Chapter Text
Tenna smiled to himself as he observed his coworkers mingle; laughter ringing out from conversations by tables of food and games, friends and couples dancing near the jukebox playing festive music, decorations practically dripping off the walls. Another year, another successful Christmas party! Tenna was so proud of himself, he could feel the itch of a flower on his nose.
He took a sip of the punch in a cup way too small, pretending not to notice it was spiked. It wasn’t like Tenna was against alcohol; they had a bar in the greenroom after all! But what if someone didn’t drink alcohol? Tenna wanted everyone to feel safe and included! If Darkners wanted alcohol, they had the bar for that!
His antennae twitched in irritation. It was definitely one of the Pippins. Too many complaints have bubbled up from whatever those dice darkners did, Tenna wouldn’t be surprised if another one surfaced from this, too!
He didn’t want to have to take away the alcohol from the bar again. Everyone got mad at Tenna for that choice. He wilted just thinking about it, his height dwindling.
It’s not like he wanted to be the bad guy, so why did they treat him like he did? He was their boss first, so if a problem arose he was in charge of fixing it. He might not always fix it the way everyone wants him to, but… it’s not like they could say anything against him.
Tenna shook his head. That was a very bad train of thought. He didn’t want to hold his power above them, he didn’t want to be feared. He wanted everyone to be comfortable.
Tenna busied himself from his thoughts by admiring his work on the decorations. He may be biased, but they looked fantastic! He wanted to go the extra mile this year, and had ordered a bunch of new decorations, and he was glad his vision played out perfectly! He secretly hoped the others would notice how good they looked and compliment him…
Did they even know he did the decorations…? His lips curl into a frown as he recalls the flier he’d posted on their studio’s announcement board, asking for volunteers to help decorate. He’d assumed Darkners would want to get into the spirit, and help out with what Tenna set up every year!
No one signed up.
It was… fine. It was completely fine! Tenna handled it every year, of course they knew that! That’s why no one felt the need to sign up, they know he does it best! They were also probably too busy, it was a bit selfish of him to request Darkners to take time off their holiday to help him with something silly like decorating for a party…
He always handled everything for the parties. All on his own.
Of course he was capable.
…
Tenna took another sip of his tiny drink.
When did he get this… miserable? Nothing was wrong, he didn’t need the help so why was he upset that no one wanted to? He was perfectly capable of doing everything on his own! Obviously the smaller Darkners wouldn’t need to help reach the ceiling to hang tinsel from, or carry the heavy boxes that made up the fake tree in the corner. They didn’t need to help with the catering, Tenna knew what all the other Darkners liked, it was the same every year, so why would he need help calling the catering company to bring the same as last year? He didn’t need help giving them the days off for the holiday, or scheduling reruns, or anything!
He didn’t need help. He was the boss. The Lord of this world.
…
That was all he was…
He wasn’t anything more than that.
They didn’t see him as anything more than that.
Tenna looks back up at the party, gaze having wandered down into his drink. In his time thinking, the scene had changed. People still talked, still laughed, still ate and played games and danced. But the crowd had grown. It’d gotten a bit louder, music changing and swelling at a particularly loud song. No one paid Tenna any mind.
No one came over to compliment the decorations, or the food, or the organization of the place. No one came over to make small talk, or big talk, or to ask if he wanted a more suitable cup.
No one asked him to dance. No one asked him to get another drink with them. No one walked over to stand near him just for company. No one glanced his way.
No one thanked Tenna for the party they were enjoying so much…
The cup fits in his hands now perfectly, and he finishes it off in one gulp, staring down at the empty plastic and the droplets left behind, staining the cup a purplish-red.
The biggest, most important Darkner in the room and no one cared.
Alone in a crowd of people.
Angel, he was pathetic.
Tenna didn’t know when he’d decided to retire to his office, but he came-to, screen flickering as his focus fixed itself on the stack of papers he’d spaced out on. How long had he been sitting there?
He rubs tiredly at his screen, the warm fuzz giving away just how late it was before he’d even checked the time.
11:37. The party had been done for a while, hadn’t it? He’d missed the whole thing.
A sharpness stabbed through his chest, but he didn’t flinch, shifting his gaze back to the stack of papers.
Right. His job. He had to be useful, after all.
He frowns at the papers, pen laid across the top one, displaying the ratings for last month’s show.
It was… quite the improvement from a few months ago. Though it only made his stomach sink. The ratings weren’t improving because Tenna was improving; he was already great at what he did! No, it was because of Spamton. The new Head of Advertising that Tenna hired.
The little addison had talked a big game about big changes, maximizing profit and viewership and whatnot. And although sceptical, Tenna was willing to take the risk on him. He’d been… still is… desperate.
But… if Tenna really was that good at what he does, why did he ever get that desperate? People who were good at what they did didn’t need help with it, that’s why Spamton did what he did so effortlessly. If Tenna was so good at his job, at his purpose, why did he need help? If he was even decent enough, why didn’t the Lightners want him anymore? Why didn’t they want to watch him?
They weren't watching him anymore. Even when they were, they weren’t watching him. Not his ideas, not his success, it was all Spamton.
How useless was Tenna to get overthrown as Lord of Screens without a slightest effort?
His office door suddenly bursts open, wood cracking against the wall as a small, very puffy addison storms in.
“Tenna, what the fuck!?”
The TV jolts, shooting back in his chair and sending it against the wall with a thud, heart racing. “Wah-! A-Wha- Huh!? S-Spamton!”
The bird Darkner scrambles up the chair across from him with a huff and stands, feathers puffed out and face turned in a scowl. But he wasn’t done; he leaps across onto the cluttered desk and storms across even further until he’s standing atop the pile of papers, staring down the very startled CRT.
“You’ve been hiding in here!? What the hell happened to ‘monitoring things together’!?” Spamton hissed, jabbing a clawed finger in his direction, still too far to reach Tenna.
If he had eyes, he’d be blinking them rapidly. Instead his antennae twitched, chassis furrowing as he stared across at Spamton, “Huh?”
Only pissing him off further, Spamton ran a hand through his hair before gripping the ends with a strained look, “‘Let’s split up the work, Spamton!’ ‘It’ll keep everyone in check, Spamton!’ ‘We need to make sure everyone has fun, Spamton!’”
Tenna’s antennae go ramrod straight. Right. He was supposed to keep an eye on the party.
“Spamton, I-“
“And what do I find you doing after I handled the entire thing by myself?” Spamton grit his teeth, leaning as far over the desk towards Tenna as he could, “Paperwork. But after a 4 hour party, you haven’t even touched this stack I dropped off this morning!”
His antennae begin to droop, glancing at the papers stacked in his desk.
“Did you run off to get drunk? The one thing you told me not to do?” The addison continued to hiss, face flushed with anger, “Or did you just want to dump all your responsibilities onto the lowly addison because you’re too good to look after your crew?”
Wet hot pressure built behind Tenna’s screen as Spamton yelled at him. He had absolutely no right to be crying over this, but the pressure only continued to build as Spamton stared at him expectantly. His antennae flatten behind his head as he struggles to think of something to say.
“I-“
What was he supposed to say? He felt sad, so he ran off to dissociate in his office for 4 hours? He couldn’t lie either, there was no good lie for him running off to do nothing.
Plus, he wasn’t good at that kind of lying.
Before Tenna could think of a response, however, Spamton’s body went slack with a defeated huff. “Whatever,” He mumbled bitterly, turning and sliding off the desk and onto the floor.
Tenna almost reached out, wanting to apologize, but Spamton suddenly turned, placing a small gift bag onto the desk, gaze averted.
“Just warn a guy next time before you leave him to do your dirty work.”
Before turning on a heel and stalking back out the office, swinging the door shut behind him with a click.
A gaping pit formed in Tenna’s chest as he stared at the door, and slowly moved his gaze to stare at the bag.
Did… Spamton get him a gift…?
The pressure slowly released as hot tears dripped down his screen and onto his lap. Spamton went out of his way to get Tenna a gift. Something no Darkner ever did for him.
And what did Tenna do?
Leave him alone to monitor a party he promised to help with, to do nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
He stares at the bag, watching its colors blend together as his screen gets wet and blurry.
He wants to scream. He wants to sob. He wants to slam his screen against the desk and claw out his wires and rip off his antennae.
But he didn’t move. Only continued to stare at the blurry blob of the most thoughtful thing that he ruined.
Why was he like this?
He had one job, a single purpose, and he was failing it in every way possible. Not just with the Lightners anymore, but now with people he cared about.
He leans forward slowly, knocking the top of his screen against the edge of the desk and stares at the floor.
What use was he of he couldn’t get a single person to like him, Lightners and Darkner alike? And even if they did like him, it was never for long. They’d like the facade he’d put up to please them, and they’d leave once they saw the true him. The true Tenna.
He couldn’t really blame them. He wished he could leave the true Tenna, too.
His screen lifted to rest the bottom against the desk, staring at the bag once more.
As much as he wanted to believe it meant Spamton liked him, he knew it wasn’t true. Spamton liked another facade. His actor persona, his professional side that he threw away for today, his fake charisma for the cameras.
He liked Stage Tenna.
Spamton saw true Tenna today, and hated it. He hated Tenna. All Tenna did was sit there and be useless.
The pressure behind his glass returns.
The gift was from a feeling of obligation. Spamton probably assumed everyone was supposed to get him gifts. The big, scary boss forces his employees to pretend they like him and buy him things. Spamton didn’t even want to get him something.
It was probably just something simple or thoughtless, like his own merch, which has happened before with another one of his employees. Or like, one of his posters signed with a simple ‘You're cool’ or just… nothing.
Maybe it was empty. And Spamton just wanted to get payback.
Tenna stares down at the statistics page again, the graph and numbers all a blur through his foggy screen, but he knows what it says. Knows what it means.
No one likes him. No one cares about him.
Tenna doesn’t like him either.
When Tenna finally calms down enough to tidy up, he looks back at the bag pensively. He picks it up, the bag comically small in his large gloves hands.
He moves to his wardrobe, opening the lowest drawer and placing it carefully inside, before closing it with a small sigh.
He doesn’t deserve gifts.