Episode 09 - Tea and Tentacles

It was nearly 10 PM when the station began to settle.

The Hosts were off in various studios, airing intros and outros, recording voiceovers and arguing over whether a creature feature counted as "classic" if it had more than two explosions. The hallway lights dimmed to a soft gold. The vending machine no longer hummed—it purred.

Olivia sat at the front desk, sipping a mug of something labeled “Star Thistle Blend – Mind-Calming, Probably” and watching the lobby monitors with a distant stare. The movies weren’t synced, but somehow all the screens seemed to flicker in rhythm. She went to scratch behind her ear—just an idle habit from years of wearing the headband—and froze.

Her fingers brushed soft fur.

Not the fabric kind. Not the craft store kind.

Real.

Warm, twitching, sensitive fur.

She pulled her hand away slowly. Her breath hitched. Reached up again, slower this time. Touched the base of one ear—flexed it—watched her shadow on the wall follow the motion.

It flicked.

She didn’t scream. She didn’t panic. She just sat down, very calmly, and took a sip of tea.

“…Okay.”

She was tired in the way that only weirdness could make you tired. Nothing had technically gone wrong. No monsters had appeared. No phones had screamed.

And yet she felt like her brain had run a marathon in molasses.

The station door creaked open—not loudly, not alarmingly. Just enough to remind her it could. She looked up.

Bernard floated in, quieter than usual, his glow dimmed to a soft pulse. One of his tentacles held a mug of something steaming. Another held a biscuit. A third waved lazily in greeting.

“Room for one more on the tea break?” he asked, accent soft and lilting.

She nodded, scooted over behind the desk, and let him hover beside her.

They sat like that for a long moment. Just sipping.

Then, quietly, Olivia said, “They’re not costumes.”

Bernard blinked—three eyes at once.

She didn’t look at him. “The other staff and the Hosts. The ones with the bark skin and the feathered shoulders and the way they don’t breathe unless you’re watching.”

He swirled his tea with a small tentacle. “You don’t have to ask.”

“I haven’t,” she said. “Not yet.”

“And that’s why you’re still here.” He paused. “Most people blurt it out by day three. You’ve been very… considerate.”

Olivia glanced sideways at him. “I figured if I wasn’t ready for the answer, I shouldn’t ask the question.”

He chuckled, a low reverberation that felt like warm vinyl.

“You’ve got instincts, love. That’s rare.”

Another pause.

Then she added, “I think I just don’t want to be told I’m wrong. Because if they’re not costumes… that means I fit in more than I thought.”

Bernard tilted slightly, thoughtfully. “Does that frighten you?”

“…Maybe. But it also feels like the first job where I’m not pretending.”

He made a pleased, rumbling noise and floated a little closer.

“The building chooses who it wants,” he said. “Always has. Since long before Charles or LaDonna or even Mistress Rhonda. Since even before I arrived. And it chose you.”

Olivia finally looked up at him. “You’re really not human either, are you?”

“Goodness no,” Bernard said cheerfully. “But I’m very friendly.”

She gave a tired little laugh.

He offered her a tentacle. Not for a handshake—just to hold.

She hesitated… and then gently placed her hand against the cool, shifting texture. It didn’t feel slimy. It felt like velvet mixed with memory.

They sat in silence.

And then Bernard added quietly, “If it helps… I’ve always thought your ears were real.”

She rolled her eyes, smiling. “They are now, apparently.”

“Lucky us,” he murmured.