Chapter Four
~ T ~
Tenna hates to admit it, but the studio is starting to look brighter. Under Spamton’s advice, he’s ordered all of the tile flooring to be replaced. The red carpets leading into the studio are supposed to be deep-cleaned biweekly, but he learns the hard way that some of his crew think that a light pass with a vacuum cleaner is good enough. They’re promptly demoted. The curtains go through a thorough cleaning as well, and any that don’t survive are tossed out and repurposed to upholster the couches in the green room.
“Now this is a right breath of fresh air, innit?” Ramb chimes in from behind the Green Room bar. Fresh pennants are hanging above that spell out Ramb’s name now, declaring the bar as his. “Bang-up job that mailman of yours did.”
“That’s why I’m trying to keep him,” Tenna replies in a hushed voice.
He knows he can’t ask about the contract for another few days. If he pushes too much, Spamton might get frustrated and leave, and that just wouldn’t do. So he just keeps up the charm instead, working a bit of sweet talk in whenever he can. And Spamton… well, he eats it all up, giving him dazzling smiles and even some quips back of his own. It’s almost enough to make Tenna feel bad… almost.
“These contestants are, uh… [[Bad]],” Spamton says off-stage midway through a quiz show. His hair is sticking up a little weirdly—Mike says there’s an issue with the cooling system in the studio, so it’s a bit more humid than usual. Tenna might even dare to say that his hair has some natural waves to it.
“Well, they can’t all be winners,” Tenna agrees quietly, knocking back his styrofoam cup of coffee. “First round of drinks tonight will be on me for this one.”
Spamton puts a hand on his hip, staring up at him accusingly. “Y’know, Ant, I’m getting the sneaking suspicion that you [[Like and Subscribe!!]] me.”
Tenna touches his chest with a dramatic gasp. “Well, of course! You’ve been a great asset to the show, my friend.”
Spamton squints at him. “Sure. Well, [$1] of these days, you’re gonna have to let me [Pay].”
“One of these days.” Tenna crosses his fingers behind his back. Maybe he can lay off for a bit, but as long as he plays the role of gracious host, Spamton will have to give in eventually.
~ S ~
It’s becoming… [alot] a lot. Tenna is so at[Tenna]tive ever since the rejected contract, and he seems to take a lot of opportunities to shed his jacket, dress down, and overall seem… flirtier. And while Spamton doesn’t mind taking in eyefuls whenever he can, after two days of this, it's starting to feel like Tenna’s teasing him a little. And not in the fun way. He stares into the mirror, stares at the strange cracks in his face that make his jaw feel stiff, and recounts the smug smile on Tenna’s face when he’d rested his hand between Spamton’s shoulders for just a little too long after they’d announced the winners of the quiz show.
His benefactor’s calls are getting shorter, too, more demanding, more more more. He’s not doing enough. He’s supposed to be getting [[Big]]. Getting [[Hyperlink Blocked]] (Huh? He tries to think of what his benefactor wants, but while he can see the words, spell them out in his mind, something in him refuses to verbalize it). But here he is, parading around on stage and giving away cars (only two so far, but still), feeling progressively more hollow every time Tenna would give him that Look. Antennae bent towards him, shifting as if trying to feel out his shape, propping his head in his hands like a lovelorn [[Romance Heroine]].
…The interjections are getting worse, too. It’s like he can barely string together a coherent thought without some kind of reference popping in. It takes effort and concentration to say what he wants to say, and even then, his cadence jumps around sometimes. “It’s fine,” he says as he paces his dressing room. “It’s fine. Just a bit more. I just have to make it [[Big]]. It’s worth it - it’s worth it - it’s worth it.”
There’s a knock on his door, and he steels himself for yet more saccharine charm. Instead, Ramb sticks his head in. “Boss wants to talk if you have a minute.”
Spamton’s shoulders rise. He can’t do this. Not right now. “…Not [Tonight Only!]. Not, uh… not feeling too [Hot Hot Hot!]. I’ll see ‘im in the morning, okay?”
Ramb is silent for a second before he says, “Alright. Cheers, then.” The door closes, and Spamton collapses on his couch, grabbing a cigarette from his jacket and lighting up like muscle memory. He needs to not think for a while. But he can’t watch TV, every program has Tenna’s face on it. And he can’t play any of the games because… well, frankly, he’s never been good at them. He tried to play against that stupid clown from Card Castle once, and that little freak had run circles around him... and also helped him realize that he really doesn't like clowns in general. Regardless, he resigns himself to staring at the ceiling until the speckled panels above start to swim and dance like TV static.
He doesn’t move again until his cigarette burns down to the filter, leaving ash between his fingers.
~ T ~
Something’s wrong. Ramb returns to Tenna saying that Spamton’s not feeling well, and when they meet up in the morning, the salesman looks like he’s aged five years overnight. He has bags under his eyes—nothing hair and makeup can’t take care of, but it looks so… wrong on him. “Everything okay, Spammy?”
Spamton doesn’t respond for a second, and Tenna could swear that he frowns at the nickname. “Ah, y’know. [Sales Starting At 50% Off!] starting to catch up to me. I’ll be on it for the show.” Tenna frowns as well, but he can’t pry; his favorite tailcoat caught a snag in it yesterday and he needs time to go make sure it’s ready for today. The show goes on without a hitch, although something about his co-host’s movements seems jerky. Like he’s half-awake, startled by every cue. Once the show’s over, Spamton flees back to his dressing room, saying he needs to freshen up.
Tenna does the same, unable to stop the rising dread in his chest. Is Spamton having second thoughts about this? Did he push too far after all? Has he been laying it on too thick? The longer he sits in his dressing room, the more his mind spirals. If he leaves, it’s all over. He might be able to coast by on residuals, but they’ll just go right back to the same reruns, and Toriel and Asgore might get bored eventually. “I need some air,” he says to himself eventually, feeling his chest tighten in panic.
He storms to the door and swings it open just to find Spamton standing on the other side, one hand poised to knock. They both freeze, staring for a moment, before Spamton smiles. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hey. Wanna take a ride? [Feel the sweet breeze]?”
“Uh… actually, I was just about to step out for some fresh air. But if you're leaving, too, I could stand to get out for a bit.” Tenna tries to shrug off the tension as he taps his receiver. “Mike, I’m stepping out for a bit. Make sure the news goes on at six on the dot.” Then, he grabs his jacket and follows Spamton out of the studio.
Spamton drives him back towards Cyber City, back towards that overlook where they’d gone just a few days into their partnership. Once they arrive, he climbs onto the hood of the cungadero, lying flat on his back and staring up at the sky. Tenna joins him, making sure to shrink so he’s not taking up the entire windshield, too. “Needed to [Get Out Of Town!], y’know?” Spamton says after a second, digging into his jacket for his cigarettes and silently offering Tenna one.
Tenna respectfully but silently declines. “Seems like you’ve got something on your mind.”
“Yeah.” Spamton doesn’t elaborate as he takes a long drag, staring up at the scanlines in the sky. Tenna twiddles his thumbs in the silence, the sounds of the city loud enough to hear even from this distance. Finally, Spamton sighs heavily. “Listen… [Don’t] think I don’t [Have A Clue] what you’re doing.” Tenna glances at him, head tilting in confusion. “I know you should never mix [Sunday Business] with [[Friendship]]. But I have liked working with you. It’s just… if you’re gonna [Use] me, just be [Honest] about it. Don’t pretend to be my [free friend finder!] just for a boost.”
Tenna’s mind goes blank. Below them, the sound of traffic rises slightly, but in the silence between them, it’s deafening.
~ S ~
Spamton looks over at Tenna to see that his screen has gone completely black. “[[CRT?]]” he asks quietly, fully sitting up when he sees Tenna’s body start to shake.
“I… oh. I, haha, I guess… I, uh.” Tenna suddenly drops his head in his hands, shoulders heaving. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I knew I should have laid off, I… I really bungled this one! Hahaha! Geez, Spammy, I… I like working with you, too! You bring so many fresh ideas and you make me laugh and things just seem so much more exciting when you’re around, but—” Tenna slowly shrinks down, more than Spamton’s ever seen him do before, until he’s barely two feet tall. “…Things aren’t good. That quintuple-view show was a once in a lifetime event, but people aren't watching as much anymore. And… I think it’s only a matter of time before they stop watching entirely. And if that happens… what happens to me?”
Spamton is frozen on the hood of the cungadero, brows screwing together tighter and tighter the more Tenna talks.
“I just thought if—if I figure out how you did it, then maybe I can… salvage something. You know, in business, a ‘no’ is just a ‘yes’ that hasn’t been realized yet, but I… I hoped we were close enough for you to know…” Tenna shakes his head, static dripping from his screen to land on the hood and slide off like water. “I’m not pretending. I want to think we’re friends, really. I guess I’m just a little… desperate.”
“Geez, Ant,” Spamton says, glancing away. “It’s… not that I don’t wanna help. But like I said, I can’t. This deal I made… it’s exclusive. And my, uh… benefactor… is pretty strict. But hey, there’s always a downturn. Nothing you can’t make it through! I mean, TV’s been around forever.” Tentatively, he reaches out to press his hand against Tenna’s back, feeling him jolt a little at the touch. “So trust me, okay? Even if I can’t tell you that, I’ve got plenty of other tricks.”
Tenna grows again. Just by half a foot, but it’s an improvement. “…I’m sorry I made you feel like I don’t… care about you. I do.”
“I’d like to think so. But in [The] [City], people do that, y’know. It’s all about connections.” Spamton draws back with a soft laugh. “But I know you’re not like that. I was probably a little harsh.”
Tenna sniffs loudly. “Hah. Sometimes… I need that. The rude awakenings. It’s easy to get carried away.”
“We’ll get them watching you again. Promise.” They fall into silence, and Tenna gradually grows again as he calms down. Once he’s back to his normal height, they head back to the studio, and Spamton can’t help but smile. This is how it’s supposed to be; the two of them against the world, Tenna’s gentle laughing ringing out from the passenger’s seat.