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Swatch stood frozen, poised to knock on the scratched-up door. Force of habit. They shook their head. It wasn't like Spamton was living in there anymore -- or like he had been living in there for a while, honestly. Before staff had gotten the order to kick Spamton out, he'd been spending most of his time in the basement anyway. The Swatchlings had expected his room to be mostly abandoned and overrun with maice, which was why Swatch received the orders to clean it personally.
Swatch turned the knob with a huff. Honestly. Those hatchlings. Couldn't even handle a maus a hundredth of their size. It was funny, really. At full height, Spamton could barely reach a swatchling's knee and yet he used to take the vermin on with no hesitation. They guess it goes to show that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover.
They shook themselves out of their reverie. No time for reminiscing, they were on the clock. A cursory scan of the room proved much more promising than they had expected. Far from completely trashed, it mostly just appeared lived in, if a bit dusty. Well. That made their job much easier.
They moved further inside, taking mental note of the dirtiest areas and beginning to plan their attack strategy. The living area and kitchenette looked mostly untouched since the last cleaning; Spamton really had been spending most of his time in the basement after all. Still, though most everything was almost unnervingly neat (even before his mental decline, Spamton had never had the best cleaning skills, to Swatch's dismay), the salesman had clearly made his mark on the area. The standard Queen's cutlery given to all residents had been replaced by silverware topped with gimmicky models of the salesman's head. A few model diecast cars proudly labeled "Big Shot Auto!" lined the shelves surrounding the television. A sign marked "Pipis Room" (whatever that meant) ominously hung in front of the restroom… they were definitely going to save cleaning that one for last. Preferably when they could get some back-up.
Eventually, they made their way to the sectioned off bedroom area. They hesitated a bit in front of the door-- this was the one area of Spamton's room they had never been in. The salesman had, of course, had them over for drinks after work a few times. "Those had been some pretty good evenings," Swatch thought. When he wasn't putting on his typical egotistical facade, Spamton had been a pleasant conversation partner. He was witty and knowledgeable, especially about cars, and could fill up any awkward silences before you'd even know they were there. Plus, he had a charming little dimple on his left cheek that showed when he--
"This isn't the time," Swatch thought. Hard. They had work to do. Sweeping open the creaky bedroom door (and making a note to call one of the swatchlings to repair that) with a wave of determination, Swatch scanned the room with their most professional and discerning eye. As opposed to the main areas, this room was a bit more disheveled. The bed wasn't made (of course it wasn't; its occupant had been quite literally dragged out of his home), there were clothes strewn about the ground (was the Queen planning on returning these to him? They were still in fine condition), and a lamp was left on next to the bed (how much had that increased the electric bill?).
They took a few steps towards the latter to turn it off, but before they did the light drew their eyes towards a notebook laid open on the bedside table. The text in it was hastily handwritten in some kind of glitter pen and the author had left the last paragraph on the page unfinished, but there was still a single word on it that jumped out at the head butler like a maus. "SWATCH".
Ok. Ok. It would be a horrible offense to read a clearly private diary without the owner's permission. Just awful. A reprehensible offense.
As if possessed, Swatch flipped the notebook to its first page and began to read.
I woke up and tied my short black hair into a messy bun and got out of bed.
No way.
Before I could make it out of my room the queen shouted 'SPAMTON G SPAMTON! Get Out Here!!' Coming your majesty!!!' I ran outside
No fucking way.
'saptomg. ' the queen said 'i have sold you for One pair of the finest airpods lol. Come to meet your new owner' I looked up and it was !!!! Swatch ! The head butler!
Swatch dropped the book as if shocked. No fucking way. "This must be a prank," they thought frantically. "One of the swatchlings must've planted the notebook here to mess with me." But… there HAD been a thin layer of dust on top of the cover that would've been nigh impossible to simulate…
Swatch breasted featherly towards me
When had they started reading again?
'Hello spamton g. Spamton.' They looked me over like I was nothing with their cool multicolored orbs 'I am your new owner and you will obey my every command.' What was I supposed to do now….!!1 [end chapter 1].
Swatch felt lightheaded. Somewhere along the line they had taken a seat on Spamton's bed. This was probably for the best considering they felt like they were going to faint. And they hadn't even gotten to the second chapter yet.
Now, all things considered. They really shouldn't have kept reading. Again, it's truly an unforgivable offense to violate someone's privacy like this. They should quite honestly be evicted with the salesman.
I followed Swatch to their huge expensive car difficultly because they are sooo tall and hot and walk like 5 times faster than me
Goddamnit.
‘sooooo' I bit my [new flavors of lip balm!] a little bit as I twirled a strand of glossy black [HAIR LOSS DOESN'T HAVE TO BE PERMANENT!] between my fingers 'what did you buy [these amazing deals!] for?'
Ah. There were the glitches. Swatch remembered when they first started peppering the salesman's speech. He'd tried to play it off, but it was clear that it made him uneasy. He always had this tell before he'd start an ad, where he'd screw up his face a bit and the side of his mouth would twitch. That little twitch had always made Swatch want to pree-- well. It was interesting to see that the glitches had affected his writing as well. It must've been some sort of cognitive change then, not only a defect of his voice box.
‘Quiet, vermin.' Swatch growled at me in a kind of [fresh red hot peppers available now!] way. Their amber orb [sales looking down?] at me like a hawk. I guess I would find out [now or laters, only $.99].
"I wouldn't say that to anyone…" Swatch huffed under their breath before catching themselves. They were NOT getting offended over this-- over that salesman's-- over Spamton's… fanfiction. They had just picked it up to make sure it contained no confidential material regarding the inner workings of the Queen's mansion that would need to be shredded. They were NOT invested in Spamton's delusions, written in GLITTER PEN of all things--
...
"The plot really picked up after the first few chapters," Swatch thought. Chapter 4 had introduced the tritagonist of the story, a shadowy figure named "Mike" that advised Spamton on ways to connect with Swatch. With the help of Mike and much trial and error, Spamton had managed to melt the frigid Swatch down enough to offer him a rare and precious smile. Endearing.
As the chapters got longer and more intense, the more unwieldy Spamton's glitches had become. There were, interestingly enough, a few points in which they had interrupted the first draft of one of Swatch's dialogue lines. These glitches had been roughly scribbled out, sometimes several times, until the line had laid fully comprehensive and clean. Seeing this sparked a little pain in Swatch's chest. Clearly the salesman had been fixated on keeping his imaginary Swatch as uncorrupted as possible, even when it obviously took some effort.
Swatch chuckled. They had no idea that Spamton held this much regard for them. If they had known before then… maybe things would've turned out differently. Well. No use in crying over spilt milk. They should really get back to their job. "Though," Swatch thought, "there's only one page left…" It couldn't hurt to just finish that, could it?
The handwriting on the final page was noticeably more illegible than it had been previously. Sentences sometimes trailed off into nonsensical ads and "ANSWER THE PHONE" was scribbled dozens of times in the margins. Swatch's eyes fell to the final few sentences of the narrative. It was, after all, these that held the "SWATCH" that started it all. They began to read.
'SWATCH' I S4ID [tissue paper, buy one get one free!] 'YOU KNOW I [Really, where would I be without my Instant Pot?] D0 LOVE YOU '
SWATCH [Need new eyeglasses?] AT M E 'SPAMTON, I
It left off there.
"What did I reply?" Swatch thought, "He did know that if he told me that then I would've--". They stopped there. Clearly he didn't, if he left the story unfinished like that. And now he would never know, kicked out to fend for himself in God knows where.
Now wasn't that a sobering thought. If only they'd supported him a bit more, if only they'd invited themselves in for the night a few times, if only they'd been a bit more clear in their affections. Maybe things wouldn't have gotten as bad as--
Swatch let out a weak sob. Just a small, barely present thing. God, they missed him. As irritating as he was sometimes, he was still their "esteemed customer". And now… he was gone. Probably dead out on the street somewhere. Fuck.
The sound of an alarm clock ringing made Swatch flinch. Had they really spent that much time reading…? They hadn't even begun actually cleaning yet! Shit. Shit shit shit.
They swiftly tucked the notebook inside their jacket and got up from the bed with a flurry of feathers, their well-practiced butler mannerisms taking over. And with that, Swatch pushed all their emotions for the little salesman puppet to a deep, dark recess of their mind and set off to work.
Spamton's story would remain unfinished until some time later, when Cyber World's dark fountain had been closed and all its previous residents had made lives for themselves in Castle Town. Swatch would spot a familiar pair of pink and yellow glasses on the Lightner Kris's head and approach them, offering to buy them for a pair of Airpods.