Chapter Text
“Now you can all finally-”
Crimson magic and sharpened blades cleave through Tenna’s metallic frame, internal mechanics screeching in protest. Static roars over the hiss of electricity. The severed threads of his coat don’t even whisper. From his spot in Kris’s inventory, Spamton can only watch as his screen surrenders to bright neon blocks. Gravity suddenly remembers Tenna, and he starts to plummet to the snow like-
like a puppet without strings.
No.
[No!]
NO!
“Why’s it have to be so cold?” he asks, staring out at the rolling hills of white.
Tenna smiles and says-
Like a flick of a channel, he isn’t there in either version of the cold. No, Spamton still sits in Kris’s inventory. It should probably feel more miserable than it does. In this space, he’s a far cry from freedom. Yet- he chose it and that counts for something. He was always better at riding someone else’s coattails, anyway- and he could admit that, if only to himself. As the vision (Memory? Does that distinction matter, really?) fades, he knows he can’t remain here. He does what he’s always done when faced with distressing circumstances- what any good salesman or showman would do when it all went south.
He decides to run.
In the middle of the walkway, surrounded by grids of flashing screens, he slips out of inventory. The party turns to him as he materializes properly. Well, as properly as this body ever gets any more. He doesn’t really have a plan, but as he glances at the confused trio (well, Ralsei and Susie look confused; Kris just looks like Kris), he decides this is likely best left as a solo venture.
“Um-” Ralsei begins, as if to ask what he’s doing.
“YOU THREE [Go Going Gone!]. I’VE GOT A [One Time Offer] on [Trash heap]!”
He doesn’t stop to elaborate, even as he distantly hears Susie mutters a low, baffled, “What?”
It’s funny, really- how much things can change and yet how little it does. The shows on the screens are different. A few in the corners too high for the Pippins to reach have a thin coat of dust, but the routes still turn and twist in familiar ways. He almost wishes it was different. It might prove what he saw was something else- anything else, please-
Green. He really hates that color as he touches the screen with a smiling green Tenna. The panels slide away with a thunk. He brushes past the other items in the secret storage, going right for a lone cabinet. The worn wooden floors creak lightly beneath him in the quiet.
Much like the walkways, he wants it to be different. Everything falling into place only serves to confirm a reality that he rejects worse than a bad deal. And yet, as a bright blue egg stares back at him, it’s hard not to feel… relief. Some part of him is still rationalizing that it must serve some other purpose (something to do with TV Dinners maybe) or that it ended up here on accident.
The egg starts to slide onto the floor, but he catches it on instinct, and hates the sound of his own plastic hands against the blue shell. Yet, when he looks again, in the gleam of the light he notices faint patches across the surface where the shell has been worn smooth. What could have-
No, more importantly, this proves it wasn’t some dream. He wouldn’t have pictured Tenna keeping the egg, not in a million years. Yet, it’s real and it’s here, cold in his hand. Or, wait- no, the egg isn’t cold. Just one of his index fingers, oddly.
“What the-?!” a familiar, dramatic voice says.
Tenna doesn’t have eyes to emote, but his body has always been doubly expressive to make up for it as he flinches at the sight of Spamton. There’s a beat of shock, but not an ounce of recognition as the television host strings together a cobbled mix of surprised sounds.
Spamton tries not to think of how that hurts. In fact, it’s an opportunity!
“How the what the mama what the heck-”
“[CATHODE], listen!”
“Ma woah woh what the heck heck what what-”
“[URGENT: LIMITED TIME OFFER]!” he shouts, louder, and hates that the stress makes it harder to get his own voice to say what he means.
Whether it’s the noise or sheer confusion, Tenna stops. He still eyes him with a look of barely contained disgust, but his head is tilted towards Spamtom consideringly. Or rather, his attention is clearly locked on the thing in Spamton’s grip.
“ARE YOU [Listen] [Listen] NOW?”
“What do you want? I’m on a tight schedule right now so- whatever you are. Give that back before I call security.”
He takes a breath- at least much as this form can fake such a thing- to steady himself and his voice. It doesn’t help much. “The [Nighttime Got You Down?] is lying. It’s a [Bad Deal]. You gotta let Toriel go before-”
Screeching metal- snow-
He shakes his head. Even the fragmented memory leaves the echo of acid on his tongue. It has something in his very core shaking in- fear? Horror? No, something more innate. It is something so wrong that it simply can not be.
“Before…?” Tenna prompts, inching closer. His gaze is still on the egg.
Spamton takes a step back. “THE PLAN WON’T WORK, [Trash heap].”
“Wha-” His teeth grow sharper as he snaps, “What would you know- whatever the heck you are?!”
Spamton can’t help the irritation that slips into his tone. “I’M TRYING TO [Need Help? Call-]”
“I’m fixing things!”
“What? TOO MUCH OF A [BIG SHOT] TO LISTEN TO [Top 10 Life Advice]?”
There’s a flicker of some other emotion across the pale screen, but it’s there and gone in a blink. Tenna’s attention shifts to the egg again before he lunges for it. Spamton startles back on instinct, reflexively lifting it away from his reach.
One finger doesn’t move correctly, though.
Spamton feels as it slips from his grasp. Tenna dives for it. The Pipis egg hits the floor with a sharp crack, but gloved hands are there a second later, cradling it like it was worth its weight in gold. A fresh crack runs up one side.
“Leave,” Tenna says, voice low. His screen is dark and unreadable.
“…Tenna-”
The moment he dares a step closer, all he can see is white. The foam smeared across his glasses blinds him, and by the time he’s wiped it free, the only thing he can see of Tenna is his coattails vanishing through a door.
Susie, Ralsei, and Kris appear not long after. He just slips back into the inventory without further question. He holds to some small hope that maybe- just maybe- the warning might yet take hold.
It doesn’t.
He watches from the inventory as Susie talks to Tenna, and the host relents. Somehow, he seems wearier than before, even as he smiles and says,
“Now you can all finally-”
Spamton looks away.
---
“Hey, Spamton! Can I come in?”
Ugh. Tenna has the habit of showing up at the worst times (More like he shows up a lot, timing be damned.) but Spamton can’t exactly say no, even if he feels drained after a phone call. He opens open the door to the Z-rank room and puts on his best smile. “Tenna! What brings you to my humble, unofficial changing room?”
Humble is an understatement. The room was a storage closet before a few modifications- the best they could do on short notice, Tenna said. Spamton knows it’s just the host’s way of pressuring him- giving him a space just uncomfortable enough to encourage him into signing a contract. (…Would Tenna actually be that underhanded?) As if it’s not bad enough that his ‘role’ is the incompetent game show participant. It’s their bit. Tenna, the grand host, and Spamton- the recurring guest/mailman who can never seem to win. Some days he hates that he agreed to such part, but the publicity almost makes up for his wounded ego.
“I just wanted to go over this script with you- get your feedback, you know?” Tenna says, leaning down just a bit to avoid hitting his antennae on the doorway. He can change size at will, but probably can’t stand even the slightest hit it would be to his ego. (Or he’s… happy and can’t manage it. But what would be making him that happy right now?)
“Sure, come on in.” He steps back to let him through, before catching sight of a pile of blue forming in one corner. Yeah, no time to hide those. He was going to clean up more, but there had been a phone call to take. “Don’t mind the mess,” he waves off flippantly before taking a seat on a small couch pressed against the wall.
Tenna, though, stares openly at the blue eggs. “What are those?”
He said to ignore the mess, not ask about it. Geez. (He was just curious.) Still, no need to let an opportunity slip by. “Oh, just a one of a kind product crafted in part by yours truly.” Tenna seems even more baffled as he stares at Spamton. The Addison steps forward and plucks one of the blue eggs from the pile. “This is a genuine Pipis Egg- self-replicating from the finest code this side of Cyber City. Leave one alone long enough and-” As if on cue, one of the blue eggs on the pile shakes lightly, and a second appears beside it in a blink. “Ta-da! An endless supply for all your pipis needs.”
“I see,” he says, in a way that means he clearly doesn’t. Newer tech isn’t his strong suit.
Spamton pops the egg in hand into his mouth and chews it with a crunch. As a demonstration! “Delicious! Healthy! Lucky!” Only those first two, really, if one can stomach the neon blue enough to eat it. “And just for you, one time only, I’m willing to part with one of these fine specimens for [FREE]!”
Most of them are getting eaten or broken soon anyway. Leave too many lying around and they replicate like a virus, so he might as well make it seem like he’s doing something nice for Tenna while he’s at it. The offer seems to work as Tenna notably perks up at the thought of special treatment. “Well, how could I say no to that?” he says, voice teasing. Always so damn condescending. (He’s… not though?)
Spamton reaches for the pile of eggs, and hesitates. “One sec.” He brushes past several others before plucking out one that is, at first glance, no different than the rest. It’s another blue egg. Yet, the others are pristine and new. This one has the barest hint of scratches from being carried in Spamton’s luggage between moving. It’s nearly impossible to see the distinction, unless held up to the light and scanned closely.
It doesn’t have to be this one. Yet, somehow it feels right as he spins on his heel and holds out the egg with a flourish. “Here you are! Your own Pipis [TM] Egg. Be careful with it cause I'll be charging you for the next one!”
Tenna chuckles to himself as he puts the egg in his coat pocket. “Thanks, Spammy. I’ll keep it safe.”
(…he did, didn’t he?)
The inventory. The walkway. The screens. It all floods back to his mind in an instant. The memories follow soon after. He failed, and yet- something small changed. If he could change it a little further, then maybe- just maybe-
Ralsei and Susie are saying something to him, but he doesn’t stop to answer- just spares a look at Kris with a smile before walking off down the walkway. If he can’t be more direct, then he’ll just have to try another way.
Maybe, just maybe, they can make a deal.