Chapter One
~ S ~
A Plugboy tells him to go to TV World. Although, frankly, his voice and his face are a bit more weathered than any other Plugboy he’s ever met. Plugmook, maybe? Regardless, he says his name’s Ramb and that ‘the boss’ wants to have a word with him over some potential business contract—commercials and the like. And, well, none of the other Addisons have been showing up for dinner at the cyber grill (they all used to pile around a table and poke fun at him, but still, even when he’d lay in bed, chain-smoking cigarettes and staring at the ceiling with a growing chasm of shame in his heart, he'd also never felt so loved), so he’s got no reason to stick around Cyber City tonight. Or any other night, really.
From the outside, the studio is flashy and exciting to look at. But once he’s inside, he can see that the wallpaper is a bit… old. Certainly not the current style. Still, he holds his tongue and lets a Zapper lead him through the building and backstage until they reach the Green Room and, from there, the boss’s dressing room. “Bring him in! I’m decent!” a voice calls from inside, chipper and with a strange accent that’s nostalgic, even though he’s never heard it before. The Zapper opens the door and leaves them to it, so he steps inside. The boss has a giant TV in place of a normal head, carefully wiping at his screen with a microfiber cloth. “Oh! There he is! Spamton G. Spamton, the biggest name in Cyber City!” The boss stands, and Spamton’s breath catches in his throat, unable to stop his eyes from widening as he cranes his neck to look up, up, up.
The boss is easily ten feet tall, his smile wide and oozing charm as he leans down to offer his hand. He’s dressed in bright reds and yellows, his blazer perfectly tailored and thick gloves covering his hands. “Oh, you have no idea how excited I am that you’re here!” he exclaims with a laugh. He’s like a bright star in the night sky, and his eagerness is contagious. Spamton can see the peek of fangs in his smile, long enough that he could probably wrap a hand around one.
“I wanna climb you like a tree,” is what he almost says before he can catch himself. He shoves that down and accepts the handshake, saying instead, “Haha, well, not every day I get an [Once In A Lifetime Offer] like this!”
The boss pauses for just a second. Spamton’s starting to get used to the random interjections that jump unbidden from his throat—they’ve gotten him this far, he might as well just trust them at this point—but he forgets that it can be jarring to other people. “Hah! Well, good to meet you. I’m Ant Tenna. Tenna is just fine.” Tenna stands back up and grabs a spare chair, rolling it towards him before returning to his vanity. He pats the new seat invitingly, even taking the time to lower it down to something more comfortable to Spamton’s height. “So. You haven’t been on TV before, right?”
Spamton sits down, ponders the question for a bit. Confidence comes easier to him these days, even without the voice on the phone, so he grins and says, “No, but hey, I’ll try anything once.”
~ T ~
Spamton G. Spamton, owner of Big Shot Autos and currently the biggest salesman in Cyber City, can not hold his liquor.
After the first martini at the Green Room bar after their first show together, he starts laughing a little too hard at jokes. After the second martini, he gets… touchy. He playfully slaps Tenna’s arm, but his hand lingers, sliding down just a little before pulling away. It makes Tenna feel a little funny, honestly, especially when Spamton starts laughing too hard at his own joke and twists on his stool, leaning into him as he cackles.
Ramb describes them as ‘getting on like a house on fire’. Yes, Tenna had his reasons for reaching out to someone like Spamton; his practically overnight success was meteoric, and, frankly, Tenna could use new material. Maybe, just maybe, he could learn a thing or two from this mail guy. But dammit, Spamton is charming! A little arrogant, maybe, but considering he had his own room in Queen’s Castle, of all places, he’d earned the right to throw his weight around in Tenna’s book. The night before the interview, they took a drive outside of the city, settling somewhere in the outskirts with scanlines stretching into the horizon above them. The whole city glowed in the distance. “I went from nothing to this,” he’d said, gesturing to the gorgeous view. His smile was so dreamy, so awed. Of course, during the interview, he was nothing but confident and cheery.
Tenna knows an act when he sees one, considering he puts one on every day of his life. But the rare occasions Spamton seems to grow humble are almost even more charming than the Big Shot™ act he puts on, tempered only by his habit of disappearing to talk on the rotary phone he brought with him from Cyber City. He’s still very hush-hush about that for some reason. “Sorry, [[CRT]]. Trade secret,” he'd said as he'd finished off his first martini with a cheeky wink.
Once he’s done with his third martini, Tenna cuts him off. “I think we’re done for the night, hm?”
Spamton sighs in defeat, leaning back and nearly falling off the stool. Tenna leans over to catch him with one arm before he topples over, and he laughs again, grinning up at Tenna. “Whoa! Careful!” he says, legs kicking playfully as he lays back against Tenna’s arm. “[Falling For You] isn’t supposed to be literal, [[Big Shot]]!”
When Tenna helps him up, he sees Ramb give him a knowing, dry smirk.
~ S ~
Tenna has a high alcohol tolerance until he doesn’t, which doesn’t make a lot of sense unless you witness it firsthand. For example, they've gone to the Green Room bar again after another successful interview that Spamton was barely conscious for, letting his mouth move on autopilot; he can’t lie, his benefactor’s help is very handy, but some part of him does feel bad that Tenna didn’t quite get the ‘interview of the decade’ that he was hoping for.
He’d checked back in right at the final question, where Tenna had asked if he would be pursuing a “prime time” career after the budding success of their collaboration. His brain had moved a bit faster than his mouth. He’d let it. “Only with a [Gracious] [[CRT]] like you!” he’d said with a laugh and a wink. Tenna’s screen had turned pink for just a moment, but it could have also been the lighting.
Regardless, Tenna treats him to a couple of drinks with the caveat that he takes it slow. “Don’t want a repeat of the big spill you almost took last time!” Tenna laughs, knocking back the last of his whiskey. He drinks it neat, immediately signaling for another.
“One martini, two martini, three martini, [Floor],“ Spamton jokes with a mildly self-deprecating smile. Yeah, he’d gotten a bit carried away with the martinis. He swears that this Plugmook, Ramb, has it out for him. He doesn’t ever say much, but there’s a look in his eyes that makes Spamton suspicious. It seems like whenever they come here, the drinks are unfairly strong. Tenna laughs again even louder, covering his mouth and turning away.
Everything seems fine. Every time he looks over, Tenna’s glass looks like it’s barely been touched, so he assumes that Tenna’s a sipper, a savorer. Nothing wrong with that. They shoot the breeze about viewership and donations and a possible game show segment—the winner gets a car courtesy of Big Shot Autos, which Spamton’s a bit conflicted about because why the hell would he give one away?—before one of the Weather folks swings by and reminds Tenna that he and his partner want to renegotiate their contracts.
Tenna sighs, setting his empty glass down and pushing it away. “Well. Guess they’re giving me the hook.” He tries to stand up and promptly staggers, whining as he hits the floor hard, landing right on his knees and shrinking a solid half of a foot. “Owwww.” And it’s only then that Spamton realizes that he’s wrong. Tenna hadn’t been nursing the same drink for the past twenty minutes, he's actually had quite a few. How many has he had, then? “Ramb, I thought I told you to take it easy on the drinks! We don’t have the budget for you to be pouring doubles!”
“Sorry, boss,” Ramb says casually. “Force of habit.”
Spamton jumps off his stool and offers a hand. Tenna leans into him as he stands, nearly knocking them both over, and mumbles, “Sorry, let me just…” And he shrinks even more until, instead of his usual ten feet, he’s standing about six feet tall, just a bit taller than Spamton. “J-just, uh… get me to the dressing rooms, I’ll find my way from there.”
“And leave a poor [Damsel] alone like this? What’d’ya take me for?” Spamton chides, letting Tenna lean on him as he heads towards the dressing rooms.
Tenna’s shoe falls off halfway down the hall and Spamton stops to look. “Leave it!” Tenna barks, staring down at the yellow loafer with pure disdain. Spamton rolls his eyes and lets go just long enough to grab it, tucking it under his free arm. Tenna snickers, briefly resting his head on top of his co-star’s as he purrs, “Ohh, my hero!”
“Yeah, yeah.” Spamton lowers his head, cheeks flushing in a light blush as they continue onward. Tenna pulls back to unlock the door to his dressing room, stumbles inside, and promptly faceplants onto a couch with a groan. “You gonna be alright, [[Big Shot]]?”
Tenna mumbles something incoherently, waving him away. Spamton sets the shoe right on the middle of Tenna’s vanity, stopping to notice his reflection. There’s a small indent of a boxy corner in his otherwise perfectly gelled hair. He huffs and, as Tenna rolls over and flails out of his blazer, quietly flees the dressing room.
~ T ~
One of his shoes is sitting on the vanity. Tenna stares at it. If he thinks really hard, he remembers resting his head on Spamton’s and hanging off of him and purring like a flirty schoolgirl. He drops his head in his hands and groans.