𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚟𝚎 💔 || ☒

F Ø U R

Meanwhile, downstairs, Google and Dark continued thier little feud, both having thier own touch of beating.

Dark had a split in his brow, and dark purple plotches on his cheek bones. Google had oil drizzling down from one of his nostrils and he had coughed up some grease earlier.

Both were tired and just wanted it to end, but Dark was stubborn, and Google had not been told his task was complete. The two went for more blows, that's when Chef decided that was enough, as he got in the middle of the two. "Will you cut it out!?"

The two fell back, but neithers tence stance fell, Dark sending knifes in his glare and Googles hollow eye's bored into his.

"This has been going on for 4 hours! Give. it. a. rest!!" Chef shouts, clearly done with the two's behavior. "I cannot stand down til my task is deemed complete." Google informs, eye contact with Dark not braking.

"Ok Google, task complete." Chef said quickly, siging in relief as he heard the chime, signaling Google was in free control. Dark huffed, tugging his suit dramatically, wyping his brow. Feeling the wound, he closed his eye's for a second.

The wound and bruises were healed as soon opend his crimson eyes glistening with annoyance.

"Thank you." Chef thanks them both. Dark rolled his eye's, glancing around, only then noticing, "where's Mark?"

The others stayed silent, either out of fear or not wanting to fight, or both. Dark growled and grasped the collor of Chef's button up, "where the hell did you put him?" "I haven't touched him since you to started fighting." Chef argues.

Just as Dark was about to swing at the cook, a chime of the door bell caused him to halt his actions.

They all glanced at the door, some curious, some confused, and Dark being flat out annoyed. He truggs over to the door, fixing his hair and tux.

He clasps the handle, twisting and swinging the door open, greeted with a familiar and simular face. "Hello, I am Doctoriplier." The doc greets. Dark scowls at the man, "why are you here?"

"Please, calm down, I'm here on house call by Mr. Warfstache" the doctor explains, showing his information card he filled in during the call.

Dark snatched the paper's and read over them. Growling, he shoved them to the doc's chest, "whatever."

"Wait-- where's Wilford?" Cat brings up that the pink mustache man was also not present. I wear a scowl and march to Google, grasping his shirt, "ok Google, where are Mark and Wilford?" He sighs, "geust room 6"

The demon growls, fire in his eye's, stomping his way up the stairs, the doctor following close behind.

He slammed the door open, startling awake both men in bed. Crimson eye's glared hatefully at the two cuddled up together, one's arms around the other protectively, bring them close to thier chest.

The crimson soon changed and faded into an empty black void of nothing, thick veins pulsing out the neck, anger fueling his mind. He lunged for the two, but was cut off by a swift kick to the gaw, knocking him back. He growls, glaring daggers.

The pink mustache and raven gamer hurled off the bed, one being much more protective of the other.

This only boiled more anger inside the demon, going for a nother lunge, but stopped himself when met with the nose of a golden hand gun. He growls, Wilford pulled his gun out, for protection of corse.