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CRASH!
BAM!
THUMP!
There was nothing quite like a good slapstick cartoon on a lazy Saturday morning. Tenna, for one, had always been fond of the experience. Asriel and little Kris– the latter with an endearingly terrible case of bedhead– waking up after sleeping late into the morning, sat on the couch with bowls of far-too-sugary cereal that Toriel only approved of because the household would riot if not. Both of them watching Tenna. Laughing at the hijinks. Oh, it was adorable.
Over time, though, after the Holidays stopped their regular visits, Tenna grew less partial to the cartoonishly violent shenanigans of the Looney Tunes, Tom and Jerry, and Spy vs. Spy. It was just that, too often Tenna was starting to hear those sound effects in places he shouldn’t– in the Light World, in the house.
CRASH!
The sound of a vase being thrown against the fridge by Mom– er, by Toriel in a fit of anger, flowers and water chaotically falling all around it, barely missing Asgore’s head while it was flying through the air. Something about how the flower shop (what flower shop??) wouldn’t make up for the pay lost after being kicked off the force if Asgore didn’t start actually trying to sell the flowers. Tenna didn’t bother trying to understand; clearly he didn’t have enough context to even get what the parents were fighting over, so it was easier to just focus on making sure Asriel and Kris were too occupied playing his games to notice the chaos in the kitchen.
BAM!
The muffled sound of a teenage Asriel slamming a door upstairs after storming off tear-streaked after getting caught up between one of his parents’ fights. He was too overwhelmed to do much anyway, of course, but he still unintentionally left his little sibling to fend for themself in the living room. Kris, too, was crying, but was remarkably quiet about it– they were starting to learn not to draw any attention to themself during moments like this. Please don’t cry, kid, Tenna had wanted so badly to say as he watched them stress-chew on that old headband, just keep your eyes on me, okay? Nothing else matters. It was hard not having arms to hug with in the Light World.
THUMP!
The sickening thud of Toriel’s head hitting the wall after Asgore pushed her away too hard during the most recent spat. Toriel would have been more inclined to retaliate if she weren’t so dazed from the impact. It… was probably an accident, judging by his expression, but he was too taken aback by the shock to apologize, and Tenna never remembered an apology ever happening after the fact. Granted, Tenna also couldn’t remember why Asgore and Toriel were fighting that time. The arguments were all starting to blur together. Dammit, and why’d this have to happen while the weather channel was on?! Elnina and Lanino felt very awkward about the ordeal, Tenna had to apologize profusely, it became a whole thing back in the realm of dark.
It was depressing just how many of these sound effects could be replicated in real life when things got bad enough, and though he loathed to admit it, Tenna was secretly sort of glad that Asriel and Kris were beginning to grow out of those cartoons. Still, he didn’t like how that meant that there was now one less reason for the Dreemurr kids to watch TV. His Light World audience was already down by half… why weren’t his shows engaging anymore? What was he doing wrong?
“Never thought a CRT could get a headache, but there’s a first time for everything! WILD what you can get done if you put your mind to it, isn’t it, folks?” Tenna muttered to himself as he ran his fingers along his vents, paying no mind to the apparent lack of “folks” on the balcony with him. The game show host chuckled at his own lackluster attempt at humor. He was leaning on the railing of a balcony overlooking the purple cliffs, believing (well, hoping ) that perhaps the natural scenery could de-stress him. Boy, was he wrong!
“...Uh. Antony..?” A voice cut in softly, unobtrusively.
So softly, in fact, that Tenna didn’t actually notice, as he was too stuck in his own thoughts.
“Hey. Big guy. Wake up, will ya?” the voice tried again, a little louder and sounding less sweet and more deadpan. Still nothing.
Long sigh. Spamton figured he’d find Tenna in a condition like this (“this” generally was the result whenever Tenna up and vanished for a short time without saying anything to anyone), which is why he went ahead and borrowed Lanino’s ridiculous little pointer stick thing. The little salesman climbed up onto the balcony railing, pointer in hand as he balanced precariously on the precipice of a long drop. With caution, he reached up and used it to gently poke the more sensitive of the enormous man’s twin antennae. Don’t ask how Spamton knew which antenna that was.
“MAMMA MIA–!”
Tenna snapped out of his trancelike state immediately, jumping back several feet with a startled yelp. One hand went over his mouth, another went up by his head as if he were a criminal being caught red-handed, while the last two curled into fists and his arms bent like he was about to throw hands. That reaction was about as pronounced as Spamton was expecting, though he knew Tenna didn’t have it in him to throw a punch, at least not at
him.
Spamton crossed his arms and rolled his eyes, trying to suppress a snicker. He knew this was likely a serious moment for his partner, but it was hard to treat it that way when Ant was always so goofy in his reactions. …Eh, screw it, no harm in trying to lighten the mood, though that was usually Tenna’s wheelhouse.
“Mamma mia?! You’ve been playing too much Mario, Ant,” Spamton teased as he climbed back down from the balcony.
Tenna was not amused, though he did calm down as he realized who it was. He was a little relieved at the mailman’s presence, actually.
“It’s been five months since they’ve even touched any of the 𝕄𝕒𝕣𝕚𝕠 1 games,” Tenna lamented dejectedly; he couldn’t have sounded more despairing about it if he tried. No, really, he looked halfway to tears, and he didn’t even have eyes aside from the compound eye that was most of his screen.
“Huh? Who’s ‘they’?” Spamton inquired, despite knowing what the answer was and why he wouldn’t like it.
Tenna ignored him. “A-And don’t stand on the railing like that! You’ll fall off the cliff and bash your skull in, and THEN where will I be!?”
“Oh, I–”
“ALONE! That’s where! I CAN’T be a solo act at a time like this, Spamton!!” Tenna sounded genuinely panicked just thinking about what it’d be like to lose such a vital asset. And close relationship, for that matter.
“Alone’s not a ‘where’, Einstein. Now relax. I’m fine, see?” Spamton gestured at himself as if to prove that he was not, in fact, mangled at the bottom of a cliff. He was used to Tenna’s moods by now, though they never got any less exasperating. The Addison sighed, then turned to face the view of the couchscape as he drew a box of cigars from his pocket. He pulled one out, then paused, keeping the box open. “Want one?” He cast a sidelong glance at Tenna, who was still tense, but a bit less combative about it.
“I– uh, no thanks, I’m trying to quit,” he mumbled.
Spamton shrugged, shutting the box and setting it down on the railing, then reached into his other pocket to realize– “aw, damn, left my matches in the studio again.” He turned his head to look at Tenna with an expectant and borderline sly gaze.
Tenna scoffed, then begrudgingly cast a small electricity-bolt bullet at the cigar to light it up. Spamton’s eyes were glued to the action, mesmerized. He couldn’t say he didn’t like the odd, jittery thrill that came with the tiny residual zapping sensation that passed through his hand and up his arm. If one were to put their hand by his head right now, no amount of gel could stop it from raising due to the static.
“Thanks, Tenna, you’re a doll ,” smarmed the Addison, which had the intended effect of making part of the CRT’s screen turn pink.
“Ahaha. Y’know, I’m starting to think you forget your matches on purpose,” said Tenna with a smile. He finally calmed himself to lean forward again, bracing his lower pair of arms on the railing.
Spamton grinned in return, but didn’t confirm nor deny the accusation. Instead, he changed the subject. “So what’s got you so on edge anyways? Bit of a walk from the studio to here, don’t you think?”
The TV’s expression fell, antennae drooping as he stared back out into the distance. “I… I dunno. It’s…” he took a deep breath, putting on a smile. “It’s all hunky-doody over here, really! Just enjoying the night air!! The dusty wind does 𝒲🌞𝒩𝒟𝐸𝑅𝒮 2 for the lungs!”
“You’re [#%!&]ing awful at lying, you kn0w that?” Spamton said with a chuckle, then froze. His face, normally so rosy-cheeked, paled.
Tenna noticed the issue, of course. “Spam? You feeling okay? Your voice… sort of got, um– well, I mean, I don’t wanna call it WEIRD, but–”
“Hey, don’t go turning this around. Enough about me, we were talking about you,” Spamton quickly deflected, “why’d you come all the way out here?”
The TV-headed man paused, still seeming unconvinced that nothing was amiss, but let out a defeated huff, ultimately deciding to file that away for later. “Alright, FINE. I’m just… worried about viewership and needed a minute to think.” An oversimplification, but nothing new. “Even with you spreading the word in your world, I– we were doing GREAT for a minute there, but it didn’t last.” Tenna paused. He knew what he was about to bring up usually only made Spamton weirdly defensive, but it was as if he couldn’t stop himself. He had to shoot his shot. “Which– which actually reminds me! You, uh. Do you think now’d be a good time to… uh, work out the details of that… contract..?”
Just seeing the look on Spamton’s face made Tenna shrink to half his usual size.
“No pressure! Just thought I’d offer!! Only… I only have a failing show to worry about over here! Ahahahahaha!” He let frustration leak into his tone, his smile too wide to be genuine.
“What’re you talking about now? Our show’s doing fine.” Spamton put his hands on his hips in indignation, tone suddenly quite cold as he glared up at Tenna’s screen.
“Compared to before you showed up, sure, my show’s not doing badly. But engagement’s starting to get lower again, and don’t even get me STARTED on how many Li–” Tenna stopped himself before he could get any further into that sentence. He knew anything regarding the Light World was a sensitive subject for Spamton, as the little mailman envied how well Darkners like Tenna could see into it.
Regardless, it seemed like Spamton knew what Tenna was about to say. His expression darkened.
“Come ag4in, [[Cathode]]?” He asked in a warning tone. This time, he didn’t even seem to notice his slip-ups. But Tenna sure picked up on them. He gasped loudly.
“Spamton, your voice got all screwy again! What’s the matter with you?!” Truthfully, he was more than happy to cling to this issue if it meant he could brush past his own slip-up.
Spamton blinked. Did it..? No, he would have heard it. He’d been all too aware of how unintelligible his voice was slowly becoming, whether he wanted to talk about it or not. Tenna was bullshitting Spamton to cover himself up, he had to be.
“L1AR! What the [$4.99] are you [[talk to one of our service representatives today!]] about?!” The salesman snapped, this time hearing it plainly. No. No, no, no, NOT in front of Ant– oh, of all people-! It was scary as it was embarrassing, and the more stressed out Spamton got, the worse the problem became.
But Tenna didn't seem to realize that the shaken look on Spamton's face was there less because he’d been “caught”, and more because he too was disturbed by it happening at all.
“HAH! SEE? Are you hearing yourself right now!? Your voice is all ᔕᑕᖇEᗯY 3 ! You thought I wouldn’t NOTICE?” Tenna's half-smug, half-desperate tirade came to an abrupt halt as he realized that not only was he not getting a reaction, but Spamton's eyes were filled with snow– that is, static– which wasn't something that happened often. “H-hey, are you even… are you even listening to me?”
In reply, there was only the faint hissing of that stupid static .
Tenna found himself growing back to full size out of sheer aggravation (or was it franticness?), hands clenching into trembling fists as his lips curled into a fanged… grin? For some reason? Even when he wanted to snarl, he couldn't get over his unconscious “face made for TV” habits. “That! Is IT!! I have had it up to HERE with your–” he raised his upper right hand to his neck with a flattened palm and slammed his lower left fist into the wooden box of cigars.
CRASH!
The box splintered, and the CRT’s closest companion flinched. It accomplished in snapping Spamton out of his stupor, but consequently sent Tenna into one of his own. That horrible, cliché, grating, all-too-familiar sound effect… Tenna's screen went black for a moment. Spamton, meanwhile, was disturbed enough by this whole affair that he’d forgotten what he was angry about, but in place of the burning sensation, a pit formed in the small man’s stomach. He opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated, worrying about what would come out instead of the words he wanted to say.
Tenna's screen turned back on, and he giggled nervously, because it was either that or devolve into complete hysteria. “Ahahaha– ahaha! Haha. Hm. WOW, uh. Geez, folks, since when did this become a SLAPSTICK segment? Let’s not do THAT again!”
Spamton just stared blankly, as if Tenna was the one speaking with distorted speech and recycled voice lines. But perhaps the latter’s rambling was its own kind of nonsense. As Tenna spoke, the hand that had just broken the cigar box was now absentmindedly fishing through the remains. After a moment of fumbling around without even looking at the box or at Spamton, Tenna found what he was looking for. Trying to keep his hand from shaking so violently that the cigar would be at risk of falling, Tenna brought it within sight and carefully zapped it with the same type of bullet he had used earlier. Wordlessly, he lifted the cigar to his mouth.
Spamton’s brow furrowed. “Hey, didn’t you say you were trying to quit?”
“Haha, yep! …I give up.” Tenna slowly drew in, then let out a puff of smoke.
The blunt yet overly cheerful delivery almost made Spamton want to laugh, but he couldn’t. Reflecting on things, the Addison knew it probably was high time to start thinking about that contract. As nice as this partnership had been, Spamton needed to move on to bigger and better things. While this wasn’t exactly a charity case (he’d been paid handsomely and enjoyed numerous benefits, thank you), there were greater business opportunities elsewhere. At least, that’s what he told himself.
He knew what it had taken to become a big shot. He knew that receiving help from his mysterious benefactor came with… unpleasant side effects that he didn’t wish on Antony, even if the pair had recently become more and more prone to bickering over the past couple of years. But who was he to decide what Tenna should do with his professional life? And above all, Spamton was not only aware of things about the world no Darkner should know, but nowadays he could feel it. He could feel his grip on his own sanity starting to slip away, and there was nothing he could do to stop it, which only accelerated the spiral. The only thing he didn’t know was how much time he had left before he lost himself. If this deal was going to be made– and it WAS; Spamton wasn’t always an honest man, but he had principles, and he had made a promise the moment the two stars met– then it had to be made sooner rather than later.
Just… maybe not tonight.
Spamton took a deep breath, then reluctantly spoke. Thankfully, it was coherent enough. “H3y, Ant?” He paused, waiting until Tenna nodded vaguely in acknowledgment. “Whaddya say we head back? Lanino’s probably s0bbing their eyes out so hard their tears are making new craters. And his sheep cloud wife’s joined in by now!” That was most certainly NOT how Lanino’s face worked.
“Elnina,” Tenna corrected, then bowed his head, shrinking just a little bit. “Spammy– er, Spamton, do you, um… do you forgive me?”
“For..?” Spamton knew what for, but he just wanted to hear Tenna take full responsibility for something specific, ONCE.
“Ah, yelling, and um, breaking the– smashing that cigar box.” He shrunk down to just barely over six feet tall. His voice was soft and guilt-ridden like a child caught drawing on the walls with crayon.
Unfortunately, it did in fact melt Spamton at least a little. Dammit. Spamton huffed and began walking east, back towards civilization. He motioned for Tenna to follow, which he did.
“Eh. As long as you pay me back for the box– that thing was vintage! Some r3al old web stuff! You’re lucky there weren’t more cigars in there.”
“I’m short a few Dark Dollars. Can I pay you in POINTs?”
“Absolutely not.”
The pair spent the rest of the long walk lightheartedly to make up for what had gone down. It was enough to raise both of their spirits. It was almost enough to make Tenna forget who he looked and sounded like during the argument, who he was becoming. It was almost enough to let Spamton ignore the constant rotary-style ringing in his ears that told him Heaven was on the line.
Almost, but not quite.