Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A kick to an empty can on the ground, Spamton listened to the sounds of the city. The passing cars, the passing footsteps, all of the liveliness that didn't occur in the shadows. Even with his comeback and arc in regards to his relationship between the Addisons, he felt scared at the idea of integrating into society once again. Returning to his former job of answering the phone, being a charming salesman… if anything, he'd want to be in customer service within the company. Less cunningness on his part.

It was a bad insecurity, a childish one, a grown man like himself shouldn't experience dread of how others will perceive him. He had been the city's trash goblin for years, homeless in the alleyways as he struggled to figure out what went wrong, why it happened, how and when to fix it, and who to go to. A flick of his cigarette - disgusting sticks, he didn't even like it - Spamton considered his options. For one, he can slip away and avoid work, not exactly confident enough to request a position switch.

Second, he can go into work and pretend to have an accident, then get sent back to his dumpster to rest (his pride and ego were too high to allow one of the Addisons to take him in.) The last choice was up in the air, currently unwritten and drafting in his head as his eyes scanned the roads. It was difficult to focus when all his thoughts were scattered and layered over one another; the damn replica of a Lightner cigarette was not helping his nerves in the slightest. The shake in his hand caused him to ball it up, gritting his teeth.

An ambush of joyous noise came from around the corner, Spamton intrigued the moment he heard it. Dropping the cig and stepping on it, the squish burning it out, he took a slow peak in the distance from where he stood, a rather small crowd tuned in on something, or someone. Excellent, he had his excuse to skip out on work: he would lie and state he was toppled over by the crowd, too injured to even report he can't come in. Smugly, he left his alleyway and jaywalked to the other side of the road. Mistake number one.

"Sir!" shouted a voice, Spamton jumping in shock and standing up straight like he had been caught robbing a store. A figure rushed over to him, and on closer inspection, they appeared clean, sophisticated. Royal.
Collecting himself, he was able to identify this person as a Swatchling, one of the many butlers to Cyber World's ruler. That must be why there is such energy out right now.

"You just committed the violation A104, Section X-20030 in the official City Law Book: jaywalking!" The Swatchling had been fuming a bright red hue, clashing nicely with the tint of his pink and yellow shades. "You'll have to pay a fine of fifty dark dollars, sir."
"What's going on here?" came another, who was dressed differently and had a complete shift in aesthetic. Monochrome, similar to him to an extent, with queer-shaped glasses and dapper manners.

Spamton recognized them as Swatch, the anxious feelings in his chest fading away at the sense of familiarity. He didn't speak, aware his garbled speech wouldn't make a lick of sense to the proper class.
"He jaywalked. I was just instructing him what he will do after committing the crime," explained the Swatchling, their hands folded in front of them and they bowed their beak politely. So in-line and respectful, he couldn't believe it.

Swatch stepped forward then bent down, inspecting the salesman for a minute. Like a switch flipped in their mind, he stood and lifted a feathered hand; "never mind him, let's just give him a warning and keep going." He was in a hurry with his words, the change in their mannerisms picked up. Spamton gave an encouraging nod towards the two, about to give an apology that wouldn't hold up for his eventual repeat of the same crime, before the group previously interested in advanced closer and closer.

And that's when the matter really was dropped.
"Oh My Circuits Swatchie Did You Get This Joke Shit's Hilarious," laughed Queen as she patted the back of a loose Werewire, who appeared proud of its ability to amuse her. A quiet sigh escaping, Swatch turned to face her and put his arms behind their back.
"Sadly not, your majesty, I was out of earshot and am oblivious to the enthrallment everyone feels." The hint that he should escape, Spamton prepared his tiny heels to dart in the opposite direction.

"Oh Well Moment's Passed Hey Is That An Addison?" He stopped before he even began to move, his heart racing at the acknowledgement. Technically yes, he was an Addison, but only on a business level. He'd never tell her that, he'd sound like a smartass to probably the most intelligent being in all of Cyber World.
"H3Y y YES IT"2 ME EVERY1'S FAVORITE SALESMAN !! SPAMTON G. SPAMT0N[1997]!" said Spamton, as he whipped around and placed the fattest facade he ever could. Damn, he swore to his fake God he was sweating.

Queen's blank expression scared the living hell out of him, and so did the flip of the exclamation marks that glowed on her screen and exaggerated gasp. "No Friggin (Fuckin) Way I Got That Wrong SMH Sorry / Nice Seeing You LMAO C'mon Bestie We Have Things To Do."
"Right this way, my lady," said Swatch, a quick glance over at the salesman then they led the path for her and the others that still had time to drool at her presence.

Left partially alone, Spamton blinked a few times, really processing what went down. There's certainly some doubt she would forget him, let alone her not caring at the minor slip up. The push to brush him off was ingenuine, from what he believed; then again, the beat of his heart didn't steady, and some other factor could be feeding into the denial of this.
Brushing off his shoulders and patting down his shirt, he suddenly wanted to head into work. He needed to better himself further. Not be so foolish.

Entering the Addisons' main building, up a few steps to the floor where everyone's desks were, he glanced around at the eyes staring in his direction. Some in concern, some not truly caring. The set up of the office was typical; there were two desks on each side of the mirroring walls on his left and right, then a little further back is a fifth one, where he sat. Across to the farthest wall, there were three doors: one for meetings, one for storage and stock, and one for excretion. It… wasn't often that room was used for its main purpose, however utilized for fixing appearances.

"Spamton, what held you back?" asked Promotion, or just Prom, the pink Addison. Xe had a more relaxed demeanor out of the four, her tone calm and collected even in times of stress, and xe had a rather good body build (everyone assumes she worked out occasionally in the privacy of xeir own home.)
"Yeah, son! We just got a request for a large quantity of those new rings that were shipped the other day." Subscription, or just Script, the yellow Addison, exclaimed. His desk was right next to Prom's.

He was much bigger than xem in muscle mass, his strength beneficial as the boxes of orders tend to get rather heavy - too heavy for the other coworkers. Sometimes Spamton worried he'd get his body snapped in half like a twig if he pissed Script off, yet Script was the nicest guy around.
"JUS T GOT MIX3D INTO [[what a lovely crowd here tonight!]] SOMETHI,NG AB0UT THE [[Queen of England.]]" answered Spamton, who rushed by the middle walk space between the desks to reach his.

An adoring sigh from his right, Bitcoin, or just Bit, the blue Addison, had leaned against her desk. Her cord tail with an hourglass cursor at the end of it swayed back and forth.
"I've always wanted to stay a night or two at the Queen's mansion. You think she really customizes the rooms to our liking?" she wondered aloud, her elbows propped on the top of her desk. Her frame was thinner than the rest of them, and she was labeled the more timid of the group. The softness of her voice convinced anyone to take up deals offered.

"Most likely, but why would she be out right now? 'Specially 'round this part of the City?" asked Commercial, or just Cial, the orange Addison. They were round and chubby though at the height of the other Addisons, which was significantly taller than Spamton, of course; despite them being the voice of reason and directing them with their smartness, they had that fun side of them that was rather… mischievous.
"I heard there was going to be a new building for housing input in the free space down the street. It's adjacent for other worldly visitors, as well," said Prom.

Spamton did not want to talk about this anymore, especially when the topic was her. His heart - can it even be described as such? - was fluttering, and he felt like a teenager again. This isn't his first rodeo with his requited feelings towards Queen, but he sure as hell was embarrassed he hadn't moved on. Moved on and hooked up with another woman. But how could he? Being with someone as ethereal as she… the expectations were bloated. Running his hands against his face, his glasses shifting at the disruption, Spamton gained the courage to mention his proposal.

"GIVE ME A LITTLE [generosity] H3RE AND LET ME SWITCH JOB BS LIKE COSTUMER SERVICE," cringed Spamton, he felt rather dumb for mispronouncing a common word in the sales field.
"Customer service? We don't even have that!" laughed Script, who paused for one, two, three beats before looking over at Cial. "Y'know, I am pretty tired getting calls that aren't about what we're selling. The questions sometimes are too convoluted for me to answer."

"I'm in agreement with Script," nodded Bit, a hand on her cheek. "I don't want to explain for the tenth time we don't actually have affiliation with the cryptocurrency b.s. Whoever named me Bitcoin because I am the most skilled in handling our finances is a bitch." A burst of shared laughter came from every Addison, the insult only causing Spamton to let out a broken string of chuckles and radio static.
"Okay, sure," said Cial, who lifted their telephone and started to pound in a specific order of numbers.

"We'll need to update the website and create a new line for him, Prom. We already need to fill out a commission form to Swatch at the mansion to help create those new promotional posters." they added, Prom already focused on screens of websites and programs xe needed to complete what was expected of xem. Standing, she walked over to Spamton's desk and did a swap of his phone, it now being a red with a stick of two hands coming together. Cheesy, but he liked it more than the old black one.

Spamton went to mess with it before he saw his hand was shaking once more, Prom there to witness it and before she could bring it up, xe was called over by Cial. Slumped back in his seat, he bounced his leg and stared at the desk; it was inevitable the mention of that monochrome bird would lead to thinking of Queen. A strange but normal association, they were best friends after all. The wagging of his tail with the regular mouse cursor at the end wouldn't have been noticed if it hadn't been tapping on the floor, Bit and Script now looking in his direction.

Even Prom was avoiding eye contact with Cial in order to observe his odd behavior - Cial put down the phone after finishing a call requesting someone from the mansion's staff to email a digital copy of the form previously mentioned, then turned their attention to where everyone else had been focused on. The silence made Spamton snap back to reality and jump up, pretending to busy himself with reorganizing his papers. If he was the one in customer service, he didn't need to know the key words to use about a product that made it enticing.

"Spamton, are you feeling well? You're, ah, a bit red in the face," pointed out Prom, who tilted her head as xe kept xeir gaze on him.
"I;M [Grrr-reat!] HAUWAGH JUST SUP3R [[ready, set, go!]] F0R THIS," Spamton closed a file and shoved it in one of his drawers, which would be processed and uploaded into his digital cloud on his monitor and computer. He wonders how Queen would receive such information; was it the same as regular, inanimate computers? There went his tail again, the pixels flushing hiis face had darkened.

None of the Addisons were naive, they knew a love struck person when they saw one, and Spamton's history of displayed behaviors when in this state had not changed in the slightest. But who was it? The Addisons were likely his only friends and they were under the assumption he always was alone otherwise. It's possible the suspect could be the Queen herself, considering the instance of him running into her. To be frank, none of the Addisons thought he'd take interest in anyone else after her.

When he's devoted to someone or something, he ensures to prove his sincerity by putting in all his energy to this person or thing. It was quite loyal of him, the Addisons agreed in unison, and wanted to see how long it would take for him to re-confess his attraction to her. Build up that relationship they once had, perhaps this time it'll be even better than the last. Spamton had a chance, as Queen had not been into any of her subjects since then; she had to be precautious, for one thing, yet she could still be reserving herself.

"WH@T???//!:!" Spamton balled his fists, uncomfortable at how close all four of them had been looking. The squinted eyes will put him in a paranoid state if they didn't stop soon.
"Someone caught your fancy, huh?" teased Cial, leaning against their desk with a smug smirk.
"Just like a high school crush!" cooed Bit, her hands clasped together and up to her face. She had a blush across her cheeks, loving the concept of love more than the average Darkner.

"Yeah, but it's like that crush is a teacher," said Script, who got a look from Prom.
"Or a crush on the popular kid that seems like there's no way they'd reciprocate the interest," stated Prom, her tweak to his words made him nod in agreement without a second thought. At least he wasn't offended. Spamton tugged at his collar, a habit he's had since he was a young man. Great, this really was snowballing into a repeated history; time is a flat fucking circle.

He is an adult, one who has to do taxes - not that he does - and has to pay off bills - not that he had those. He is an adult, grocery shopping by himself and having a set budget, responsible for what he chooses that will be healthy for him and good with preventing a dent in his pocket.
Adults don't get giddy over a little attraction towards another, and in his case, adults don't get like this with parasocial relationships. Would it even be called that for him?

Truly thinking about it, the citizens earlier had been doing just that; they know what is displayed to them about their Queen and… that's it. They've never sat with her without her in leader mode, the set mind and persona expressed throughout public appearances disabled for a short break to be 100 percent her complete authentic self. Sure, Queen had sprinkled in her colorful personality with her leadership and how she interacts with her people, but that wall of boundaries was set in stone like an unwritten rule. She can't always act a fool or she'd be viewed as weak, unable to be Cyber World's ruler.

He was confused.
"GUY2 PLEAse i doN"T KNOW WHAT TO DO ! HOW WILL I [[10 tips to flirt better with women.mp4]] HER???" exclaimed Spamton, slamming his face onto his desk and running his little hands through his black hair, some of the gray streaks were becoming prominent. He swore on everything he had that if he looked up there would be small pixel hearts floating around him, embarrassing him further. Still just as pathetic as he was unknown years ago.

"Don't worry, we can be your wingman! And wingwoman! And wing… person!" grinned Script, hands on his hips as he stood proud.
"But not today, we're done with our office work for the day and need to check in on the other stores," mentioned Prom, as xe slid her hands into her pockets. So chill.
"We'll prep you and cheer you on!" stood Bit after logging out of her desktop.
"Stroke your ego a bit, just to see if that'll help much," smirked Cial, pushing in a chair in the process.

Thanking them and waving them goodbye, Spamton sat there in the quiet room. The website was updated and calls were expected to be rolling in soon, taking advantage of this free time to come up with his own dialogue he'd use if he were to run into Queen again. He needed to be more prepared, just enough to have a flowing conversation - pray no one else will be around to take the attention away from him. Taking in an artificial breath, he snapped his neck when the phone began to ring. It's his time to shine.

Chapter Text

Hand locked on her hip, Queen studied the construction Swatchlings and their management, pleased at how cohesive everyone was with one another. According to the blue prints, this shelter-hotel hybrid of a building should be done in a few days; in the meantime, she had to recruit some of those she inspired to help and bring them to her mansion. There wasn't exactly enough space for every single soul, but she was determined to do anything that would make her subjects happy and content with their lives.

But as she scanned the entire City for the IP addresses and personal security codes of these unfortunate people, she couldn't help tuning in the location of Spamton. This isn't unusual, she did it quite often as a way to reassure herself the washed up salesman was safe in such a dangerous part of the City.
Maybe he wasn't the only reason for her deciding to put money towards this project, yet he sure as hell was one on the top of her list to accommodate towards.

"Your royal duty battery acid, my liege. The one nonalcoholic and solely for restoring your power source," bowed Swatch, balancing a platter with a wine glass on it with the tips of their feathered fingers. His exposition tugged a smile on her lips, gracefully taking a hold of the glass and sipping its continents. Radiate, refreshing…
"Swatchie Watchie Bestie," started Queen, swirling her drink at a slow pace. "I Think I Need A Check Up On My System."

"For whatever reason? Do you think you scanned and discovered harmful malware?"
"No Lol I Just Feel Goofy Right Now / Like / I Want To See Him Again." She didn't put emphasis on the pronoun, assuming they would catch on to who she was speaking of. "Is It Wrong Swatch I Wanna Know But Also Don't Criticize Me?" Her screen emoted an emoticon that showed she was worried, perhaps insecure. Some comfort was all she wanted, as the Lightners called it.

Swatch took their time thinking of a proper response. "It is not, no, I certainly do not think so. However, excuse my decisions, I have tried many ways for you to avoid Master Spamton and never get that opportunity to run into him. I don't like seeing how you sometimes can get afterwards."
The honesty was blunt and straightforward, just how she liked it. Her programming could process this easily, a few clicks heard from her internal sets as she drank.

"Thank You I Appreciate It / But TBH / I'm Ready To: Update The Spamton.EXE File," stated Queen, smiling over at Swatch, who gave a quick nod. They weren't… too distrusting of her, rather shocked she didn't react as much a few hours prior when she spoke to him. She must've worked on certain things on her own; Swatch is proud of her if that was the case, they couldn't handle juggling which path Queen would take when the situation related to Spamton. Either her in a phase of absolute sickness of sappy pining, or her drinking herself to oblivion for losing her only love interest.

They are glad they know when to switch out her alcohol for normal acid, or at least dilute it enough to where it wouldn't harm her circuits and hardware the following morning.
"We'll have to arrange some dates for him to visit the mansion, then. He's a sales fellow, I feel he'd do well assisting in Color Café," Swatch tucked the platter under their arm and put the other behind their back.
"So True Come On Get In The Car," Queen instructed then gestured behind her.

How she can call her car to where her location was, they will never understand. Without complaint, Swatch informed the construction Swatchlings that their shift will end soon and to keep working until them - a mention of a delicious feast from the housekeeper Swatchlings kept their spirits up.
It wasn't the fastest use of transportation in the busy hours of the evening when everyone had been getting off work, Swatch frustrated at the myriad stalls and halts in the line of traffic.

Queen kicked her crossed leg as she watched the passing citizens, her pop-up messages alerting her analyses of who they were, what their status was, where they were likely heading, and how their health conditions were. It was a blissful curse to have this ability. A lot of them were closed and not paying any mind, up when she caught sight of a short man stepping out of Addison's office. Customer service, available between the hours that barely aligned with when the business itself was open. He was heading back to his "home," and he was an emotional wreck.

"Stop Everything / Swatchie Bestie I Am Not At All Ditching You However Comma I'll Be At The Mansion Later." Her screen displayed 'Lying' for the first part of her statement, this disappearing rather fast once she moved on and stepped out of the vehicle. Swatch tried to call out to her but was unsuccessful, now resorting to the radio to occupy and distract from their irritation; too bad it was nothing else besides her mixtape. He's heard it one too many times, yet bopped their head to the beat, anyways.

Her heels clicked against the pavement, echoing and competing with the sounds of engines and hushed murmurs of those she walked near (sometimes the flattery of her people wasn't all that appealing, desiring normalcy once in a while.) The subtle and gradual rise of commotion was not ignored by Spamton, his curiosity strong and the impulse to look around as he walked took place; he did not think he'd be greeted by *the* Queen right behind him, essentially on his tail.

"H0LY SHMOKES [queenie beanie]??!" he stopped in his tracks, shoes skidding against the ground as he stared up at her. Because he paused, she did, as well; stuck in her infamous pose, the glass close to empty and lacked purpose as of now. Due to this, she lifted her arm and, with a passionate swing, smashed the glass onto the sidewalk.
"Okay Good That Was My Safe Glass LMAO / Anyways / So / You Got Promoted?"

"[[Limited time promotion]]? YOU M3AN ME BEING RESOURCE FULL! RIGHT !! Y3S Yes THAT 'S M3 RESOURCEFUL[2022]!" he laughed, anxious as hell and it showed. The wagging of his tail can be a symptom that went with this; although Queen could not compute a precise reason for this nervousness. There were only estimates, approximates. Maybe this was just her, but she can't decipher the connection between anxiety with blushing and excited wagging.

The way his pulse was so high, too, gave an off impression. Spamton wasn't prepared to see her the same day the accidental interaction occurred, he barely prepped up his lines in his free time! Patting his small hands at his sides, the two continued their unwarranted staring contest, Spamton attempting to search for an excuse - he was grabbing at straws, he just didn’t want to be looked at by the City goers any longer.

Bingo. “LOOK [pooch] ME & TH3 ADDYs NE E,D THESE [[Shoe Sale Ends 5/3]] CAN SWAT D0 THA T –mAK3 CAMPAIN PosteR2 !!” Lord, did his speech become hectic when under pressure, he felt more annoying than before.
“Campaign Posters For Your Stores I See / Calculating: Hypothesis / Yes I Think Swatchie Swishie Can Do That,” answered Queen with a delighted smile. “But-” God dammit.

“According To Their Private Calendar / I Mean Their Schedule I Assigned HaHa / They Are Free Tomorrow At Like…” her visor went blank before displaying a bold ‘nice’ on her face. “Noon Or Something That Cool With You Spam Ham?” That’s the time he typically wakes up at, but it isn’t like he could suggest anything different and specific with a ton of eyes and ears on their conversation. Panicked, radio static spilled from him as he nodded, then fled the scene through an alleyway.

Falling back into his beloved yet hated dumpster home, Spamton twiddled his thumbs, thinking. He interacted with her again after what seemed like years of avoidance, then a second time that she seemed to be persistent about, and during that he had been invited to her mansion thanks to his ridiculous work inquiry that already had an official document sent there. A slam to his face, he ran his hands downwards with a groan; he was an actual idiot. An actual, lovestruck idiot.

As much as he thought he was complaining about this opportunity, his tireless tail wagging without a break begged to differ. How masculine, he thought as he rolled on his stomach and began to kick his legs like a sappy school girl. This could be a chance to further his redemption, couldn’t it? And a chance to be with Queen, whether it was for his job or not, they’d be together in the same place, the same room. He’ll need advice on how to swoon someone, though…

Holding her gloveless hand out, Queen felt the liquid be painted onto the end of her finger, where a nail would be if she had flesh. She was out of her usual attire and in pajamas, the removal exterior of hers put away to reveal her robotic looking shell; the grays and glistening metal had to be covered to give the warm impression of a possible Lightner visitor, making them inclined to trust her if she resembled their appearance.

She had been on a bed with a pillow underneath her, Swatch painting her “nails” with their pen and color wheel with a chromatic scale square in the center. IBS Paint or whatever the function had been called was his talent, creating things like beautiful works of art to silly, three-framed GIFs, and all they had to do to access these tools was tap the circle and three shapes on their chest. How grateful he was to be a Darkner and have on-the-go computer softwares.

Tasque Manager was there, as well, grooming her Tasque and providing the cat with much love and attention, mainly listening to the conversation rather than communicating herself.
“You Think People Will Fabricate An Issue When Spamoing Comes Tomorrow / ‘Cause IMO I Am: Alerted With Warnings Of The 75% Probability Of That Happening,” worried Queen, a chin resting on her free arm as she wiggled her fingers, inspecting the color.

Since Swatch used small canvases and transported them into PNGs, the fake nails would rub off in a matter of days. It isn’t like she planned to show them off to the Virovirokun or Ambyu-Lance.
“Nonsense, my Queen,” hushed Swatch, who tapped the close tab on their programs and put their pen away. “I’m quite sure everything will go smoothly.”

“Besides-” spoke up Tasque Manager- “isn’t the only order by the Addisons for him to get advertisements produced, mew?” her ears perked when she asked, interested to clarify the business he had so she could prevent chaos from ensuing and ruining the schedule.
“Yes, which is odd considering Mx. Cial had sent a forum to my Swatchling that handles e-mails received for the mansion.” They kept themselves planted on the floor at the edge of the bed.

“Wait Really Then Why Would He / Does That Mean He.. / I Can’t Compute This,” frowned Queen, bringing her other arm up so she can continue to rest her head against them. She hadn’t detected the salesman lying to her, though now recalling back to what he told her, he never requested to come to her mansion and have those done. In fact, it seemed like he was just trying to continue and end their chat so he could get going. Maybe she was just excited at the idea of seeing him.

Swatch and Tasque glanced at one another then leaned back against the bed, the sides of their heads close to hers.
“Whatever it means, we will be there,” comforted Swatch, closing his eyes for a moment.
“And we know you’ll be okay, your majesty,” said Tasque, as she bowed her nose and folded her ears politely.

This is why they were her best friends. Snickering, Queen ruffled the top of their heads, soon ending in regular petting. “You Guys Are Nerds LMAO / Love You Tho.” she listened to the purring of content from Tasque Manager, and the slight noise of approval from Swatch; from what she scanned, both of them are touch-starved. Hilarious, this petting bit should be a daily thing from her. With that, she declared a sleepover, Tasque and Swatch agreeing less enthusiastically.

He was frantic: answering calls left and right, glancing at the clock every five point six seconds, chugging their new (and nasty) protein shakes, and flipping through a manual of their products that had descriptions. Spamton came into work earlier that day, aware he had to leave around noon and likely return late in the evening, this coming to the attention of the Addisons as soon as he walked through the door.

Although the Addisons did not have a problem with the sudden appointment, they wanted a bit of context on how he even managed to worm his way into visiting Queen’s Mansion. According to Prom, there were a ton of appointments backed up and on a wait list, partially due to the recent construction going on in the City and the yearly duty from Queen to review, update, revise, add, or delete certain ordinances, laws, et cetera. How busy she was supposed to be, it is a miracle their minor commission was picked up.

By lunch, precisely thirty minutes before he had to be at the mansion, the Addisons and Spamton went out to a nearby diner to eat. Well… it isn’t like they need to, no one in Cyber World technically require the subsistence to survive, but food similar to the “real world” tasted great and felt good in the Darkner’s mouths that they incorporated it into their society. Unlike Lightners, citizens tend to eat whatever whenever - like ice cream cake as breakfast, for example.

“So, would now be the time to give you advice on romancing the Queen?” asked Prom, shortly after the table got their orders from the waiter. Xe didn’t want gossip forming about him and her just yet.
“Oh, yeah! Like you said yesterday! And you’re going today!” grinned Script, needing to crane his neck in order to look at the tiny salesman.

Gnawing on the CD Bagel that had the flavor of California Girls, Spamton didn’t know how reliable these four were (it was sad he even has to relearn how to court someone when he’s done it before.) Script is a gay man, he was not going to know the keys in attracting a woman, especially in one of the mature aspects of a relationship… since he was asexual. Cial, while queer and well-educated, will absolutely not take this seriously.

Bit is a lesbian but hasn’t tried advancing towards her own crush, who happened to be the one he thought was the most sensible: Prom. Xe is bisexual and secretly into romance and its cheesy stories - only he knew this, they bonded over it in the past (thankfully this didn’t hinder his perception of his masculinity.) Setting the CD Bagel down, Spamton took a quick swig of his pixel soda that left tingles in his throat then spoke.

“I APPERCIATE THe h3lp OF [[Hyperlink Blocked.]]”
“Hey, it isn’t a problem,” said Cial with a shrug, lifting their drink and sipping out the straw. “All you really need to do is compliment her all the time.”
“No, frequently!” exclaimed Bit before cowering back and apologizing for the interruption. Prom chuckled as she shook her head: “when appropriate is when you compliment her.”

He knew that, he wasn’t that much of a dunce, but he nodded anyway with a flick of his cord tail.
“Sweep her off her feet! Show her you can carry her when her feet hurt or when there’s trouble!” said Script passionately, gripping his fork like he was genuinely training him for this appointment slash possible date. That one sounded wrong yet felt right, Spamton getting a bit too into the idea of holding her.

“He’d get crushed,” pointed out Cial, a hesitant smile from Prom as to imply xe agreed with them.
“Just be yourself, all right? Your funny, goofy self.” she added before tossing a fry in xeir mouth, munching on the greasy delicacy. The obvious statement wasn’t meant to trigger anything negative, Spamton’s insecurity getting the better of him when he huffed.

“H0W CAN A [$4.99] GU ,y B3 HIMSELF WHHEN H3 SouNDS AAND look2 LIKE THEE??” gestured Spamton, his cursor pointed upwards as his face lit up a bright shade of red. Three of the Addisons peered over at Prom, none of them in the position to reply to such a downer comment but her. Still chewing the food, xe stared at him until he calmed his unstable outburst. She grabbed her cup thoughtfully.

“What makes you into Queen? Is it her power, her riches? Ah, you’re shaking your head.” Prom drank her water, eyeing the ceiling for a second. “What about her uncanny voice, sounding like us but still like a computer? Or, maybe, that screen of hers which displays that quirky internet lingo?”
“W3 LL THA’ST JU2T HER I [heart] HER 4 HER – oh.” Spamton stopped himself from whatever else he was about to say.

A smile, her point got across and xe showed him xeir wrist, where a digital watch was attached. “You better get going, Big Shot, your lady is waiting.”
“[%#!?]” swore Spamton, jumping to his feet and rummaging in his pocket to pull out his pay of the bill that was his meal. “SEA YOU LATTER BYE BI!!” his dismissal was so quick his coworkers took a moment to figure out what he even uttered, laughing at what might unfold for him.

Chapter Text

The red path stretched far in front of Spamton, the mansion in the distance loomed ominously despite the faint, muffled sound of life coming from the structure. No one had been seen walking by the entrance of the trail, nor was anyone coming to or from the mansion itself; it was a shock this was the case. He expected to see groups entering and exiting, visiting for a taste of that aristocratic air that wasn’t as posh as one thought.

Earthbound, he thought of new things to say - phrases, greetings, anything - and let out a sigh. Like his friends said, he just needs to be himself, while at the same time adding a bit of charisma that is out of character for him. Slicking back his hair with a forced confident walk, chest puffed out, Spamton began the long trip down the red path. Perhaps he’ll slip sweet nothings in his sentences, appealing to her appearance or her talents.

At the entrance, the doors were wide open, a welcoming atmosphere for curious and infrequent outsiders; Spamton casually entered, head whipping side-to-side to see who was around. There were a few Swatchlings at their posts, likely keeping watch in case a suspicious person was lurking, which fit his description if he had not been squeezed into the not-so-busy schedule. Where was everyone? Prom had claimed there was too much going on, so where’s the buzz?

On cue, a door on his right swung open and there Swatch led Queen out, followed by a number of professional looking City citizens. Their suits made him feel criminally under-dressed, his everyday outfit lackluster in comparison. The group had not moved after the door was shut by a green Swatchling, the opportunity to try and mingle in the mix taken as he stepped over. Mentally, he recited his unscripted dialogue, yet it was like his mind was being read aloud.

“You’re marvelous, my Queen, just marvelous!” gawked one, a bead of artificial sweat on its forehead like the business conversation moments prior was an intense workout. He missed it, just missed it, but Queen had smiled - a forced smile, unsure on if she wanted to accept the words. So repetitive, so unoriginal. All Spamton wondered was what he’d use now that the continuous lines were ripped from him and projected on her by the others.

Suddenly feeling small (no pun intended), that courage dissolved into a mush of anxiety, Spamton turned on his heel and tried to beeline for the exit. Unfortunately, he just so happened to be visiting on a special day: Fruit Day, where the Darkners learn extensively on the foods Lightners eat and the health benefits for their kind. It was a way to give an idea on what to feed possible Lightner visitors.

In other words, there was a peel of a familiar berry on the shiny floor, left behind and overlooked by the Swatchlings. Another few steps and his foot landed right on it, the slippery inside had a chain reaction of Spamton sliding for a second and losing his balance, proceeding to catch air before slamming down on the ground with a comedic 'woosh' and thunk. His noise certainly grabbed the unsolicited attention, becoming increasingly anxious at the situation.

A yellow Swatchling ran up to try and help him up, asking if he was hurt and if he could walk, Spamton unable to respond because of a… reaction to his accident. Queen was laughing, laughing a lot. It was loud, a bit obnoxious, filling the great mansion’s hall. No one else was, they were either confused by his presence or with her impolite guffaw. Swatch, on the other hand, had kept a neutral expression throughout the ordeal. What is going on?

On his feet, he watched Queen approach him as her laughing fell to concluding giggles, an artificial deep breath to indicate she planned to talk at last.
“You Are Such A Silly Man Making Me Laugh Like That,” she crouched ever so slightly, hands propped on her knees as she leveled herself with him. “Won’t You Join Me Through This Corridor / I Think You Totally Should It’s A Cool Corridor.”

Swatch was heard dismissing the few that were now being forgotten, their appointments having long been wrapped up and desperately needing someone such as Spamton to take her away. Legs shaking, Spamton gave a nod or two, or three, or four.
“Y,ye AH SINC3 YOu SAY ITS [[chill out with an ICE-E(c)]]!” he exclaimed then yelped when the back of his sweater-coat was yanked upwards.

She picked him up like a damn kitten, her grin authentic as she waved a hand at Swatch to encourage they follow her down the opposite hallway. While he didn’t entirely care being held up in this way, Spamton was about to propose to her that he could easily walk himself, yet how fast they were traveling through the hall made him tighten his jaw. Better to just observe the plentiful paintings of Queen that littered the walls and the colorful vases decorated around.

The promised cool corridor had too many passages and entries, dizzying Spamton at the idea of remembering the layout of the mansion. He had it down once before, or at least the main areas he was accustomed to, though it was a foggy haze in his blurred memory. A few sharp turns and steps to different floors, he found himself gazing into the enormous dining hall, intimidated by the height of the room.

It was relatively empty, a few Swatchlings and Tasques simply passing by in order to get someplace else; the long table with its accompanied seats was in the middle of the dining hall, enough spots to have a feast with an indescribable amount of guests. At the very end of the table was Queen’s mobilized throne, it left here after “breakfast” due to it needing to charge and her needing to travel on foot.

What caught Spamton’s attention - minus Tasque Manager waiting for them at the closest side of the table - was the throne-shaped chair shoved in a far corner, a white sheet blanketed on top to imply it was useless and went untouched. He didn’t get the reason behind this, considering thrones belonged in the, you know, throne room, and storing it there would make sense. But he wasn’t going to challenge Queen and her set preferences.

“There you are!” Tasque Manager sat up as they went up to her, Queen setting Spamton down in the chair next to her. Instead of occupying a seat, she heaved her weight to the top of the table then crossed her legs; Swatch gave a disapproving look before deciding they’d just stand, not in a rush to rest. In such an open area, voices would bounce off the walls and be tossed in range of anyone close by, Spamton worrying he won’t be able to adjust his volume to fit the setting.

“So… Master Spamton, what did the Addisons envision for their campaign?” asked Swatch, tapping the shapes on his vest to open up their art program windows and then some. They needed to sketch a general idea and jot down potential notes or key points to include. A buzzing came from Spamton, who was not informed on what the product was. Was it even a product? Or was it for their stores overall?

The painfully obvious uselessness encouraged Tasque Manager to pull up her own screen and type on its keyboard, scrolling through before another window popped up beside the initial screen. “It appears that orange Addison wanted a vibrant, two-frame animation of a hand with a ring on it. One of the frames would include the ring glowing and an easy adjective with a positive connotation above it.”

“Flashing and eye-catching, these rings better be as grand as they want them to seem.” Swatch scribbled a low-effort hand with ‘wow!’ signed above it, taking a second to review what they did. Spamton shifted uncomfortably in his seat, observing the plush cushion.
“AS Some1 WH0 IS INTRESTED IN [[The Artist (2011)]] WOULDn”t IT Look Gud IF I T WAS A [Loyal Customer] PROP,OSING ?” he suggested, mimicking the gesture of opening a ring box.

Swatch considered his words, hiding the first layer then sketching on another; the doodle didn’t have defining features on who it was, and it included the word ‘mystify!’ Looking at it long enough, they pointed their pen at the salesman. “You’ll have to be the model, for inspiration purposes. You too, my liege, you’ll need to be in it.”
“For Better Sales And For Me All Over City x20,” agreed Queen.

“I’ll update this time slot then and alert staff and visitors that you two will be busy for a number of hours. Or minutes, whichever is more accurate, meow,” said Tasque Manager, as she tapped on her screen and her ear flicked at the ping that came from it. “All set! I’ll see you later.”
“WA1t i”ve nevEr ever NEVER B3e n a modEL,” Spamton hopped to his feet and waved his arms in the air for a second.

He didn’t think his job would extend this far, being in customer service meant he helped those coming to him, not being the customer and servicing elsewhere. That, and he’d have to pretend to propose to Queen. Oh god, he had to propose to the Queen.
“You’ll Do Great Besides You Are Excited Aren’t You,” commented Queen, who cocked her head to the side to get a better view of his cord tail wagging. Did her screen just display ‘cute’?

“This way, we can do it in the Color Café,” instructed Swatch, as they held out an arm and allowed the pair to walk ahead of them. On the way, there was light chatter from all kinds of people, Spamton choosing to ignore the hushed words in assumption they were about him. Swatch paid no mind, though Queen tuned in on each and every sound wavelength; her loyal workers and citizens weren’t nosy today, their conversations about fruit for the most part.

In summary to the events of this art modeling scheme, onlookers were quite perplexed by the sight of Spamton on his knee in front of Queen, arms raised yet hands empty of the notably important item that was required to be in this position. Through close examination, like how Swatch had been in a strange pose themselves in order to get the right angle, Swatchlings and others figured it was not actually a time for celebration for their Queen.

Too bad Spamton had an unpleasant experience in regards to being watched like a bunny in a fox den, only feeling as calm as he was because she was barely a foot away. Ten inches, to be exact - and she had leaned forward a smidge, Swatch needing to be able to size their canvas size and her height interfered with that. The moment of staring at each other felt almost intimate. Almost. There was tension. She kept a nonchalant smile.

An invitation to an evening festivity was given, Queen explaining that it would consist of her, Swatch, and Tasque Manager together in one of the rooms on the upper floor, hanging out. She didn’t specify what they’d be doing, only stating he can return to where he’s currently staying if he needs to pamper himself then return when it was nightfall (or when the hour struck nine.) Her tone was soft, purposely keeping it low, Spamton returning the quietness by nodding silently.

This was going to leave him deceased, going from barely seeing her to existing in her presence consistently made his emotion meter go off the rails. Even if they weren’t alone and her two closest friends would be keeping an eye on him and how he treats Queen, just being reintroduced to the group was exhilarating. In his thoughts imagining the future points where they would be together, Queen was heard stifling a laugh at his flushed face.

Chapter Text

The afternoon for Spamton had been occupied by the Addisons coaching him, antics ensuing as the four of them acted like they were experts in relationships. What he is thankful for, however, was the offer to wash up at one of their houses and have his outfit fixed up. He had his clothes patched and cleaned before, there is a local laundromat near his current residence, yet the pair he typically wears and finds the most cozy definitely need holes sewed back together.

When he returned to the alleyway, fluffing his hair with joy, there was a blue Swatchling standing there and patiently waiting for him. Apparently, they were going to escort him to the mansion, the possible exchange between them and Queen on why this was the case made him twirl a piece of his hair; he oughta drop on his knees and beg for mercy for the amount of times he’s become flustered due to her.

A chilled breeze swam through the City, pricking at his nose and the Swatchling’s beak, silence looming over the pair. The streets weren’t as active at this hour, Spamton desperate for a little sound other than his own footsteps and thoughts. A glance, he gave a shot at small talk with the Swatchling, asking if they had a defining name. When he didn’t get a response, he thinned his lips and looked ahead. Too intrusive, he thought sadly.

Another few minutes, they were near that ribbon laced path towards the mansion, adrenaline rising despite visiting just that day. Considering how much time the two had together and how much he had in his mind, he went with unsolicited rambling to get the nerves out.
“Y;knoW ,,I WANna Be Queen-y’s [Intimate Male Companion] DO u THiN K ANY1 WILL [friends to enemies 20k word novel]]???”

The Swatchling turned their head to look down at the jittery salesman, their blue pigment rising to a green one as they came closer and closer to the mansion and its warmth.
“I strongly believe those around her will be happy that she found someone genuinely committed to such a serious relationship, who does not desire being crowned the King of this world but instead worries for her and her concerns.”

“AH,” nodded Spamton, as he pushed up his pink and yellow frames. He never considered the fact of him technically being the king if he were to marry her, he just assumed he’d continue what his job is currently. The reassurance brought his tensed shoulders down, the bird butler still eyeing him as they got to the entrance; their hue was an orange-yellow glow. Gesturing towards the staircase, they continued escorting Spamton to where he needs to be.

Traveling to one of the upper floors, the pair stood in front of a tall entrance, the grandness of it was so obvious on what was behind it that even a court fool could figure it out. Before Spamton pushed open one of the two doors, he felt a hand placed on his arm and he snapped his neck over at them.
“Fives - my name is Fives, since I’m Swatchling #5.” They bowed in dismissal then walked off.

Behind the doors he heard gentle voices and soft laughter, the spiked anxiety could make him puke right then and there. But he needs to get over it, this was an important moment, a moment he wants to live and be a part of. Sliding both of his hands over the cool surface, he pushed against the door to open it, slipping through the crack as he is thin enough to get through tight spaces like this.

The creaking of the door turned heads, whatever was being discussed paused as all the focus landed on him as if he had made some sort of monumental entrance.
“Master Spamton, you’ve arrived,” smiled Swatch, waving him over encouragingly as Tasque Manager stood up and pounced towards the midpoint of his walk further into the room for… some reason.

After hours in the mansion meant work attire was not required, including the Swatchlings if they wished to return to their quarters and undress. Tasque had a thin tank-top on with booty shorts that had a print of records scattered on it, her usual boots missing and her bare paws tapped against the tiled floors. Her hair, too, was styled differently, now up in a mini bun with a few clips lazily stuck in it.

“Here, we have this robe for you to wear, mreow!” she tugged the mentioned article of clothing off from the back of a chair, handing it to him with a grin. “Should help add to the effect this is a casual hangout.”
“THan K2,” said Spamton, lost for words as he didn’t have a clue what was happening. Draping it over himself after he put his arms in the sleeves, he checked on what Swatch was wearing.

They had a silver gray shirt with dark green plaid pajama pants, their everyday shades still resting on their beak, and his bird feet were exposed to show their talons were painted to match the colors of a specific gaming console.
Huh, seeing these higher-ups without their uniforms made them less… menacing, though the feeling was familiar from the dated past memories.

Who he didn’t see was the lady herself.
“She’s getting some drinks for us,” explained Swatch, aware of his confusion for her absence.
“Yeah, even after we insisted we’d get it for her. Sometimes we do it in an act of friendship rather than servitude,” laughed Tasque Manager, her tail whipping in the air as she went back to her spot that she was in before he came.

The room was relatively spacious, made up of lounging furniture and decor similar to what you’d see in a personalized office. While most of the items kept the rest of the mansion’s theme, the black leather couches and fuzzy white rugs and number of modern tables sticking out like a sore thumb. The flat screen televisions, video game systems, and arcade machines caught him off-guard; the aesthetic single-handedly brought him back to his youth.

“Awh Sheet (Shit) We Bustin’ Out The Real Non-Battery Acid 18+ Drinks,” announced Queen, who entered through a backdoor and was balancing a number of glasses in one hand and a number of bottles in the other. It varied from sodas and juices that would be the base of the mix with the selection of alcohol available. In summary, they were going to get blasted and there’s no one that will stop them - not even Swatch will. They needed a bit of immaturity once in a while.

Queen was wearing a t-shirt with the faded graphic of a Lightner woman, the word “Swift” signed above her head, along with black sweatpants and… high heels?
“[Queen sized mattress] WHAT, THE H3LL,” said Spamton, grimacing at the shoe choice then recovered; “i mean - Wowee jeEZ YOU:R E A SWIFTIE????” His attempt to replace his insensitive greeting made Tasque and Swatch snicker playfully.

“Bro Who Isn’t LMAO / I Should Make It Illegal To Not Be A Swiftie.”
“Do not,” pointed Swatch, a brow raised at her joke that could very much end up *not* being a joke when it comes from her.
Everyone settled down in the main spot of the room: Queen and Spamton sat on the couch while Tasque and Swatch resided on the rug, in between the coffee table and the couch.

The glasses and bottles were arranged on the table, the picking and choosing of preferences stage went by and the group drank at different paces. Least likely to hold the alcohol was Tasque, who took her time as to not end up drunk in the first hour of being together; Swatch moderates himself until the third or fourth drink, the tipsiness slapping them in the face; Spamton’s pressure to feel included made him drink faster and get wasted yet more bold.

Of course, Queen is Queen.
A long sip from her glass, she let it sit in her mouth for a few seconds before letting it race down her throat. Fascinating how she can consume things inessential for her form, Spamton recalls being told she had an internal function that holds these liquids and solids that simulate the brain signals organisms experience; it can be emptied when she is done with it, either manually or through vaporization.

“Okay It Is Time For A Dance Competition / But Instead Of Talent We Just Step On Floor Buttons.” she stood from the couch then stepped on top of the coffee table, in order to avoid going over her friends. Parallel to the group was the television with a large system filling a space in the entertainment stand, mats on the ground connected with wires. It was Dance Dance Revolution, a game Spamton was rather good at back in the day.

“I got my amazing reflexes as an advantage, I’ll crush you,” challenged Tasque Manager, who pointed a finger over at Swatch with a devious grin.
“Just because felines are known for their reactions doesn’t mean a thing,” scoffed Swatch as a form of a tease, setting their drink down. “But I’d love to finally have a battle with you, Mistress Manager.” The banter would continue throughout Queen booting up the application.

The first round went to them, the winner going on and another will go against them; Queen sat besides Spamton once more, putting her arms along the back of the couch. Due to this resting pose, her arm was behind him, the closeness making him sputter out incoherent lines of mumbled speech. Thankfully no one paid attention, he went to drink the rest of his glass, though was stopped by a hand on his.

“Take It Easy Spammy You Can’t Drink Away Your Anxieties (Sad Truth),” said Queen softly, as to not distract the two starting the song and stomping the arrows.
“s0RRY Ju2T TRY”ING TO RELax,” apologized Spamton, setting his glass aside and instead gripping his tail to occupy himself. Watching Swatch and Tasque stiffly and aggressively slam their feet down was quite a sight, yet he wasn’t really engaged.

It isn’t his fault, this sudden hangout sprang at him without context as to how it would go; never would he have theorized this. Regardless, he was having… fun. To be in a real building at night with proper resting areas and access to all sorts of items and rooms… that in itself brought him to a content state. That, and seeing these three were still okay showing their true selves around him rather than the (sort of) stuck up nature that comes with working in the high class felt freeing.

The score became uneven as Tasque slipped on her own paw, spitting out profanity as she tried to catch up with the beats; Queen cheered for Swatch, always will she go for the winning person, while Spamton tried calling out to Tasque with reassurance. Final notes were sung, the tune coming to a wrap as the scores displayed on the screen. With a hum, Swatch turned towards her and smirked. “When’s the crushing, then?”

“Shove it, birdie, I can commit five felonies right now that involve you, mew!” she hissed, her competitiveness peaking as she turned and stepped off the mat. Incredibly, her mood shifted and her tail flicked. “Queen! Get up here and kick his ass!”
“Well I Could: Kick His Slash Their Ass / Pause For Dramatic Effect / It Would Be Funny To See Ham Go Against Them,” replied Queen, as she ran a hand on his back and pressed her palm against him.

Waving away the very few pixel hearts, he let Tasque Manager drag him by the arm and plop him on the second player dance spot. He glanced up at Swatch, who appeared too cocky in their expression.
“Which song, sir?”
“THA T 1?? [[Like a Record Baby.mp3]] !” Spamton brushed strands of hair out of his face.

With that, it started, the slow pace breaking them down bit by bit until it got to the more stressful part of the song. He was rusty, fists balled until his knuckles ached as he tried to work his little legs. To Swatch, this should’ve been an easy win for them, but they underestimated the whack shit Spamton does in order to try and get his way - such as using his hands. From where Queen and Tasque were sitting, it looked like a mixed battle of elegant ballroom dance versus hip hop break dancing.

Because of the cheating, Spamton had a better time marking the arrows, just a few points ahead of Swatch, who gradually appeared stoic as they focused hard on the screen. The energy was through the roof, the women hollering in their direction but neither could process what they were trying to accomplish. In the end, Spamton won by a hair, Swatch heaving a breath before solemnly clapping to congratulate him.

On the ground, Spamton rubbed his wrists as the three behind him murmured who was next; he forgot how intense certain difficulties were, the four stars the hardest for him to do without requiring a break in between each turn. Fortunately, the last song was a two, he was ready for another round on a similar difficulty. The clicking of heels made his heart drop to his ass, his head whipped around to Queen coming up beside him. Tasque and Swatch were grinning.

“[god dammit] HUAHEA THI2 WILL Be [[scheduled for One Fall! With a (3) minute time limit!]]” he blurted out, jumping to stand and preparing himself. Laughing, Queen put her hands on her hips: “Yes Sure Ok So Restrictions, None Of That Feral Behavior / Ah I Commute You Disapprove / Then I Shall Commence The Cheating Protocol.WEB As Well.” her screen displayed a loading bar, blinking when it filled to indicate she was ready.

It went along normally, Spamton bracing himself for a random shock wave of speed from Queen, yet it didn’t come. The basis of his mind to be set on the flying arrows, stepping in front of him to hold the note for a number of beats. This was going too well, he wanted to trust his gut that she pretended to download some website’s tips and tricks, but he couldn't be caught off guard from her. And it seems even if he expected something, this was not one of them.

Halfway in, she had leaned over, facing the monitor still as she reached for Spamton’s… head. She ran her fingers through his hair, playing with the strands and petting him. No pushing, no shoving, no picking up; she was giving him affection while they both were in sync to the game. Clever, real clever. The cheating was far worse than his cheating, Swatch and Tasque holding onto each other as they anticipated an effect from this cause.

And there it was, Spamton becoming slower and his foot repeatedly hitting only the top arrow option on his mat, tail wagging at the long desired touching. His nose was in the air like an excited puppy, those few hearts floating around once again as he tilted his head into her hand. A sucker for love, she remembered his weak point - the battle immediately over when he noticed her screen read ‘cute’ in reference to him, and he promptly froze and covered his face in embarrassment.

“Ho I Can’t Believe That Worked ROFL / Seriously Tho Do You Guys Need Like / Hugs Or Something / It Is A Little Sad To Witness How Pathetic You Get When Pet,” Queen tapped out of the round after the scores totaled, her words impolite yet not taken that way by the others. Afterwards, she helped him recover from his flushed state then was replaced by a determined and drunken Tasque Manager.

Plopping on the floor near Swatch’s legs, he gently touched the sides of his head, the phantom feeling of her hand present.
“It’ll feel like that for a bit but will go away. Trust me, I know.” they lifted the glass to their beak, emptying it in order to fill his cup with regular soda. On a normal day, they wouldn’t touch the carbonated drink, but they had used juice for their drinks prior and did not want to feel sick.

Watching the two go at it, the others had their short talks, nothing gained until Swatch clanked their glass against his.
“What are your intentions with the Queen?” they asked, voice gone down and deep, like they did not want the fun to be ruined for the dancers. A choke on his ice, Spamton wiped his mouth and looked at them. Their entire demeanor changed.

“UHh,,>? I JUst IJUST UM ???” he tightened his fingers around his cup, grinding his teeth together as he thought of his response. “i want [Hyperlink Blocked.] UGh F#$% N0T THat !, I W@NT 2 [[Romantic Dating Locations near You!]]”
“That’s what I thought,” Swatch turned their head to watch the laughing pair, a chuckle of his own escaping before they nodded. “Please know we have good intentions for whatever precautions we may take in the future.”

“Y3AH I Get It. ,Just [act]iNG WiTH CA RE AND LOOKIGN OUT 4 HER,” Spamton traced a finger along the circular edge of his glass. That must mean he was in the safe zone to really confess to Queen, considering Swatch out of all of her friends seemed to not be entirely against it. Honestly, the one he was scared of was Tasque Manager; who lost again and was now demanding Spamton to go against her (eventually she just sat down and Swatch danced with Queen. They lost, too.)

Way passed late, Tasque was being carried like cargo by Swatch, who was just as tired and intoxicated as her. They bid adieu, turning in for the evening in order to avoid the killer hangover they’d need to cope with in the morning. This left Queen and Spamton alone to finish whatever was left on the table, soon a cut off implemented as his levels were astronomically high and unhealthy for the poor man.

She was sick of the cloudy feeling, currently refreshed and sober while Spamton was leaning against her with a sleazeball of an expression. It is kind of silly, Queen observing the prominence in his eye-bags and progression of his slurred speech that she didn’t believe could even get this distorted. Running her knuckles against his jawline, the contact resulted in his droopy eyes meeting… hers?

“You’re Hungry.”
“NNnno im knot ,. imSh sheep,” said Spamton, nose scrunching for a moment before he smiled. “SHEEP im [1, 2, 3][sheep bleating].” Frowning, Queen did another scan, along with her opposite hand on his stomach. Results were in, he hadn’t eaten anything in a while; her worry contradicts the whole ‘does not need food to survive,’ but it would soak up this alcohol and its mental strainage.

In the process of searching the internet for the best and fast options someone may eat when drunk, she felt him shuffle and shift, groaning quietly. This was followed by a clicking sound, her tab she was reading closed out in order to check on him. His mouth was agape, the noise going on for another few seconds before he slapped his own face gently. “GOD god., queen-y h3y Queenie ! y”kN0W i want 2 [Beautiful long walks-] and& [-long psychology talks Free].”

Queen stared at him, trying to compute what the sentence and garbled mess meant. Only concluding the idea he wishes to go on a walk, she gave a slight shrug and smile.
“Why Not We Can Even Get You Score Bread On The Way / At Night It Is Perfect In My Mansion To Wander Around.” Leaving the couch and attempting multiple times for Spamton to walk properly without support, she held one of his hands and guided him to the grand doors to exit.

Chapter Text

A quiet morning, Spamton felt himself waking at the end of his sleep cycle, refusing to get up. He couldn’t tear away from the heat of his surroundings, his pillow much more plush and cozy than he remembered. With it, the case did not reek of that common trash stench, inviting his nose to nuzzle into it. To think the blankets underneath him, too, had a different feeling to them; not as ragged, smooth to the touch as he shifted from his side to his stomach.

When he did, his knee bumped into something in front of him, his mind imagining it as the wall to his dumpster. Though what’s queer was the lack of echo from the collision, as the alleyway itself would carry the sound and alert the mice nearby that they had to return to their hidden homes. And why was there no evidence of cars on the streets? Those revving engines always gave him a good jolt in the morning, annoying him to no end.

Another gently knock of his knee, there was a soft whirring that started up in response, his eyes immediately shooting open when he realized dumpsters are *not* supposed to do that.
Spamton found out that, in reality, he was in one of the many rooms in the mansion (the decor gave it away.) Blinking, he turned his head and noticed that his shoes were replaced with ridiculous slippers, one of the bunny's ears broken and flopped over on itself.

So he spent the night, no biggie in that, he’ll just get up and set off for work in a moment. To get rid of the sleepiness from his eye bags, Spamton peered around the still bedroom; it was a bit bigger than the other guest rooms, the bed he was currently in definitely larger than a twin or a common-size mattress. The walls had a few framed photos and portraits, a lot consisting of the staff at the mansion and selfies of Queen and her close friends.

If he squinted, he swore he made out one of the older photographs, dating back to the era prior to the 2000s. How drastic things have changed, he thought as he finally looked down besides him, his natural glow dimmed at the sight of Queen herself. Literally what the *fuck* happened last night? Scooting away from her form in a panicked manner, his attempt to be silent puny, and he tried to be rational. There’s no way she’d take advantage of him, or allow him to do something stupid to her, right?

He was holding his (unneeded) breath as he listened to the whirring internal fans, Queen booting up after being off for the entire evening. What was fortunate is her back was to him, facing away from him and his distraught expression. Minutes ticked, Spamton let himself relax, eyes tracing the charger plugged into the back of her neck and along its cord that seemingly disappeared between the pillows and bed frame.

Observing her allowed him to answer old questions he never thought he’d get answers to: does she take off certain parts of her exterior shell to bed? Did she outgrow her nightgowns? What sleeping position does she usually go in, even if she was just charging and not truly shut down? First of all, yes, she still gets rid of those extra enhancers, assuming it feels better when in bed. Leaning in to look closer at her clothes, he noticed she did discard the outfit from last night.

A basic blue nightgown, the fabric's color faded due to age and use, the print pattern rubbed off over time. It looked familiar, he might’ve seen her in it before. News to him, however, is her being on her side rather than her back; Queen researched the proper positions for people to sleep in, and somehow concluded this one was superior, so what was up with this inferior pose? It could likely be from the fact she was hooked up to her charger, but he was taken out of his thoughts shortly after.

Ripping the charger out of her, Queen let the cord drop as she turned around, intending to check on him but froze for a moment when she saw him sitting up, awake.
“Ah,” she puckered her lips for a moment before propping her elbow and resting her cheek against the palm of her hand. “How Are You Feeling Spamton / Doesn’t Appear You Have A Hangover How Does That Happen?”

“GU3SS IT:S NOt thE S AME 4 EV VERYONE.,,” shrugged Spamton, who took off his glasses just to wipe off the smudges on the lens. Messes with his vision more than the coloration. “UM? S0 WHAT [[TikToks that give me secondhand embarrassment]] TH1ngS DID i sAy yyesterDay???” he asked, fiddling his thumbs in circles while watching her monitor, in case some word or phrase flashes as she processed his sentence.

Queen brought a hand over and tugged at his collar, encouraging him to lie back down without expressing it verbally. He did, head resting on the pillows and nose length away from her elbow.
“We Went On A Walk And Talked About: A Roulette Of Topics / You Were Persistent In Having The 2.0.31.438 Update On My Life.”
“& thAt is ??”

“About If I Slept Around? / Yeah LMAO,” chuckled Queen, her smile subtle. “You Got Pretty Flustered After Calling Me A Whore (Which I Think Was Accidental?)” she wasn’t mad, on the contrary, she was rather amused with the notion of her using her loyal subjects. Sure, she had admirers everywhere she went, but it didn’t feel right to accept those specific advancements on her part.

Spamton slapped his forehead and groaned, it was typical of him to do something like that. “[Greee-eat!] I”M AN ARSE WHOLE.” With a light brush of her fingertips, Queen pulled his hand away from his head and held it, tucking their intertwined hands close to her bosom.
“Nah You’re Like 21.4% Asshole And 78.6 Percent… Other / Like With Love And Shit / Trust The Calculations I Am Clearly A Reliable Source (True)”

A blush dusted along his face, his thumb running circles against her cold, metal knuckles. He couldn’t recall all that he blurted out to the universe, no way in redeeming himself from making himself look like a fool - so why not filter into it further?
“qu3enie ? You know