Chapter Text
They were set to go live in forty minutes, and the lighting looked absolutely atrocious.
Tenna strode through the hall on his long legs, eyes trailing the notebook in his hands, a pen tucked behind his ear. He was trying to solve the problem, but he kept getting interrupted.
"Morning, Tenna!" Shuttah called out to him. "Did you review those costuming changes?"
"Yes, I'll get that signature for you by end of day, pinky promise!" he called back without slowing down or looking up.
Next came a Shadowguy, trilling a saxophone to ask about the supplies order.
Tenna waved him off with a smile. "Placed it last night, Parker! It'll be in by Monday!"
Only one darkner was able to actually stop his momentum. She stepped right into his trajectory, and he nearly ran her over.
It was Elnina, her hair pulled back into a tight bun, sporting a navy pant-suit. "Oh, Tenna! Glad I ran into you!" She grimaced rather than smiled. "Listen, is there any chance we can move our meeting this afternoon to next week? I've been working on those budget spreadsheets for days, but I still haven't found the time to wrap them up."
Tenna softened in sympathy. "I'll check the schedule, but it shouldn't be any trouble."
She leaned forward, brow furrowed. "You don't think he'll be mad, do you?" she nearly whispered.
Tenna patted her hands. "I'll handle it. Better for them to be right rather than rushed, you know?"
"Thank you," she said with a relieved smile, letting him move along. "I owe you one!"
He was juggling a million problems at once, but the issue on stage was at the forefront of his mind. There was supposed to be five Pippins on lighting duty today, but only two had shown up for call time.
Tenna's dress shoes were clicking along the polished concrete floor. He was making his way towards the break room thinking that he might find them there, perhaps finishing up their morning coffees.
No luck — the cafeteria, with its textured gray walls, faux plants, and black wire chairs, was abandoned.
Tenna sighed. He leaned against the coffee bar's cool marble counter top.
"Somethin' for your mornin', Mr. Tenna?" a purple Plugboy asked from behind the counter, already pulling a double espresso shot.
"Ugh, Ramb, my hero!" Tenna wailed with melodrama, the smell of the coffee already soothing his anxieties. He couldn't tear his eyes from the shift schedule. "Have you seen Mike yet today?"
"Which one, luv?" He smiled, tired but patient.
"Small Mike. Sorry, my brain is just everywhere this morning!" Tenna grinned with gritted teeth to prevent himself from ripping his hair out. "We're short a few Pippins on the lighting crew."
"Can't say that I have. Maybe Cat Mike's seen 'em?"
Tenna hummed, pinching his brow and hunching over the paperwork.
Ramb handed him his coffee — two double espressos over ice, with an equal volume of the sweetest creamer legally considered a liquid. Tenna took a sip, checking the employee files to see if there was anyone he could call in to cover on short notice.
"You said you were lookin' for some Pippins, right, luv?" Ramb said. "Saw a handful of them in the spare dressing room. Looked a bit frantic."
Tenna tried not to groan. A group of Pippins hiding in the bathroom was not an issue he had hoped to deal with this morning.
"Yes, that's probably them…" He packed up his notebook and took off, drinking his coffee as he went. "I really outta tip you one of these days, Ramb!"
The Plugboy laughed. "Well, if the boss lets me put a cup out, you'll be the first to know."
Tenna opened the spare dressing room without knocking. Inside were two red Pippins, Bunko and Pig, who each eyed him nervously. Two out of three.
"There you are!" Tenna said, hand on his hip. "Where's Farkle?"
Just then came a sharp gagging from the dressing room's connected toilet.
"Food poisoning, boss," Pig said. "We've been cleaning up his poker chips all morning."
Tenna sighed. "Let me talk to him. You two head to set, alright?"
The pair did as they were told, and Tenna gave a soft knock on the bathroom door. Whoever was inside groaned in reply, and Tenna peeked his head in.
The red Pippins was hunched over the toilet, his dice head limp against the seat. He looked exhausted. "Tenna! Hey…"
Tenna gave him a gentle smile. "How you feelin', Farkle?"
"Ain't doin' so hot, boss."
Tenna winced. "I can see that. Did your friends bring you water and everything?"
"Yeah, they got me covered."
"Good." Tenna opened his notebook. "Take the day to rest. I'll mark you out sick, alright?"
"Wait!" He reached out to stop the door from closing, his face pale. "This is my third call out this month."
Tenna frowned. "And who's fault is that? Two of those times, you were hung over."
"Come on, Tenna, please. Cut a guy some slack." The Pippins eyes were wide and manic, his smile somewhat trembling. "I'll take an extra shift next week. Just… don't tell the boss. Please?"
Tenna sighed, his gut twinging.
"Fine," he said softly. "But this is the last time I'm covering for you. And I better see you taking that extra shift."
"Thank you, Tenna."
"Don't worry about it. Just rest up, okay?"
As he passed by the bar once more to retrace his steps, Ramb flagged him down. "Got coffee for the big man 'imself."
Tenna downed the rest of his own drink and left the empty cup on the bar, grabbing the replacement — a hot black coffee in a large ceramic mug. "Thanks, Ramb."
By the time Tenna made it back to the main stage, they were ten minutes out from call time. The set was a mess of darkners, all scrambling into position. He flagged down a passing Pippins from the costume department and asked them to cover for the missing spotlight operator; he didn't have the time to call in a proper replacement.
Small Mike was sending Bunko and Pig to their shifts as he approached. The green Pippins turned to face him with a sigh. "Those two told me you okay'd them to be late. That check out?"
"Not exactly, but… they're fine. Everything else going well?"
"Lighting's cleared. The other Mikes both cleared us for the set crew and makeup. Just missing the star at this point."
Which was, as if on cue, the exact moment that the star himself decided to make an appearance.
The Lord of Screens. The Dreemurr's plasma screen television — Ion.
Two Shadowguys trailed after him as he walked onto the main stage, fixing his steel-gray suit jacket, which emphasized his wide frame and broad shoulders. Beneath, he wore a light toned cable knit sweater. His imposing form towered over the entire crew at twelve feet in height.
His neck, comprised of thick bundles of braided wires, snaked in all directions as he searched the set. His wide-screen monitor head, displaying only a singular eye and the shadows of a mouth, studied his crew dispassionately.
Ion saw every imperfection. He always did.
Tenna climbed the steps onto the stage as Ion sat down on his set — a newscaster's table and chair, larger than any other darkner would ever need. Tenna placed the cup on the oak table top, next to Ion's stack of papers. The teleprompter would make them unnecessary, but Ion liked to have a backup. "Your coffee," Tenna said with a smile.
Ion took the mug, arranging it so the branded label was facing outward. "Are we clear for filming?"
"Yes, sir!" Tenna straightened his tie. "Everything's set. No major issues this morning."
"Good." Ion didn't smile, but his voice was low and kind. "I know there never is with you."
Tenna's chest bloomed at the praise. He knew that his smile was too wide, his glow too bright. He had the overwhelming urge to give Ion a hug.
Not at all appropriate. He had to control himself.
Can't be unprofessional, Tenna.
He gave his boss a curt nod and stepped back down next to Mike. The pair of them watched as final checks were made for camera ops and sound. There was a call for quiet on set before Shuttah counted down and shouted action.
Intro music played, a quiet, triumphant tune from a band of Shadowguys. The tech crew queued the opening animation. Ion straightened his lapels as the Pippins turned up the lighting, the camera panning in from stage right.
"Good morning, it's Friday, September 8th, 201X, and welcome to The Ion Hour. News from Washington this morning, the President calling for a cease-fire amid rising tensions overseas. Later, we'll take a look at the newest member of the royal family, although there may be health problems on the horizon."
This broadcast was one of the most important moments for Ion; it was the time where Toriel, one of the lightners, enjoyed streaming the morning news with her cup of coffee before work. One of the few times that Ion, and TV World by extension, was guaranteed an audience.
The hour continued as expected, and Tenna kept a careful eye out, but it all went off without a hitch. Another perfect broadcast.
When the camera cut, Ion strutted past the various crew members waiting to greet him backstage, bee-lining for his office. Tenna, at over six feet tall, was one of the few darkners with legs long enough to keep pace.
"It all went swimmingly from where I was standing, sir!" Tenna said upon catching up. "Wouldn't you agree?"
Ion sipped his coffee. "Something was wrong with the lighting."
"The lighting?" Tenna tried to be nonchalant.
"Stage left missed their cue," Ion continued dispassionately. "Find the Pippins manning that spotlight and send them to my office."
Tenna's stomach dropped. He rushed to step in front of Ion, slowing him.
"A-Actually, there was a bit of a personnel mix-up this morning. I had to move some people around." He straightened his antenna. "If anything went wrong with the lighting, I take full responsibility for that, sir."
Ion leveled a large hand on Tenna's shoulder. He smiled, and Tenna's heart fluttered.
"Tenna, that's very sweet of you. But it's not your fault."
The smile vanished as quickly as it appeared. He let go of the smaller man and brushed past him, restarting his course.
"Find that Pippins and send them to me," Ion ordered.
Tenna watched him go, dread building in his chest. He was powerless to stop him.
"Yes, sir," he muttered to the empty hallway.
Just another day on set.
"Wakey wakey, big guy."
Everything was warm. The blanket above him, the mattress below him, the color of the light seeping into his eyes.
The person laying beside him, nestled in his arms.
"Mike's gonna kill us if we miss call time again."
Tenna grumbled sleepily, pulling the warm body closer. "Five more minutes," he whined.
The voice beside him chuckled, deep and low, and Tenna could feel the vibrations of their throat against his chest.
They shifted themselves higher, close to Tenna's face. Ran a palm along his cheek.
"Come on, Tens. You're getting too comfy. Not even sure you could fit through the door."
Finally, Tenna opened his eyes.
What struck him first was that he was still in his room. This was his bed, for sure. But everything was smaller. His feet were dangling off the edge. If he sat up, he might hit the ceiling.
The man laying beside him was small, but he fit in his bed more naturally than Tenna did. Like he was supposed to be there, and Tenna was the one who was the stranger.
Tenna couldn't picture his face. Or anything about him, really. Except that he was warm, and smiling, and Tenna was holding him.
The room felt brighter than it ever had before; whether it was because of the presence of this man or because of some other quality, Tenna couldn't be certain. The room was lit as if by sunlight, the walls reflecting a bright, inviting glow.
"Maybe I don't wanna fit through the door," Tenna said with a smile. "Maybe I just wanna stay here with you."
The stranger pulled his face even closer to Tenna's. He could feel the man's breath on his lips, could feel the way his hips flexed under his fingers.
But he had no face. Nothing to prove he was real.
"One of us is going to have to leave this room eventually, Ant."
Tenna woke slowly. Reluctantly.
Even still, reality settled on his chest like a cold weight. A crushing silence.
All at once, Tenna felt the rush of loneliness. He didn't have to open his eyes to know that the stranger wasn't real, that he was still in his room alone, that his bed was frigid and still.
He kept his eyes closed, hoping that, if he did, the strange man might come back. He didn't.
He bit his lip, holding back the tears that had sprung to his eyes, tears that made absolutely no sense whatsoever. He was being too emotional again, too illogical. What kind of person cries over a dream? Over a man who didn't even exist?
Finally, Tenna sat up. The room was dark, with only his own dim glow to cast elongated shadows. Sitting here alone made him feel impossibly small.
It didn't help that his room, which doubled as an office, was barren. It was all the way in the outskirts of the studio, far from any other life. No windows or mirrors, no rugs or curtains, just a narrow galley that housed his bed and dresser and a small nook towards the door for his desk.
He hugged his knees, seeking any kind of warmth, just before hearing a small chirping noise. The rattling of a dresser drawer.
Tenna crawled out of bed, his bare feet hitting the cool concrete. He crossed over to his bureau and pulled open the bottom, whispering reassurances into the dark.
Tenna wasn't sure what kind of darkner he was. There wasn't anyone else like him in all of TV World. When he had woken up for the first time, he had found himself in a mess of metal wires and cables, burning hot to the touch and digging sharply into his muscles. He was confused, frightened, covered in torn rags.
In his hands, he clutched an egg. Small and blue.
Tenna didn't have much. But he did have this egg. And, with it, he had an instinct.
The egg was important to him. Very important.
The egg was a she.
She was alive. He could feel her moving under his fingers when they laid against her shell, could hear the smallest little cries and chirps on rare occasion.
The egg needed to be protected.
He couldn't tell anyone about her. No one.
Especially not Ion.
He wasn't sure where this knowledge came from. If Tenna studied himself in the mirror, if he squinted and turned his head to one side, he sort of looked like a bird. He wondered if these impulses were animalistic in nature, something ingrained in him on some deeper, subconscious level.
So, he followed them. He kept the egg safe. He protected her from everyone, from everything.
Especially from Ion. Never Ion.
Now, he pulled open his bureau drawer to see that the egg was trembling in her nest of blankets, chirping erratically. She hardly ever made noises so strongly.
Tenna shushed her quietly, plucking her from the nest and sitting cross-legged on the floor, placing the egg in his lap. "It's okay, darling," he whispered. "It's okay, I'm right here. Did you have a bad dream, too?"
His dream hadn't really been bad, though, had it? He would go back to it in a heartbeat.
He hugged the egg to his midsection, placing gentle kisses to the top of her shell as he rocked her. He started to hum a cheerful tune, an easy jingle that he had made up years ago that never failed to get her to stop fussing.
But she refused to calm, twitching and squirming.
"You're alright, darling," Tenna murmured into her shell between kisses. "Daddy's here."
Tenna heard his phone vibrate from the bedside table. He jumped at the noise, clutching the egg tighter momentarily before logic took over.
He leaned over, reaching to grab his phone with the tips of his fingers, refusing to let go of the egg. She continued to tremble, but she stopped chirping upon hearing the noise.
Tenna checked the caller ID. Ion.
"Hello?" Tenna answered, his voice hoarse and quiet.
"I need you. Meet me on the balcony."
Tenna pulled his phone away from his ear to check the screen.
"Ion, it's barely four in the morning."
"I am aware of what time it is," he snapped. "I wouldn't be asking if it weren't necessary."
Tenna looked down at the egg in his hands, shaking but silent. He didn't want to leave her.
But duty calls.
"I'll be there in ten."
"Good," Ion said. "And get dressed."
Tenna followed the order. He tucked the egg back into her nest of blankets, despite her loud chirps of protest. He couldn't tell what was wrong with her, but she was acting unusual. He whispered to her softly, stroking her shell, promising her that he would come back to check on her as soon as he could. Then, he closed the bureau drawer and opened the top of the dresser, where his lineup of suits could be found.
He didn't bother with the tailcoat. At four in the morning, he barely wanted to bother with the tie, but he knew that Ion would expect him to be somewhat ready for the day. He pulled on his black trousers and a white dress shirt, slipping on his shoes and knotting a yellow tie on his way out the door.
The hallways of the studio were eerie at night. The white walls washed the world in gray when the lights were off, when there were no other darkners here to fill the monochrome void. Tenna glowed slightly warmer than the LED strips that lined the flooring.
Ion's room was above the studio, a penthouse that was only accessible from a staircase on the exterior of the building. Tenna stepped into the cool evening air, the muddy ground squelching beneath his oxfords. He was sure to wipe them on the iron steps as he climbed; Ion hated a mess.
Tenna let himself inside. The penthouse was lavish and modern, sleek and monochrome. A wide bed sprawled in the center, a dark duvet and gray sheets ruffled with sleep.
A pair of double doors stood open, revealing the balcony, as well as the imposing darkner that called this realm home.
Ion did not turn to face Tenna as he approached, keeping his screen fixated on the horizon, his heavy frame leaning against the railing. As he drew closer, Tenna was assaulted by the sweet scent of flavored tobacco coming from his vape, which spewed warm clouds into the frozen night.
Tenna followed Ion's gaze over the balcony. In the distance, far beyond the tree line, there was a collection of lights, brighter than any constellation.
"What is that?" Tenna asked.
Ion took a pull. "Another dark world."
Tenna turned to face him, but Ion's imposing eye never wavered. "Another dark world?" Tenna repeated, his voice cracking.
"Yes," his boss answered. "Another smart device. A laptop, I think. Smaller than me, but more computationally complex."
Tenna looked back over to the horizon. The lights were in a variety of colors, pinks and purples and yellows. They glittered and shimmered with no rhyme or pattern.
"Do you think they mean us any harm?" Tenna asked, twisting his fingers together.
"No. But their leader will be here soon, I imagine."
Finally, Ion turned to look at him, standing up from the balcony ledge.
"Cancel my shoots for the day. Prepare the realm for guests."
Tenna stared out at the new world in the distance. "Yes, sir," he replied.
It wasn't until Ion touched his face that Tenna snapped his attention back. Ion's plastic and metal frame often ran cold, absorbing the frigid chill of the winter air, but his hands were always warm, the wires tingling with life and constantly shifting. His large thumb traced along Tenna's jawline, gently tilting his head.
Ion smiled at him. "You seem concerned, my little antenna," he purred.
Tenna sighed. "I'm alright."
Ion studied him, his large eye scanning his face.
"This is why I could never put you in front of a camera, Tenna," Ion said. "You can never hide anything from me."
Tenna smiled numbly, relaxing into his touch. "You know me," he mumbled. "Just a bit of a worrywart, is all."
"Do you doubt that I can keep you safe?"
"No," Tenna said. "Of course not."
"Good," he said softly. His dark screen watched his face, a ghost of a smile appearing as he did so. "I would never want you to feel afraid."
The lord leaned down, thumb still holding Tenna's jawline, and kissed him. It was long and soft, the glass of his screen cold against his lips. As Ion pulled away, Tenna couldn't help but chase him, hands seeking his shoulder, skin desperate for warmth.
Ion hardly ever kissed him.
Tenna tried not to think much of it. Ion didn't like it when he had too many ideas.
"Wake Ramb," Ion said, entering the house once more. "Have him prepare a breakfast for our guests."
"Yes, sir," Tenna said, back to business.
"And put a jacket on. But not that red one, please. Something professional."
Tenna went downstairs without another word.