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The television has been off today, so the inhabitants of TV World are taking it easy, connecting outward to the Darkners of the rest of the Dreemurr household. Today's the day, is the word on the mouths of the guys upstairs, and it spreads back down through the living room into the square, the studio, the static inner sanctum of the big boss himself. Soon after midday, the front door opens and the family returns home. At that exact same moment Tenna bursts out from backstage, all cameras switching on and streaming his visage to every screen that's not his own in the entire world, forcing all eyes in his direction no matter which way anyone is facing.
All dressed up in a navy suit, holding two balloons in one hand (one green and one yellow) and his beloved microphone in the other, Mr Ant Tenna does a showman's spin to imagined applause; his employees watch on quietly.
"Gooood morning, afternoon and evening! It's here, it's time; the moment we've all been waiting for! The highlight event of the season! You all know what I'm talking about, folks!" Tucking the microphone into the crook of his elbow, Tenna claps both hands together twice, loudly, and the sound reverberates through the whole land as the lights suddenly – cut. The world goes black for a few seconds, then all comes back in at once; lights, camera, action, as it were. Every single Darkner has been transported, sorted, and seated in a stadium surrounding and staring at centre-stage. He finishes now, releasing his balloons with a flourish, "Welcoming the newest member of the family!"
Cannons shoot confetti, and a plethora of balloons of all colours release at once out from beneath the back of the stage. Everybody roars louder than the end of all things. It's delightful, it's exhilarating; Tenna does a bow, the audience continues to scream with praise and adoration.
Grinning widely, "Not me, folks! Oh please, please! You're too kind. No more!" He laughs and waves his hand faux bashfully. "Alright, a little longer. Haha." He endures five more seconds, then says flatly, "Now that's enough," and the clapping politely, but promptly, subsides. "I am of course talking about our much anticipated new cast member! The one and only beautiful bundle of joy! After so much hemming and hawing and precious paperwork, a darling human specimen from out of Hometown!" The void behind him lights up, replaying the flickering image captured of the instant in the Dreemurr living room where the family and the visiting Holidays passed around the picture, and Tenna got a glimpse.
He gazes at it now for an extended moment, innards fluttering all the same that they did that day. That day and every since, trying to keep the excitement bottled and marketing subtle. It seemed it had been forever that all the latest shows had a baby on the way, and there was only so much waiting he could take. Some voices around the studio, ones that had since been silenced, were muttering that the whole thing was like some cheap rerun, but Tenna knew better. Certainly, it was like only yesterday that Asriel's eyes opened to the magic of TV, and what a wonderful time that had been! All that fantastic programming for the enrichment of young minds; all the special guest star monsters interacting with a cast of regular humans, teaching shapes, numbers, letters. He still loved his cartoons, naturally, but Toriel was so dutiful in teaching him to see and interpret the world around him from her books, he didn't quite need to be told what an octagon was and how to identify one – he already knew the stop sign, and he was already declaring that they were blue before the jingle was even over! All the same, he sat and watched and Tenna knew he was doing it right. He was helping.
But now – now! He can help so much more. What an excellent first showing it was for Asriel, fabulous turnout, rave reviews – but now the crew has the experience, the know-how, to capture the attention of the latest viewer much better than that. Little baby Dreemurr will be raised by the best of the best on all of television!
Tenna turns back to his audience now, the image behind him updating to a live feed, an instant jump from recent past to present; the Holidays aren't here yet, but no doubt they'll be visiting soon! Toriel, Asgore, and Asriel, huddled up together so warmly on the couch, practically glowing, crowded around a package in pale blue. Tenna angles himself so that it looks like he is standing amongst them. A close, perfect family.
"Ladies and gentlemen, TV World is no longer under its spoiler embargo. You may now chant, you may now cheer, we all may now dance to the joyous sound of the name...!" Now for the extreme close-up shot, going straight in on the baby's chubby face. Tenna throws his arm above his head, pointing straight upwards. "TOOOOGOOOOORE DREEEEEMUUURRR!"
Rapturous applause.
Things have been tense this evening since The Interruption. The details aren't clear and there are plenty who have no idea that anything has even happened, just that they can read the vibe really well. The further one ventures in to the TV World studio, the more knowledge, or closest substitute, they have access to. Whispers of gossip pervade the halls and backstage; stories are fabricated on the spot, theories posed, scripts pitched, all attempting to answer the second most important question. Why was the television turned off so soon during movie night?
Then, the first most important. The one no one wants answered. What is Tenna going to put them all through in the fallout?
Time moves differently in any and all Dark Worlds. Years can pass in the Dark where only weeks go by in the Light, months in the Light can constitute one very long day in the Dark, then it will go 1:1, then it feels like all time has frozen, that there is nothing in the Light and everything in the Dark, or vice versa. It will stick to one way and switch to another at any time, but these days the Dark has been outrunning the Light pretty consistently. Three days to one, that sort of thing, since the laptop came home. All this to preempt the revelation that while about 20 minutes have elapsed in the Light world, down here, in the reality beneath reality, the flickering shapes and shadows, the endless imagination – and most importantly, determination – time has been stretched out for a good equivalent of 24 hours. The sitting, the waiting, the silence; it is exhausting. The anticipation of what comes next; agonising. When really, it has only just ticked over to 21 minutes now, and the television is still a little warm.
Most Darkners do not know this, but it's all to do with how their connected Lightners are perceiving their own time – symbolic and metaphorical made literal through the strength of their emotion and conviction. Listen, the whole matter is very ephemeral and vibes-based, it doesn't have to make technical sense. The point of the matter is that someone up there has been having a tough time, and so it has reflected back on TV World.
Then, all at once, time moves normally and reality is back on track. The Dark skies switch back in conjunction with the Light ones, the last of the sunset rather than the dead of the night, the air is easier to breathe, and the people move freely once again.
The reverberating double clap of hands, and the citizens are swiftly scooped up and set back down in the big stadium, just about everyone affixed to a theatre seat without the ability to leave. It used to be that absolutely everyone had to endure this treatment, but Tenna has gotten a little better. Some of the higher-ups and his closer co-workers (and, angel forbid, companions) get to stay in a simulacrum of what they were doing beforehand. For example, Lanino and Elnina continue to recline on a couch, they've just been transported to witness the very important announcement with everybody else. Not the most elegant system, but that's show business.
The stage is entirely empty but for a couple of spotlights on the centre, a door set downstage in the void. One of the lights goes over for the grand entrance; Tenna kicks the door down, 15% too tall, storming out to stand centre stage, pointing at freshly materialised markers for a couple of dustmite Darkners to wheel out a portable chalkboard and retreat. It's a loose tie and rolled sleeves affair, no jacket to be seen. He talks the entire time.
"ALRIGHT!!! EVERYONE!! Put DOWN what you are DOING and PAY ATTENTION to ME!"
("Most forward he's been all week," snipes Ramb, whose entire concession stand has been transported to where the front row ought to be. He just says it straight without a care for potentially interrupting.
Spamton is more mindful than that – funny, it's usually the other way around – and leans forward to hiss over the counter. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"'Scuse me." Ramb suddenly understands the need to be discreet and is generous enough to lower his voice from normal speaking volume. "Good to know 'least Tenna is clear with you. Oh–!" Though he tries, his stubby hands fail to stop Spamton from pouring out his glass on the floor behind the bar. Ramb grunts, "Little prick," and kneels down to clean it up.
This brief interaction takes place entirely separate to the rest of the scene; Tenna is the last to have spoken his line. Let us resume.)
"This is NOT the time for spacing out, there will be NO casual conversation, you may NOT adjust your volume! All! Eyes! Forward!" Tenna keeps snapping his fingers as if he's given anyone even the slightest opportunity to look anywhere else, one hand folded behind his back, pacing to and fro with such fervour he might just scorch a line on the stage. "I'm only gonna be saying this once and I expect you all to listen!!" He puts his hand to the side of his mouth, which makes absolutely no impact as he's already shouting at the top of his voice, and barks, "MIKE!"
The three original spotlights stay where they are, aside from slight movement to follow Tenna where he goes, and a fresh one flashes onto the chalkboard. Currently empty, but not for long. Withdrawing his other hand from behind his back, the stick of stark, white chalk appears nearly radioactive amidst all the brightness already on display in this one concentrated spot. People still see it when they blink. It's a serious eyesight hazard and Spamton elects to put on his glasses while he's sure no one will catch him wearing them.
"We all know what happened tonight!" declares Tenna, although it's entirely untrue. He proceeds regardless. "Family TV Time was interrupted by an unscheduled commercial break! Now, I know what you're thinking." He opens his free hand to the crowd, like prompting answers. "Not important, right? Not going to be anything worth caring about? What's the deal? Why is this happening to me? What could possibly come before TV?" He emits an ear-piercing buzzer sound. "Wrong! This is– Folks, this is–" He laughs breathlessly. "I cannot stress this enough." He pinches his fingers in front of his face, forcing as neutral an expression as physically possible. "This is THE MOST important announcement in the family since parental controls!"
The crowd murmurs, and he's okay with this. Nothing wrong with a little audience participation.
"The family. As you know. Consists of," he lists them off on his fingers as he says the names, "Toriel. Asgore. Asriel. And! Don't finish that thought, folks, I know what you were thinking. And you are," the buzzer again, "wrong! Just now, this very evening, the youngest Dreemurr gave a special news bulletin that we all need to be aware of. From this moment forward, in perpetuity, they will be known as Kris!"
Tenna whirls around the face the chalkboard. It's height adjusted for his average – "That name again is Kris!" – so he has to bend very slightly – "That's K – NOT a CH, folks!" – to write in enormous capital letters, the name. "R. I. S." Tenna draws a line underneath as he pulls away for the chalkboard to be visible. "And there will be no– Oh, hold on." He ducks back down to scrawl a couple more words in smaller but still legible writing, right beneath the line: they/them. Tenna still says it aloud. "Using they and them pronouns! That's Kris, K-R-I-S, they and them! Say it with me!"
It takes a couple of tries until he is satisfied with the recitation, but at last he lets his captives off the hook, punctuating the exercise by throwing the chalk (somehow already worn down to a nub) at the board, where it makes the perfect impression of a period, before ricochetting off and flying at full force into the crowd. "And that's the way it is and the way it's always been, and I will not tolerate even one slip-up!" The light on the chalkboard goes out, all focused back in on Tenna. With one hand on his hip, he gestures sharply with his other to really get the point across. "This is a non-negotiable, do you understand me? This is FAMILY. And from the day I was brought through that door until the day I'm dragged out, we are all members of this FUCKING FAMILY!" Tenna exhales, then adds, "Me especially."
Obligingly, for there truly is nothing else to do in this situation, the citizens of TV World erupt into applause. It's what he wanted, and he bows deeply. When he comes back up, he's somehow already unrolled and buttoned his sleeves back up, just in the middle of straightening out the tie, all smiles.
"Thank you, folks, thank you. Wonderful turnout. What a show. You've been brilliant."
The houselights all come up at once, and the exits materialise up at the top of stairs that didn't previously exist. The Darkners quickly grow comfortable with murmuring and chattering, varying degrees of patient in the clearing of the stadium; they all know the drill, but this is the first time Spamton has ever experienced this. He remains on his barstool, legs dangling above the ground, blinking at the light and tucking his glasses away as cool and casual as possible.
"You were right, luv." Ramb is speaking to one of the weather duo, who during the announcement got up from their couch and joined Spamton over at the stand. The two of them couldn't be less bothered by any of this if they tried. "Much easier the second time."
"See, I told you," comes Elnina's lilt; Spamton doesn't turn around to join the interaction, instead keeping an eye on the darkened stage and its exit doors. "Tenna, oh, he's just funny, isn't he? If he only asked for everyone to come sit, why, of course we would, but." She doesn't finish that sentence, instead humming a little laugh that Lanino joins her in.
Ramb, knowing full well what will follow, says, "That was the partner's first."
"Oh, Spamton, really?" He feels her hands come down on his shoulders and jerks away – cannot stand being touched without warning. Elnina doesn't seem to notice the reaction at all, melting easily back into Lanino's side.
"First time in the Stadium Dimension, Mr G?" is the best Lanino has to offer. "Wasn't too scary for you?"
"I've seen it," Spamton lies easily.
"When you're a powerful enough boss, you can manifest your own arena, perfectly tailored to your desires." Elnina sighs longingly. She's not saying anything that's new information to the people present, but her job is essentially exposition. "Wouldn't that be a dream, sweet sunbeam?"
"Any time, cirrus of mine."
If Spamton and Ramb can agree on one thing, it is distaste for the PDA the weather duo flagrantly displays, so at least they have someone to roll their eyes at about it. Spamton isn't too annoyed at the moment, though; he's thinking of how he'll decorate his arena once he gets big enough. Lots of images of his face. Buildings in the shape of his face. Yes.
There's a door close by to where the concession stand inexplicably remains, and it opens up now to Tenna coming through. Nothing about him has changed aside from returning to his proper height, but he is entirely different in the sense that he is no longer exuding a desperately manic energy. So that's good. He leans against the fake roof of the stand, regarding friends and employees below.
"That wasn't too much, was it?" asks Tenna. "I didn't overdo it?"
Elnina waves her hands in playful dismissal, which is a great start, that Lanino follows up with a decently paced shake of the head. "Oh, no," they say more or less in unison.
"I'm just very excited," Tenna tries to explain.
"Of course!" Lanino intones.
"How could you not be?" empathises Elnina.
Bolstered, Tenna straightens up a bit, nodding firmly. "Just... Very happy. For them."
Ramb says, "I already knew."
"You did not," says Elnina. "You liar. Ramb, you're a liar."
"They told me the other day. Me, personally."
"Just because Togore likes waving you around–" Whatever the rest of what Lanino was going to say totally dies on his tongue as he startles and draws his pointer, parrying Tenna's hand coming at his head. "Kris! I meant Kris."
"We understand, darling!" Elnina says too shrilly, linking her arm through his and trying to drag him away. He resists for a moment, but then Tenna snatches the pointer out of his hand and it snaps into two pieces, and Lanino goes limp and allows Elnina to carry him away towards the stairs. "Big congratulations, Mr Tenna! We'll get to work on the late forecast now!"
Tenna, completely unnecessarily, wets his lips before dragging a smile back out onto his face, fumbling the pointer pieces as if he can put them back together through sheer force of will. Alas, he cannot. Around and above, the stadium seating is almost entirely clear and this space will no longer be worth expending the energy to keep it upright.
"I trust neither of you will have a problem remembering?" He says the words first, then angles his head downwards after, and can only see Ramb because Spamton has been behind him for the last minute, jiggling the handle on the door he came through and unable to make it move. "Sp-?" Tenna looks over his own shoulders, then under, turning around his raised arm.
In a rare moment of charity, Ramb draws attention away from the attempt to flee. "There're queers back home, boss, don't you fret."
"Basically invented it," claims Spamton, popping back up against the counter as if he'd never been standing anywhere else. "From out in the sticks to the heart of the city, we've got alllll the genders. Hottest methods of self-expression, the very latest in identity. You wouldn't believe it."
"I would so," argues Tenna huffily. "You didn't invent it."
"Well, no, I didn't, but–"
"This may pertain more to sexuality than gender, but you believe me! Television wouldn't exist without queerness, Hays Code or no! The history of exploring one's authentic self is far older than any World Wide Web."
"What do you want me to say? I support the kid!"
"He doesn't know any name in this whole house," Ramb pipes in smugly.
Spamton puffs out his chest, holding out both arms wide at his sides in appeal to Tenna. "Ant! He's a liar and his accent is fake – you know me! I love the fuckin'," shuts his eyes and inclines his head, "the Whatevers. The family." His eyes snap back open and his entire face brightens with a fresh thought. "Yes, family! Who needs names when you're part of the family? We're all in it together, you said so yourself!"
"You're not family," says Tenna.
Ramb bursts out laughing as Spamton recoils. "No?"
Tenna turns away. "No." He reaches for the door he came through and it opens without issue, seemingly leading back onto the actual, proper stage in the real studio.
Trailing after him, Spamton tries to make his case. "Not even as your partner?"
"I'll go fuck myself, will I?" Ramb calls after them as they go through the door.
Tenna replies, "You'll end up back in the green room eventually."
"Eventually?" and the door shuts on the Stadium Dimension.
Forgetting its existence almost immediately, Spamton keeps prodding, "Not even a little bit?"
Tenna holds himself stiff for as long as he can before exhaling fondly. He offers his hand and Spamton jumps up onto it, climbing Tenna's arm and finally perching on his shoulder. "No," he says gently, "but you are a friend."
"Deal!"
After a sustained moment of lingering, Tenna starts toward the wardrobe department with Spamton scrabbling on his back. "Repeat back to me what I said on stage."
"KRIS!" K-R-I-S. They and them. What kind of question is that? Of course Spamton remembers. To the kid, he goes on, "YOU AND ME. ARE ALREADY [Friend Request Accepted]."