Chapter Text
“So,” Tenna drawls as he sits back in his chair. He clears his throat and folds his hands over the table. “Your... friends? Interesting lot.”
Spamton’s heart pounds. “THOSE [street urchins] ARE NOT MY FRIENDS. THEY’RE JUST THE [pack of wolves] I HAD THE [tough luck] OF GROWING [up, up, up] AROUND.”
Tenna’s brow furrows. “Is… there… anything you want to tell me?”
“I– EAHEAHEAH… NO. TH3RE’S [ ] TO SAY. [Simply Orange] WAS JUST MAK1NG THINGS UP, ‘CAUSE HE CAN’’”T FATHOM THAT I C0ULD [you’re the best!] HIM AT 4NYTH1NG. THEY’RE JEALOUS—THEY [pleaded guilty] 2 IT!”
Tenna’s frown deepens. The change in expression is slight, but it’s enough to send Spamton spiraling. His head lights up with memories of all the times he saved himself from the humiliation of being seen as incompetent, not through his own intelligence or innovation, but by being told exactly what to say and do by his benefactor. He was…is nothing without them.
Leaving the castle was a huge mistake. Of course the trinket-hocking hive-mind he has the great misfortune of calling his family—in the loosest possible sense of the term—would’ve moved here with the rest of the Cyber City. Of course they’d come sniffing around the second they recognized a potential client in Tenna. How could he have been so stupid?
He just wanted to have a nice outing, to try and feel normal, for once.
Swatch approaches their table with a pitcher of water. Spamton grabs his attention with a desperate wave. “T-T3LL HIM, [high-gloss paint swatch]! TELL [bunny-ears] HE SH0ULDN’”T TAK3 TH0SE C-[clowns around town] SER1OUSLY.”
Please. Please...
At first, Swatch looks at Spamton with contempt, almost as if insulted about being spoken to directly. But, perhaps seeing how terrified the puppet appears, his harsh expression softens somewhat. He sighs as he pours them each a glass. “Addisons are notorious for their exaggerations, embellishments, envy and eccentricities. Cyber natives know to take everything that comes out of their mouths with a grain of salt. But, I would pardon you for being uninformed on such matters, Anthony."
Spamton’s eyes remain glued on the butler for a long, disbelieving moment. He actually helped. Was that pity, or an olive branch?
Tenna chuckles and tugs at his shirt collar. “Woof, haven’t been addressed by that name in… angel, it must’ve been decades.”
Swatch pushes up his glasses and gives Tenna a good-natured, knowing smirk. “May I get you two anything else to drink?”
Spamton latches onto the shift in topic. “SOMETHING WITH [alcohol]. I DON’’T [sharing is caring] WHAT IT IS.”
“It’s hardly eleven,” Tenna says.
“I SA1D WH4T I SAID.”
Tenna’s concerned expression returns with force. He clears his throat and moves his attention back to Swatch. “Water’s fine, for me, thank you.”
Swatch readies a notepad and pen. “Are we ready to order, then?”
“We haven’t had the chance to look at the menu yet, thanks to that interruption earlier.”
“Interruption indeed,” Swatch mutters. “I’ll give you some time.” With that, he moves on to other tables.
Silence. Spamton pretends to be engrossed reading in the menu, his mind still straining to figure out how to steer the conversation elsewhere, knowing that Tenna’s going keep asking dangerous questions otherwise. He hears Tenna’s chair creak as he shifts in it.
“Um, so, Spa—”
Spamton slaps the menu down. “[since when??] HAVE YOU EVER [Gone With The Wind] BY ANTHONY?”
Tenna stares for a second, surprised by the interruption. Then, his attention lowers to the table, where he begins swirling the water in his glass absentmindedly. “Oh, ah… That was a while before you waltzed onto the scene. I was still walking around in that old-fashioned black and white getup at the time.”
“THE [spiffy] ONE WITH THE [pinstripe] TOPHAT YOU USE [do it for the bits]?”
“That’s the one.”
“WHAT [Made in Argentina] YOU WANT TO GO BY SOMETHING [spot the difference]?”
“I was just looking for a rebrand after Azzie was born. Something more kid-friendly, I guess. ‘Ant’ just had more of a lighthearted ring to it, you know? A silly play on words. Not so straight-laced and formal… Swatch, of all people, was the one who suggested it.”
Spamton can imagine Swatch dryly cracking the pun while mixing a cocktail. Bet he was real proud of himself. “DIDN’T REALIZE YOU AND [Big Bird] WENT BACK THAT [far out].”
“Any time Queen threw a gala, he’d head up the catering. Wouldn’t have ever called us close. But, he was a familiar face in what was often a sea of stuffy strangers. I usually found my way over to the bar when I needed a break from all the high-pressure socializing… That was before I had you to cling to, of course.”
“[That’s right], ME AND MY [motor-mouth]. YOU COULD [take it easy] AFTER THAT. ALL YOU HAD TO DO WAS BE THE [brandname]. STAND THERE AND LOOK PRETTY WHILE I DID THE [sweet-talking].”
“And I appreciated that more than you know.” Tenna smiles guiltily. “I’m a natural on stage. But things are harder when I’m expected to just be… me.”
“THAT’S WHY W3 MADE A [Grrrrreat!] TE4M.” Spamton raises his glass, bracing one hand on the table as he leans into a toast. Tenna completes the gesture like his own glass weighs nothing. “YOU EVER [Talk, Talk] 2 [Easel] ABOUT ME?”
“Maybe.” Tenna takes a sip and playfully peers at Spamton from over the rim. “Have you?”
“M-[Maybe it's Maybelline].”
A beat of silence, this time made light by Tenna’s endeared smile. “Listen.” He parks an elbow on the table and leans forward like he’s about to share a secret. “That blue fellow was right. Don’t let what they said get to you. They weren’t there. They couldn’t see how hard you worked at the studio. All the time you put in. They don’t know about all those nights you stayed up late with me, going over paperwork, making last minute edits and brainstorming. You’re one of the most dedicated, passionate people I know. Once you set your mind to something, nothing can stop you.”
“RIGHT...” Spamton wrings his hands beneath the table, testing the limits of his joints until the pressure makes them ache.
He was never supposed to have made it to the studio in the first place. He’d cheated.
Upon exiting the cafe, the first thing Spamton notices from his shoulder perch is a small crowd of various Darkners standing in the middle of the road that leads back to the castle. They're arranged in a circle, facing inwards, and seem to be ogling at something.
“What d’you suppose is going on over there?” Tenna says.
Spamton feels he’s had more than enough excitement for one day. He doesn't know what's up, and he couldn't care less. He taps the top of Tenna’s head. “HEY, LET’S [take the long way home].”
“Hang on. I want to check it out. What if something bad happened?”
“ALL THE [save even more] REASON TO [avoid late fees].”
Tenna starts toward the commotion anyways. Spamton tugs on his antennas in protest, hoping they might act similar like horse reins, to no avail. He's too small to have any sway in the TV’s direction.
Tenna's height allows them both to be able to see over the crowd from the back. Spamton stiffens when he spots Orange arguing with a zapper in the middle. Pink is at his side, his teeth angrily barred. Yellow is situated protectively between them and Blue, who is splayed on the ground, wincing and propped up on one elbow.
“I said, youse ripped me off!” The zapper points aggressively at his own chest. “Dat replacement button you sold me was mine tah begin with! It’s got scuffs in all the same places!”
“Finders keepers,” Orange says. “Should’a been keepin’ better track of your parts. You should be grateful I was willing to sell it back to you.”
The zapper growls and launches himself at Orange, who ducks defensively. Pink intervenes, shoving the zapper back. “Enough!” Pink says. “You know the rules. Buyer beware. We don’t do refunds.”
Radiating with secondhand embarrassment, Spamton takes refuge in his usual hiding spot behind Tenna’s head. Tenna pushes through the crowd and clasps a hand on the zapper’s shoulder, who startles and looks back.
“B-Boss!” The zapper side-steps and bows submissively. “I, uh, I wasn’t causing any trouble. I swear.”
“Not your boss anymore,” Tenna says in an offhanded way that suggests he’s been having to repeat the phrase a lot lately.
“Oh, great, it’s the has-been’s guard dog,” Orange grouses, throwing his hands in the air. “Well? Go ahead. Huff and puff and grow to the size of a house. I’m not afraid of you, you know. I’ve met lots of other TVs. I know how your kind is. All Oscar-worthy bark and no bite.”
“Orange!” Yellow’s gaze jumps back and forth between him and Tenna. “Quit making things worse! If you don’t shut up, he’s never gonna want to advertise for us!”
“Just thought I’d offer some advice. One entrepreneur to another,” Tenna says darkly, antennae pinned back. Spamton can feel his partner’s body tense as he must be putting great effort into not growing bigger. “This isn’t how you build a loyal fanbase. Customers won’t always remember what they bought from you, but they will remember the feeling you left them with. Don’t you want it to be a good one?”
“I didn’t ask for your advice,” Orange says through gritted teeth. “Besides, where’s your ‘loyal fanbase’ now? Huh? The Lightners left you in the dust, just like the rest of us.”
Spamton can feel Tenna shiver with building energy. The TV can’t seem to help but grow a few inches. Shit. Spamton needs to do some damage control before Castle Town ends up the surprise setting for the next godzilla movie.
“HEY, TENS, H-HEY, REMEMBER WHAT YOU SAID? DON’T LET HIM [buy-one, get-one free],” he whispers into the host’s speakers. “THEY’RE [bloodthirsty sharks], ALL OF THEM. THEY [specil]-IZE IN [cold reading] PEOPLE’S WEAKNESSES IN AN [instant coffee]. HE’S TRYING TO SELL YOU A [cheap] MELTDOWN. DON’T [buy it!]”
“This isn’t Sesame Street, buddy,” Orange goes on. “This is real life. We’re all trying to survive, and sometimes that means playin’ a little dirty.”
“So youse admit it!” the zapper says. “Youse admit to scamming me!”
“I admit to you being gullible.”
The zapper springs toward Orange again. Tenna dives in, grabbing each of them by the scruffs of their shirts and prying them apart with brute strength. The jostling causes Spamton, whose equilibrium has already been rendered slightly off-kilter from his earlier drink, to lose his balance and tumble off of Tenna’s shoulder. He hits the pavement behind Tenna with a wooden clatter.
Groaning as he rights himself, Spamton looks up and sees Tenna with his arms spread wide, still holding onto the two Darkners to keep them from reaching one another. Pink is pulling on the crook of Tenna’s arm like he’s trying to pry him off of Orange. Tenna stumbles a little from the force of all three Darkners, the bag of supplies from Seam crinkling loudly as it swings on his forearm. Spamton backs away from the scuffle, afraid of getting kicked, and nearly trips over something in the process. He is caught and righted by someone.
“Careful,” they say. Spamton turns toward the voice. Blue is standing over him, still wincing with pain from their own fall earlier. Spamton’s attention is immediately drawn to the dark substance leaking from Blue’s elbow, which has made a trail down their forearm and has an iridescent, motor oil-like sheen to it. “Smart of you, to stay out of the way. Wish I’d done the same,” Blue says with a nervous laugh. The black material slowly drips off their fingertips. Rather than soak into and stain the pavement, it gathers in kinetic-sand looking piles. He's leaking code.
“YOU’R3 [injured in an accident? Call 301-868-#$&%]”
“Yeah.” Blue looks a little embarrassed. “Got shoved pretty hard by that zapper when I tried to break up the argument. It’s my own fault.”
Seems to Spamton more like Orange woke up in one of his moods and has gone on a serial rampage. If any of the other addisons had been part of the collateral, Spamton wouldn’t give a damn. But…
“SAY F1,” Spamton mutters.
“What?”
“F1.” Spamton reaches for the wound. Blue pulls back guardedly.
“What’re you doing?”
“TRY1NG TO [help] Y0U.”
“Ah hah… I’m not sure there’s anything you can really—”
“[Just Do It]!”
“Okay, okay… Um, F1?” Blue hesitantly lets Spamton take hold of his arm. He watches with bewilderment as the puppet gives it a few gentle pats. Suddenly, a sparrow-sized, winged copy of Spamton manifests out of thin-air and flies towards Blue. “Gah! The heck is that?” Blue jerks out of Spamton’s grasp and contorts himself to avoid it.
“HOLD [still overpaying on your car insurance?], WOULD YOU? THEY’RE [+50% HP].”
The tiny clone manages to touch Blue despite his best evasive maneuvers. It mimics Spamton’s patting motions with a fairy-like giggle and then disappears in a flash of green sparkles.
"What..." Blue blinks and lifts his elbow toward his pointy nose. “It’s healed? Y-You healed it? How did you…?” He looks at Spamton with an impressed kind of wariness, like he believes the puppet might have made a deal with some kind of demon. Spamton had, in a way. But that has little to do with this particular ability.
“I’M [a self-taught artist].”
Blue leans back slightly. His eyes search Spamton’s, his fear increasing as he seems to come to a new realization. “Are you saying you edited your own code? For real?”
“I HAD TO [install] A [keyboard shortcut] TO SURVIVE, AFTER GETTING [drop-kicked] ONTO THE [City Streets].”
“Shit, Spam… th-that’s insane.” Blue examines the healed scrape again. “I mean, thank you… I’m just… this is…” He trails off when his attention rises above Spamton's head. It’s at this moment Spamton realizes his surroundings have gone suspiciously quiet. “Uhhh…”
Everyone is staring at them. Even Orange and the zapper, who have been pried apart and apparently resolved their argument; the addison nursing a black eye and the zapper’s hands clasped around a bunch of Tenna’s poker chip-like points.
Spamton goes rigid in response to the attention fixed on him. One of the newer onlookers is an ambyu-lance, who is glaring at him as if he had just committed a crime. Spamton’s body floods cold with terror from the all-too-familiar threat of deletion that the anti-virus represents. He doesn’t think. Just turns and scampers away, expertly weaving through the forest of Darkner legs until he’s out of the crowd.
“Spam, wait!” Tenna calls after him.
Not happening. Spamton’s face burns with shame as he feels the crowd’s eyes crawling over his back and pressing their judgement upon him. He heads for the sanctuary of the nearest alleyway, only slowing once he's able to obscure himself behind a building. He dives into the nearest dumpster and feverishly shoves bags of trash around until he’s accommodated enough for the lid to close. As he fights to catch his breath without gagging, he allows his weight to sink deeper into the lumpy nest.
Just how much should he be panicking right now? Does that ambyu-lance know how he got his healing powers? About the body?
“Spammy? You back here?”
Spamton lifts the lid enough to peek out of it, to see if Tenna is alone. Unfortunately, the rusted hinges groan even with the slight movement. Tenna’s antennae stand to attention, and then swivel in the direction of the sound. He approaches, his face screwed up with confusion, and lifts the lid. “Hey," he says gently. "What’s going on? Why’d you take off like that?”
“[bee]CAUSE OF THE AMBYU-LANCE.”
“The what?”
“THE DARKNER WITH THE [160 gauge needle] FOR A HEAD.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“YOU DIDN'T [Notice:] THE WAY HE WAS [scowling] AT ME? HE WANTS ME [personalized granite gravestones starting at—].”
Tenna chuckles. “Why on earth would he want you dead?”
Spamton clenches his jaw, ignoring the complaints from his cracked tooth. Tenna doesn't know how the most basic things work in cyber worlds. The kind of stuff freshly-spawned babies are taught from day one. He knows the word “addison.” He knows that Spamton is one. But he doesn’t understand what that means.
There’s a reason addisons stick together. Why they have a herd mentality, always traveling in groups and setting up their shops all clustered together off the same streets. Addisons are small and weak, and painfully common. They depend on one another, to protect each other from a world that never asked for them. So, it’s disquieting when an addison wanders off the beaten path, like Spamton had. When one begins to think for themself, strike out on their own, explore new ways of being.
Tenna tilts his head a little, looking at Spamton with a loving flavor of concern, like he thinks Spamton’s just being paranoid. Like he’s maybe just a little screwy in the head. That it’s just a remnant from his accident, and that he can’t help it, and that it might be better to play along this time.
“You know I’d never let that happen.”
A nice sentiment, but Spamton wonders how Tenna would actually fare in combat, if things came down to it. Most of his skills lie in classic, smoke and mirrors movie magic. Acting. While his physical attacks are often dazzling, they’re not that hard-hitting.
Tenna is, however, excellent at intimidation. Oftentimes, that’s more than enough.
“DID ANYONE [sea] YOU [come back!] HERE?”
Tenna smiles apologetically. “I’m fifteen feet tall and wearing a bright red suit. It’s pretty hard not to see me.” When Spamton tries to close the lid again, Tenna holds it open, adding, “But, I wasn’t followed.” He holds up the bag of supplies. “Come on. Let’s head back to the apartment and get you showered and fixed up. We’ll take the long way, like you wanted, so no one else will see us. Okay?”