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It was snowy out, the biome overtaking Spamton’s vision. He had witnessed the Tenna falling to the ground, stumbling away in the wind. He wanted to go find Tenna to hopefully fix him up. Even if he couldn’t fix everything, he could get the CRT up and running so the lighteners could patch the rest of him. They were perfectly fine at the moment with the roaring knight.
It was freezing out here, with a wild wind zipping past. Spamton was surprised that he hadn’t been pushed over in the wind due to his size. Although he had to be close to the others' landing point. Green wires sprouted from his fingers as he dug through the snow, trying to latch onto anything that could be Tenna.
As the wind raced by him, a faint buzzing sound could be heard in the distance. Music accompanied it, soft and vintage-sounding. It was comforting to him, something that his ex-business partner would’ve put on for them to relax to. He always had records around his place, and was obsessed with collecting them. There were shelves dedicated to each record. He must be getting closer to the CRT.
Digging another clump of snow out, the CRT was revealed to him. He looked… slightly pathetic, slumped there. Wires stuck out of this arm sockets, sparks shooting out every few seconds and falling onto the ground. His leg was propped up, as if he had tried to get up but was struggling to lift the other one. His head was hanging down in front of him, but not enough to block what was playing on the screen fully.
Trying to take a closer look, Spamton couldn’t fully see what was going on. Snow covered the majority of the screen, and the music seemed to have been muffled. Walking closer to the face of the taller man, he brushed the snow off. Now that he was near the other, he finally recognized the music that was playing.
And, if we go someplace to dance, I know that there's a chance
Frank Sinatra, one of Tenna's favorite artists. Specifically, the album The World We Knew. Anyone who even stepped foot into Tenna’s living space could tell he adored the album. It was always softly playing in the background, accompanied by the smell of oak, vanilla, and cinnamon. His cologne always covered his apartment, and Spamton could never get rid of it from his mind. Standing right in front of the CRT, there was the same smell he remembered from years ago.
There's a chance you won't be leaving with me….
Clear as day on the screen, there was Spamton. Spamton G. Spamton, from Tenna’s point of view. It was one of the days that Spamton had come over to discuss plans for their show, “TV TIME!”. He was bent over at Tenna’s table, scribbling something down on a document. A cigar lay in his left hand, as he wrote the script with his right.
“You know, [[ THE ONE AND ONLY CRT ! ]], I think that this copy is the one. Have you ever thought of introducing drama into your showtimes?”
Tapping the cigar down onto the tray, he brought it back up to his mouth and took a puff. Blowing it into the air, the salesman looked up towards the screen. He looked different. Beautiful. His hair, even if it was messed due to Spamton running his hands through it, had fallen on his face. His tie was hanging slightly off his shoulders since he adjusted it to relax. His shirt was slightly unbuttoned, with the sleeves rolled up. His suit jacket lay on the chair behind him. Is this how Tenna saw him?
“[[ Hello World! ]], are you [[ Space for more storage? ]] out?”
An annoyed look was plastered on his face as he continued staring at the screen. A jump in the camera, look off to the side, and then over to what Spamton had been writing. It was a dramatic scene of a knight saving a princess, with Tenna being the knight and a fateful viewer being the princess. It would engage more audience, and calls would come in about being their next princess. He remembered that show, they got a bunch of donations in for it.
“Yeah- uh- thats fine! Whatever you think is good, Spamm- Spamton.”
That's new. All he remembered from the event was that Tenna said it was fine. Not the little slip-up of… what was even that nickname? He couldn’t remember it for the life of him. Tenna had never used it with him… had he?
Then afterwards we drop into a quiet little place
Even with the cold being blocked with the CRT’s legs propped up, Spamton couldn’t help but shiver. Tenna didn’t even understand that his little mailman was here, and he was still looking out for him. Every second that passed, the music started to become more distorted.
The scene changed. This time, it was them on air. Spamton was going on a ramble about his new product he was selling, the Cungadero! Posters were plastered on the wall behind him of shots of the new car. The sleek red design of the car, photos of Spamton in it with “Big Shot Autos!” in the background.
“And you have it here, folks, a [[ BRAND NEW DEAL ]] for our [[ CUNGADERO ]] !! There will be a drawing after [[ ITS TV TIME !! ]] today where you can send in a [[ $ $ $ ]] donation to be entered in a [[ TV TIME ]] drawing! You may be the lucky winner to take it home tonight. Just make those calls in, and we’ll decide who shall deserve this beautiful specimen!”
Tenna wasn’t looking towards the camera. Not even the audience. He was staring directly at the mailman, who had gotten up and was addressing the audience. He held one hand in the air, a shot of the cungadero appearing above his hand. Some… TV logic that Spamton never understood, but Tenna knew like the back of his hand. A huge smile was on his face, and he held a microphone in the other hand. Lights shined down on the front of him, highlighting him to the audience and his fellow co-host.
He looked like a star, born to be on that stage. And he always was. Touching a hand to his face, Spamton felt water that started to drip down his face. He couldn’t… he couldn’t be crying, could he? Even if he would never admit it, he missed those days with Tenna. He always wanted to reach out, but knew something could happen if he did.
What was he originally doing here?
And have a drink or two
Snow started to fall back onto the CRT’s head as the scene changed again, the music glitching out to cut to the audio of the event. This time, Spamton sat across from the CRT. He looked nervous, fidgeting with his left hand as Tenna was explaining something to him.
“Alright! So, here it says your name is… Spamton G. Spamton? And you are with Big Shot Autos?”
Oh. It was his interview date. For his first-ever ad slot on TV Time. Tenna’s show was newer at the time, but it captured a massive audience. They hosted game shows every Thursday, which Spamton took part in. In his first game show, he completely bombed it, allowing him to gain the rank of “Z-Rank.” The next couple he did phenomenal, which impressed Tenna big time. It was a massive comeback for the little Addison. Tenna had many others similar to him on his show, but they prioritized gaining an AD slot over actually playing the game. Spamton actually wanted to be on his show… and an ad slot, but Tenna didn’t need to know that.
“Yep, [[ BIG SHOT AUTOS in YOUR area! ]] is the brand that I sponsor. I have been working with them for the past few years, and they have brought their [[ Fragile Items? ]] into [[ Darn Near Indestructible ]] merchandise, alongside my help, of course! They sent their [[number 1 rated salesman 1997]] to seal the deal, Mr. Tenna. With us, your views will [[ Grow Bigger! Grow Better! ]].”
A chuckle escaped Tenna as he watched all of the mannerisms that came out within him. He had rested his head on his hand as the Addison continued to ramble on, the voice slowly disappearing as Tenna continued to admire him. He was already planning on hiring the Addison, but needed formalities.
“Spamton, was it?” Tenna shook his head, looking towards the white Addison in front of him. It seemed like he had finished with his speech and was awaiting a response.
“Spamton G. Spamton, everybody's favorite [[number 1 rated salesman 1997]].” A huge grin was plastered on his face, and he sat confidently, a change from how he was acting earlier in the interview. Tenna needed confidence on his show, and the mailman seemed to have all of it. Although Spamton’s eyes seemed to drop a little bit as Tenna asked that, worry overfilled them.
“You’re hired. Your time slot will be tomorrow, at 10 am sharp.”
The amount of pride that the Addison had when he managed to bag that adslot time, he ran back to the other Addisons to brag about it. Jealousy had spiked throughout the group, but Spamton couldn’t care less at the time. He was [[ Bigger and Better! ]] than them.
And then I go and spoil it all
Flickering of the CRT screen started as his fans started to whirl down. Fuck. He was here to fix Tenna, not watch whatever he was playing. Multiple of Spamton’s angels appeared out of him as they started to patch up the cracks in his screen. Every tap of angel would repair the part that they touched, color slowly coming back to Tenna’s face.
Green wires flew out and started searching for Tenna’s arms. They had been lying around, and the cut caused by the roaring knight was a clean slice. Clean enough for Spamton to splice them back together. They may be fragile, but enough to get the CRT up and running. As he was looking for the arms around him, another scene flickered on the screen. Tenna’s dressing room appeared with stuff tattered all around. It was destroyed, and Spamton could see Tenna’s hands reaching up for something above his head, presumably his antennas. The door opened behind him, and a voice could be heard in the background.
“Hey… I heard your [[ Banging and Smashing Hits! ]] from down the hall. Is there any way I could [[ Press F1 for help ]] you? I mean, we have to [[ Confirm Now! ]] that you are the [[ BIG SHOT ]] everyone's waiting to see tomorrow. Our debut, remember?”
Spamton slowly walked in front of the view of the CRT. He was blurry, but Tenna looked up towards him. Soft sobs seemed to escape the CRT as he stared at Spamton, a panic rising in his throat. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t do ANYTHING right. The night before their debut, and he’d manage to fuck it up somehow!
“Is this about the [[ Tossed to the Trash? ]] reviews we got earlier? You know that those [[ DO NOT ENTER ]] matter, what matters is how you let yourself take it. You have so many [[ Adoration for Ages with this simple trick! ]] fans, and they love you for you. Don’t you worry, Tenna, we’ll do great tomorrow, okay?” Spamton reassured, feeling awkward in the moment. They had gotten some negative reviews and hecklers earlier that day during a public interview. Some of them had asked about Spamton G. Spamton, and their relationship. A relationship that wasn’t necessarily business partners, nor were they just friends. Hecklers knew this was a sore subject, so they started to throw slurs, with insults mixed in about how he was a terrible gameshow host and should stop his career. Tenna became so flustered about it that he ended the interview early.
“But.. what if they are back? What if they are right? I can’t do this. I barely got any views the past shows, Spammy- ton. Spamton. What if I manage to lose… I don’t know..” Tenna’s size dropped significantly, as now his eyes only met Spamton’s midsection. The mailman looked huge from this point of view, but it was upsetting to see as it portrayed how devastated the CRT was. Spamton walked closer to the CRT and offered a comforting hand on his shoulder, lifting his head up with the other one.
“Hey, [[ THE ONE AND ONLY CRT ! ]], their opinions don’t matter. Its [[ Back to School Shopping! ]] for the kids, so there won't be as many streaming you as you’d prefer. But that’s [[ 100% OFF ! ]] okay. We are a duo, you and me, and we can [[ Protect yourself with Better Security ]] this show. If… I do say so, you are one of the best [[ GAMESHOW HOST ]] that I’ve seen in the entire Cyber City, and that’s saying [[ Too Much Storage? ]], as I have met with a lot of them. I picked you, Mr Tenna, and I know we can be [[ BIG SHOTS ]] together.”
A chuckle escaped the CRT as he wiped away the tears from his face. Spamton stood in front of him with his red suit, the TV pin adorning the side of his jacket. He had his tie neatly placed up, his hair slicked back, and a complicated mess of emotions adorned his face.
“You’ll stay even if I mess up?”
“It’ll be us messing up, not just you, and the audience loves a [[ Relatable and New! ]] host.”
By saying something stupid,
He remembered that day, right before his big debut, they had gained hecklers. Tenna was in a horrible mood that night, already stressed about the big reveal the next day. They were completely uncalled for, for Tenna had been beloved by all in the Darkworld. There was no reason to HATE the CRT, as he was a family-friendly game show host. Jealousy had run through the ranks of the Addisons, and they started slight rumors to cause chaos in their ex-coworker’s life. Thankfully, Spamton managed to cheer the big guy up, and they secured the debut. Everyone loved him.
More of the angels continued to patch up cracks, almost finished with the screen. Two of them had moved further up to work on the broken antennas, and one was wandering over to the arm that Spamton had managed to find and was positioning it up to the socket. Snow seemed to be affecting his face, as he felt droplets fall from his eyes. It couldn’t be anything other than the snow; he didn’t care about this era anymore. He stopped after he was chucked to the Trash Zone. He had to stop caring.
“All you have to do is sign here.” Tenna’s voice echoed from the screen as the next scene appeared. It was… when Spamton left. When he got that phone call that day from his sponsor, he was completely ruined. Not only was he cut off from the sponsorship, but they tormented him with the prophecy. If he didn’t comply with what his sponsor said, they threatened Tenna’s life. The Lord of Screens, cleaved by red blade, rang in Spamton’s ears as he watched the event go down.
A ringing of the phone chimed out, and Spamton looked irked but panicked. “My apologies, [[ THE ONE AND ONLY CRT ! ]], I must take a [[ Only 15 minute prep time GUARENTEED! ]] to take this phone call-”
A frustrated sigh escaped Tenna as he watched Spamton get up and start heading towards the phone. They were SO close to signing the contract, to have him on full time, and he’d reveal the secret to becoming a big shot. “Can’t it wait JUST this once? You hang around that phone like it’ll KILL you if you don’t answer it.”
Waving him off, Spamton still picked it up. A couple of words were exchanged, none that Tenna could hear from afar. He watched the man intently, noticing that he suddenly stopped talking and tensed up. Shaking in his hand as he held the rotary phone, it slipped through the crack of his fingers. Spamton's head snapped back towards Tenna with a look of horror, his breathing suddenly picking up and a shake overtook him.
“Spammy? What's going on?” Not even a second passed, and the other booked it towards the door, slamming it open and disappearing out of sight. Tenna was aghast. They were moments from the contract being signed and he LEAVES just like that. Chucking the pen down at the paper, he abruptly got up and stalked towards the phone
“Of course, of course I ALMOST get him to sign the contract, to stay, he just- he fucking UPS and leaves- are you-” Tenna reached the phone, and quickly brought it up to his face.
“Hello?” Tenna softly said into the phone, only for garbage noise to respond. With a shout, he slammed the receiver back onto the rotary phone and kicked the table.
“That fucking MAILMAN-” The video abruptly cuts, leaving Spamton sitting there to stare at his screen. He was frozen, had fallen onto his knees at that exact moment. The nickname, the anger as he left, the way he went after the phone, and not him. A reminder of the prophecy, the fear that Spamton held within himself at the time. He wanted to stay. He wanted to be with Tenna, but he didn’t… He was scared. He couldn’t bring himself to tell Tenna of the prophecy, and didn’t want to risk his life.
Like, “I love you.”
Tears started rushing down Spamton's face as he thought over the times with Tenna. The nights shared, the times on air, the looks Tenna always threw his way. The nickname he had called him slowly resurfaced in his mind. Tenna adored the mailman, missed him so much that in his dying- not dying moments, Spamton WILL fix him- moments, all he can think about is him. His arms seemed to have been reconnected at this point. All he had to do was check the inside, make sure he was okay in there, and try to reboot him. But he couldn’t will himself to move.
Frozen. Stuck there, witnessing each scene appear on Tenna’s screen. Tears rolled down his face, a shake overcoming the little puppet. The music playing from his speakers became more distorted as it ended off on the “you” part of the song, fading out into the last scene.
Darkness invaded the screen as it showed a poster on a wall, clearly of their Big Shot Era. Dust covered the poster, the rotary phone sitting below it. Grunts escaped the speakers as Tenna went to reach over to the poster and clawed through Spamton’s face. Multiple swears escaped the CRT, some of them that Spamton had NEVER even heard of, as he swore on his name.
“For some BIG SHOT, you can just fucking- LEAVE? You can just leave, for YEARS and YEARS and decide one fateful day you can COME BACK?!? I shouldn’t have even-” A crash rang out as the rotary phone was smashed onto the table underneath it by Tenna, whose gloves seemed to now have holes poking through due to the phone's bent metal.
“Shouldn’t have even KEPT that PIPIS that he gave me. YEARS I spent, hoping he’d show up, he’d come back to ME as MY cohost-”
The poster was completely off the wall, now being ripped to pieces. The rotary phone lay in front of him, completely crushed by the slamming. The cord of it seemed to have been ripped out from the back of the phone, and the plug was nowhere to be seen.
“I LOVED HIM. I loved him. I love him, and I just. I don’t want anything to DO with him. What if he leaves again? What if we try to fix everything, and something FUCKING comes up, and he LEAVES. I missed him for so long, only to remember he's probably the same old sleazy salesman before. Gets his quick fix-”
Another crash sounded as the table was chucked towards the door, wood splinters exploding everywhere. The other posters in the room seemed to have scratch marks through Tenna’s face, but the mailman was still attached.
“And decides, ‘It's enough for me, guess I’ll go fuck over the next guy!’ I HATE that I still MISS HIM.”
A gut-wrenching scream exited the CRT, its pitches so high that it cuts out within the CRT speakers. As the scream cut out, the screen abruptly shut off, leaving Spamton looking at himself.
A mess, in front of Tenna, his mouth ajar. Tears flowed down his cheeks, falling into the snow underneath him. His arms lay within his lap, and his glasses started to fog up. He looked.. Awful, realizing that Tenna loved him. He never entertained another co-host; he never entertained another lover, because he loved him this whole time. Loved him until all he had left was hatred for the mailman.
Panic set in as the screen shut off, and he watched as his angels got to action, opening the hatch on his chest to inspect his internal circuitry. They fixed up the misplaced wires, the battery, everything that was not in top shape. A click sounded within the robot body, and Spamton watched the screen in front of him start to load up. Fans started to whirr, encouraging the angel Spamton’s to exit the body and shut the hatch. They had done their job, and disappeared into the air. As soon as it loaded up, he looked down at Spamton, a mix of emotions flowing through his screen.
“Tenna?” Spamton asked, hopeful that he was loading up correctly. He had so much to say, so much to apologize for, and he need to do that before he continued with the lig-
“Who are you again?”
A silence passed between the two of them.
With one click, Tenna slumped forward onto his knee, and his screen cut to black.