//------------------------------//
// Idea 5: A Good Boy 
// Story: The Pony In The Inkwell 
// by LibraryNexus 
//------------------------------//

In another part of the studio, a cartoon wolf sat at a table, drumming his fingers. Boris the Wolf stared at the eight cans of bacon soup in front of him, occasionally tapping a finger on each of them. No matter what he did, the number refused to change. Boris frowned. He would have to go on a food run soon.
One would think that no one would be able to find any new food in a studio that had been closed down for quite some time. And that one would right in fact. No deliveries of food or anything else had come to the place for years.
However, the cans full of bacon soup remained, and stayed edible. What was even more miraculous, was that in certain spots around the studio, more would appear after a certain amount of time had passed.
It was to several of these areas that Boris was headed to. He grabbed his bag, along with a flashlight as well as his trusty wrench. Giving a nod to the portrait on the wall, he inserted the lever into the socket and pulled down. The heavy door slid open, revealing the blackened corridor, which was one of his many defenses against the monsters of the studio. Clicking the light on, he pulled open a vent and slid into it, hoping that he would be able to get a harvest form one of the safer places.



He wasn’t that lucky.
The spots where he usually found soup cans were empty, suggesting that someone had cleaned them out before. There wasn’t any on the first floor, and the Prophet was hanging around the spot in the Sound Department.
And nobody willing ever went down to Floor S.
So, he had to go to the only other place where he could find bacon soup cans.
Boris peaked out of one of the vents on Floor 9. The ‘Alice’ monster wasn’t around, or any of the Butcher gang clones, so he was safe for now.
Boris jumped out of the vent and ran over to the closet. He opened the door hoping to find…
Jackpot! The shelves were filled with cans of bacon soup, threatening to spill out. Quickly, he began scooping cans into his bag. Thanks to an application of Toon force, he was able to fill the bag within minutes. Securing his load, he jumped back into the vent and started making his way back to his safehouse.
At least that was the plan. ↅ TURN LEFT
He was going down the right path when he heard the music. At first, he paid it no mind, the studio was scatted with old radios that picked up unknown signals, and every so often, one of the Lost Ones would turn on a radio, hoping to hear a favorite song playing.
But then he heard the voice. Despite the inhabitant’s love of music, none of them would sing along to the lyrics, lest they attract the attention of the Ink Demon, or worst. Curious at this, Boris crawled down the vent towards the song, going gingerly over a section that let out an alarming creak.
By the time he got to the end of the vent, the music had stopped. Crawling to the grate, he peaked out, seeing if he could get a glimpse of the singer. However, he had to stop a frightened yelp from coming out when he saw the singer.
The ‘Alice’ monster that roamed these floors was pacing around outside, crying out for someone. Whoever this ‘Pinkie Pie’ was, he felt sorry for her, being chased by the mad angel.
Boris turned around, deciding to leave before the angel decided to check inside the vents. He hoped that Pinkie got away from the angel.
“Hi there!”
Boris jumped, causing the vent to drastically shriek.
Oh, son of a-
Boris let out a yelp as the vent collapsed.



Susie (Alice!) stopped as a piece of the ceiling fell down, causing a cloud of dust to rise up. The remains of an air vent could be seen, with a leg sticking out of it. The leg retracted and Boris sat up out of the rubble, rubbing his head, THE MOST PERFECT BORIS SHE HAD EVER SEEN! SHE NEEDED HIM! SHE NEEDED HIS INSIDES TO MAKE HER BEAUTIFUL AGAIN, TO MAKE HER WHO-
“Hi, Mommy!” Pinkie Pie said, poking her head out of the rubble. 
Susie blinked, the mania that had been building fading away, leaving her with a clearer head. As her focus returned to her, she saw Boris against the wall, cowering with his hands covering his face.
She shook off the last bits of her madness and approached the wolf. “It’s okay,” she said, quietly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
The wolf peaked through his fingers, still wary of her.
“Don’t worry!” Pinkie said, bouncing into view. “Mommy won’t do whatever she did to you!”
Susie flinched.
Boris removed his hand from his face as Pinkie Pie talked. Then his eyes went wide, and he began looking quickly between Susie and Pinkie, which was followed by finger pointing.
Susie sighed. “Yes, she is adopted. Bendy’s the father.”
The wolf glanced at the two of them before shrugging.
“Why don’t you talk?” Pinkie asked.
Boris just shrugged.
“Boris never had a voice actor,” Susie said. “I think that…” She trailed off. What was she supposed to say? That the Traitor forever condemned them to the ink before the wolf could get a voice?
But something seemed wrong with that thought. Maybe the Joey she had first knew would have engineered the accident, but the Joey of later years seemed different. He had- 
She hissed as her headache returned with a vengeance. Pinkie Pie had started talking to Boris. “So, do you know any games?” ↅ INTERESTING…
Boris put a hand to his chin, before snapping his fingers. Reaching behind his back he pulled out a stick, which he began waving over Pinkie’s head.
The pink pony began jumping around, trying to reach the stick held just out of reach. Boris finally reared back his hand and threw the stick.
But before Pinkie could go after the stick, Boris had shot after it. He returned shortly, with it in his mouth, which he dropped at the pony’s hooves.
Susie smiled as Pinkie Pie threw the stick and both she and Boris ran after it. She sat down on a nearby chair to wait for them.
She frowned as she felt something underneath her. Standing up, she found that she had almost sat on another tape recorder, this one with the name Wally Franks. Picking it up, she sat down again and hit play.
“So somebody must have been listening when I was stating that this dang studio’s too big to clean by myself, ‘cause they finally hired someone to pick up the slack. The new guy is good, although he does dress kinda funny.
“I will tell ya one thing. If Joey expects me to wear a funny head on the job, I’m outta here!”
The tape clicked off, and Boris and Pinkie had returned, the tiny pony carrying the stick in her mouth. She dropped the stick and grinned up at the bigger wolf. “That was fun!” she said. “Thanks for playing with me!”
Boris reached down and ruffled her mane.
“Can we play again sometime?”
Boris shrugged and looked at Susie (Alice!).
She smiled. “I don’t see why not,” she answered. “At least, as long as Bendy is okay with it.”
Boris looked down at Pinkie and gave a thumbs-up.
“Yay!” Pinkie cheered, jumping up and hugging the wolf, who gladly returned it.
“Come along, Pinkie,” Susie said. “It’s time for you to go home.”
The filly dropped out of his arms and bounced into Susie’s. “Bye Boris!” she said, waving at the wolf.
The wolf in question returned the wave before disappearing into the depths of the studio.



Boris headed back to his home with a slight spring in his step. Thing were looking better than when he had left his hideout. Not only did he have a full bag of food, the ‘Alice’ monster wasn’t a monster anymore! Well most of the time. But that was a step up! He had a feeling that things were only going to get better.
Upon reaching the stairs, he found a tape recorder with the name of Thomas Conner. Still in a good mood, Boris hit play, causing a half-remembered conversation to spill out.
“There was another burst pipe on Floor 14 today, so I took Frank and Lupin with me to fix it. Franks was his usual amount of useful, but Lupin proved quite adapt, despite his clothing choices.
“But I’m getting worried. That’s the sixth time this month a pipe has burst down there. I know that’s what that area’s for, but that’s way too often for my liking. I know Mr. Drew says his friend knows what he’s doing, but someone’s going to get hurt one of these days.
“Sometimes I wish that the original machine was still up and running.”