Chapter Text
Two rays of light flicker open in the shaded depths of the cramped expanse. One in like a deep shade of caramel, and one in a layer of cream. A groan escapes from the man's mouth as he massages his temples lightly with calloused digits, shifting over to his side as he gets up. His one good eye searches the room for a nearby glass of that undoubtedly tainted liquid you'd call water. (Suspiciously always leaving a scent of rust within the crevices of the man's teeth.) Though, I suppose it would make sense seeing that it is almost impossible to find a clean source of H2O in such a place like this.
Another restless night, it seems it had been for him.
Tobias forces his body to sit up straight, stretching his arms before he reaches for the cabinet drawer; the rusty springs inside his mattress groan in a disapproving manner.
He pulls out a pill bottle of his needed medication, twisting the cap with tainted, bandaged fingers, using more of his energy than what he would've liked; swallowing the plastic-like textured capsules dry. Possibly forgetting, or just not caring, about the half-empty, (Or half full, depending on how you view it.) glass of water sitting right beside him on top of his worn down, wooden cabinet.
His bedroom was his only place of rest. Indoors at least. As the rest of the manor that he has grown accustomed to isn't the most delightful scene most of the time. With the familiar copper tint staining the couch's leather covers, tears and seams gouging through the material due to the everlasting bound time has on everything that is made of matter and life. (And also in causation from Seed Eater's likely visits.) The normalized scent of corpses coming from the basement below. It's almost charming, and iconically... Creepy. Unsettling.
With a click of his tongue, Tobias drags his form upward to get off the bed, snatching a nearby shirt that had probably not been washed in a time too long to be considered hygienic, and pulling on a dusty-Navy blue hooded sweatshirt along the way before slipping on over top of it his leather coat that had been rimmed with a native wolf's fur. The fabric had been used harshly over the years - with dried blood tarnishing the surface and with divergent stitches coming apart in few partitions of the cloth, with burn marks clear around the edges of its sleeves.
The man makes sure to zip the jacket up high to mask his form from the bitter cold of the country's upcoming Winter. It would definitely not bother him much for him not to do this, but the Slender Man had already shown its dislike on setbacks possible injuries may cause on his best workers. So, he decides it'd be best to simply go with what it says.
Additionally, frostbite sure does not seem all that desirable, even if he would not be able to feel the physical effects of it all.
Tobias' gaze shifts over to a desk. It was plain. There was nothing much contaminating its surface but his orange-tinted goggles and metal cage-like muzzle that normally would rest over top the bottom half of his face. He takes it within his grip and buckles the straps of his accessories tight on his head, adjusting it correspondingly.
His boots sit obediently beside the doorway. It is made out of the same leather and is of a savory, caramel brown. He slips in his covered feet inside and ties it swiftly. He always had placed his footwear around the same area ever since he was a boy. (One of the few memories he had been allowed to keep of his past.) So upon sighting it, a feeling of sorrow nostalgia always seems to fall upon him.
A white noise suddenly enters his hearing - sending a deafening shrill into his eardrums.
Tobias grunts, a knowing thought lodging into his mind, and one of his hands reacts involuntary to raise itself against his ears. It drops almost as quickly as it appeared.
He takes a few steps and reaches the door, his now leather-cladded grip wrapped around the silver door knob as his fingers intertwined with the cold, metal surface, twisting it open.
The door creaked - fighting against the grimed hinges as it slowly opened to reveal more of the wooden cabin. It was relatively small and reeked of moist timber.
Timothy and Brian had already been waiting it seemed, seeing that they were already in the room.
Tobias meets eyes with a familiar pair of hazel and blue, exchanging a look between the other.
"Right." Timothy - who had been leaning against the door frame leading outside - takes a final puff of his cigarette before speaking, signalling with a thumb out for, them, as a whole to go out. "Rodgers, you're in the back."
As per usual.
The least eldest man complains in his mind against the other's decision - but could only make a scene of rolling his eyes. Tobias knew well enough that vocalizing his thoughts would only cause trouble, so he decides to be silent. For the time being, at least.
Tobias slings the casing of his hatchet over his shoulder as the Autumn leaves crunch beneath his boots and Brian follows in pursuit.
It was a bumpy ride for the most part, but it was nothing that Tobias wasn't already used to. It hadn't taken much time for the trio to arrive at the manor. (Mostly because Tobias fell asleep for most of the entire trip, but, alas.)
They were here.
Timothy parks the vehicle next to a nearby Ponderosa pine, taking the keys out from the ignition lock cylinder and shoving it into the pocket of his jeans.
The masked individuals exit the white truck; with Timothy leading.
They walk nearer to the first aperture before the manor.
The edges of the gate were sharp; pointed and angled in a way to look as if it belonged in the jaws of a fanged creature - with intricate patterns molded into the hard silver, glistening in the expanse of the star-ridden sky.
Timothy pushes the metal gates open, it creaking wide and revealing more sight of the Slender Man's lovely abode.
The stench of rotting wood accompanied by the smell of the newly drenched blades of grass harrasses the men's nostrils and are reminded of the familiarity of home.
Tobias sighs inwardly with a heavy heave, gravitating further into his exhaustion with every step closer to the manor's doors, wet gravel making a grueling sound from under the soles of his boots.
A leather-cladded group of digits press against the dark wood, and it opens obediently wide. The smell of rust greets him first rather than the individuals within, silence, coming second.
"Home sweet home,." Timothy says with a disconnected groan-like sigh, stepping and taking over the former's path.
Home sweet home.
I wonder what new adventures the next hour may bring?
Only time will tell.