with sweat; The lone fan on Olive's desk did nothing to stifle the heat of a no-window office in the heat of summer.
Olive's eyes slid from yours to her computer. She smiled softly. She even chuckled.
"You're a feisty one, L/N," She crooned, her nails clacking on the computer keys busily, "I guess I could try find you a spot somewhere else," Olive vigorously chewed her gum, "but there's no guarantee. She went quiet again, frowning at the screen.
"Aha!" She cracked her knuckles, "Seems like there might be a few spots available for someone with your..." She looked you up and down, "...expertise."
"There are?" You sat up higher in your chair, ignoring that jab.
"Mhm." Olive continued on clacking, occasionally pushing up her glasses, "First option; animatronic mechanic."
You twisted the ring on your finger, "Next?"
"Second; Waiter/ress."
"Hard pass."
"Third," Olive smiled that all-knowing smile that always made you so nervous, "Bonnie Bowl assistant."
You were silent.
Olive shrugged. "That's too bad, Y/N. It's the only spot left. Of course, you could always go back to being a janitor; much better suited for you, I think. A lot more your style."
You glared down at your shorts, your previous confidence dead at the pit of your stomach. This was all Olive's fault! She had used her voo-doo banshee magic on you and had tricked you! There had to be something else, another way. You were twenty one years old - when someone asked you where you worked how could you bring yourself to say that you scrubbed dicks off of bathroom walls?
