Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"CUT! CUT! CUT THE CAMERAS, I SAID! CUT!"

A sharp inhale cut the tense silence of the recording room, everyone waiting to see how their boss would react.

"Okay. Whoever's filming right now? Burn that tape. Let's start from the top. We NEED to get this PERFECT."

...A string of musical notes piped up.

"What? What do you MEAN it's- Okay. FINE. Pack it up for the night. But we WILL be continuing FIRST THING tomorrow. Understood?" No one responded. "Great! Now, I'm going to my dressing room. If you need me, no you don't."

Everyone dispersed, and the man on the stage sighed deeply. Another day, another failure. They'd been TRYING to film in advance for an upcoming sleepover between the youngest Dreemurr and Holiday while their older siblings went off on some school trip together... But the day was already almost there, and absolutely no progress had been made!

He groaned, dragging his hands down his screen. Nothing to be done about it after working hours... His feet hit the ground a little too hard as he jumped down from the stage, but he paid it no mind, lost in his own world.

Before he knew it, he was at the ostentatious gold-plated door that led to his dressing room. ...Huh? Something had been put into the mail slot...? He wasn't expecting any mail, especially not delivered straight to him like that. Usually it ended up in the mailroom.

He plucked it out, unlocking and heading through his door while reading.

'Tomorrow, a visitor will arrive. You will find him beneficial.'

...Cryptic. Too cryptic, in fact, to be real. Was it some kind of prank? He'd have to check the security footage for who put that there. But that... Could wait. At that moment, his bed was calling to him.

Step-by-step, he went through his nightly routine: change out of clothes + prepare clothes for the next day, pajamas, overnight screen spray and screen cover, antennae covers (to prevent damage), pull down the folding bed, plug in, lay down...

...And then lay awake in bed for several hours fretting before finally falling asleep.

---

11:30 AM.

He overslept.

He overslept.

He. Overslept.

That NEVER happened.

After a harried rush to get himself ready, blazer half-on and screen cover still attached to his face, he stumbled out towards the recording room... And right into a commotion in the Green Room.

"WHAT is going ON exactly!?" If anyone noticed his disheveled appearance (and they most certainly did), they didn't comment on it. "Well!?"

Ramb behind the bar was the first to speak up, already preparing a new cup of coffee for the frazzled TV. "We've got company, luv, from what these fellows 'ave been saying. I wouldn't know, I 'aven't left the bar."

Company? ...Right, of course. Noelle!! Sweet, Noelle... She'd have brought over some of her belongings for the sleepover, meaning if any had Darkners, they'd be visiting too.

But...

"Well that's hardly cause for all this excitement," he huffed. "We KNOW who she brings along with her."

"Not this time," piped up a Pippins. "She brought a laptop with her! From the library, she said."

...

A laptop . Great. His eye twitched.

"I'll deal with it. Now, you all can..." he inhaled. "GET BACK TO WORK. WHERE YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE." That got everyone to scatter, fleeing the room- except Ramb, of course, who was meant to be there.

Several seconds passed.

"Rough night, luv?" Ramb finally said, sliding the cup of coffee over the bar. He grabbed it, taking a long sip- or at least trying to, only succeeding in getting his screen cover wet. Embarrassed, he yanked it off, crumpling it into a wad and tossing it out. "'Avent seen you oversleep this badly in years."

"I'm fine."

The plug gave an incredulous look. "Mmmhm."

"I'm fine, I said!"

"Your suit's unbuttoned."

-His screen turned a bright red, and he did up the buttons wordlessly. "No one- no one SAW that, right?"

"You know the answer to that, luv."

"UGH." he slammed down his coffee in a single gulp, before letting his still-red face hit the bar counter. "And NO ONE said ANYTHING!?"

"They know how you get."

"It'd be- whatever." He felt himself start to shrink a little bit, and diverted his energy to preserving his size. "Whatever! Not like the show needs to look PROFESSIONAL or anything! It's fiiiiiiiiine!"

There was a knock at the door.

He heard Ramb vault over the counter, and the door opening.

"Is da boss in theres?" It was the unmistakable voice of a Zapper. What now? "There's some guy, says he wants ta sees him. I left 'im outside."

"Bring him in," he said, not even lifting his head up. "I'll take care of it."

"On it, boss." He heard the door close again.

"Sounds like one of our guests," Ramb said casually, still waiting by the door. He knew his boss sure as 'ell wasn't going to be getting it. Sure enough, the knock returned, and Tenna stayed firmly planted. With a sigh of resignation, the door was opened once again.

And through it came the most obnoxious sounding footsteps the bartender had ever heard, attached to an almost equally loud pink and yellow suit and a head of clearly over-gelled black hair. Despite all that, though, the face gave it all away- the Darkner that stood before Ramb was very clearly an Addison. Though, not one he recognized- he'd never heard of there being a white one before.

"Is that him?" Tenna's voice cut through the room, the TV still refusing to lift his head up.

"In the flesh!" The stranger responded. "Where can I find the boss of this place?" Ramb winced a bit. Tenna could easily take that as an insult, and that risked a tantrum.

"Speaking," Tenna replied, lifting a hand.

The stranger raised an eyebrow, looking down at Ramb doubtfully, as if to ask, 'really? That guy?' Ramb chose to ignore it.

"What is it you want? Make it quick, I need to be on set in... Oh forget it. No one's watching TV right now."

"Well, I WAS here to make a business offer, but it doesn't look like there's any interest." He spun on his heel and seemed ready to leave, before Tenna sat up, signaling for the door to be shut.

"What kind of business?" For some reason, that weird note he had gotten flashed in his mind.

Chapter Text

The stranger- Spamton G. Spamton, he'd introduced himself as (and Tenna had to double check to make sure he was hearing it right), wasn't the only new face, as it turned out. Just the first to make an appearance.

There was, of course, the usual cast of guests from the Holiday Home. But that wasn't who he was interested in.

There was the laptop herself, Q5U4EX7YY2E9N (or just Queen, as she insisted), and her gaggle of... Servants? Employees? It was hard to tell, honestly. Her mansion had been plopped down next to the studio, putting the two buildings within walking distance of each other.

There was also the deck of cards, bringing with it yet another building- a castle, this one a bit further away, but not too far. Honestly, the place was getting a bit crowded! He hadn't spent this much time tucked away in his dressing room in years, but... Well, it hadn't even been a day yet, and all the socializing was just leaving him all worn out!

He was still fulfilling his obligations, of course! Both as a TV host, and as a host... Host. They'd finally gotten those movies done, and just in time- Noelle and Kris were tucked into the couch, digging into a big bowl of popcorn, while Toriel napped in her ever-faithful chairiel. And Tenna? He needed a break.

So, when he heard a knocking at his door, his first reaction was to be annoyed at the audacity of whoever had the nerve- he needed breaks, too, $@&&it! ...Regardless, it might be a guest, so... He technically had an obligation to reply.

"Who's there?" He called out, hoping it wouldn't be anyone too important.

"That guyse, uh, Spam tong? He's looking for ya," a zapper called through the door.

...Right, they'd agreed to talk business after the recording. With a groan, he stood up and half-assedly shuffled to the door. "Tell him he can come in, I'll get the door."

"Got it, boss." He heard the zapper hop away, and that loud clacking of heels approach. God, he swore that guy was wearing tap shoes or something. He opened the door, coming face to face- er... Looking down to be face-to-face, with the much smaller man.

He felt Spamton's gaze move past him, and into the room beyond. It vaguely resembled the green room, with similar patterned wallpaper but in bright gold, a couch which was more built to his own size, a wide vanity stretched across the back wall affixed with every product he could ever need, and then some. And, of course, his little living area tucked away, with his fold-out bed still popped out from when he'd rushed out the door, and a nightstand with his self-maintenance kit resting atop.

"Nice place you've got," he commented with an unreadable tone. Was he being sarcastic? Sure, his dressing room wasn't at its PEAK presentation, but...

"Well, come in," Tenna stood to the side, making room to step past.

"So," he strode past Tenna, hopping up onto the couch with surprising skill. "Ant Tenna. I've been looking into your show, and I like what I see. But I noticed something..." he did a so-so gesture with a hand. "A little lacking?"

He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed with the pitch. And yet... There was a nagging feeling at the back of his mind that he should hear this guy out. "Go on?"

"You've got charisma, and you've clearly got a formula that's worked out for you for a while, right? But times are changing. And you've gotta change, too, if you wanna keep up. You need that modern touch. And I think I can give that to you."

His hackles instinctively raised a bit at the insinuation that he was getting old. He was only 25! ...But he had a point. Time was rapidly moving forwards, and what was popular in the 90's and early aughts... Wasn't, anymore. But there was just one little problem: he didn't WANT to change. He liked what he had!!

...And yet. That insistent little voice.

"What do you want in return?" The words came out of his mouth before he could even realize he was saying them. "There's always a catch."

"Premium ad slots. Not all of them," he quickly corrected when he saw Tenna's expression. "Just enough to make an impression."

"Three premium slots a week, to start. If you do well, we'll bump it up." Once again, it was like he was talking without even having to think, as if this guy was... No, that'd be ridiculous. No random salesman could have mind control powers. He was just... Very persuasive. That was it.

"Sounds like a deal."

---

As usual, it was easy. Too easy, Spamton thought. But something had stood out to him. The TV had seemed... Startled by his own words. And at one point even seemed confused. What was up with that? He'd felt like if he brought attention to it, it'd make things awkward, but...

After they'd shaken on it, Tenna said he'd write up a couple of contracts, and to come back tomorrow. So he was back in his suite at Queen's mansion with a drink and a cigar, occasionally eyeing the phone to see if it'd do anything.

The starting deal wasn't the best, but he could work with it. And the idea of getting even better later down the line was appealing. The most important thing was he had his foot in the door.

He was going to be on TV. TV! And they'd said he'd never get any better than the spam folder. Well, that'd show them.

*Rrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnng!*

*Rrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnng!*

*Rrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnng!*

He picked up before it could ring a fourth time. He'd never missed a call so far, and he didn't intend to start now.

He never spoke first during these calls, letting his benefactor start the discussion. It felt... Wrong to. Like he would be committing some kind of sin. To anyone else, the words were garbled noise. Meaningless. But to him, it was crisp and clear.

"Yeah, I'm starting off small for now, but don't you worry. Next thing you know, my stuff will be all that's advertised on there."

"Of course! You know I'd never leave you behind! You're the reason I got this far to begin with!"

"...Even more than just ads?"

"Well, I'll just have to make sure I don't disappoint, then! Haehaha!"

...The line hung up, and he put the receiver back on the stand. Well! That was a productive call, if he did say so himself. So productive, in fact, he deserved a little treat.

He finished off his drink and snuffed out his only half-finished smoke, grinning a little bit at his ability to be so casually wasteful, before stepping out into the mansion's spacious hallways. When he'd first moved in, they'd felt so intimidating. But now, they were just standard fare. Funny how those things happened.

For a second, he considered stopping by the color cafe, but decided against it. He could go there any time. TV World, on the other hand... Who knew how long they'd be here? It was time for a little exploration.

*Oh Hey There Strange Small Sales Guy

He stopped in his tracks. Ah. Queen. "Heyyyy."

*Its Pretty Late What Are You Out For        Wait Actually Its Not That Late I Just Started On My All Ages Appropriate Battery Acid Early (LMAO)

'All ages appropriate' his ass. She was clearly drunk. And bored. And probably just looking for someone to pester. He'd have to find a way to lose her. "Just heading out to, y'know. Stretch my legs a little. See the sights."

*Surely You Dont Have To Stretch Them That Much Theyre Pretty Short      Oh Wait Unless Youre Trying To Make Them Longer That Would Be Pretty Funny (TRUE)

If she wasn't holding his livelihood in her hands, he'd have some kind of snippy comeback, but as it stood, he liked not losing his job to the whims of a petty monarch.  So he held his tongue.

*I Never Have To Walk Anywhere I Can Get One Of My Servants To Carry Me        Have You Considered Hiring Someone For That Its A Sweet Deal (TRUE)

He... Couldn't tell if that was another jab at his height, or completely sincere. It could have gone either way.

*Anyways Im Bored Now Toodles

...And with that, she was gone again.

---

TV World was simultaneously a lot bigger and a lot smaller than he'd expected. Oh, sure. The Dark World itself was HUGE. Even bigger than the Cyber World. But TV World only took up a portion of it. Still, it wasn't exactly small, either.

Bright, colorful buildings framed sidewalks emblazoned with the names of actors, and the roads, though thin, did have some traffic going to and fro. Most of the activity buzzed around the studio, but he wasn't here for that right now. He checked his watch. 5 o'clock PM. So a decent time for dinner.

He let his feet carry him until they didn't anymore, and he found himself in front of a restaurant labeled 'THE VHS SLOT'. Well, seemed as good a place as any.

When he stepped in, he was immediately blasted with two things: the AC, and the atmosphere.

The place was clearly meant to look like an old-style diner, pulled straight out of the 80s or the 90s. Pop music played from a jukebox in the corner, and a few patrons were dispersed throughout the colorful booths. And, most notably...

...Was Mr. Ant Tenna himself, dressed down from his show outfit, slurping on a milkshake alone.

What a 'coincidence' that he should end up in exactly the same place.

He seated himself in a booth that was in clear view of the TV, waiting to be noticed. When a waiter came to take his order, he got a simple burger and fries... And, cheekily, the same milkshake Tenna got.

"So... Fancy seeing you here," the TV's voice was suddenly coming from right next to him, and Spamton turned to see he'd slid into the seat. He raised an eyebrow, pretending as if this wasn't what he'd been trying to accomplish. After all, if he could get in the good books of the boss... Well, that promised 'more than just ads' could happen even sooner.

"Didn't take you for the type to come to this kind of place," he lied. Nostalgia oozed off the man, of course he'd be a sucker for anything that emulated that. But he was baiting him into talking, saying more about himself. Putting all his cards on the table.

And baited, he was. "Really? Well, you'd be surprised to know I'm a regular here, then!" He was not surprised. "I wanted a place like that diner the Dreemurrs are always going to..." ...He had no idea who those people were, but okay. "Well, I've never actually seen it before, but. You know." He didn't. "The food here's great, too."

His milkshake was set down on the table, and Tenna nodded approvingly. "You've got good taste."

He took a long sip. He didn't recognize the taste at all. 'Strawberry', it'd been called. Maybe a light world thing? This world certainly seemed fixated on the light world, to a degree he hadn't even seen back at home. Even the actors on the sidewalk tiles were all Lightners.

Say... He could use that, couldn't he?

"So, this place takes a lot of cues from up topside, eh?"

Tenna tilted his head, and he couldn't help but think it was reminiscent of a puppy.

"The Light World."

"Oh! Yes," he grinned. "It does! They just have such good stuff up there, it's hard not to! I can see it, you know." He paused. "Um, in movies and shows?" ...Spamton could recognize a hastily thought up lie when he saw one. So this guy... Could see into the light world. Were those 'Dreemurrs' he was talking about Lightners? It'd explain a lot.

He had to admit, he was kind of jealous.

"Right, right, being a TV and all?" He decided not to call out the lie, letting Tenna believe he'd bought it. It worked, and Tenna nodded enthusiastically.

"You've got that right! What kind of TV would I be if I didn't have those? Not one worth having, I'd say." Spamton heard a soft thumping under the table, and realized with a start that Tenna was kicking his legs. "That's what these antenna are for! There's not a signal I can't pick up."

And those antenna were the same reason he probably wasn't much longer for the world, he thought to himself. He wondered if Tenna had cable... Even then, that would only buy him so much time. Everything was on the internet, now.

Tenna had no idea he was just a stepping stone on Spamton's path to success. And Spamton intended to keep it that way. First, TV. Then one of those streaming services that had started to prove the test of time. Betflick, maybe? Poolu would work, too.

"Really? I'd thought they were just for decoration!" He joked. Tenna laughed, and he laughed too.

Suddenly, Tenna whipped around towards a clock on the wall. "Ack! Look at the time, I've gotta be back at the studio! It was nice seeing you here, Spamton!" He looked over. It hadn't even been 30 minutes. But Tenna was already out the door.

Well.

Not long after, someone brought him his food, and he ate alone, thinking about the new information he had to work with.

Chapter Text

So, he didn't believe for a second that Spamton showing up at The VHS Tape was a coincidence. Especially not with that deliberate show of trying to get his attention. And yet... It was like the words just kept coming out of his mouth. Even things he hadn't intended to say, he just... Ended up saying.

So he'd made an excuse to leave.

He checked up on the Light World. The family was having their own dinner, everyone gathered around at the table. Granted, he couldn't see them. But he could hear them. Asgore's voice the loudest, but never dominating the conversation. Then Toriel's, and little Kris's. Noelle, finally, was the quietest- her voice barely audible at times.

Oh, what he wouldn't give to sit at that table with them... To be one of them. Part of the family. For real. He, at least, hadn't revealed that little desire to the salesman. No one except him needed to know about that. A Darkner? Wishing to be a Lightner? Absolutely ridiculous. It could never happen. And yet...

He sighed, switching his focus back to the Dark World. He'd had enough wistful thinking for one day, and he needed to be ready for the 6 o'clock show.

Making his way over to his dressing table, his thoughts once again wandered to Spamton. Spamton... Ever since they'd made their agreement, he couldn't stop thinking about the salesman. He didn't know why- he certainly hadn't made a good first impression. And it hadn't gotten much better after that, either, picking at the very thing he was insecure about. Heck- under any normal circumstance, he'd have turned the man down before he even had a chance to finish his sales pitch. If he'd even let him start!

So why had he said yes?

And why couldn't he stop thinking about him??

...It wasn't until he felt a coldness seep through his glove and into his hand that he realized he'd spilled the bottle of screen cleaner he was just about to use. Great. Great! Now he needed a replacement for that AND to put on a new pair of gloves! That $@#%ed salesman. This was clearly his fault.

---

The 6 o'clock show did NOT go well. His performance was off, his delivery was all OVER the place! He'd gotten his responses off by as much as 0.5 seconds!! Sure, no one commented on it. But he just KNEW they were thinking it. Judging him. Laughing- at his expense! 'He's losing his touch', they'd say. 'It's only a matter of time before the Dreemurrs get one of those fancy new TVs on the market'. And! He! HATED! It! What had gotten INTO him!?

Oh, right! It was because he still couldn't stop thinking about that SALESMAN.

God, he needed a drink.

Slinging his blazer lazily over his dressing room couch- wrinkles be damned, he could have them ironed out later- he dragged his feet out into the hall and towards The Green Room. Ramb would be judging him too, he knew- but Ramb was always judging him. Ramb was always judging everyone. It was in the plug's nature. Tenna could deal with it, when it was him. It was everyone else that was the problem.

Unfortunately, The Green Room had its usual post-show crowd. And- he'd usually never say this, he took great pride in his appearance thank you very much- but he really did stick out like a sore thumb amongst all the other, much smaller, darkners. Something he REALLY couldn't handle right now. So when he went up to Ramb's stand, he didn't even sit down before ordering-

"A bottle of antifreeze. Biggest you've got."

-He was just going to take it back to his room, anyways. Ramb, as expected, gave him a Look, but complied nonetheless. If his boss wanted to get wasted on a work night (and every night was a work night), that was none of his business.

-----

So, Spamton had some planning to do. The information he'd gotten would be immensely useful, he knew it- he just needed to get it all in order. So, he took another look over the list of 'Tenna notes' he'd taken.

-Sleeps in his dressing room. Does he live in the studio??? Talk about being dedicated to your job
-Maintenance kit on the nightstand says he's mechanical. Not a surprise
-Big nostalgia guy
-Takes offense to being called old, or even implying it
-Looked confused at his own talking sometimes. How to ask about that without sounding weird
-Weirdly fixated the Light World and 'The Dreemurrs', probably the lightners who own his Light World counterpart
-Can see into the Light World directly?? Not common for darkners. Tried to downplay it, meaning he didn't want to share for some reason 
-Has antennae, but design is too "modern"-looking to not have cable. Custom made maybe?
-Wonder if he's got a manual somewhere

And... That was pretty much it. Damn, but he needed more. He was so sure he'd be in for a treat when he'd gotten him talking at the diner- but then the guy had up and left outta nowhere. Had he caught on? Maybe he was laying it on too thick... He'd have to be more subtle next time.

He idly tapped his pen against his chin, lost in thought. What were some more subtle ways he could learn about Tenna? Well, there was his whole staff. If he wanted to get close to the guy, what better way than to cozy up to the people working for him? Plus, they were sure to have the freshest of gossip, working with him directly. That barkeep Tenna'd been with the first time they'd met- what was his name again, Romb? He seemed like a good first target.

Next... Those two weird-looking darkners, Lanina and Elnino. What was their job again? He knew they did... Some kind of segment...

...Man, he REALLY needed to do more research on these guys. Pretty much the only person he knew was Tenna- and not particularly well, at that! In his defense, he hadn't had much time to prepare- usually his benefactor would tell him about these big events way earlier in advance. But he was nothing if not an improviser! He'd make things work. Whether they wanted to work, or not.

His gaze drifted to the phone, but he snapped away from it. He'd already gotten his day's call- that was what had been agreed upon. One call per day, at a predictable time. That way, Spamton was sure to actually be there to receive it.

That said... He did find himself a bit antsy, for some reason.

...Well, nothing to be done about it.

He started drafting up a to-do list for the coming days.

-Get to know TV world employees. Make a good impression. LEARN THEIR NAMES
-Work on those ads, gotta be something real impressive to make Tenna want more of them
-Learn Tenna's schedule. Know when he takes time off
-Find out if he's got a place outside of the studio or if he really does live there
-Find out if there's a computer anywhere around here, can't go too long without keeping up with business at home, plus it's kind of needed if this is going to work out in the long term (there's gotta be one right? Who DOESNT have a computer this day and age)

...Well! It was a start. And he could always add more as he went. Didn't want to be too rigid, after all. He cracked his knuckles, and leaned back into his chair, stretching to look at the clock on the wall.

Damn, it was getting late. He needed to hit the hay- he had a busy day coming up and he was shit at socializing when he hadn't gotten a full night's rest. He changed into his pajamas, popped a powroff pill and washed it down with a shot glass of battery acid, before unceremoniously flopping into his bed and shutting his eyes.

Chapter Text

When Tenna woke up, he felt like he'd had 10 magnets stuck directly to his head. He was half on, half off of his bed, and still dressed in his suit, which was wrinkled to hell and back. As he struggled to remember how he'd ended up in that situation, his gaze fell on the empty bottle of antifreeze... And its 3 identical companions. Right. The one bottle he'd swore he'd limit himself to had turned into 2... then 3... Then 4. Well, it wasn't his fault it wasn't doing what he wanted it to! He'd known this guy for ONE DAY! It was outright UNDIGNIFIED to be thinking about him that much! He didn't have a problem! You do!

He checked the clock. 5 AM. It wasn't as bad this time, but... He overslept. again. Meaning he had just an hour before he needed to be in... With a groan, he began a degauss cycle, the sound only amplifying his headache. But at least his screen wouldn't be betraying how he felt on the inside... Which was to say, like absolute $#!?. Speaking of his screen... He'd very clearly neglected his usual nightly routine in his drunkenness, based on his lack of screen cover and how the back of his throat felt like sandpaper.

Ugh. Well, he'd have to make up for it by doing exceptionally well at his morning routine... While having less than an hour to get it done. Great. Really great, actually! He. Loved. Challenges. He definitely wasn't going to yank his own antennae off out of frustration. Where had his self-control gone!? 

Prying himself out of bed, he took inventory. It was... Pretty rough. All of his clothes- even his shoes- had been on overnight, his antennae were bent out of shape in every direction, and his screen was absolutely filthy, trickles of dried antifreeze running down his chin. 

He stripped his dirty clothes off, tossing them into the laundry basket, and pulling from his wardrobe an identical, clean suit. From a set of drawers he pulled out a new pair of boxers and a girdle, giving his stomach a disapproving pinch before slipping into the undergarments. There. Much better. Then went on the suit, carefully to avoid any wrinkles, and his tie slung loosely over his neck. He'd get to that in a second.

Next, his screen. A once-over with a damp towel to get the antifreeze off. Microfiber cloth, screen cleaner, more screen cleaner, more screen cleaner, more screen cleaner, more screen cleaner... Once he was finally satisfied, another pass with the cloth. Did it help with his pain? Absolutely not. In fact, it probably made it worse, his face feeling scrubbed raw as if he'd taken sandpaper to it. But there were no visible faults, so he'd just have to be okay with that. He straightened out his antennae with his hands, wincing at the sensory overload, and tied his tie into a knot so tight it could strangle a man. 

Perfect.

For the final touches, he slipped his gloves on, making sure his claws were fully sheathed so as to not cause any damage, tucked his cord into his pants, letting it wrap tightly around his leg so it was fully out of sight, and stepped into one of his spare pairs of shoes, feeling his center of balance shift ever-so-slightly as his paws settled into the posture they created. A pass over his teeth with his tongue confirmed that his fangs were safely tucked away, as well. Wouldn't want any of those less-appealing features slipping through on camera!

Morning routine officially completed, he pulled a TV Breakfast out of his dressing room's hidden mini-fridge- bacon-flavored tofu and imitation scrambled egg. Not even bothering to heat it up, he dug in, careful not to get any crumbs on his clothes or stuck to his screen. He checked the clock again. 5:30 AM. Not even bothering to finish off the rest of his meal before tossing the container, he rushed out of his dressing room and towards the stage. TV waited for no one, and it certainly waited for no one's hangover.

---

Spamton woke up feeling pretty good, actually. The powroff pill had done its job, and he slept like a baby. He wasn't needed til evening time, where he'd go over his deal with Tenna in more detail and get it in writing, but there was no rest for a big shot- he had PLANS. 

But first: he needed to look his best. 

He tossed his pajamas into the untamed, ever-growing pile of dirty clothes that threatened to take over that whole corner of his room, and looked through his walk-in closet for a nice outfit to wear. Too flashy, and he'd come off as trying too hard. But not flashy enough, and no one would notice him. Choices, choices... He finally settled on a dark red blazer over a black dress shirt, paired with black pants, and a more vibrant red bowtie. 

As he slipped into the shirt, briefly, his hand brushed over one of the two symmetrical scars on his back- no. Don't think about it. It was worth it. It was worth it. He hadn't even liked them, anyways. He went over his tail, carefully plucking the new feathers that had started to grow in, before tucking it into his pants. 

Next stop: hair- or at least, what he had that passed off as hair. It was more like the barbs of a feather, really. But it looked like hair, especially with the dye- and that was just fine with him. Anything to look less like an Addison. He checked the roots for any white, and when he was satisfied, grabbed the comb and gel and got to work. It always took him at least half an hour to get it right, but it was oh so worth it in the end. 

And the final step: makeup. He didn't use much of it, just enough to conceal any blemishes he might have on his face. And, okay, a bit of blush so he looked more lively, instead of the vaguely unsettling stark white his face usually was. Being #FFFFFF had more disadvantages than not, especially when being bright and colorful was key to success. But, hey. The contrast had become part of his brand now- and it was another way he stood out from them.

He did one final pass in the mirror, before nodding satisfactorily at the results. Looking good, as always. He slipped into his shoes, tossed haphazardly by the door, and headed out. He had just one more stop before the studio.

---

"Heyyyy, Swatchy," he called out as he sauntered into the Color Cafe. The bird Darkner looked up at him with barely-hidden amusement, used to this by now. "The usual to go, and an extra black coffee, also to go."

Swatch raised an eyebrow inquisitively. "Are you trying to impress someone? Or bribe them, perhaps?"

He just winked in response. "Oh, you know me."

"So, bribery it is," he smirked, almost imperceptibly, but Spamton had learned how to spot those subtle expressions in his years of knowing him. "Well, I'll get on that. It'll take a few minutes, so make yourself comfortable." And with that, he stepped into the back.

He took a seat on one of the cafe's plush chairs, letting himself sink into the cushions. Bribery wasn't an incorrect assessment. He was hoping to get on Tenna's good side by supplying him with a good quality cup of coffee as a... 'Friendly gift'. And TV World didn't exactly seem like the kinda place where good coffee was in high supply. 

After about 5 minutes Swatch stepped back out, 2 to-go cups in hand. "Your order, Mister Spamton," he called out. "Am I correct to assume you want this on your tab?"

"You've got that right," he said as he took the cups. "Welp, I've got places to be. See ya!" Not even waiting for a response, he was already out the door.

Swatch sighed, and put the cost down in a notebook. That man was a handful... Though, he couldn't say he minded too much.

---

By the time Spamton got to the studio, it was getting close to 6 AM. Despite the distance being walkable, he'd opted to drive, in no small part due to wanting to show off his shiny cungadero. He'd even been able to worm his way into the special 'advertisers only' parking section, though he took notice of its emptiness- just a few cars here and there. The studio hadn't looked like it was struggling for funding- but then again, he hadn't seen the inner workings yet. Maybe things were more dire than he thought... Which would make the TV even more desperate. 

Maybe that was why he was so quick to cut a deal.

Well, he wasn't going to look a trojan horse in the mouth, lest it bite. He had one foot in the door, he just needed to ensure he didn't screw things up. He was, at least, guaranteed what he'd gotten already. But he needed more. More slots, more time, more, more, more. And... Whatever his benefactor had meant by 'more than just ads'. 

He let himself into the Green Room this time, finding the door unlocked. Taking a cursory look around, he spotted a few darkners, but no Tenna. Huh. He'd looked at the schedule: Tenna's first segment was at 6. Surely he'd be in by now? He didn't-

-have time to keep wondering, as he was very abruptly having to step aside to avoid being run over by an absolute giant of a man. 

...Theeeere he was.

"Ramb! Cup of coffee, quick!" He was stumbling like an idiot, Spamton noticed, his voice sounded strained, and he clutched his head tightly in one hand as if it had insulted him personally. It took him a few seconds, but he realized- he recognized those behaviors. Both from others, and from himself.

Is he... Seriously hung over right now!?

Sheesh. He'd gotten the impression Tenna was kind of pathetic, but this? This just solidified it. Getting drunk on a work night. What a guy... 

"No need for that," he cut in, forcing the judgement away from his tone. "I thought I'd pick you up some, as a token of appreciation."

"Huh?" Tenna swiveled around, his face darting across the room before he finally thought to look down. It took everything Spamton had to keep the smile on his face as he held the plain coffee out for the TV to take. "Oh, for me?" He grabbed it, guzzling it down greedily in a single gulp before crushing the paper cup between his fingers. "Thanks, I really needed that."

Before Spamton could formulate a response, Tenna was already gone, rushing off towards a door labeled 'STAGE' by a sign on the wall. 

Okay.

Well, the big boss man himself was for the time being unavailable. But that didn't mean he had nothing to do. He decided he'd start with Ramb, sliding into a seat at the stand. 

Ramb was already looking unimpressed. 

"Really, luv? Bribery already?" Was he really that transparent?? "Tenna, he might not be the most observant fella. But he's been through this song and dance before. We all 'ave." Ah. Right. Of course.

"Well, maybe I just wanted to be nice," he lied. ...And was rewarded with the most skeptical face a sentient plug could pull. "I was getting my own coffee, anyways," shook the coffee cup for emphasis. 

"Mmhm. Right." And with that, Ramb turned away to clean a glass, and it quickly became clear there was no convincing him. Well. He tried. He slid down from the stool and took a look around the room. Anyone else he could schmooze up to? Preferably someone less observant?

A zapper, a couple pippinses, the weather duo, more pippinses... Aha! The weather duo! Lanina and Elnino. From what he gathered, they were essentially Tenna's right hands. And they'd already done the early morning weather segment- it was the 5:30 slot- so he had plenty of time to talk to them.

Interesting, he noted, that their bravado he'd noticed while watching over the tapes provided to him by his benefactor wasn't present now that they were off-screen. In fact, he'd even go as far as to say they looked kind of uncomfortable. Not because of him, he hoped. The last thing he needed was for more employees to dislike him right off the bat.

"You're the new ad guy, aren't you?" Lanina commented as he approached the two. 

"Tenna wouldn't stop talking about you," added Elnino, shifting in his seat.

Oh? Now that was interesting. They'd just met and he had already taken up solid residence in this guy's boxy little head. "Is he like that every time he gets a new ad guy?" He suspected the answer would be no- if it was normal, they wouldn't be saying it like that.

"No, not at all," Lanina started,

And Elnino continued, "he seemed to think you're something special. Well, he didn't say that. But, it was obvious." Lanina nodded in agreement.

That got his eyebrow to raise. Something special? Huh. His benefactor's advice really had been paying off. Well, hey. That just upped his chances of success, so he certainly wasn't going to complain. Though, he'd think someone in Tenna's position would at least try a little harder to make a good impression. He hadn't exactly been impressed with the TV's performance so far. 

As for these two... He couldn't quite gauge what kind of mood they were giving off. Uncomfortable, yes. But was it because of him? He wasn't sure.

"So, what's it you two do around here?" He already knew- but they didn't know that he knew. And they didn't know that he knew the studio's whole schedule. That had been gifted to him by his benefactor- no one not employed was supposed to be able to see it, with the exception of the airing times.

"I'm so glad you asked," said Elnino, pulling out his trademark pointer.

"We do the weather segment," continued Lanina, doing the same.

"As a pair,"

"As a duo,"

"Because the weather," He held out his pointer in his half of the duo's pose.

"Always sticks together!" She followed suit, completing it.

"We've already done our morning segment, but you weren't here to see it. So, today's forecast is..."

"...Shine," Lanina's moon-shaped head briefly glowed brighter as she spoke. "A beautiful sunny day is up ahead!"

So, their lovey-dovey couple, 'finishes each other's sentences' schtick wasn't just for the camera. They really were Just Like That. And, he noticed, they at least looked more confident when they slipped into their weather-caster personas. One point towards 'it's not Spamton's fault they're uncomfortable'. 

"Well, thanks for that!" He put on a practiced smile. "There's not really weather back at home. I'm kind of surprised there's weather here, actually." 

"There didn't used to be, until TV World came to be," Elnino said.

"Or so we've been told. We weren't around yet," Followed up Lanina.

"You can't have TV, after all,"

"Without the weather channel!"

He was about to respond, before suddenly being cut off by the stage door being slammed open. The noise drew the attention of everyone, and out of his peripherals he noticed several pippinses flee the room.

Tenna stormed out of the room, trailed by a distressed looking Zapper trying futilely to calm its agitated boss.

"RAMB. Get me a- ghhh. Headache. Now." He grabbed his antennae and yanked on them in a way that made Spamton wince in secondhand pain. Sure, he had no way of knowing- but damn did that look painful. "That was a DISASTER."

"And this is what happens when you get sloshed on a work night, luv," Ramb chided, utterly unintimidated. "You know this."

"You're the one who served it to me!"

The little plug raised a nonplussed eyebrow. "Would you have let me refuse you?" A few beats of silence passed. "That's what I thought."

Tenna seemed ready to continue his tantrum in someone else's direction, before he suddenly froze dead in his tracks, and Spamton felt his stare bore into him like an electric drill.

"Ah. You're still here."

Chapter Text

There was a long, long moment of silence. 

"...Yes. Why would I have left?" Spamton said slowly, like he was talking to a complete idiot. Tenna felt his screen heat up, embarrassment starting to kick in. Worse, he knew it was causing a blush to creep onto his face, like a parasite who couldn't wait to show off exactly how he was feeling in that moment. 

"W-well!" He hated how his voice hitched, still caught up on his fumble. "You could have bailed, for all I know!" He let out a huff, crossing his arms and looking away.

...He glanced back for a second. Spamton didn't look impressed. That- stupid- SALESMAN! Deciding doubling down was the route to go, he pointedly looked even further away with another, even more exaggerated huff.

"Is he always like this?" What? Who was he talking to!?

No!

He refused to cave in and look-

"Like this as in throwing a bratty tantrum? Nah, he usually saves that for when he thinks people can't see." A random Pippins!?!? And one with the nerve to talk about him like- like he wasn't right there!!

Ohh, this one could be expecting a paycut in their future-

It was when he caught himself growling that he realized- wait- what was he doing!? He was trying to get Spamton to advertise for him- what was he doing, acting like this?? That was only going to make him leave faster!! Swallowing his pride like it was a bitter medication, he turned back to face him...

---

...And all Spamton could think was, this had better be worth it. He hadn't expected the supposed 'King of TV', 'Lord of Screens', to act so much like a petulant little kid, over what was literally nothing! Hell, less than nothing! He had done absolutely nothing wrong, but here he was, being treated like... This! If his benefactor hadn't promised results out of this, he'd have been out the door in seconds.

He watched, unimpressed, as Tenna took in a deep breath, and, as if it pained him to even think about saying it, "I feel like we've gotten off on the wrong foot, here. How can I make it up to you?"

He raised an eyebrow. What was with the sudden change in attitude?

"You want to... Make it up to me? And you'll do anything?"

"Within reason!" He hastily corrected. "Anything. Within reason. I'm a TV host, not a miracle worker."

Well, he didn't need Tenna to perform miracles- the Benefactor had that covered. "How about we talk about this over negotiations?" To his surprise, he saw relief flash across the TV's face- ah, now he understood. He was trying to save face, keep Spamton from backing out on their deal. And Spamton had essentially just confirmed that he was still at the table. Took him long enough to start taking this seriously, he mused. 

"Yes! That can be arranged!" Tenna clapped, and Spamton had to stop himself from physically reeling at the whiplash from the sudden mood shift. Hadn't he just been mad? Now he was practically glowing with excitement! Or, maybe he was literally glowing- had his screen gotten brighter?? "I'll go prepare something- see you at four!" And with that, he was out the door, vanishing past a hallway corner.

It was still a while 'til four, so he had plenty of time to kill. He set an alarm on his watch, before stretching in an exaggerated manner and taking a seat at the bar, ignoring the look Ramb gave him.

"Bit early t'be drinking, innit luv?" 

"Oh, I'm not after alcohol. Got any sodas? Caffeinated, preferably." The coffee was fine, but he could always use more, especially if he was going to be dealing with someone as apparently exhausting as Tenna.

"'Course I do." He stepped out of sight, before returning with a can and setting it down in front of Spamton. 'Mama's Pop, butterscotch cinnamon flavored soda', the label read. An... Interesting flavor choice, for sure. Ramb clearly noticed his reaction to it- "Ol' Tenna insists it's kept in stock. He's about the only one who drinks the stuff." Huh.

He popped the tab and took a swig, before nearly choking, taken aback at just how overwhelmingly sweet it was. So the big box liked sweets, huh? He'd keep that in mind for any future food-or-drink-based bribes. Then again, he supposed. It did make sense. That milkshake had been pretty sweet, too-

...Actually, thinking back on it. He never actually saw any food at Tenna's booth. Just the milkshake. Had he gone there just for the sweet treat? Just how hooked on sugar was he??

He finished off the last of the soda, crushing the empty can in his hand and tossing it. "I can see why he's the only one," he said. "How have his teeth not rotted right outta his mouth??" Ramb simply shrugged in response, with a noncommittal hum. "Sugary soda, milkshakes... Does he eat anything that's actually healthy??"

"Oh, he only has that kind of thing 'bout once a week, something about a 'reward for doing good'. S'none of my business why, I suppose. Why? Planning out more bribes?"

He rolled his eyes. The nerve of this plug- "I told you, I'm not trying to bribe him."

"Mmmhm. Sure you aren't, luv."

He decided he'd had enough of this, and hopped off of the barstool. Ramb made no attempt to stop him, just watching silently with distinct judgement. As if a lowly plugboy had any right to do that to him. He was the big shot here.

---

He found himself cruising aimlessly around TV World, windows on his cungadero rolled down to let in that sweet breeze. He didn't get to do stuff like this in Cyber City- traffic there was way too packed, and only Queen could get away with mowing down other cars on the road like it was some kind of game. Before her car inevitably exploded, that is. She really needed to stop buying exploding cars, in his ever-so-humble opinion- but he'd never been able to convince her of that. 

One thing the place did have in common with Cyber City, however, was the artificiality. Sure, it might have looked genuine to the untrained eye, but he knew better. Every detail was there on purpose, meant to sell something- not a product, but an illusion. A hollow imitation of something greater than itself. It slipped through in every detail: the fake flowers nestled into meticulously carved out sidewalk cracks, the fog machine pumping out fake clouds, the too-bright-streetlights blotting out the pitch-dark sky. It was just as much an actor as its boss- a Dark World trying to pretend it wasn't.

God, Tenna really was hopelessly obsessed with Lightners, wasn't he?

But he felt like he was starting to understand how the TV ticked more and more. And that, he could use to his advantage. All he had to do was make it seem like anything he was proposing was what the Lightners would want, and he'd be all but guaranteed success.

He was wrong to think this might not work: if anything, it was going to be comically easy. That dumb box wouldn't even know what hit him! He'd promise him the world, get everything he needed from this small-time nobody, and be onto bigger and better things. In and out.

He checked his watch. 3:00. He had about an hour til the meeting, meaning he only had time to do maybe one more thing before it was time to start heading back. And considering he hadn't eaten all day, he figured, it'd have to be a late lunch. He stopped by a convenience store advertising a deli- it wouldn't be his first pick, but it was quick and easy- and bought two sandwiches, a bag of rainbow chips, and a bottled water. Figuring he'd sweeten up the negotiations by bringing Tenna a bite to eat.

A dried RGBerry and artificial tuna salad sandwich for him- much to his chagrin, none of the options contained any real meat, and even the mayo was fake- and an artificial egg and ham-flavored-tofu sandwich for Tenna, gotten from prying the TV's regular order out of the deli clerk. 

30 minutes left til the meeting. Putting the bag of food in the passenger seat next to him, he took off towards the TV studio.

---

When he entered the Green Room, Tenna was already there waiting for him. "Let's do this in my office, shall we? More privacy, there." Oh, so he did have an office. Last time he'd talked to him in his dressing room, so he wasn't sure.

"Sounds good to me," he nodded. "Got you this, by the way." He took the sandwich he'd gotten for Tenna, and tossed it to him- the TV visibly startling but still managing to catch it. "Consider it a late lunch."

"Oh, I don't- alright. Well, let's get going. I'll show you the way." He walked through a door, holding it open for Spamton, who went through and waited for Tenna to go ahead. The two walked in relative silence until they reached an oversized, bedazzled door. A gold plate in the center read 'Mr. "Ant" Tenna'. What's 'Ant' short for, anyways?

Tenna opened the door for Spamton, revealing an equally oversized room filled with furniture sized to match- an expensive looking desk, multiple chairs- though, mercifully, there were some sized to less giant darkners. Stacks of papers covered the desk, as well as various trinkets, and a lamp. Tenna took a seat in the desk chair, while Spamton took one of the smaller chairs facing towards it.

"So, let's- you're too far away. Hold on." Suddenly, Spamton was grabbed and placed onto the desk, and he felt his face go bright red. "Let's talk."

Chapter Text

The only thing stopping Spamton from snapping right there and then was that he didn't want to risk getting kicked out. Picking him up like he was a toy- it was humiliating! 

...But he admitted, he would not have been able to see anything if he'd stayed in the chair.

...But it was about the principle, dammit!

Tenna slipped his hand into a desk drawer, and pulled out a thin, stapled-together stack of papers, before sliding them over for Spamton to look at. He flipped through the oversized pages, skimming to get the gist of it before going over in more detail. It was a pretty basic contract- he'd get 3 premium ad slots a week for the price of the same number of regular ad slots. The rest of it was going over the rules and limitations about what kind of ads he could actually put on. He was surprised Tenna was being so generous- but then again, he was clearly desperate.

Now, the question: was he desperate enough that Spamton could weasel his way into getting an even better deal?

"Well, it's a start," he said, "but I think you could do a little better."

"B-better!?" He caught the TV's eye twitch, and his screen start to take on a slightly pinkish tint. Jeez, what a short temper. "I'm giving you a major discount here! What else could you possibly want?" But he'd made up his mind: he was going to push it.

"You do want to make up for your behavior so far, don't you? You haven't exactly been a gracious host."

Surprisingly, it worked like a charm. His face dropped instantly, and he swore he saw a flash of fear. "I- you're... I suppose I haven't." He sighed, before pulling the contract back towards himself, and pulling out a pen. "Alright. I'll see what I can do. What do you want changed?"

"Make it four slots- and loosen up on those rules, would ya? I don't need someone over my shoulder making sure I don't screw things up. I know what I'm doing." 

Tenna nodded slowly, crossing out '3' and penning in '4'. His hand hovered over the rules section- Spamton began pointing bits out, and he'd modify them or cross them out entirely. Soon, it was nearly unrecognizable, and skewed far more heavily in Spamton's favor. Just the way he liked it.

"Muuuuch better," he practically sang. "See? That wasn't so hard." Tenna nodded again- ...Say, he was being weirdly quiet. He'd have thought the guy, who'd been nothing but talkative so far, would have spoken up. It was... Kind of uncomfortable, actually, though he couldn't place why. ...It was probably just his nerves getting the better of him, he decided. "Gimme that pen," he commanded, and Tenna obliged.

With a flourish, he signed on the line, sealing the deal.

"G-great!" Tenna finally spoke up. "Uh, come in at the same time tomorrow. For filming. The crew will help you get ready."

He passed the contract and pen back to Tenna- usually in this kind of situation, he'd pocket the pen, but this one was WAY too big to ever be of use to him. Plus, he couldn't exactly slip it into his pocket. Tenna would notice. 

"Oh, right," Tenna said suddenly. "I'll, uh. I'll have one of the spare dressing rooms reserved for you, too. And I'll get the costume department to put something together. How does that sound?"

"I've got my own wardrobe, no need for that. The dressing room would be nice though." It'd give him a place for him to stay during TV World visits when the mansion was inevitably returned to its usual place in Cyber World. And, the chance of him randomly running into Queen would be much lower. (It was never zero).

"Alright! I'll, get on that then! You can, uh. You can leave now."

There was an awkward silence for a moment.

"...Can you let me down?"

---

Tenna's head was swimming. 

What had just... Happened? 

He had gone in, so confident that he could get the salesman where he wanted. Sure, he was being nicer than he usually would. But he'd made sure the contract would still give him breathing room to keep Spamton in line. He had been doing this for years- he had been doing this his entire life! It was what he was made for! He wasn't going to let some ad guy pull him around like a dog on a leash!

So why had he folded so utterly as soon as there was any pushback?

Why, why had it felt like his hands were moving themselves? Like he had suddenly become a passenger in his own body while it agreed to every demand, every change Spamton wanted to make? 

What was WRONG with him lately!?

Why did his head feel so...

...Feel so...

...What was he thinking about, again?

Right! He was going to have a dressing room set up. For Spamton. Right. What else would he be thinking about? With a new advertiser on board, there was a lot of work to do! Silly him, getting distracted.

He gave himself a few solid knocks on the side of the head to get everything back in working order, before smiling to himself and tucking the contract safely away in his filing cabinet. 

Standing up from his desk, he was confused to feel himself stagger and stumble. Had he been sitting for too long? Surely, that was it. He couldn't think of any other reason? When he tried to reach for anything else, his mind started to get staticky. So, it was probably fine? It was fine.

He found himself continuing to stumble as he left his office, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. Ha. Ha ha. What had gotten into him today? So clumsy!

Slowly, much more slowly than he'd have liked, he made his way down the hallway towards the dressing rooms. A stray Pippins caught his eye- yes, that one would do. He didn't usually like entrusting Pippinses to, well... Anything. But, no one else was around. 

"You," he called out to the dice. For some reason, they looked... Scared? In a way he'd never seen any of them look before. Sure, they looked nervous when they thought they were about to get in trouble. But never scared. Not like this. ...He pushed the doubt into the back of his mind, where it sank into the static. "Get one of the spare dressing rooms ready. And have it done by tomorrow."

They nodded quickly, and ran off, not even uttering a single word. Huh. He'd expected more pushback. Whatever he was doing, he needed to do it more, apparently! 

---

That Pippins had never been more terrified in his life. He had just been minding his own business, when suddenly, Tenna had just... Shambled into the hallway like some kind of zombie! And that face... That unnerving, blank smile. Like he was looking right through him.

And what did he need a new dressing room set up for, anyways? He knew from the gossip going around that there was going to be a new ad guy. But the ad guys NEVER had dressing rooms! Something... Something was not right.

He just needed to figure it out.

Chapter Text

The rest of the day was a blur. Despite not intending to, Tenna ended up hovering over the Pippins's shoulder for the entirety of the dressing room preparations. But could you blame him, really? It needed to be perfect! And, it wasn't his fault everything was being done completely wrong. His direction was clearly needed! So, if you really thought about it, he was doing that guy a favor. 

Anyways, the room had become utterly unrecognizable from its original state. 

The wallpaper had been taken out and replaced with a gold-to-red gradient with pleasant pink stars gliding across its surface. A gold-framed clock hung on the wall, alongside multiple empty poster frames- in case Spamton had any he wanted to hang up. New dressing tables and bright, shiny mirrors were lined up against one of the walls. Old rolling clothes racks had been unceremoniously tossed out, replaced with newer, shinier ones built into the alcoves. A small kitchenette was put into a far corner, equipped with a coffee machine for emergency caffeine. And finally, a hidden fold-out bed was installed, matching the one Tenna kept in his own dressing room- albeit smaller. MUCH smaller.

Hooh. It'd been a while since any renovations had been done to the Studio. He'd almost forgotten how sore it left him- after all, it was in a way his own body they were tearing up and rebuilding. But oh, were the results so worth it. ...He still wasn't looking forwards to the inevitable full-studio renovations that were starting to look necessary. But that was a problem for Future Tenna!

He'd had someone else take care of his evening broadcast- he didn't like doing that, never had. But he couldn't be pried away from the renovation work for even a second, so it became a necessity. And, he trusted Lanina and Elnino enough to get the job done. It hadn't been a huge smash hit, but... That had become expected, by now. They'd been in a slower period for a while- the Dreemurrs just weren't watching as much TV, far too busy with other diversions. They'd be back to normal eventually, he was sure! Absence makes the heart grow fonder, after all! He just needed to... Ride it out.

Spamton had already left the studio, that he knew. He'd set up one of the Zappers on security to inform him of the man's comings and goings- just to make sure he wasn't being swindled! You could never be too careful. He'd had people come in, claiming to want to do business, only to try and rob him blind right under his nose. Well, he wasn't going to let that happen again! So, new people were monitored. Extensively. For their first few months. It was normal! He's not weird you're weird!

...Anyways. Spamton wasn't the only one who had left, as most of the staff had clocked out for the night. So, aside from some stragglers- who would be gone pretty quickly, too- he was alone in the studio. He walked through the empty halls, head much clearer than it had been after the meeting. It was... Strange. The more he thought about it, the less he understood. Why had that Pippins... Looked at him like that? Had there been something on his face? Something behind him?? Surely they'd have said something if that was the case, right??? 

Yeah. Yeah, they would have! They would have.

They would have.

Everything was fine, then, surely? Yeah! Everything was fine. That Pippins was probably just acting weird because they wanted to steal something, and his hanging around was getting in the way of that. Those Pippinses, always causing trouble... He'd fire the lot of them, if their employment wasn't the only thing keeping them from being even worse. He couldn't even bear to imagine what they'd do not bound by contracts.

Satisfied with that answer, he nodded to himself, stepping into his dressing room. ...Then stepped back out. 

Huh.

He hadn't realized just how close the one he'd picked out for Spamton was to his. Normally he was on top of everything's locations, but this had completely slipped his notice.

Well...! It did help him keep a closer eye on the salesman. And it meant he'd always have easy access to him. So, it wasn't that bad! 

He stepped back in, pulling off his blazer and draping it carefully over a hanger. He gave the previous day's one a look- ugh, it'd probably need to be dry-cleaned, and ironed out aggressively to get out all those wrinkles. Annoying. He was usually good about remembering to take it off before drinking, but it had completely slipped his mind, that time. At least he had plenty more of the same design, so it wasn't like he had to worry about what he'd wear in the meantime.

He put the sandwich he'd gotten from Spamton in his mini-fridge- hopefully the salesman had been too busy with the contract to notice he hadn't eaten any of it. He'd already eaten earlier, after all. But he didn't want Spamton to feel offended by him ignoring the gift. 

He changed out of his day clothes into a fresh pair of pajamas, and sat down at a designated 'desk portion' of his wall-length vanity. He'd have to do some script alterations to compensate for the new ads- something which would be taking up the bulk of his night. 

---

Spamton had spent the rest of his night at the color cafe, drinking and socializing. He always liked to celebrate a deal gone well- meaning, he was celebrating a lot. But he never minded, soaking in the attention it inevitably got him. And what attention it was- he was extraordinarily popular, being bought drinks left and right. 

But even a big shot like himself had to tuck in eventually.

His shoes hit the mat as he tossed them off his feet- man he hated those things. They were made for someone with an entirely different foot type, great for hiding his Addison resemblance, but uncomfortable as all hell. 

Ough... He was gonna be feeling this in the morning. Should he have accepted every drink he was given no matter what it was? Definitely not. But he was a big shot. Big shots did that kind of thing. 

He was cut out of his thoughts by the phone ringing. Right, he hadn't gotten a call yet today. He picked up the receiver, holding it to his ear with drunkenly shaky, uncoordinated hands.

"Yeahhm, I got the ads," it wasn't the first time he'd taken a call after a long night of drinking- and it most certainly wouldn't be the last. "And more! Bump'd up the numbr from three to four... He w's actin' kinda weird about it though..."

"'S fine? A'igh... Uh... Oh yeagh. I think tha weird bar plug guy is s'spicuos of me." 

"You'll take care'f it? Thangs..." he giggled to himself a little, twirling the phone cord around a finger. "You d'so much for me... 'Nd you n'vr even ask for an'thing in return..."

"Okaaayyyyyyyy...!"

The phone hung up, and he put it away. That was fun! 

He was unconscious before he even hit his bed.

Chapter Text

The first ad shoot started at 8am. Spamton was expected to be there by 6am. It was 7:30. Spamton was still not there. 

Tenna couldn't stop glancing at his wristwatch, then the wall clock, then his watch again, repeat. Where. Was. That. Salesman. He was very quickly losing his patience.

7:35.

7:40.

7:45.

Still no sign of him anywhere.

7:50.

7:55.

8:00.

He'd taken to pacing back and forth irritably, the ground shaking with his heavy footsteps, agitated by his ever-increasing height.

8:05.

8:10.

8:15.

He was alone in the room, everyone else having fled from his sour mood, sensing an explosion on the way.

8:20.

8:25.

8:30.

Finally, at 8:35, the doors burst open, and in stumbled in none other than the man of the hour himself, Spamton G. Spamton. He was a mess, clothing disheveled, hair sticking in all directions, clear bags under his eyes. 

"You're late," he said coldly, barely managing to reign in his temper enough to not yell. "By 2 hours and 30 minutes." 

"C'mooonn... The ad shoot's not til 8! That's in, what, an hour?"

"That was 30 minutes ago."

"Ohhhh... Well it's fine!" He was taking it infuriatingly casually, and Tenna wanted to punch a wall, or scream. But he had to be professional, unlike someone else there. "The ad's not gonna play right away anyways!"

"It's about being professional! For someone who's supposedly such a big shot, you sure don't get that, hm? You come in here, hours late, you're a mess, and you're acting like it's- like it's no big deal!!"

"Oh, big words coming from Mr. Hangover here," he rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "Did you really think no one noticed?"

"I still did my job. On time. Unlike you."

"Really? And how well?"

"I did fine."

"Or did they just say you did to keep you from getting mad?" He had an infuriating smirk on his face. "I watched it, y'know. You missed, what was it... Ten? Eleven cues? Maybe more."

That was it. "Just go get ready. I can't deal with... I can't... I... I..." A wave of static rushed over him, abrupt ending whatever thoughts he'd had before. He staggered, catching himself by leaning against a wall. What was he...? He suddenly couldn't remember.

He checked the clock.

7:50.

He looked at Spamton.

"You have 10 minutes to get ready," he said calmly. "Everything you need is in your dressing room. Here's the key." His arm tossed the key in Spamton's direction, the confused-looking salesman fumbling it for a few seconds but ultimately catching it. "It's got your name on it, you won't miss it."

Spamton stood there for a moment, that weird expression not leaving his face.

"Well? Get on with it. Tick tock."

He nodded quickly, and headed off towards the dressing rooms.

Tenna sighed, and slid down the wall, trying to will away his newly-emerging headache. 

"You, uh... Alright boss?" He looked over at whoever had spoken. A Pippins. Why did they seem familiar...? Oh! Right! It was the same one he had help renovate Spamton's room. "You're acting kind of..." they trailed off.

"I'm fine," he said, more robotically than intended. "I misread the clock, that's all."

"Okay... If you say so." They didn't sound convinced, but he didn't have the energy to keep pushing the topic, so he just let it be. "Well, uh, I'll be in the sound booth."

He nodded, his slow descent turning into him sitting on the floor, knees bent. Had he shrunk? It was hard to tell. The Pippins scampered off through one of the doors to the main backstage area, and he sighed heavily, rubbing between his eyes in pain.

Finally, he could... He could...

Wait

For Spamton to be ready.

The door Spamton had left through opened up, and surely enough the salesman himself stepped back through, looking much more put-together.

"This good enough for you?" He asked, as if expecting to be pushed back against. But Tenna just nodded. "Alright." He stood up, prompting the salesman to look him over strangely. "You're looking a little, uh... Short, there." Oh. He had shrunk. "Is that... Normal?"

"It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

"...Wasn't going to."

He led Spamton through backstage, towards the rightmost wing of the stage. "I'll be watching from here to see how you perform."

"So no pressure?" There was a clear twinge of sarcasm, but he didn't have the energy for banter, not with all the static clouding his head up compounding on his headache."

"Sure. Just go."

Spamton walked out onto the stage, taking position in the center. He heard a voice call out that they were rolling in 

3

2

1

"Tell me: has this ever happened to you?" It was like he'd turned into a completely different person. Professional, but animated. He smiled and spoke in a friendly manner. If Tenna didn't know any better, he'd almost mistake him for being pleasant. Maybe this deal wouldn't be so bad... As long as he could survive Spamton while off the stage.

The ad ended- somehow, Spamton nailed it in just one take. Once he was certain no more cameras rolling, Tenna stepped out onto the stage, calling out to the booth for someone to send the footage to editing. 

"Well! You surprised me." Spamton looked up at him, cocking an eyebrow. "You actually did... Fine."

"Of course I did. I told you, I'm the best." That annoying smugness had immediately returned to the salesman, and Tenna had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. "Did you not believe me?"

"Don't get too cocky now. You've still got more ads to go through."

Spamton just grinned.

---

The rest of the shoot went much the same way. As soon as the cameras were rolling, Spamton's demeanor flipped like a lightswitch. And he always, always got it on the first try. Even professionals needed a couple takes to get it right. And yet... He was somehow perfect.

Suspiciously perfect.

But what could he say? 'Oh, you're too good at your job'? He'd look crazy. He felt crazy even thinking about it this much. Maybe he was just overthinking it. This was a good thing, after all. The faster the shoots went, the faster he could get Spamton out of his antennae. 

Infuriatingly, though, Spamton not being physically present wasn't enough to save him. The salesman had begun to invade his thoughts- when his mind wandered, he somehow always ended up at Spamton.

His annoyingly smug voice. His infuriating smirk. His obnoxiously loud shoes. His stupidly perfect hair. 

Oh how he hated him.

Chapter Text

The shoot went pretty well, if Spamton did say so himself. (And believe you me, he did.) Despite Tenna's obvious annoyance at the beginning, he'd clearly been impressed once he saw what Spamton could actually do.

Sure, it wasn't really him doing it, but... Well, Tenna didn't need to know that. What mattered was it worked. 

Well, of course it had worked. His benefactor had never failed him once before. And sure, Tenna was playing hard to get... But he'd win in the end. He always did. That boob tube had no idea what was coming.

He had decided to spend his break time in the green room, lounging on one of the (admittedly uncomfortable as hell) couches and lighting up a smoke despite the clear 'no smoking' signs posted about. He wasn't going to be chased outside like some common chump, after all.

Tenna was still working, hosting some kind of game show that... Honestly did not appeal to him at all. One thing he'd learned about Tenna's shows- and very quickly- was the man was insistent on remaining 'family friendly'. And in Spamton's opinion, it made them boring as hell. Not that he'd actually say that out loud. 

Still, it meant he sure as hell wasn't gonna be watching, not when he had better things to be doing. Like nothing. Which was his current agenda.

He looked towards the bar, frowning. He'd been planning on getting a coffee or something, but Ramb apparently hadn't bothered to show up. And asking around a bit, no one else had seen him, either. 

Now, he wasn't a huge fan of the guy, but he didn't seem like the type to just skip work for no reason. Hell, he hadn't been around long, but he'd never actually seen the guy not behind the bar. It was like he lived there or something. Should he... Say something? No one actually seemed to care, outside of the inconvenience. 

Looking around to see if anyone was looking, and being satisfied when no one was, he quickly climbed over the bar and started searching. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary at first- until he noticed a weird seam in the wall. Pushing on it, his suspicions were proven correct, as it opened up into a hidden door. Checking once more to make sure no one was watching, he slipped through, shutting it behind him.

He was met with a passageway, pitch black. Fumbling his way through it, he found he at least didn't have to go far until there was the telltale give of an exit 'wall'. Pushing through...

He found himself in the shared dressing room used for quick changes. Huh?

Why did Ramb have a passageway leading there? He would have no reason to ever enter- it was made apparent to him very quickly that Ramb's only job was to work the bar slash prize stand. 

Something else caught his eye. The big double doors were cracked open. He actually hadn't seen what was behind them, yet... And, well, now was as good a time as any. 

It was dark, dusty, and far emptier than he expected it to be. Did anyone ever go back here? Though... What light filtered through the door allowed him to see small footprints through the thick layer of dust on the floor. Bingo. Someone was here after all. He followed them into the dark, having to rely on his own dim glow after the light from the other room was no longer sufficient.

He turned a corner, revealing a bright, blue-tinged light further down the passageway. Following it, he came across the silhouette of Ramb, hunched over a game console and large TV- the source of the light. He wasn't exactly trying to be quiet- there'd be no one to hear him- but the plug didnt acknowledge him at all, instead muttering himself at a volume that meant Spamton couldn't make out any of the actual words.

Cautiously, he inched forwards, having to shield his eyes from just how bright the screen was- and not displaying anything, either, just weirdly blue static. 

"Uh... Ramb? You there?"

There was no response, or even any indication he'd been heard.

"Hello?"

The plug slowly turned to face him, and though he couldn't make out his expression, he was unsettled to his core.

Something was wrong.

Something was deeply, deeply wrong.

Without another thought, he bolted out of the room, not looking back.

Ramb didn't follow him.

---

Of all the things Tenna wasn't expecting to see when he'd paused filming for an ad break, it was Spamton, looking visibly shaken, leaning against a dressing room wall.

"You're not filming any more today," he started, uncertain on how to breach the topic of the salesman's obvious fear, so opting to instead focus on his location. "Why are you in here?" 

"Uh," he watched as Spamton very clearly took several seconds to try and think up a lie. "Just... Hanging out!"

"Riiight... Hanging out. In the empty dressing room. Alone."

"Yyyup!"

He raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.

"I don't know what's going on, or why you're lying about it, but I suggest you get to the green room so you're not in anyone's way."

"Right. Okay."

The two stood there for several agonizingly awkward seconds, before Spamton shuffled out.

...The backstage door was wide open, he couldn't help but notice. He took a peek in, just to make sure nothing happened- but everything was exactly as it should be. Weird. 

"Anyone in there?"

No response.

He wandered further in.

He walked past the backstage TV.

He walked into the second room.

The TV in there was on.

It flashed with bright, solid colors.

One, after the other.

One foot after the other.

He couldn't stop himself from approaching.

Closer, closer.

He reached out to touch the screen.

His hand touched-

-Nothing but solid wall. He was in his dressing room, alone. And when he looked behind him, the door was shut and locked. When did- how did he...? He tried to remember what happened between him entering the backstage area and that moment, but could only draw blanks. Maybe he was... Maybe he was more tired than he thought? But that didn't sound right. Even when he was exhausted, he never had gaps in his memory like that. And he didn't feel tired.

He stepped outside, only to find the hallways devoid of activity. Empty. Weird. Usually they'd be crowded with people, bustling about, doing their jobs.

He found himself gravitating towards the green room. 

It, too, was empty. ...Well, mostly. Ramb stood in his usual spot behind the bar, cleaning the same empty glass he always did when things were slow. (So, always).

"Where is everyone?"

"What do you mean, luv? They've gone home."

"Gone... Home?" He squinted, unable to parse if he was being serious or not.

"...Yes...? Work day's over, innit?"

He frowned. That couldn't be right. He'd barely gotten anything done. "But- but what about all of today's shoots?"

Ramb raised an incredulous eyebrow. "You already did them."

"No, I-" Had he? He couldn't remember. "I, I would know if I had." Right?

"You can check over the footage, luv, it's all there," Ramb replied with a sort of finality. "Not sure why you're being like this about it. Is this some kind of test?"

He frowned. He would never do that! It would be... It would be mean to. He wasn't mean to anyone like that! "No! I just... Never mind. It's not important."

"Whatever you say," Ramb didn't sound convinced, but dropped the subject and went back to his cleaning. 

As he wandered back to his dressing room, he couldn't help but think...

Something was deeply, deeply wrong.