Chapter Three
~ T ~
Spamton seems… off. They’re grabbing some coffee before their morning game show segment, but Spamton has been stirring his coffee for a solid minute now, his eyes unfocused as he stares at the table under them. Tenna drums his fingers on the table, his cup hovering in front of his mouth before he gives up and sets it down with a sigh. “Okay, what’s with the sad look? It really doesn’t suit you.”
Spamton jolts, eyes wide. “…Reminiscing about [[The Classics You've Come To Expect! (C)1997]].” Tenna tilts his head slightly and waits for his co-host to elaborate. Spamton finally puts the stir stick down and rests his elbows on the table. “I [Work Hard, Play Hard] to get here. But… a lot of people ditched me when I started [Making] it [Big].” He sighs, slouching down in his chair and pouting a little. “You ever feel lonely at [The Big Top]?”
Tenna’s mouth twitches. “Never!” he answers with a forceful laugh. “No, that’s what I have a crew for! That’s the great thing about working in television, Spammy; you’re never on set alone.”
Spamton glances up at him. He’s on the border of downright sulking now, but there’s something in his voice when he says, “’Spammy’?”
“Oh!” Tenna covers his mouth. “Too familiar? You call me ‘CRT’ all the time, so I thought we might be on the nickname level, but…”
“It’s just… no one’s ever called me that.” Spamton glances back down, mulling it over. “…I don’t hate it.”
Tenna relaxes a bit and leans back in his chair. “Anyway. There’s always gonna be people that hate what you’re putting on. You could always do what I do: make giant paper mâché sculptures of them and beat those up for anger management.”
Spamton finally laughs, his expression lightening. “You don’t actually do that, do you?”
Tenna bends one of his antennae in a cheeky way. “It’s cathartic.”
~ S ~
Today’s show is a special quiz show featuring some guest stars from Cyber City, Tenna’s idea of a grand goodbye and thanks for their time. Spamton’s properly co-hosting, providing snarky commentary when someone gets a question wrong, and Tenna either backs him up or gently urges him to cool down. During the first commercial break, Tasque Manager leans forward and says, “The two of you are so well-trained! Perfect synchronization. It’s beautiful to watch.”
Tenna laughs, his screen tinged pink as he adjusts his collar. “Flattery will get you almost everywhere, you know! Just not here,” he replies, bowing his head. One of his antennae bends sideways in an almost cheeky manner. But when he and Spamton very briefly step off-stage, the compliments start. “You’re on fire, my friend! See, this is the beauty of television. You have to make the audience work for you, and they’re eating you up!”
Spamton laughs, reaching up to pat Tenna’s arm. “The views are some of the highest we’ve ever seen, Tenna,” a Pippins chimes in, nudging their headset off. “Quintuple digits.”
“Q-quin…” For the first time since they’ve met, Tenna is speechless, his screen turning staticky for a moment. “Well, if we can keep it that way through the end of the show, it could be the kick we need! I want this back stage running like a well-oiled machine, got it?” The Pippins nods and turns back towards a Shadowguy and a Zapper, starting a hushed but intense conversation with them. “Quintuple,” Tenna repeats with a quiet laugh, leaning down to take Spamton’s hands in his. “That’s five digits! Oh, I’m so happy, I could k—”
Suddenly, the whole world freezes. There’s a current of something in the air, radiating around the iron grip they have on each others’ hands. Tenna’s screen flushes pink again before going completely black; Spamton can just barely make out his reflection in it. “Tenna? [[CRT]]?” he asks uncertainly.
Tenna’s screen clicks back on and he laughs a bit too loudly, pulling away. “Sorry! Got a bit carried away there. Never mind all that!” He preens, adjusting his tie. “Do I look camera-ready?”
“You always look camera-ready.” Tenna laughs and, after taking a second to center himself, leads Spamton back onto the stage. His hand hovers down, almost as if reaching back for him, for just a moment before he’s back on, and Spamton lets him take the spotlight, utterly and thoroughly confused.
~ T ~
Tenna stares at the ceiling. He’d taken a glass of whiskey to his dressing room, skipping out on all but the obligatory post-show drinks. Now that he’s alone, out of the spotlight and free to drop the act, he fully realizes the rising terror in his chest. Quintuple-digit views. Even if the majority of that was Cyber City denizens, the fact was, people had been watching. People besides just Kris’s family. His collaboration with Spamton was turning out to be a rousing success and, in his excitement, he’d nearly said something. Something he couldn’t take back.
Staring at Spamton, taking his hands and thrumming with excitement, the words had bubbled up without warning: “I’m so happy, I could kiss you!”
Where had that come from? Yes, they’ve been spending a lot of time together, but it's been entirely because Tenna has wanted to see if Spamton has what it takes to make it in show business. So far, the answer is a resounding ‘yes’ as long as Tenna doesn’t put him in the quiz segments—he seems to struggle with those, but Mike had mentioned that it made him seem more ‘real’ to the audience, so he gets a pass on that. Tenna is just waiting for the right moment to pitch the contract. He’d drafted it up before Spamton had ever come to TV World: a permanent position on TV Time in exchange for his trade secrets. There was no way Spamton had become so famous overnight; there had to be a catch, a trick, something Tenna can use to keep the Dreemurrs looking at him.
He groans quietly, antennae drooping at the reminder. All the chaos of Spamton's arrival on set has been a lovely distraction, but the fact of the matter is that the Dreemurrs haven't been paying nearly as much attention to him as they usually do. In fact, views were on a pretty persistent decline in general with no sign of them improving. Hell, even when he's turned off, he has faint memories of idle conversation, Asgore saying something about 'getting an upgrade' or getting 'cable'. But none of this explains his near-outburst, though. Or why, the longer he thinks about it, the more it's true. He could’ve kissed him. Maybe it'd been nice. Hell, Spamton might even let him, considering how loose he got with his tongue during the Three-Martini Incident.
Tenna stands up, knocking back the last of his whiskey as he approaches the vanity mirror. He stares into it, pointing a finger at his reflection. “Get your wires straight, Ant,” he tells himself firmly. “This is business. Show business! Just get Spammy to sign that contract and you’ll both be making it big!” He pauses, then, starting at the reflection of his screen. In retrospect, Spamton had started flirting first, hadn’t he? “…You can use this,” he mutters, antennae perking. “Yeah. He’s already eating out of your hand. That’s your in, Ant.” He leans back with a soft laugh. “Time to lay on the charm.”
~ S ~
The phone calls are getting shorter. His benefactor seems to sound impatient these days, even if Spamton assures that everything’s still going according to plan. He keeps quiet about how much time he’s spending in TV World, if only because it shouldn’t be an issue, right? Still, a ball of anxiety seems to sit in his chest at any given moment, weighing down on his heart. Is he not doing enough? Maybe he should push harder about collaborations. Exclusive delivery deals with the Color Cafe—Swatch hadn’t been too interested, but maybe he just needs to push more? His branded bowties are doing well enough…
There’s a soft knock on his door, and he jolts upright, smoothing his hair over. “Come in!”
The door only opens a crack. “Boss wants ta see you,” a Zapper says, only poking his head in enough to deliver the message.
“Great! Be there in a [Giffy]!” Once the door closes, Spamton runs a hand down his face, pausing at the cracks that stretch from the corners of his mouth down to his chin. They’re a recent development, but his benefactor has reminded him multiple times that their help comes with certain caveats. Oh well. No one’s said anything yet, so maybe he can work it into his brand. He forces it out of his mind, making sure he looks presentable before heading out to find Tenna. It’s after hours, so he leaves behind his blazer and tie.
Tenna’s in his dressing room, same as usual, reclined on his couch with a smile and a cigar. “Sorry, Spammy, did I wake you up?”
“Nah, was just [Take a Load Off].” He eyes the setup of Tenna’s room. There’s a stack of papers on the coffee table, and Tenna’s kicked his feet up, crossing his ankles. But also… his tie and blazer are gone, as well. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone, giving a peek of the hard plastic casing underneath. This feels like the beginning of an [18+!!!!] movie, but Spamton clears his throat and leans against the door. “Looks like you’re [settle for] the night.”
“Just about.” Tenna cocks his head and pats the sofa. “C’mon, don’t be a stranger! Wanted to talk to you about something.”
As soon as Spamton sits down, Tenna offers him a cigar, which he accepts. He can’t lie, he sees the appeal of these, especially in the sense of sharing them over a long talk. “Okay, hit me with it, [[CRT]].”
“Well.” Tenna sets his cigar down in an ashtray on the table and grabs the stack of papers. “The show’s really been a hit since you’ve been here. And… I won’t lie, I’ve also personally enjoyed working with you. So I crunched numbers, did some digging around, and I’d like to offer you a permanent position.”
Spamton chokes on smoke, leaning over to hack into the open air and pound a fist on his chest. “P-permanent?!”
“You’ve got a knack for crowds.” Tenna leans in a bit, his smile turning coy. “And I have it on good authority that our audience likes some cohosts with chemistry.”
Okay, something’s definitely going on here. Tenna has a knack for giving words flourish, and the flourish on the word ‘chemistry’ seems… steamy, almost. “Like a house on fire, right, Ant?” Spamton tries to joke, cloaking his nervousness with a grin.
“Exactly! There’s just one little thing I’d need from you.” Tenna hands over the papers, leaning back and taking a long pull from his cigar as Spamton looks them over. “See, your rise to fame has been the talk of not just Cyber City, but TV World, too. I’m happy to give you a permanent spot on TV Time if you would just… give a little insight into your success, hm?”
Spamton freezes. “Ant… Tenna. Listen, I like ya and I’d love to help, but—”
“I know, I know.” Tenna raises his hands in a pacifying gesture. “Trade secrets are secrets for a reason, but I think it’s a fair trade, right?” When Spamton remains silent, he drops his hands again and shrinks half a foot. “I… can’t lie, Spammy. It’s been getting tough lately. Having you here has been a breath of fresh air, but I need to think long-term here. I just want to know how you do it.”
Spamton sets the contract down and sighs, taking a long pull from his cigar. “I can’t, Ant. It’s part of my [Deal].” They both fall silent for a long moment, and he can see Tenna shrink even more as the silence drags on. “…I’d be happy to help you any other way. Maybe some [Hot Tips!] on modernizing a bit? No offense, but the decor’s looking a bit dated.”
Tenna swells again, shoulders rising angrily. “I put those up myself!”
“Yeah, and they’re definitely ‘you’, but it’s a new millennium, Ant.” Spamton leans back, forcing himself to relax and push forward with his pivot. “No shame in a fresh coat of paint. And, uh, maybe getting some new flooring.”
Tenna deflates, reaching forward to grab his cigar and take a long drag. “…Maybe. So, uh… I’ll draft a new contract. And if you ever can tell me your secrets, well, I’ll be sure to make it worth your while, okay?”
Spamton nods, but he can’t hold back the relief that washes over him. Crisis momentarily averted. ‘Keep pivoting, Spamton,’ he thinks to himself, letting his eyes wander back to the patch of casing he can see under Tenna’s shirt. “Well, this [Stunning Views!] pretty worth the while.”
Tenna tilts his head to the side, then slowly looks down, following Spamton’s gaze. His screen flickers slightly into color bars before he laughs, reaching over to nudge Spamton’s shoulder. “You cad. It’s a good thing you know how to behave on set, otherwise you’d be killing me!” Spamton snickers right along with him, the tension completely evaporating from his shoulders.