Archive of Our Own

The underground did not flood often. Sure, Waterfall could get overfilled at times and then pool out into dowsing Hotland, sometimes even lapping up into Snowdin and freezing over into new glaciers and ice sheets - but the rainfall from the surface hardly ever reached a peak that dislodged multiple populations of monsters from their homes.

So when it did happen, a monsoon of a flash flood gushing down from up top and washing muddy into Waterfall, filling its caverns and sinking the old bridges, there was an immediate mass evacuation. By order of the King, the surrounding region's residents swung into action and emergency aid was carried out swiftly and efficiently - this was in the younger days of the underground, a decade or so before even the sixth human SOUL was captured, and the commitment of community and morale was still somewhat holding strong. Apathy only had a hold in the outskirts, the far out of the way places of their world.

So, for the first time in a very, very, very long time, Spamton and Tenna were actually clean, well fed, and had a warm roof over their heads. Sure, the shelters were severely overpopulated, and New Home was crowded to hell and back - but who knew an emergency flash flood was all that it took to get them some much appreciated [-genorisity-]?

Spamton himself was not fond of the hand outs, but with Tenna on board, especially being he wasn't exactly waterproof, he had swallowed his pride and tried to let it slide like water off a duck monster's back. And anyway, he wasn't below being opportunistic - in another few weeks they'd be sent back out of New Home's messy streets and they'd have to pick up the pieces of their shop, or at least whatever was left after being sunken for that long. It was probably a good thing neither of them had much of value besides what they wore (and the piece of glass tucked away in Spamton's pocket, though that was less important to think about-), and for once Tenna had lost neither his cane nor his ring.

It…had been a bit of a close one, however. Tenna couldn't move very fast nowadays, and even when pressed they had both been caught in a wash of muddy garbage sludge and the new flush of rainwater, stuck up on a shelf of mud and stone with Spamton trying to not panic as the floodwaters reached his hips and just under Tenna's knees - search and rescue had ended up finding them soon after Spamton was clinging to his partners back and Tenna was sunken to waist, the Riverperson boating a ferry train of rafts and Royal Guards in to help.

Spamton was going to have to send a letter of thanks after this was all over - the big fella, the largest of the guards and with a bark almost too deep to even recognize the sound, had splashed into the water and, once they all realized how waterlogged Tenna had gotten, ducked under the surface and raised him up onto their back. The fact that Greater Dog had the strength to lift an old Boss Monster like that sure was something.

But, that nightmare was done and over with. The shelters in New Home had showers - warm water! - and had even allowed the space for both of them to do some real deep cleaning (even if a bit pressed for time, the sheer amount of displaced monsters sure was a sight to see!). With some time spent Tenna had very little evidence of the event left on him, at least physically, and if neither of them were willing to unpack the earlier sheer panicked shouting match that the Riverperson had oh so graciously broken up, then that was just fine. Spamton can have a freak out about it much later, in the privacy of their ruined home.

[-hellbelowandheavenabove-], they had even gotten some new threads! According to some of the gossip coming down the grapevine, the King had to actually dig deep into the kingdoms coffers just to pay the Mistress of the Spiders for her services - her usual price had even been lowered as a sign of respect and yet still the guessed amount Spamton has been hearing thrown around made his jaw near fall right off. To hear that the King was being swindled like that, [-WOWIE!!-]. Gullible King Fluffybuns, right?

The clothes were nice though. They had been able to pick through the rows of recycled and resewn bits and pieces of wear, the threading a strong twine of spidersilk infused with some magic to make it last longer - made the string tendons under Spamton's wooden skin crawl, but that was just the drawbacks with spider magic, wasn't it? Tenna had seemed quite pleased with the new getup, though the both of them had packed up their original clothes (into the free little bags the shelter had handed out to everyone!) and had agreed to not toss out their signature looks. The red jacket was nearly brown at this point, and Spamton's mailing uniform was largely unraveled in parts, but hey! Can't get rid of what defined the both of them, could they?

So, instead, it was whatever the two of them could pick out, and well, it could have looked worse? Spamton side eyed Tenna's tastes - bell bottomed blue jeans, tan yellow jacket (the spider in charge of the proceedings was incredibly helpful in opening and sewing up a third arm sleeve for Tenna, even if it was a slightly different shade of color), his quite heavy fraying tie (because he couldn't just give it up, could he, and untucked still!), a size too small white cotton gloves, and then the plaid brown and yellow button up underneath.

Plaid. Brown and yellow.

…Tenna's style looked as old as he probably was.

And Spamton couldn't help but find that, dare he think it, cute as [$!X$].

Now, Spamton at first tried to piece together something a bit more professional - something with pizazz, something that reminded him of his way in the far past job, something with a bit more to it than ‘mailman’, and he'd have settled for a simple clean pressed, big shouldered suit, anything at all cleaned up and professional.

But the selection, while varied, was lacking in his vision. Instead, Spamton found himself settling, rather begrudgingly, on…a white turtleneck sweater. He's got a near black blue blazer, buttoned unlike Tenna's, and the black trousers, and his hat was still fine enough to his standard to be worn (if Tenna kept his tie, Spamton was keeping the hat!) - and yeah, sure, he had found himself drifting to the sweaters and turtlenecks even before he found out that real business suits were not in the mix, but he wasn't an old bitty just yet! He wasn't just going to, what, spend his days in knitted sweaters and slippers and too big scarves, hobbling around a cozy house and helping his husband out in an even cozier kitchen, making the most coziest of those stupid butterscotch pies Tenna always ends up rambling on and on about!

…what? A monster can dream, can't he?

But, even without his wanted fashion choices and settling for the lesser lot, Spamton found that he actually had little to complain about. Having food in their bellies - Tenna's giant appetite satiated for once - and, he supposed, being surrounded by the magic presence of multiple monsters wanting to help each other…it was a lot more healing than he'd imagined it should be. Waterfall, after all, wasn't exactly known for a social community.

Monsters moved to Waterfall to get away from something - other monsters, places, debts, problems, warrants. Everyone, and everything.

So there wasn't much, hunger or exhaustion or even pain, what with professional healers from the Royal Guard doing their duties for the evacuees, that held Spamton and Tenna back from a little sight seeing. Neither of them have been in New Home for a very, very, very long time, and even in the outskirts, even in the obvious bulk of overpopulation that had the crowds move around them like a flowing stream of garbage debris - even with all the new buildings and renovations and change, the monster capital of the underground was still a sight to see. Tenna kept stopping to look around, even tilt his bulky head and stare up, up, way up there to the skyscraper towers that looked as if they almost reached the very roof of the abyssal caverns. Spamton was less interested in the sight - he didn't think building upwards into more dirt was as visionary as some monsters liked to believe.

But, even with his hang ups, the feeling of the city still enraptured him. Being surrounded by so many monsters, so much noise, so much color - sure, a little much at times, but if he closed his eyes and listened then he could meld into the crowd and feel like he could be a part of something again.

And then Tenna would brush up against him, avoiding some other passerbys, and Spamton would jolt awake from whatever it was that made him still want that [-BIGSHOT-] dream of his - less a part of something, more like the head, the brains, the face of the world, charging ahead into the future and ready to stomp that barrier into little less than history!

He had once gotten far enough to set eyes on the barrier, but not much else. There hadn't been time, and his designs never seemed to hold water in the then Royal Scientist's eyes - Tenna had been the one to give him the time of day, back then. His one way ticket to the King and Queen, right?

…And just look where that had taken him, past rock bottom and into dark, ever darker oblivion. Suppose he should at least appreciate that Tenna had been pulled down with him, though the guilt from such a thought will always haunt him.

Shaking these thoughts away, then waving a hand across his face to brush off the dust clouds that numbed up his cheeks and into his glasses, Spamton hissed a sigh through clenched wooden teeth and turned his attention back to what was going on around him. No time like the present!

This wasn't really treading old hunting grounds - it's been too long for both of them - but Spamton found himself tapping into something half remembered inside himself and dragged Tenna along as he darted about the streets, an eye up for any interesting signs or flashing lights and a hand clasped firm with his husbands.

He felt good. How many years have passed since he felt like this, spritely, full of energy, wanting to do something that didn't have anything to do with food or supplies or repairs? The fact that Tenna kept pace with him, cane tapping the ground rhythmic and steady in his creaky steps and a low ramble of chatter running from his dials with that big goofy smile on his face - Spamton kept flashing looks back at him, thankful for once that his stiff bared smile was the way it was, because otherwise he'd look a fool with how genuine and silly his own grin would've become.

The shelters around here promised a whole lot to the evacuees, and to sweeten the deal the King had given an “allowance” of sorts, hand out gold - maybe some way to help rejuvenate New Homes stagnating, ever bursting at the seams economy with the wants and needs of the outskirt refugees. Or maybe it was just from the goodness of his big old Boss Monster heart - either way Spamton would for once not look a gift horse in the mouth. Combined together in a nifty little sack, the both of them had a fair amount of gold available.

Sure, it would be smarter to save this for later, more dire times…but every look he got of Tenna showed him his husband without Waterfalls gloom hanging about his stiff shoulders, and if Spamton could extend that time, or at least shove some newer memories in as replacement, then he'd consider it an expenditure worth making.

For crying out loud, before he'd been mailman he had been a door-to-door salesman. Leap on the chance before it's gone!

So that was how the both of them found themselves trawling through some choice bars in the outskirts of New Home, cavern nightlife of the artificial variety, low lights, neon flashings, and some of the brighter closed venues setting the stage quite nicely.

Drinks weren't always cheap and some of the places were dirty and obnoxious, but his dusty bullet speak and Tenna's loud creaking grind of metal on metal didn't raise as many eyes as he had worried about - and Tenna had a free hand to his dials pretty frequently, spitting up words into Spamton's ear whenever he had to lean down, press his cracked, bright lit screen nearly to the side of his head as he tried to babble above the places cacophony din. He'd tilt, every time, brush against glass and bask in the faint pink hue as Tenna would back a few inches up, and the life of the New Homes bars was a mess of cackling laughter, the din of multitudes talking and the loud rawness of music playing on speakers, or sometimes a full throttle band set center stage to the mix.

When the noise became too much, or when Spamton's gaze wandered a bit more than usual for his partners liking, Tenna's wire cord tail would sneak up the seats and coil against, around Spamton's torso, a lasso or wound up noose, a clingy snake as the half melted plug at the end would press and jab against him with an insistence its owner only half hid. It did make him laugh the first few times, Tenna mumbling up a channel garbled excuse and getting the both of them to leave the bar in favor for another - the fourth time around, as Tenna leaned up sloppily against him, pressed closer than before with his head tilted and screen watching him with little staticky disruptions, one arm around his shoulder, third hand clenched with his and tail coiling up around his other side, Spamton realized that maybe the crowded and loud sort of bars should not be their go to.

So after paying their half sipped drinks and dragging his husband outside, he ended up following street routes less populated. Tenna was quieter now, and both of them had a bit of a sway to their step - neither were young enough for this sort of [$!$$]ing around honestly - but Spamton wasn't quite ready to head back to the shelter and turn in for the night. A part of him wanted to be really, really drunk by the time they both crawled back to the mats assigned to them - the bunk beds were a no go what with Tenna's size, and the makeshift “yoga” mats and half decent blanket each monster got was only slightly outshined by the fact that he got to cuddle with Tenna every night - which was then not quite as nice what with lack of rooms, privacy, and just in general sleeping on the floor. Could be worse, but he did not want to be sober for it, thank you very much.

Wandering the streets, feeling the late time now as less passersbys moved about them both, Tenna hummed a low static tune behind him, hands still clasped as the monster swung his tail lazily back and forth. Spamton had to keep brushing the stray wisps of dust out of his eyes as he squinted up at the now less frequent signs, some shutting down the moment he set eyes on them - there was no true “midnight” down here, but he was getting the sense of the city falling into a far later hush than before. However, there was something about this particular street that was nagging at his mind, and mixed with Tenna trailing behind him it felt…oddly familiar. Some sort of memory, teasing at the edges - it didn't feel foreboding or anything of the sort, his defenses down for once, so Spamton tugged his husband along and let his feet tread half forgotten paths.

It was how they found themselves inside a rather tucked away and quite empty bar. It was dimly lit, though old electric light fixtures, turned off and growing dusty, still edged the green painted walls and corners, and the soft amber glow was enunciated with the darker red and yellow bulbs scattered above the tables and surrounding the blank stage set at the far side wall. Besides the bartender, the only other customers was a very short, bulky spiked red monster on the farthest stool with their head down and a couple of empty glasses surrounding them, and a trio of monsters in the corner closest to the counter - another of those small spiked monsters, green this time, a tall dark beetle of an insect, and a shadow that looked both like a slime and a cat at the same time.

The three were occupied, the green one dragging a pencil along a mess of papers, whispers hushed and focused - Spamton and Tenna's arrival hadn't seemed to register to anyone at all. Tenna, on the back of some strung together joke or other he had been trying to tell Spamton outside but kept interrupting himself too much to complete, just ended up giggling static hiccups against his back as Spamton led them to the emptier space of the counter.

There was something almost familiar about the barkeeper - short and fat, matted purple furry flopped ears with a multitude of dark eyes and a pinched soft white face, a long ringed fur tail ending in a third hand that was currently reorganizing a shelf of drinks behind him - but Spamton wasn't left long to ponder before Tenna suddenly lurched forward, gloved hands slapping against the counter with a little more force than he probably intended and creaking as he weighed heavily upon the wood surface.

“-oh oh oh!-”
“-h a long time, too long-”
“-s about the same time as last-”
“-since we've seen each other, I-”
“-well, woah, wow!-”
“-sk how has it been then? I haven't-”
“-Rams can be identified by their long, curved horns, long fur, and split hooves-”

One of the things Spamton usually found himself envying about Tenna was that his speech never changed no matter his inebriation - no slurring, no mumbling as his channels played all the same and his dials twisted and clicked and turned as usual.

However, names always did seem to give the Boss Monster a hint of trouble.

The bartender squinted all his eyes upwards, dark black pits twisting in the soft oval of his face, before pursing up in an odd expression as he stopped his rather stereotypical monotonous cleaning of already well cleaned glasses.

“Well, you're quite the big fellow aren't you?” He gave the both of them a look over, leaning back a bit, tail pausing its motions and flexing dark black and purple ringed fingers, before something like an amused sigh eased from him. “Can't say I can place a name to you, luv, though you seem to know mine. The Green Room does see a lot of people pass through its doors, so you'll have to excuse me not remembering you.”

Tenna deflated a bit, crooked antennae swinging down in front of his screen - then he deflated more visibly, a low whiney creak and grind of metal as he lost a few inches in a sputter of mumbled static.

Spamton swung in then, rapping his stiff knuckles against the wooden counter to get the barkeep's attention.

“EXCU SE MY P4RTnER, WE ‘V3 BE3N TAS TE TE$TING 0THeR F1NE ESTAB LISHH MENT S$ 4 M0S T OFF TH3 NIgHT - B U T, EAHAHAHA HA, IT H4S BE3N A L0NG TIM3, HAsN'T IT, R 4 M B?” He didn't stumble in his enunciations whatsoever, absolutely not, Spamton's bullet letters looping in a slow falling drift from his teeth, dissipating in little puffs of leftover dusty poofs when they made contact with the floor. “L4S T I SAW Y4, Y0UR FASH ION SEN$E WaS LESS [-inthecolorsofautumnandfall-]!”

The monster gave him a momentary stunned look, a few eyes gleaming as they tracked Spamton's spat up bullet patterns. Then his tail snapped to curl behind his back, tucking fingers into a loose fist, and Ramb's soft face puckered and pinched to give the both of them a weary pulled up expression - not quite a smile, not quite a frown.

“Ah, then that explains it. It's been nearly a decade since I last changed the old get up.” He plucked at the black shrouded poncho he had on, orange frills and stripes on the inside that seemed to move just the slightest bit as if on it's own - the brooch at his throat was inset with an odd, ungleaming gem of some sort, lightless and dark. “A bit of a costume change from, hmm, not quite an old friend of mine, but someone I used to know. Back then we used to serve tea as well. Perhaps you've both visited then?”

Spamton clacked his jaw, eyeballing the brooch. Something about it seemed…oddly familiar…but then Tenna made a grumble of static, interference flickering roughly through as the Boss Monster shrugged and backed off from the bar, looking thoroughly discouraged.

“M4YB3 SO.” Spamton ended up answering, a quick glance at his partner's still slightly shrinking form, before he made up his mind. “AA NY WaY, WHAT SW1LL DOeS YO UR PLACE G OT THAT 0TH3RS DO N'T? Y U G0T SOM3 ReCO MMEN DATIoNS?”

And that was how both monsters found themselves seated at a far corner table, well away from the few other customers, up closer to the empty stage and sipping mystery mixes together. Whatever green concoction Spamton got, it was making his teeth sting and insides pucker - a nice raw burn to it, familiar, almost soothingly so too. ‘Battery Acid’, he had been told, and it certainly tasted like it. Looked like the green fellow on the other side of the room had the same stuff, but every time he took a distracted sip he'd flinch and recoil with a grimace - before getting back to it.

Tenna had a fruity warm tinted drink to himself, something tall and topped with what might have been an orange but was probably a lemon - lemons grew in magic better than oranges, weirdly enough. He had been reluctant at first, embarrassed at even staying here after his overly friendly slip up, but Spamton found he liked the calmer atmosphere and really, what other bars are they going to find at this time of “night” anyway? The Green Room seemed like a nice enough place to unwind, and the fact that Spamton was sure he's been here before cemented his decision.

A couple of sips in and Tenna had relaxed back into his previous buzz enough to scoot their chairs side by side, arm around Spamton's shoulders and leaning back almost languidly.

“-oooh, not as if I-” A laugh track, garbled and staticky at the edges, rumbled out of Tenna's speakers as he hurriedly turned his volume down, slowed, sluggish, but airily carefree in his movements. He pulled his drink close for a moment, shatter glass nose glinting in his usual static blooms of color before he dipped it in to have a sip, happy grin wobbling crooked across his screen. “-d something like this-”
“-s been too little, too late-”
“-h a long, long time now, hasn't it-”
“-h? SPAM's my hunch!-”
“-s why we didn't have to go-”
“-t to be here first, right-”

His big hand squeezed Spamton's shoulder, head tilted down and antennae twisting and turning to bump up against his hat. His chair creaked out a lively complaint, but it didn't bend or break as the monster giggled into Spamton's ear.

“-lookie lookie loo~-”
“-all these chairs are made of the finest mahogany-”
“-d if I fit, I sit!-”

Tenna stretched his other two arms, almost bumped his cane onto the floor in the process, and when those antennae started to slip under his hat Spamton chattered his hinged jaw at him in squinted eyed amusement, leaning away as to take a sip from his [-sillystrings-] straw - the little whirl burble of noise escaping him made Tenna buzz up a chuckle before tilting his head back with a humming sigh.

“-s as if all this-”
-y here is nice-”

It really was nice. For all the stress the flooding had done him in, Spamton found himself grateful for the unexpected break. This bar was an [-ANGEL!-] send, a little blessing in a sea of the rough living they've ecked out in Waterfall - it helped that some of his more pleasant memories were filtering back to him now. Livelier times back then, more lights and monsters, warm food and good drink and the company of both the undergrounds usual nightlife and the big ol' Boss Monster himself, testing the waters as Spamton chatted him up-

There had been good music back then too, hadn't there?

Spamton raised his head, peering over at the empty stage set. Didn't have any visible instruments sitting around, but there was a stand with a few microphones and some plugged in boxes. The lights were on, a little spotlight and the ringed red and yellows, garish stars painted on the backdrop of the green wallpaper, and overall it didn't look like much of a bad setup, just a bit cheapish.

As Tenna mumbled something at him, still lazily leaned back and staring up at the ceiling with its glow in the dark star decor - something about curtain calls, breakrooms, and call timers, hand lazily twisting his dials about - Spamton had a look over his thoroughly relaxed husband. His jaw loosened up somewhat, beady eyes softening at the sight - even the numbing dust that flickered at the edges of his face, dipping into his glasses, were just inconsequential puffs of air.

Tenna looked good, here and now, in this lighting. Leaned back and totally at ease, old box head not quite shiny new but still reflecting off the bars dimmed lighting, curl crooked antennae lazily swaying in the air. One arm around and hanging on Spamton's shoulders, one on the back of his own chair and the third raising his drink to his face, long glass nose catching with cracked dazzle as he dipped it into his beverage again and took a hummingly pleased sip. His clothes, old fashioned or not, hung on his boxy frame with a bit more taste now that he looked rumpled and loose, at ease with Spamton by his side. He held up remarkably well to Spamton's faint scattered memories of him, and something warm and a bit claustrophobicly goopy rose up to fill in his chest.

Or maybe it was groovy. Less goop, more groove - Spamton clacked his jaw with a bark of a laugh, shaking his head before he scooted his chair back as best as he could and hopped off.

Tenna immediately snapped to attention, though a bit slowed and dizzy as he set aside his drink and sat up straight, hand slapping up to his dials.

“-t with SPAM for-”

His attempted lilt of a question was a buzz of static interference, the wavering channel on his face dissolving into false pixel mush - but his alarm was quelled when Spamton went around to take his hand and try to haul him up, Tenna's third hand snatching up his cane to help with balance.

“AAN T, AAANT, L0OK, TH3Y ‘VE GOT A, UHH, A UH, HM. [$!$$].” He shook out a hand, trying to snatch the word escaping him before finally snapping his stiff clacking fingers with clear eyed triumph. “KAR4OK3 MA CH INE! 1 OF TH0SE S3LF [-sing,sing,sing!-] TR A CK S!”

A glance over at the bar almost seemed to show it deserted - but instead it looked like Ramb had been replaced by that stocky red spike monster, who looked half asleep as they stooped at the wall and tried to organize away clean dishes and bottles of alcohol. Spamton looked over at the still clearly emptied bottles at the end of the counter, but who was he to judge someone's relationship with their job? As if he hadn't ever drank or smoked or snorted something while on the clock - he didn't do it anymore, obviously, didn't have much of a job left anyway, and he wasn't going to say anything about an employee managing their own time.

Where Ramb went he had no clue, and had he been sober he'd have been more unnerved, but Spamton concluded rather quickly enough that they had the go ahead for the stage. The three weirdos at the table farthest away from him looked deep in conversation with each other, the paper sheets having expanded and taken over the entire table now as they all held their drinks aloft, so no worries there.

Tenna wobbled by his side, a spitting of mumbled static as apology, and Spamton realized after the first step that he'd need to take it real easy after all - he was less buzzed and dipping into something else, stiff jointed hand grabbing to the table to keep his ditzy balance.

He was ever so grateful that Tenna was there to help him out, and after a last quick desperate sip of his ‘Battery Acid’ Spamton proceeded to make a somewhat wobbly beeline to the spotlight, Tenna in tow.

And that was how they ended up on stage, way past midnight now and in the early “morning” stages of the underground, both a bit past tipsy and both attempting to figure out the machine system. There had been a bit more to it than one box, but after Tenna had slowly crouched down (with some help from Spamton) he'd been able to figure out how to work the thing - it was a bit clunky, but modifications had made it easier to configure and after only a few minutes of messing around Tenna had found a list of playable music.

How well it would sound was up for debate, there were some speakers in the walls and it looked like some about the stage itself, but at this point with Spamton leaning over Tenna's still kneeled shoulder, peering at the names of the scrolling tunes, neither really cared about the technicalities. If it worked, it worked - if it didn't, it didn't.

But, Spamton did want to give it a try. Something about the idea of attempting a song and doing a little dance up here with Tenna was doing something for him, making his bittersweet memories recede a bit and the atmosphere more comfortable, and Tenna himself seemed pretty enthused with the idea judging from how focused he had gotten with the old machines - to Spamton's buzzy brain, this sounded like a fun time all around.

They had to scroll a bit, there were honestly a hefty amount of tracks stored in this thing, and they were both probably a little loud up here, not quite whispering but trying as they debated a song or two back and forth. So many options, some familiar and others not, and their shared giggling, Tenna's pitched static and whiny, Spamtons more snorted and bullet exhaled, was definitely not part of the show - but neither found themselves caring.

Finally, after what felt like ages, they settled on a tune both only half remembered and Spamton helped pull Tenna back up into a stand, creaking aged metal frame swaying back and forth before thunking his cane down a few times and getting his balance.

A low rumble rise of music started up crackling in the disused speakers before clearing, drums and synth before rolling louder, and both monsters scrambled to grab up the microphones as the first words spilled out in a quick “Here we go!” as sudden introduction.

Spamton adjusted his jaw, fiddling and clearing his throat with a few hacked up bullets as he tried to tap his foot to the beat. When he glanced up at his husband he squinted his eyes at seeing Tenna turning his dials in a more highly specific manner than usual, antennae swerving around and angling towards the karaoke box itself, little flicks of sparks darting between the bent metal.

He only realized what the Boss Monster was doing when the first words started up, stumbling as he had to tear his eyes away as to try and read the lyrics he had very little familiarity with parse over the screen of one of the machine boxes - Tenna's cracked screen had flashed, colored and clarified, captioned words appearing at the bottom and an almost tinny reverb mimicry of the song started playing from his speakers.

The quality left more to be wanted, and sometimes Tenna's mouth didn't match perfectly with the singing, but it still made Spamton start huffing and puffing and fighting the urge to grouse out a complaint for the injustice.

Tenna was cheating.

“-Break it down again-” “BR3AK I T D0wN AG 4IN,”

“-So those are my dreams-” “S0 TH O$E AR E MY [-hopesanddreams-],”
“-And these are my eyes-” “4N D TH3SE ArE MYY 3YES,”
“-Stand tall like a man-” “SS TAND T4LL LIKE A MaN,”
“-Headstrong like a horse-” “HE4D StR0NG L1KE A H0RSE!”

Had he not loved the monster as much as he did Spamton would've been rather pissed off at the loophole Tenna had found for himself, the red hue color of his painted cheeks flaring up a bit in minor incidental humiliation. While Spamton sang his heart out, ugly spat up bullets and garbled interrupting spread of his own vocal tics, his cheater of a husband bypassed this entirely by tapping into the music video this band had crafted and took their original voices for his own.

Said music video seemed to show the band members as human, an interesting fun fact for sure - Tenna's tail swung around and brushed up against him, no doubt sensing the disappointment radiating off Spamton, and thankfully the music itself cleared out the rumbling of metal shaking and shifting around because Tenna was really into the whole dancing [$X$!].

“-When it's all mixed up-” “WH3N IT ‘S A L L M1XeD UP,”
“-Better break it down-” “B3T TER BRE4K I T DOwN,”

The much taller monster swayed about, tail whipping through the air as he pulled the microphone close with both hands, screen flaring colors and humanoid shapes across the warped, cracked glass. The stagelights, which had looked a bit dull earlier at their table, were now so bright and it seemed almost impossible to get a look out at the bar - Spamton wanted to focus on the lyrics, but Tenna had his head tilted to him a bit and he found he could just read the words right off his partners screen instead.

That looked to be a better deal, because now Spamton could just watch his husband groove and wiggle, suddenly full of an energy he hasn't seen in a very, very long time. A big goofy grin spread over his crooked video playing face, leaning a bit down to look at Spamton now as they both sang out a combined “Ooh ooh, ooh ooh” in the hum of the pre-chorus.

“-In the world of secrets-” “1N THE W0rLD OF SE CR3 T S,”
“-In the world of sound-” “I N TH3 WO RLD 0F SOUnD,”

With another “Ooh, ooh” the both of them leaned back and held their mics up high, Tenna's volume flaring as he twisted a dial before lowering just as quickly, Spamton clattering his jaw and squinting his eyes up at the bright spotlights surrounding them. They both wobbled a bit, Tenna a bit stiffer as he swung back to the stand and set his microphone into place to allow his hands to be freed up - Spamton had to fight the urge to bark up a laugh as he watched his partner sway and move his arms in a stiff little jig of sorts, absurd and stupidly endearing as the Boss Monster tapped his cane and smiled down at him, a pink blushing hue starting to ripple on the playing music video.

“-It’s in the way you're always hiding from the light-” “1T ‘S IN TH3 WAY U ‘RE 4LWaYS HI DI NG FR0M THE [-lightandbright-],”
“-See for yourself, you have been sitting on a time bomb-” “S3E 4 YOU RSEL FF, YY U H4VE BE3N SITtING ON A T1ME B OMB,”

Tenna had snapped his fingers, swaying to the beat and gesturing out to the mostly absent audience, and bright spots of light flashed around him as his star bullets materialized, humming low to the tune with their giggling exposed teeth before swirling around above them both in dissipating magic - show off!

Spamton immediately tried to one up him, though he more than likely just matched his husbands energy - his bullets strung themselves up, glowing packages before opening up into blue spotlight bullet pipis shells that poofed into harmless little dust sparkles. It didn't quite match when they both said the word “bomb” together, but it was close enough as he grinned up at his husband's amused smile.

“-No revolution, maybe someone, somewhere else-” “N0 REV OL UTiON, M4Y BE SOM3ON3, SOM3WHE RE EL$E,”
“-Could show you something new about you and your inner song-” “COuLD SH02 U SOM3TH ING NE W 4BOUT YY OU AND UR 1N NER S0NG,”
“-And all the love and all the love in the world-” “ ‘ND 4LL THE [-LV-] AND A LL THE L0VE IN TH3 WOrLD,”
“-Won't stop the rain from falling, waste seeping underground-” “W0 N'T $TOP THE R41N FR OM FaLL ING, W4STE SE3PiNG UNDER GR0UND!”

Spamton accepted an offered hand, their sweeping bullet patterns mixing together overhead as Tenna led him in a weak little twirl - the Boss Monster didn't move besides into a stretched lean, not quite willing to test a full dance move like that on his creaking joints. While Tenna's borrowed voice dipped to the right pitches, Spamton couldn't quite lower his own volume to match.

“-Break it down again-” “BR3AK IT D0wN A GAIN,”
“-I wanna break it down, break it down again-” “I 4NnA BR34K IT DO WN, BRE AK IT DoWN AGA1N,”

But, with the spotlights up above and each other's grins in their eyes, neither monster cared.

“-Break it down again-” “BR3AK I T D0WN AGaI N,”

“-So those are my schemes-” “S0 TH OsE AR3 MY SCH3MES,”
“-And these are my plans-” “4ND THE S3 ArE MY P L 4 N S,”
“-Hot tips for the boys-” “H0T T1P$ 4 ThE BO YS,”
“-Fresh news from the force-” “FR3SH N EWS FR0M TH3 FO RcE!”

His voice scrawled out of him like a barking mutt, so out of tune it wasn't even funny - but Tenna just raised his volume up a bit higher, a stilted dance together of sorts that Spamton was putting most of his effort into now. The bright stagelights made him a bit unbalanced, his husband's own lit screen flickered a bit with interrupted staticky giggling interference, and Spamtons’ summoned up envelope bullets rained down sketchy stars that matched in twirling dancing pairs with Tenna's own sharper pointed magic.

“-When it's all mixed up-” “WH3N IT ‘S A LL MiX ED UP,”
“-Better break it down-” “BET TER BR3AK 1 T [-downinthedeep-],”

The both of them bellowed out the “Ooh ooh, ooh ooh” lines, hands clasped and microphones raised to their audience - but their singing was more for each other's ears than anyone else, a viewership of just the two.

“-In the world of silence-” “1N TH E WoRLD OF SI L3N CE,”
“-In the world of sound-” “IN TH3 WO RL D 0F SOuND,”

Trying to read the karaoke boxes lines was just too much of a hassle - Spamton lightly tugged Tenna to face him fully now, cracked screen and brilliant crooked smile, tinted pink hues as the video feed played on and antennae stayed at attention, and another round of “Ooh, ooh” hummed from the Boss Monsters speakers, tail swinging excitedly behind him.

A string instrument rose in quick anticipation and suddenly Spamton was pulled up close to Tenna, hands clasped as he was guided into swaying, bobbing to the beat in attempted tandem with the larger monster. Tenna's tail had come around, curling to press up against his back, and Spamton stared up at his husband's leaning down screen, noses almost touching.

“-‘No sleep for dreaming’ say the architects of life-” “ ‘N0 [-sleepwhenI'mdead!-] 4 DR3AM ING’ SSAY TH3 ARCH IT ECT$ OF L1FE,”
“-Big bouncing babies, bread and butter can I have a slice-” “B1G BOUN CING B4BI ES, BREAD AN BUTtER C4N I HAA VE A SL1CE,”
“-They make no mention of the beauty of decay-” “TH3Y MAKE N0 MEN T1ON OF TTH3 B34UTY OF DECaY,”

The glass of Tenna's face glittered, the video tinted deep pink now, only the black box subtitles showing clear as the big toothy grin widened even more. Spamton squinted his eyes, jaw wiggled into his own stuck in grin, and he squeezed the hands in his, metal curled up with wood.

“-Blue, yellow, pink umbrella save it for a rainy day-” “BL UE, Y3LlOW, P INK UM BRElLA S4 VE IT 4 A RA IN Y D A Y,”
“-And all the love and all the love in the world-” “AND ALL ThE L0 VE AN D 4LL T H E L OVE IN TH 3 WOR LD,”
“-Won't stop the rain from falling-” “W0n'T SST O P TH3 R AIN FRoM FALL1NG,”
“-Waste seeping underground-” “W4$TE SEeP IN G UN DER GR0 UND,”

They both spun through the low repeat lyrics, the music coming around and then building back up to a high - even with the excitement Spamton could feel the low vibrational trembles of exertion running through his husband's frame, close enough even with the speaker sound to hear the creak and grind of metal against metal.

“-Break it down again-” “Br3AK IT D O WN AG AIN,”
“-I want to break it down-” “I WaNT T0 BRE A K IT DOW N,”
“-Break it down again-” “[-makeitorbreakit-] 1T DoWN A G AIN,”

His own legs were getting a bit heavy, jointed knees scraping, a bit more pressure in his own motions. When they both swayed, holding each other's hands and making sure neither of them tipped right over, staticky giggles rumbled through Tenna's speakers and Spamton clacked his teeth in his own loose chuckles, a shrug of his shoulders as the two of them rounded up enough for the [-grandfinale!-].

“-Horsin' around, horsin' around-” “H0R$ IN’ AR OU ND, H O4RS IN’ AR0UND,”
“-Pray to the power-” “P R A Y TO TH3 POwER,”
“-Play to the crowd with your big hit sound-” “PL4Y T O THE CRoWD W1TH YYUR B I G H1T S OUN D,”
“-And they won't simmer, won't simmer, won't simmer down-” “AAND TH3Y WOn'T SI MM ER, W0N'T SIM MER, W0N ‘T S IM M3R DOwN,”
“-Play to the crowd-” “PL4 Y TO THE CR OWd,”
“-Pay to the crowd-” “P4Y T O ThE C ROWD,”
“-Play yeah yeah-” “PL AAY Y3AH YE4h!”

Their magic starburst overhead, Tenna leaning heavily on his cane and keeping a tight grip on Spamton as his antennae swayed and crooked with his slowing down little dance. The stagelights glittered through the bullet patterns dance, stars and sheets of magic infused letters, twine string that looped through and tied, knotted it all together in bright twirling rings. Lyrical letters, almost matching the actual sung song, tried to keep up as Spamton spat up his bullet words, for an audience of none - but one, who already had his own subtitles to follow.

Their dance had slowed way down, not enough in either of them to really follow the tune anymore - but neither cared, screen tilted down and dusty glasses turned up, eyes only on each other.

“-It's in the way you're always hiding from the light-” “IT’$S I N THE W4Y YY U'RE AL WA YS HIdING FR0M TH E L IGH T,”
“-Fast off to heaven just like Moses on a motorbike-” “FAsT OFF TO [-heavenschoir-] JJU$T LI KE M0S3S ON A MO TORB1 KE,”
“-No revolution maybe someone somewhere else-” “N0 REvOL UT ION M4YBEE SOME1 SOMEWH ER3 ELsE,”
“-Could show you something new to help-” “COU Ld SH0W U SO METH 1NG N E W TO [-helpwanted-],”
“-With the ups and downs-” “W 1 T H THE UP$ A ND DoWNS,”

Tenna's screen had fizzled a bit, the signal losing strength now as the last chorus hummed from the speakers surrounding them. His antennae had drooped low, patting against Spamton's slightly crooked hat, and the shorter monster raised a hand to straighten it up with a raspy chuckle coughed out around lines.

“-Break it down again-” “BR34K I T D0Wn A GAIN,”
"-I want to break it down-” “I WA NT TO BR EA K 1t D0WN,”
“-Break it down again-” “B RE Ak IT DoWN AG A1N,”

They hummed out now the last of it, Tenna's warm pink screen edged and rippled with static, his fond little smile undeterred by the cracks and scratches. Held hands, shuffled close and swaying with the rumble of the music's ending beat, not knowing or caring if anyone else was looking at them and their performance - they only had eyes on each other, bathed by the stage's spotlights.

“-No more sleepy dreaming-” “N0 MOrE $LEE PY D R E AM 1NG,”
“-No more building up-” “N O M OR3 BUI LDI NG U P,”
“-It is time to dissolve-” “I T 1S TiME T0 DIS S OL V3,”
“-Break it down again-” “BRE4K IT D O W N AG4I N,”
“-No more sleepy dreaming-” “N0 M0R E SL 33PY DREaMING…”

The song faded, dipped, and finally ended with the low sung whoop of the original singer.

The two monsters swayed to a halt, standing there under the lights, the new silence. Tilted close together, noses brushed against each other, cracked glass to painted wood - Spamton stared up into his partner's face, a heady warmth billowing in his usually hollow dust empty chest. Tenna's screen glittered, flashed, and warm heated air flushed from his vents. Both of their exhausted trembling made them shiver, shake, and yet there was still enough in the both of them to tighten their holds.

And then Spamton was clacking up on his tiptoes, Tenna leaning over with a loud groaning creak of metal, and blocky teeth connected against smooth glass, buzzing static, the subtle hint of sharp canines brushed against inner wooden jaws, and there they were, kissing under the spotlights on a stage that felt so much like the past that, for a few precious moments, both felt like they were their young and spry and much too daring old selves all over again.

Thus, too enamored in each other to notice the lazy clapping from the two bartenders lounging behind the counter, nor the quiet polite applause from the only truly occupied table. The tall insect monster leaned far, far over the papers and drinks, curving stiffly to wag the top of their tall chitinous red head back and forth above their compatriots, chittering their mandibles.

“Hey boss, maybe we shoulds do a song next.”

The dark slime monster on the other side of the table trilled at that, nodding enthusiastically and making the cat ear headband on its head slip and slide to and fro.

“🎵.”

“Yeah, dats a good one! I know dat one by heart. Boss, yous like to put dat one on da radio all the time, don't ya?”

The green pincushion of a monster made a groaning sound into the table, before peeling his many eyed face off the surface - along with a few scraps of paper, now stuck to him. Blinking dizzily for a moment before narrowing, then fumbling for his drink before realizing he was all out of acid, the monster made another groan as he buried his head into his hands.

The insect leaned back in their chair, humming thoughtfully.

“Was dat a yes?”

“🎵~~🎵🎵.”

“Oh.”

A pause, between the three of them. The slime monster turned its head and peered back at the stage, watching the two embracing monsters up there almost wistfully.

After a moment, the pincushion peeking up a few eyes at his wilted companions, he finally heaved a sigh.

“...Fine.” He muttered, “But you two got to help me clean this up after. I don't need to get banned from here again.”

Instantly the other two brightened up, and the stick insect pat a couple of hands (carefully around the spines) atop the others back, the slime copying the motion with some happy little whistles.

“Don't worry boss, we'll gets it all squared away. And I bet yous'll have a good time on stage!”

“Sure. Great...” The green monster groaned, before slumping his head with a thwump back onto the table and into his piles upon piles of taped together theory crafting mess of papers.