Occurrences with Bomb duo (TFF fanfic)

Relaxation Is Based On Preference

Bryan had a little disgusted face, his fingers pointed at the glass as he peeked at the ice cream inside the container of the shop he had planned for Molten to take over when the park was open before Bryan had gone insane and ended up dead inside a suit. He seemed confused over the fact the ice cream remained standing there without anyone to supervise with health precautions instilled into their head like a script retold by an actor on broadway.

It wasn't long before he backed up from basically shoving his face into the glass, before looking next to him, Molten standing just as close as before, invading Bryan's personal space as usual, typical of the bear. He was also observing the leftover ice cream in the freezing temperatures after months of isolation and avoidance from Molten over Bryan's death, he seemed to bore his eyes at it like it had killed someone he loved by choking them.

"How long has this ice cream been here for?" The brunette had questioned Molten if like had any idea of the precise time with the duration the frozen milk has been here, unmaintained without his watchful eye, bored, looking at it without scoffing at the idea of Bryan trying to make him maintain a shop, in a stupid pink outfit. It was a bad idea but amusing

"Two years." He still stared at the ice cream before amusingly glancing at Bryan and his reaction to the park slipping through the cracks of maintenance when he was moved, no one to inspect the food or the animatronics, no one to check up on Molten. But that's all in the past, the present was a clipboard as they both went around the park, checking or writing down things to focus on when rebuilding the new future of their aforementioned home.

"Oh god. We need to throw this out, now." Bryan had almost yelled, right next to molten's ears, as he stepped away even further from the ice cream like it was preparing to pounce at him like an animatronic jump scaring a night guard, on edge with and seemingly appearing to question what it smelled like, before almost gagging on the imaginary smell. What a moron, but he was a funny moron.

"You can do that, I'm not touching that thing, even if I'm dead." Molten had almost laughed at him, before going down to the table's chair and sitting down, looking at his boss write down, supposedly for someone to throw away the ice cream that questionly, feels rotten but looked pristine. It was a peculiar concept to grasp for those who were not in the food industry for quite a period, a thing to overlook.

"Alright then, I think that's it. Do you think we need anything else?" Bryan was waving the pen back and forth between his fingers, evidently brainstorming of anything else he could put down the remainder of the 3 pages they needed to look out for. Examining through them all, skimming narrowly as he gauged the costs in his mind for what they required in the bare minimum into the subsequent repairs and check-ups in labor expenditures. It seemed to take a while before Bryan had evidently given up and put a small number based on the expenses of what he counted out on the corner of the page, underlining it for importance later on.

Molten gestured for the clipboard in Bryan's hands, before being handed it, and trying to survey it himself to try to determine anything they'd missed, it was a precaution for him and Bryan, both agreeing on it beforehand, a long time ago. As Molten signaled for the page to go upwards as he continued to survey the other page when he held the clipboard, Bryan skimmed out his phone from his pocket and proceeded to click some buttons before concentrating back on Molten.

"What was that? On the phone?" Molten had called out, not looking over the clipboard, not finding the need to as he continued to examine everything they needed, before gesturing again but with the pen, before crossing something out and writing next to it. A little proud over his pen-men ship while stumbling to maintain the pen in his hands, a small too undersized to impersonate Bryan in his movements and habits, to twirl the tiny pen in his large claws.