Work Text:
It was a rather uneventful evening in the Castle Town, and many of its residents had settled into their homes for the night. A warmth radiated throughout the moonlit atmosphere, and a calm breeze fluttered throughout the market square. Most of the locales located within had closed, with all but two locations shuttered until the morning. The TV studio remained open, albeit without its staff running its attractions. Its dead silence and dimmed lights would fool most into leaving it alone, which is exactly how its residents (one resident, specifically) liked it. Nearby, however, was perhaps the one building that never slept – the Technicolor Café and Brewery. In the mornings, the Café is a place of relaxation, with the host Swatch working with local entertainers and providing an excellent spot for the most diligent Darkners to start their main. As dawn turns to dusk, the mood changes with the servers as Swatch and his Swatchlings retire as Ramb and the Shadowguys take over and transform it from coffee shop to speakeasy. Performances evolve from relaxing to risqué, the menu becomes intoxicating, and the patrons start getting rowdy.
On one of these nights, Cat Mike took the opportunity to make their presence known and welcome at the bar. The town had mostly figured out the whole “Mike” situation that had been happening-- you’d have to be blind not to realize that three different people are pretending to be one guy, but Battat insisted that the trio make regular appearances to keep up the illusion of authority, at the very least. (And while it wouldn’t admit this out loud, Pluey absolutely loved being in costume, and was pretty sure the other two shared that feeling.)
After a rousing performance on stage, the other shadowguys prepped for the next show in a few minutes and Pluey slipped out to grab a drink for the bar.
“Evenin, luv.” Ramb greeted the disguised feline and began to prepare its usual order. “Haven’t seen ya in your, ah, cowboy look in a bit. They feeling alright?”
“♩♫♪. (Food poisoning.)” Pluey replied, in a melancholy tune.
“Ah, finally had something other than a TV dinner and couldn’t handle it, huh?”
“(Believe it or not, it was the Deluxe Dinner that did it to them.)”
“Just when you start to treat yourself, eh?” Ramb finished the cat’s favorite, a spiked eggnog with cinnamon and rum. “Well, give ‘em my best.”
“How do you… understand them?” Noelle asked, revealing herself from a stool across the bar.
Ramb smirked. “Years of practice, luv.” Pluey belted out a short refrain, and he translated “Also, he knows shadowguys are my best customers.”
“Fahaha, really?” Noelle chuckled and then clammed up. “Oh, is it alright to say Mike’s…”
“Not the real Mike? Hon, it’s an open secret. The only people who don’t know everyone else knows are probably the short Mike and Tenna.”
“(But don’t let Bats know about that!)” Pluey commented, and the pair laughed, to Noelle’s confusion.
“Oh, okay… But how’d you three manage to convince Tenna in the first place? I mean, it’s kind of obvious you three aren’t the same person!”
“Ah, now that’s one hell of a story. Pluey, you wanna tell her?”
The cat cleared its throat and began its sonata… (and Ramb began to narrate, so that Noelle could actually understand it.)
January 17th, 2003.
A cold and brutal day, one of many that occurred ever since the great split occurred between the Lord of Screens and his Big Shot. Tenna always was a… demanding person to work with but being in the TV Studio during its hey-day was like nothing else, getting to engage with the greatest stars and daily connection with the Lightners on and off air made it a lucrative business that Darkners literally killed for.
Now, however, something had changed. The studio was starting to notice that popularity was stagnating, holiday specials performed worse than ever, and Tenna wasn’t taking it well. Looking back, this was the start of the decline that TV World would settle in until its collapse, but at the time everyone was forcibly convinced it was slump they needed to work harder than ever to get out of. And Tenna was more upset than ever, cancelling every show that was less than perfect, reassigning workers to roles far outside of their depths, and trying to reinvent himself and his production every day. Clearly, Tenna was going crazy trying to reclaim a high he didn’t achieve on his own in a time that was slowly turning against him.
What certainly didn’t help the insanity allegations was his obsession with someone called “Mike”. Ever since he-who-won’t-be-named-if-you-value-your-job split, Tenna practically depended on someone named Mike to do everything and got incredibly upset whenever the non-existent man couldn’t get it done. It was common for the employees to try to pick up Mike’s slack so that the studio could survive one of Tenna’s tantrums, but they were never perfect, so the standard practice was to duck and cover until he got distracted by something more important.
It's during this era that Pluey got roped into being an entertainer for the kids shows that Tenna insisted would save the studio, just like how the cowboy, music, kaiju, and every other production would. These programs were horrible to live through, as Pluey had to stuff himself in an uncomfortable mascot suit and jump and sing and play second fiddle to whoever Tenna “convinced” to take part. All Pluey could do was sit back and listen to their spiel until it was told to act like a fool. Pluey hated it, as it was forced to look like a stupid kitty most of the time but couldn’t do anything cool that actual cats could do.
After the 15th taping in a row, Pluey practically crawled backstage to the only relief that Tenna was mandated to provide in the new union contract: a coffee vending machine. Pluey fumbled with the stiff paws of the suit it was stuck in to put in its coffee order: small americano, two sugar, two cream. As it poured into the paper cup, the mascot begged for some sort of relief from the torture that was the kids show. It carefully grasped its coffee, and as it prepared to lift up the head and sip…
“MIKE!” Tenna burst into the backstage, nearly causing the cat to spill the piping-hot beverage on itself. Pluey tried to stand up straight and look like it wasn’t slacking off as Tenna marched towards it. Tenna stood directly in front of it, sizing it up and down. Suddenly, Tenna snatched the coffee from its paws and downed it in one gulp. “There’s my coffee! I knew you’d remember how I like it.”
Pluey was confused, but suddenly Tenna threw a pair of keys at it and spouted “By the way, I had to change the lock on your door. That green shorty keeps trying to break in, and I think he almost figured out the lock.” Pluey fumbled with the keys and tried to protest, but Tenna kept on with his spiel. “I’ve got the new scripts on your desk in there, get those reviewed and returned to me as soon as possible.” And with that, he marched off in a good mood, leaving the shadowguy flummoxed on what to do next.
Well, it asked for rest, and now it has a room all to itself. Pluey wandered through the halls, passing by the old rooms until it stumbled on a door with “MIKE” painted on the front. Outside was a Zapper and a Pippins, and the Zapper had the Pippins by the scruff of his green poncho, while the Pippins was trying his best to break free.
“You knows I can’t let ya in here, Bats!” the Zapper exclaimed.
The pippins scrambled at the long arm lifting him off the ground. “Angel above, no one goes in there, Jongler! If Mike’s real, we have to figure out why Tenna needs him so much!” Clearly, he had tried this excuse before, because the Zapper was having none of it.
Upon seeing Pluey, however, they shouted “Not another one! None of yous are allowed here, Tenna’s orders.” Pluey lifted up the keys, and seeing the giant “M” key chain, Jongler dropped Battat and stood in salute. “Oh, sorrys Mike. Didn’t recognize ya, sir.” Pluey grumbled under its breath, unlocked the door, and entered. Outside the door, it could hear “I told ya Mike was real!” from the Zapper and “No way. NO WAY!” from the Pippins.
Pluey took a look around the room and was unsurprised to see it was practically empty. There was a total of four things in the room at the moment, not counting the walls and the floor. A desk, a stack of scripts, a chair, and a closet. It supposed it would get this work done, and hope Tenna doesn’t notice it leaving.
An hour into reading and approving scripts, Pluey noticed it had settled into the costume well. With different hands and feet, and a bit better air flow, it wouldn’t mind being in this weighted blanket of a suit full time. This train of thought was interrupted by the sudden crashing through the roof of – who else – the same Pippins and Zapper from earlier.
“Boss!” “Mike!” the two stumbled over their words, trying to come with an excuse on the spot.
“There was a Maus in the vent and I –“
“This guy needed help fixin da light in ‘is room and –“
“Well, the ventilation shaft is the only way to –“
“- and the next thing ya know, we’re on a trampoline –“
Pluey put his now ungloved hands up and says simply. “(I’m not Mike.)”
The two were stunned into silence. Jongler gathered the courage to speak first.
“… yous not?”
Pluey shook its head.
“… then can we have a look around?”
Pluey thought for a moment, stood up from the desk and nodded, and backed away to let them rifle through.
Battat ran straight for the desk and began searching its drawers for anything he could find. Jongler, on the other hand, slithered over to the closet and pulled out costumes, fursuits, and outfits galore. Pluey took the opportunity to remove the costume and relax, as they were clearly enamored with the opportunity to explore.
After a moment, Pluey thought to ask the pippins, “(So, why are you guys obsessed with Mike?)”
Battat was startled, clearly distracted before regaining composure and replying. “Oh, uh, it’s kind of a long story. Basically, I’ve been doing most of the work that Tenna assigns to Mike so that he doesn’t lose his mind. In the meantime, I’ve been trying to figure out why Mike isn’t doing his work. A month or so ago, I tried breaking into this room and Jongler over there –“ he waved over, and they waved back while half of one of Mike’s suits was on “caught me in the act. Turns out they were just as curious, because they were assigned to guard this room and had no clue what was in it. We’ve been compiling theories and clues whenever they’re off duty, and I’ve been at it for the better part of the last two years.”
Pluey could relate. It never considered actually investigating, considering they were stuck in recital or performance while at work and took to the underbelly of the TV World when off the clock, but the thought had gnawed at its mind for a while.
A knock at the door interrupted the trio. “Oh, Mike!” Tenna called, in a sing-song voice. “I’m coming into pick up those scriiiipts!” As he began to open the door, the three scrambled to look like this wasn’t the burglary that it clearly became. It was too late, though, as they were caught in the act as Tenna slammed open the door.
“Gasp! Mike!” His eyes were fixated on… Jongler? Who hadn’t changed out of the costume that he pilfered from the closet.
“Me, boss?” they stammered.
“Of course, you. Who else would I be talking to, silly? What are these two doing in here?!”
“Uh… they’s my assistants.”
Tenna stared Jongler down, then looked at Battat, then at Pluey, out of costume. It felt like an eternity had passed, as the three of them held their breath, waiting for him to pass judgement.
“Well.” Tenna finally replied. “I’m glad to see you’re sharing the load! I always said you’re working too hard on yourself! Good to see you took my advice.”
“Haha, yeah!” Battat proclaimed. “Mike really appreciates our help, sir!”
Pluey managed to get out a few notes of affirmation through the fear.
Tenna scooped up the scripts from the desk and began to walk off. “Alright, then! I’m off to send these to the rest of the studio, then I’ll send the official documentation to make them your assistants! See you around, Mike!”
And with that, the worst was over.
Battat broke the silence that followed. “I can’t believe he thought you were Mike.”
“I means, he thought dat guy was Mike.” Jongler replied.
“(It’s Pluey. And, yeah, I guess Tenna has no clue what Mike looks like.)”
“… So now what?” Battat eventually responded.
“Well, as I sees it, we gots two options. We can either run and hope Tenna forgets all dis happened, or we can pretend to be Mikes.”
And the rest, as they say, is history.
"…Wow! I can’t believe that’s how it happened!” Noelle excitedly said.
“Yeah, well, life’s got a lot of stories you’d never believe, innit?” Ramb smugly replied.
“So, like, you’re the original Mike, Pluey?! I mean, obviously the Mike before you three was the original but you’re like the original copycat?!” Noelle sputtered out.
Pluey shrugged and grabbed a pen to sign his check and pay.
“Wow…” Noelle eventually concluded.
As Noelle took in the story, not quite starstruck but still enamored with the circumstances, she noticed that Pluey passed her a napkin with something scribbled on it.
“Ramb’s got a habit of dramatizing stories.” it said. And with that, Pluey left the bar, leaving behind a dumbfounded Noelle and humored Ramb.
“Wait, so, how much of that did you make up?” Noelle eventually asked Ramb.
“Oh, only about, ten, twenty percent of it, hon. Translation’s hard, so I had to fill in the blanks,” Ramb confidently claimed. “Besides, if you really wanted to know about Mike, then you should’ve asked me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?!”
“Another time, luv. Another time.”