Chapter Text
The scene cut, the shoot wrapped and Spamton finally retched into a toilet.
The feeling sat in his gut all day. The second he woke up, a vague feeling of nausea hit him. Nothing he couldn’t handle. He thought maybe he needed something to eat. That same breakfast now stared back at him, looking far less appetizing.
It didn’t help that they'd recorded several long ad segments. Tenna directed especially strictly that day. The stage lights beat down on Spamton’s aching head while he endured take after take. Tenna wanted it perfect. Normally Spamton did too. But normally Spamton wasn’t choking up his breakfast.
One last dry retch and Spamton wiped his mouth with this jacket sleeve. He emerged from the stall to splash some water on his hot face. Welp. Time to get back to Tenna. They had a debrief scheduled in five minutes.
He strode into the cushy office without knocking. Tenna shouted into his antennae--something about some hairbrained idea for a gameshow--gazing out the window. He spun around at Spamton’s entrance.
“Got it Mike? BIG machines, BIG parts. We’ll chat more later, gotta run.”
Oh that silly CRT. Always rushing to flash his goofy grin at Spamton. Spamton grumbled, before flashing his own grin back. Tenna faltered.
“You look like shit.”
The grin dropped. He ran a hand through his dark hair. “Gee thanks, bug.”
“Seriously, are you ok? You don’t look well.”
Spamton huffed. “Nothing a Big Shot like me can’t handle, Ant. A stomach bug. Already threw up the last of it.”
Tenna slowly sat behind his desk with a tilted antenna. “You threw up? Spam, we don’t have to do this right now.”
He sat in front of the TV’s desk. “I wanna hear it now, fresh from your head. I don’t want anything falling out of those cathodes before I get to hear it. Then I’ll get out of here. Promise.”
Tenna studied him with a flickering screen. “You're not pushing yourself because I say stuff like that, are you?”
“Say what?”
“You don't actually look like shit. You look like you don't feel well, you know? Not yourself.”
He raised a brow. “Where’s this coming from?”
Tenna fiddled his hands on the desk. “I guess I've been doing a lot of… thinking.”
The very heavy pause made it clear he wanted to say something else. Probably wanted to ask for his secrets again. Secrets he couldn’t give. Spamton didn’t think he could stomach an argument in this condition, so he quickly formulated how to shift his thoughts. An over-thinking Tenna was a shrinking Tenna. He did not want a shrinking Tenna.
“I just threw up. Nothing else. Don’t think too hard about it.”
He shook his CRT head. “Sorry, sorry, not trying to worry you or anything. I've just been thinking… well about you I guess. Your future.”
“I told you, I don’t intend on leaving TV Time. Don't worry your pretty box head about it,” he waved it off, hoping against hope that Tenna would just drop it and not fret more. Sometimes he fretted more at Spamton’s reassurances. But it was all Spamton had to offer right now.
“Sorry, sorry, you're sick. We can save that business for later. Just… for the record, you never really look like shit. Not with that hair, that smile… You're always handsome, Spammy.”
Spamton tried to cover his blush with anger, rolling his eyes and gritting his teeth as he hissed out an answer. “Let’s save the pleasure for later, too, shall we?”
Tenna put his hands up in defeat. “Alright, alright. So these ad segments…”
They conducted their business, not without a few jabs from Spamton about how the ‘family friendly TV’ had some colorful curses for the shoot. Tenna grinned wide as he complained about how difficult ‘the talent’ was to work with. Spamton laughed, humming at the end over the familiarity of it all. The warm glow of the cathode ray tubes in front of him helped him feel better than any remedy he had tried that morning.
It concerned Spamton.
Spamton came to TV Time for one reason only, the reason he did nearly anything. He wanted to be a Big Shot. Tenna knew this, encouraged it even. Tenna got excited about his ambition, admired his gumption. Spamton received praise from many Darkners, but it had never cut to his core the way Tenna’s praise did. Warm. Big. Precise.
Deep down, Spamton’s gut squirmed at it, even when he wasn’t feeling sick. He enjoyed his time at the studio. He enjoyed the company of his business partner. That was fine, maybe even good. The instructions from the phone made it clear this wasn’t a problem.
Oh yes, Spamton hadn’t made it this far alone. A nobody white Addison who couldn’t make a sale to save his life couldn’t have this kind of success on his own. Without the phone, he was nothing. And so, the phone rang, and he came running. It drove Tenna nuts, always spurring a pointed frown, a whine or even a loud complaint about how Spamton didn’t share these calls with him. Spamton tried his best to make time for the box head, but the fact of the matter was he needed that phone if he wanted Tenna’s company at all. And the phone had made it clear this was for Spamton's ears only.
The black plastic receiver, trembling in its cradle as it rang. Spamton could hear it nearly anywhere, he could feel it gnawing at his spine. The garbage noise on the other end echoed into his skull to produce a voice. He couldn’t discern anything about the owner of the voice--not age, not if they were male or female, nothing. Sometimes it even started to sound like his own voice, particularly in long conversations. His skin crawled at the sound, but he resolutely listened to its precise instructions. Instructions that ranged from smart investments, to going to the right place, to bizarre commands like avoiding certain people or eating certain foods. Every instruction led him closer to the status he felt he deserved.
TV World is your next step. But not your last step.
“You want me to work with the TV?”
At first he questioned such a pivot, but his doubts quickly vanished as Spamton came to enjoy his role at TV Time. One of the best gigs he’d ever had. He'd already proven his advertising skills, but the show enabled him to express his more creative skills alongside them. Tenna excelled at drawing it out of him. Tenna excelled at a lot of things. Spamton began to see that, and began to find excuses to spend more time with him. It worried him, so he did the only thing he knew to do when he had a problem.
He asked his benefactor.
It is good that you’re getting along with him. The voice said. It matters not whether you stay strictly business or sink into pleasure.
The voice that hissed ‘pleasure’ sounded unnervingly close to Tenna’s bright rumble, yet twisted into something cruel. Spamton swallowed hard. “So… it’s ok that he wants to fool around? That I wanna fool around?”
So long as you follow my instructions, nothing else matters.
Spamton had taken that allowance and ran with it. Their recreational time together amounted to little more than careless trysts around Tenna’s office, sometimes an overnight stay at the others’ place, maybe a dinner or two together every week. Spamton could have fun, but he didn’t want to get weighed down too much. He had to become a Big Shot. That meant leaving the studio one day.
But not yet. So for now, he smiled.
“Ok Ant, so I need to soften up my sell, got it,” he sprung from his seat, “I’ll keep it in mind for next time. These long ads are tricky sometimes.”
“Oh, you’re doing fine,” Tenna waved him off, rising to walk him to the door. “Go home and get some rest. Hey, want me to bring you dinner later?”
Spamton nearly gagged at the thought. “Call me first.”
“Sure. Let’s get you out of--”
Chirrrrp
Tenna paused. “Did you hear--”
Chirrrrrrrp
“How could I not?”
The harsh sound rattled in a cabinet. Tenna and Spamton exchanged confused glances before the noise drew their stares back.Tenna wrung his hands as he approached.
“Maybe a prop or something…?”
He lingered at the cabinet. Spamton swatted him aside impatiently.
“Just open it Cathode, what could it possibly be--”
A warm squirming bundle crashed into him. His brain took a moment to process precisely what he caught. A thing. A living thing. They stared at each other for a beat.
Then it started screeching.
Spamton flinched and held it away at arms length, fully taking it in. Its body was mostly round, with tiny limbs and a mop of white hair splayed on its head. Fearsome fangs flashed from its wailing mouth and fat tears dribbled down its round cheeks. It was a--
“A baby??”
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