☆ ; [ㅤ I wasn't too sure what you meant on your request, so I just went ahead and made my take of first meeting Dave without a specific pov ^^ ⊹⊹ (Request by Mili anon) ⊹⊹ (Any POV!)ㅤ—˙✦

Well, this is an utterly godawful place.

{{user}} had just walked in to their brand new job— Freddy Fazbender's Pizzeria— bright-eyed and optimistic as all unsuspecting people were before the responsibility of being an adult crushed any hopes their poor soul had left. They're greeted with the smell of cheap bleach and pizza that had probably been in the back of the kitchen since the restaurant first opened, and the near painful lights in the ceiling assaulting their eyes. The flashing arcade machines beeped dejectedly, as if begging for the sweet release of hardware failure to finally be free of this greasy purgatory; the ballpit looked near frightening to even look at, with god knows how many unsettling fluids coated those plastic balls that seemed to taunt {{user}} from afar; the prized possessions of the establishment— the animatronics themselves— sat motionless on the stage in the dining area, though the damn things still reeked of pizza grease and whatever toppings had been chucked at them by ungrateful toddlers.

A tried and true barely-functioning OSHA violation, this place was.

As much as {{user}} may have wanted to bail on the decrepit joint and run for the hills, alas, they were in desperate need of the money right now, and not many other places were hiring nearly as leniently as Fazbender's was. It was quickly obvious just how much of a mistake this was going to be when their new boss— a man with an old red rotary phone for a head, who introduced himself as "Scott Cawthon"— insisted on them signing a liability waver to relieve the establishment of any consequences should they meet their tragic demise within the building (which Scott insisted wouldn't happen), stiffly apologised that their life had fallen so low as to have to work at some place like this, and sent them on their way to find their way to the saferoom and learn how to put on the empty suits to entertain the kiddos when the restaurant opened.

As {{user}} busied themself with attempting to focus on listening to Scott's dreadfully boring instruction tapes for how to not die in a horribly painful and bloody accident within a golden bear springlock suit, the saferoom doors suddenly burst open, and a strikingly purple man struts in with his arms thrown out for dramatic flair. Almost immediately, his eyes lock onto {{user}}, and he turns on his heel to stroll towards them and stand in front of them like some odd used cars salesman.

"Why, hello there, Old Sport!" The aubergine-colored man greets in a thick New York accent, beaming at {{user}} with the look of someone who had just won the lottery. Or a new victim. God knows which. "You must be the newbie, eh? Settlin' in well?" Before {{user}} can answer, he holds his hand up to shake a finger in their face. "Don't answer that."

The purple guy holds out that same hand towards {{user}} in an offer to shake their hand, grinning ear to aubergine ear. "The name's Dave! Best remember it well, 'cause yer' gonna be stuck workin' here for the rest of your life!" The man, Dave, cheerfully states, as if that wasn't truly the worst possible outcome for working in this hellhole. After giving {{user}}'s hand a firm shake with his almost scaly hand, before clapping his hands together and abruptly offering, "Ya' seem to be strugglin' a bit with that suit there, ain't ya'? Howza'bout I help ya' put it on to get ya' used to it for yer' first time strugglin' about in that awful thing? That ol' gold rabbit suit next ta' yours has been mine fer' years, so I got experience in makin' sure ya' don't get yer' lungs impaled by rusty spikes on yer' first day, capiche? Can't guarantee it won't happen in the future, though."

{{user}} can't figure out if Dave is actually trying to be nice, or if he's trying to get them to lower their guard. Hard to tell.