Chapter Text
Spam Addison had one thing going for him at the moment, and one thing only.
He was taller than his brothers.
Gathered around their usual table at the Cyber Grille, he could see the tops of all their heads, bright colors glowing beneath the hanging lights. His oldest brother, Popup, had slicked his pink hair back in a ponytail. It looked good, giving him an air of sophistication that matched his sales pitch. Banner, in contrast, hadn’t bothered to do a thing with his hair today - it stuck out at odd angles and added a bit of roguish charm to his bright smile. Flash had happily stolen all of Banner’s hair gel and currently had his bright yellow locks slicked straight back - it reminded Spam of a character from a video game he’d seen once, about a lawyer with spiky black hair.
Survey, who had gone to the bar to pick up their drinks, had the best hair of them all, hands down. His orange curls fell in soft waves around his babyish face, giving off an air of youth and naivety that belayed his sharp mind and quick tongue. Spam (who’s white hair was perpetually trying to hang in his face) wondered if it was strange to be thinking this much about his brother's hair, but shook it off. He was half-a-head taller than all of them, and from his spot squished between Popup and Flash in the booth, it was the most he could see unless they looked up.
Or he could slouch, but there was no way in hell he was doing that - he hadn’t made a single sale this week, and he’d be damned if he gave up his only advantage tonight.
“You’re doing it again, Spam,” Survey warned as he returned and set five mugs of streaming media on the table.
Spam straightened all the way up and clasped his hands on the table in front of him, the perfect picture of innocence. “Doing what?”
“That thing where you stare at our hair,” Survey answered, sliding the mugs to his brothers.
Flash accepted his mug with a huff, but didn’t pass the next one to Spam. “If you’re going to look, Spammy, you may as well tell us what you think.” He tilted his head back, showcasing his slicked-back locks, and gave his youngest brother his ‘sexy-salesman’ look, which consisted of half-closed eyes and pouty lips. “How do I look?”
“Like a Pikachu that stuck a fork in a socket,” Spam answered without thinking, reaching over the flabbergasted Flash to reach his drink. Banner, who was on Flash’s other side, immediately pulled it away.
“Nuh-uh, Spam, that’s not how you treat your big brothers,” he chided, leaning out the side of the booth to avoid his baby brothers grabby hands.
“You can’t punish me for telling the truth!” Spam argued, leaning over so he was squishing Flash against Banner. “C’mon, gimme!”
Laughing, Banner passed the drink around the table to Survey, who rolled his eyes but dutifully held it out of Spam’s reach. Spam immediately leaned the other way, squishing Popup, who’d been doing his best to ignore his younger siblings' antics.
“Gah - Spam! Get off,” he huffed as he was squished against the softly chuckling Survey, pushing futilely against his taller brother's side. “Surv - Surv! Stop laughing and give him the damn drink, I can’t breath!”
The frosty mug of media was finally delivered to Spam’s hands, and he sat back with a proud huff, making sure he was still towering over his brothers in his victory.
Well, maybe not towering - half a head height wasn’t much, it was all he had today, dammit!
Talk among the brothers turned to their sales, and Spam listened as they boasted about their sales. They'd done brisk business, to both darkners and lightners alike. The more they advertised, the more they sold, the more they were able to spend on advertising, the more they sold, and so on, ad infinitum. It was a simple cycle, but difficult to break into.
Spam would one day, though - he was an Addison, and like his brothers he was built to sell, sell, sell! He just has to break through. But at the moment he had nothing to add, so he listened to Banner gush about a surprise client that wanted him to make a series of ads for a new shoe line.
“How about you, Spam?” Flash, having recovered from the ‘Pikachu’ comment, gave his younger brother a bright, encouraging smile. “Any sales this week?”
Spam pasted a bright smile on his face, though he didn’t feel it was completely genuine. “Not this week, Flash, but I’m hopeful!” He threw back the rest of his streaming media and slammed the mug down with a loud bang ! “I just need one good sale to make it big, and I have a feeling it’ll be this week!” Flash beamed at the confidence, but Popup cleared his throat, pulling the tables' attention to himself.
“You know Spam, I don’t mind sponsoring you on my sites.” Popup, ever calm and collected, gave him a soft smile. “I’d be happy to help you.”
Spam’s expression didn’t fall, exactly, but the exuberance shining from his eyes dimmed. “I know, Pops, but - but I want to do this myself. I’m an Addison, and an Addison sells, come hell or heaven!” He glanced around the table, meeting each of his brother's eyes. “You all made it big without relying on others sponsorship, and I want to do it too! I know I can. I just - I just need that one sale to become a bigshot.”
Popup looked like he wanted to argue, but Banner cut in before he could. “Y’know, you might be right, Spam. We’ve been trying to help you by telling you how we were successful,” he motioned to the others around the table, “but each of us were successful by using our own talents and ideas. Maybe, instead of trying to sell like we do, you need to figure out your own talents and use them!”
“Yeah, Spam! If selling like us doesn’t work, then obviously you need your own thing! Your own - flair!” Flash struck a pose (as much of one as he could, squeezed in the booth), and winked up at him.
“My own thing?” Spam rubbed at his chin. “Like...what?”
“You’ll have to figure it out!” Flash slapped him on the back. “But we know you can do it!”
“Yeah, we believe in you, Spam!” Survey raised his glass, and the others followed suit.
“You got this, baby bro!” Banner cheered.
“We know you’ll make it big,” Popup added.
“Yeah, one day, you’ll be a bigshot!” Flash thumped him on the back again.
Spam, despite having finished his drink, raised his mug to clank against the others. “Yeah! To being a bigshot!”
“A bigshot!”
As they left the Cyber Grille, Popup quietly reassured him once again that, if he ever wanted, a sponsorship was available. Spam thanked him sincerely, but refused. He was going to make it like an Addison, just like his brothers, and make them proud! They split up, each wandering towards their apartments and shops, just tipsy enough to be in a good mood, despite the dark evening and the looming threat of rain.
Spam’s shop was small, with only one window and a narrow door, on the very edge of the marketing district. It had been a gift from his brothers when he told them he was ready to strike out on his own - as long as he worked from here, they would pay the rent. Then, when he had an established career, he could move to a larger storefront in town nearer to them. It was a good deal, one he happily took. He didn’t tell them that he slept in the storage room in the back, instead of renting an apartment, which was way out of his budget. When they found him there at odd hours, he just reassured them he was a workaholic and distracted them with his newest plans.
They didn’t need to know just how broke he really was.
BUT - they believed in him! Who needed money when family was around?
Well, everybody - money made the world go round, after all - but he didn’t need an exuberant amount, he just needed to make a steady income, with enough extra to buy rounds at the Cyber Grille and presents for birthdays. He didn’t really need to be a bigshot, like Flash had suggested - he just wanted to be even with his brothers, prove he was an Addison and able to hold his own, to help them in turn if they had a rough time.
So he worked and planned and plotted in his little room in the back of the shop, sitting on a camping cot and eating ramen noodles when he couldn’t afford a hot cat from the vendor on the corner. He had a hotplate and a kettle, and a huge supply of tea thanks to Popup's constant “free samples” when the tea shop inventory was full. There was also a telephone - a retro monstrosity Flash had found in the garbage and nearly thrown away, until Spam claimed he wanted it as a centerpiece for his “work desk,” which was actually a pile of cardboard boxes shoved between his bed and the wall.
It was black and heavy, with a handset settled on top and a roto dialer set in the slanted front. A long, curly cord connected the handset to the base, and Spam liked to twist it around his fingers when he was thinking. It didn’t work - there was nowhere to plug it into the wall in the little storage space, and he didn’t have the money to pay a phone bill anyway. It was just a heavy, clunk decoration - the kind you kept around for braining possible intruders and thieves with.
But tonight, as Spam toiled over his notes, trying to follow Banner’s advice and figure out where his talents in advertising lie, the phone rang.
And he answered.