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SPAMTON DID NOT GET SICK. Or, at least, was the firm believer of willing his body to overlook the entire sickness business entirely. Being sick wasn't profitable. ( and when it was, it was never you who profited from it.)
Then there was now. Spamton with half his sheets thrown off the bed, his shirt nowhere to be seen; sweaty, miserable, and with a terribly sore throat.
No way he could smooth talk his way outta this one.
Up and at'em. Thats rights. Just one foot in front of the other there you go-
With a head full of cotton he lumbered out of bed. Was standing always so difficult? Was breathing always such a privilege? No, but he could probably make big bucks out of selling air. And he made a sluggish mental reminder to bring that up to his benefactor.
There was always work to be done, one way or another.
THE HUMAN BODY WAS FAILING HIM. The first day of a cold is not the worst one. The days between, those long, arduous nights, now those are the worst. He had just about taken every medicine over the counter and nothing seemed to be working. (Well for a short while it would, but the cold came back stronger when whatever-miracle-pill he took wore off.)
Down trodden and bed ridden, he took to pouting in his bed. He brought his cup to his lips, sipped at the scalding, honey liquid, and then-
A ring went off.
A high pitched curling ring that tangled itself between his ears. He spilled the hot hot-ow fuck-water all over himself. His thighs were burning, his sheets were wet, and the phone kept ringing.
The room, the closet, the unnamed place of ambiguous holiness was quaint and small, but unbearably big for such a small man. It was an important place. And important places held conversations with important people. The phone was there.
"What?" Spamton croaked out, and winced at the wet crackle of his voice.
"Oh god you sound awful."
Tenna. Anthony. It was just him.
"-missing three days of work-ahem-I could fire you for that."
Had it really been three days? It felt longer.
" -ven listening to me?"
"Urk," Spamton started, and then with feigned seriousness,"Yeah."
There is nothing serious about 'Yeah', but it was all Spamtons feverish mind could muster, when all his awkward charm was being used for other things- Like keeping himself up straight.
"It's PTO or whatever," He swallowed a sticky cough," I hardly take those."
There was silence for a moment.
"Your sick!"
No shit.
"I-er-thought it was one of those benders, or you know, another one of your days, that go on for weeks."
Gee, golly, thanks, Spamton could really hear the italics in that one.
Spamton hacked into his elbow, his nose was really running away from him now. It was the sort of gag Tenna would like. (Because speaking to Tenna made everyone learn to think in cartoon physics. And sooner or later, it was going to be a hiring requirement.)
"-heck in on my favorite employee-"
"Yeah, sure, love ya , bye."
He hung up the phone, his headache was coming back.
TENNA WAS AT THE DOOR. His glasses reflected Spamtons own snotty self with his blanket pulled over his shoulders. And he leaned under the doorway-didn't even bother asking- with a blinding white smile, like some sorta serial killer or something. A little to perfect, a little to er dashing.
It had to be the start of a horror story.
(It was.)
"I-I'm medically certified!"
"Yeah, in the fifties." Spamton replied, searching for another tissue box under the island.
Tenna pouted, and leaned over the kitchen island with his leather bag, "I have my stethoscope! Temp-machine things, and all those other thingamajigs."
"And-", Tenna continued," my medical license."
Spamton didn't even have to look up to know it was fraudulent. Something cobbled together for a scene or skit or whatever Tenna did before Spamton came on board. He could get Tenna a real one, good for business having Doctor approved whatevers.
"Let's just stick to soups big guy." Spamton wheezed out, blowing into the tissue and watching as Tenna's nose wrinkled in disgust.
"Hmph!"
Spamton wasn't surprised when later he got a big bowl of Tenna branded canned soup. (He chucked the soggy misshapen noodles at Tenna's red suited ass. )
It tasted alright at least. And the thought..yes..being thought of at all was nice.
TENNA CAUGHT A COLD. Spamton, very respectfully did not laugh when he heard Tenna sneezing a mile away. He heckled of course, and that was much better.