Chapter Text
Typically, Builderman was far more invested in the annual Halloween party. It was strange, he thought, since everything was either the same or improved upon. He swore that brand of overly-sweet fruit punch he’d been served was far more pungent last year. As much as he tried, the most he could muster for a costume was a nametag that read: “Hello, my name isn’t Builderman.” And, even though he was enjoying himself, his mind couldn’t help but nag about something underneath the flashing lights and layers of voices surrounding him. Shedletsky. Builderman watched his friend arrive from across the lower floor of the main hall, silently recalling his odd behaviour over the past couple of months.
It started in August. Shedletsky no longer kept the blinds in his office open, or left the building for lunch anymore. Whenever they meandered the sunny corridors of Roblox HQ, it seemed like he was uncomfortable with his surroundings somehow. Plus, he barely ate, opposed to his usual bottomless snacking. In September, it got even worse. The wings on his head–remnants of his days as Telamon–grew tethered. The new feathers seemed to be darker in color. They were the sort you’d see on a crow, bearing no resemblance to the other, older feathers they grew on top of. Builderman hoped it wasn’t a sign of illness that he’d been concealing. Then came October. Shedletsky, usually a vibrant addition to the workspace, seemed tired, pale, and plain boring. Erik remarked on it just a couple of hours ago, and although he hadn’t mentioned it, Builderman was almost certain Dusekkar was keeping a close eye on Shedletsky (given his observant nature). Though, not everything was abnormal, with Shedletsky being excited about this year’s party. However, that didn’t ease Builderman’s concerns.
Builderman’s focus returned back to Shedletsky, who was only just beginning to take in his surroundings after his arrival. Builderman waded through the sea of familiar faces towards him. The main hall was the most crowded area of the whole property, and it took a while for Shedletsky to notice him amongst the noise. Shedletsky eventually did, and Builderman watched as a soft smile grew across his face. As Shedletsky pushed his way through, Builderman noticed he looked more content than he had in weeks. The two met in the middle of the floor, slightly dazed from the chaos.
Shedletsky studied Builderman’s lazy costume. It was only that silly nametag on top of his usual orange vest and work clothes. “That’s all you could come up with?”
Builderman scoffed, adjusting his hard hat. “Give me a break. You know how busy I am whenever there’s a new quarter starting up. I guess you’re a…”
His eyes began to trail Shedletsky’s tall figure. He was wearing a brown, worn-in jacket over a blue dagger-collared shirt. Though he still looked tired underneath his current expression, his eye bags and discolored face blended in with his new appearance.
Shedletsky smiled with his teeth this time, revealing his fake fangs. Though, Builderman wondered how he was able to fit them so neatly over his real teeth. “Vampire. Not as goofy as last year’s chicken suit.”
“I suppose so,” Builderman nodded, “Say, aren’t those fangs hard to speak with?”
Shedletsky shrugged in reply. “Not really. Feels natural.”
Builderman scratched his head just below his helmet, humming in affirmation. “Well, thanks a bunch for letting us use the manor, as always. Hope the clean up won’t trouble you too much.”
“Nah, it's fine. I don’t live here full-time, and even if I did, it's all taken care of for me. Besides, this’ll be epic”
“You got that right. Follow me. I can show ya the food.” Builderman began to lead Shedletsky off towards the dining hall. The entryway was wedged between a set of spiral staircases. Much like the rest of the mansion, it was breathing with life and crammed with vivid halloween decor framed by moonlight shining in from the stained glass windows. However, it was considerably quieter without the music. Inside, catered dishes to choose from lined a long, narrow table; garlic knots, chips, candy corn, fruit punch, Bloxy Cola, and a stack of pizza from Builder Brothers’ Pizzeria, and more–a whole delicious assortment. It was more than enough to feed the couple hundred Robloxians in attendance. Builderman had already helped himself, but he figured more idle snacking wouldn't hurt, and they’d come across their coworkers eventually. The night was still somewhat young, after all.
As the pair walked ahead, Builderman was the first to notice Mr.Doombringer. He was hunched over awkwardly at the near-end of the dining table, hovering around the crab rangoons. The gentle giant had his back facing them as they approached.
“Enjoying yourself there?” Builderman inquired.
Somewhat startled, Doombringer swivelled to face them. His face was painted with scars, and he had fake brains and blood scattered on the surface of his worn shirt and pants–quite an admirable zombie costume. He held at least three crab rangoons in each hand, and had even more in his mouth. Muffled, he choked out, “It’s not brains, but it’ll do.”
“So you are. Good,” Shedletsky began, “Wait, Doom, are you doing that thing you used to do where–”
Doombringer swallowed swiftly, eyes darting back and forth. “I’m trying to see how many I can snag before someone notices."
“That may not be the healthiest idea,” Builderman suggested, wincing.
“No no, not eating right now. Just taking!” Doombringer unsheathed a plastic container from inside his cloak.
Shedletsky let out a chuckle. Builderman glanced over in the direction of the gentle sound. It wasn’t much, but it soothed Builderman’s worries. He looked like he was having a good time. Maybe Shedletsky was finally starting to resolve whatever had been going on within himself. The pit in Builderman’s stomach almost started to shrink.
“Speaking of eating,” A familiar, soft voice spoke from behind, “Happy trick or treating, I suppose. Though, I won’t be feasting. The pumpkin treats are rather emotionally depleting.”
The voice originated from a mildly agitated Dusekkar, whose face was painted orange instead of its usual blue. He slouched with his arms crossed over a puffy, hysterically neon orange faux-fur cloak, glaring at the nearby pumpkin pie as Merely awkwardly served himself a slice. In contrast, a proud Brighteyes trailed behind the wizard with a gleaming grin, her bloodied mock wedding dress flowing behind them both. “His costume was my doing!” she proclaimed. The group gawked at her corpse bride costume, desensitized to Dusekkar’s hilarity already. Out of all the costumes–maybe aside from Shedletsky’s (bonus points for realism)–Builderman reckons she has one of the best. He turned to his employee, eager to make a sarcastic jab at their lower effort in contrast to others. Builderman glanced over at Shedletsky, and was caught off guard by what he saw.
Shedletsky didn’t look good. At all. He steadied himself on the side of the table, wobbling and stance askew. His eyes flickered between Brighteyes and the floor in front of him, a reflection of whatever panic had suddenly dawned upon him. Although the others couldn’t hear it, Builderman observed as his breathing grew quicker. He looked like he was seasick, despite not having moved, and being fine just moments ago.
“Shedletsky, are you…” Builderman trailed off, resisting the concern which threatened to seep through his voice. “...having fun?”
The frail man nodded briefly, then let go of the table and attempted to stand upright, only somewhat succeeding. Shedletsky’s wings twitched nervously as he steadied himself and bore a feigned smile. It didn’t soothe the confused expressions of those around him.
“Yup, as epic as always.” He managed to squeak out.
Cautiously, Builderman reached out to touch his shoulder. “Are you sure you’re–”
Shedletsky turned to leave, hunched with his hands in his pockets. “I’m gonna go bug Luke or something.”
Builderman scoffed.
“Wait! Don’t you wanna try a garlic knot!?” Doombringer exclaimed, the aforementioned item clutched in his death grip, held proudly over their heads.
Shedletsky ignored him, and wandered off into the crowd.
The group sat in silence, mild confusion creating an awkward tension. However, it was snapped by Doombringer’s mumbling about how Shedletsky “didn’t know what he was missing”, and that more people should steal from buffets. His cheery rant eased the uncertainty of the group for all except Builderman, who sipped his fruit punch idly while sinking back into his earlier worries.
Except, now he was convinced: something needed to be done. Helping others was ingrained in Builderman’s nature. Especially for someone he cared about so very deeply. Especially for Shedletsky. But if the help wasn’t warranted, would it still be considered help? Regardless of its welcomeness, could anything help whatever Shedletsky seemed to be facing? Or, furthermore, was Builderman the problem? He wondered if any amount of noise, small talk, music, or maybe even alcohol (though he rarely drank) could mask this anxiety. And, as a self-proclaimed “rational guy”, why he felt so intensely about his colleague in the first place.
He decided not to bother Shedletsky any more than he already had. For now, anyway.