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“On in 30, that’s 30!”
The Pippin scurries past, accidentally bumping Spamton on the way through the Green Room. The crew member turns, eyes wide.
“S-Sorry, Mr. Spamton, sir!”
“Take it easy, kid!” Spamton cackles, showing his shoes. “It’s not like you stepped on the goods! Then we woulda had a problem!”
He’s met with a nervous but grateful laugh as the Pippin stumbles back, on their way to continue delivering the timing message through the studio.
At the sound of a low rumble, Spamton glances to the roof, as well as to a few other members relaxing in the Green Room before showtime. Of note, Lanino and Elnina. The latter of the two seems tense, worry on her normally cheerful face.
“My sweet spring rain, you really do worry too much,” the sun speaks gently, his arm around the cloud in comfort, soothing her back. “We’ve been through this how many times~! Everything will be just fine, just like always.”
“…perhaps you’re right, my fresh summer day,” she sighs, leaning into his shoulder. She’s welcomed into a closer embrace that she returns as easily as breathing. “No use worrying...it’s—just so dark this time.”
“And the sun always returns after the rain.” A stroke to the fluff of hair to her head, tilting her head to look in her eyes. “Always.”
“Oh, darling.”
...
Ugh.
Bitterness tinges the back of Spamton’s throat at the overly saccharine sight. Did those two have to be so lovey dovey where everyone could see? Keep it in the dressing room…
…
His eyes drift to the other sofa that occupies the Green Room. Empty, now, but the space is…familiar.
“Everyone!”
The sound of everyone’s boss (or partner) gets the room’s attention. The couple, Ramb behind the counter, the several Pippins running to and fro, and of course Spamton.
Granted in Spamton’s case, the arm suddenly flung over his shoulder and pulling him close was another signal to banish his hypocritical thoughts.
“Now I know you know tonight’s not just any show! Nights like these only come once in a blue moon—a rainy-day movie marathon! I still can hardly even believe it!!”
Spamton can’t help but grin at Tenna’s boundless enthusiasm. He’s been thrilled about this event all day, ever since Elnina had reported a thunderstorm in the forecast. One of those big one’s, where the best thing to do is stay home and cozy up. It was a sudden change to the usual evening program, sure, and one that had taken all day to coordinate, but the energy of it all was so infectious that there hadn’t been any complaints.
“Now, remember! First slot?”
“Family friendly!” calls the room.
“Second slot!”
“Family friendly but boring enough to send the parents to bed!”
“Aaaand third slot!?”
“Horror!”
“Horror!” Tenna repeats, practically vibrating with excitement. Spamton’s arm is squeezed, getting a cackle out of him. “The shining star of our evening! The main event! Oh, the kids are going to have a blast! They’ll get the living daylights scared out of them—and that’s the fun, right!? Who doesn’t love being scared on a dark and stormy night!? It’s a youth’s first real test of bravery!”
He nudges Spamton with a wink and a grin.
“Not to mention not getting caught by Mom and Dad!”
The room laughs, including Spamton, sweat beading on his forehead. He may have almost had a heart attack.
“Pip!”
“Yes, Mr. Tenna?”
“We’re all set with the censors, right? We’re keeping the blood, the guts, the everything that makes a scary movie scary, but I will be damned if they see a—!”
BOOM
The Green Room goes pitch black, near in sync with an explosion of thunder.
For a brief moment the only light is Tenna’s screen before it, too, goes dark. Pure dead weight drops into Spamton, who only barely manages to catch him, struggling.
“Ten!?” he cries.
“I got him!” a Pippin cries, several dashing across the room, their hands grasping Tenna’s monitor moments before it can hit the floor.
“O-Oh no,” Elnina’s soft voice comes from the sofa, quiet quick steps. The sound of the side door alerts that Ramb has made his way around from the bar, flashlight in hand. The Pippins are out of breath, but there’s relief.
“Oh—this is all my fault…!”
“My love, no—“
“What is this??”
Spamton shouts, looks around frantically as he drops to Tenna’s side, his hand going to the side of his monitor, a familiar caress. There’s nothing in his mind right now that’s telling him to care about how it looks. “What is happening!?”
The room is silent for a moment. Someone somewhere lets out a quiet “Oh…” in the dark. As if they’ve realized something.
“…this’s your first blackout with us. Innit, Mistah Spamton?”
The cone of light from the flashlight makes it hard to see Ramb’s expression. Spamton can’t make out if he’s relaxed, or worried, or what . All he hears is the breathing of the Pippins who helped set Tenna down, and the soft sobs and comforting words of Elnina and Lanino.
Blackout?
First…?
“…h-he’s okay…?” Spamton utters, a plea, not a question.
“E’s just off,” Ramb answers softly, assuring. “‘Appens on nights like these. Not always. ‘Asn’t ‘appened for a long while. But…it ‘appens…”
Immediate, overwhelming relief floods Spamton, replacing the adrenaline that had spiked through his system.
He’s fine…
Tenna’s fine.
For a moment, there’s only the sound of the rumbling thunder and droning rain as he shudders on a breath, his hand finally leaving Tenna’s casing. He swallows, breathes, looka to Ramb, the Pippins, everyone else in the dark
“…but…the show. What about the show? The marathon?? Who’s gonna—I can’t—when’s he gonna wake up??”
“…”
“Ramb?” he urges, desperate.
“...it depends...”
“It depends? On what!?”
“The weather,” Lanino answers, and the flashlight turns, illuminating his features. He looks downtrodden as he holds Elnina, her shoulders shaking with little silent sniffles.
“I knew it,” she gasps, voice small. “I just knew the clouds were too dark…I hate this.”
“…well—make it stop !” Spamton blurts without thinking. “That’s what you two do, right??”
Before Lanino can speak, his jaw tensing, Elnina emerges from his chest, hurt on her face, the streaks from her tears shining in the light.
“You think I planned this?? Why!? We are forecasters! We can’t just make it stop!”
“Eaaasy now,” Ramb interjects, swinging the light between the couple and Spamton. “The very last thing we need now is panic…everyone. We ‘ave plans for this. We’re stickin’ to ‘em. This is not the first time, an’it won’t be the last. Pips, fetch some more crewmembahs. Let’s get Mistah Tenna to ‘is dressin’ room, yeah?”
…
Spamton lets out a sound of disbelief, at a loss for words.
So…that’s just it?
The marathon is cancelled, on account of rain? Tenna’s out of commission? And no one knows for how long ?
The studio door opens, and a dozen more lights come with it, Pippins all huddling up under Tenna and carrying him with ease as a group to their shared dressing room. Spamton moves to follow, stopping short at the touch of a gentle hand at his shoulder.
“…rain’s not too bad,” Ramb speaks quietly. “E’s never out too long, with rain. Might even get the show goin’ in time, if we’re lucky. But the way Ms. Elnina’s goin’ on…”
He hesitates then sighs.
“…might be good to get comfortable. Could be a long night...”
Spamton swallows, nods like he doesn’t feel like he might vomit.
Ramb addresses the room again.
“Let’s aaaall take a breatha. I’ll start fixing up what’s gonna spoil otherwise. Mistah Spamton’ll let us know when Mistah Tenna’s ‘is bright and shiny self again.”
Spamton feels that clutch of his heart again, and he gives Ramb another nod. On the other side of the room, he hears Lanino speaking to Elnina, something about lying down, resting her cloudy head.
…
Spamton strides over, chest tightening with shame as he notices Elnina flinch up. Lanino holds her tighter, eyes hard, but staying silent.
“…I-I’m sorry,” Spamton stammers.. “I didn’t mean to—sorry...“
“I understand,” Elnina cuts him off, letting out a calm sigh. “It’s your first time. You’re scared...and you care about him…”
Spamton is grateful for the dark, his heart suddenly pounding, eyes widening.
“Wh–whaddya—I-I mean of course , he’s my—he’s my co-host! Ten and me, we gotta stick together!!”
She hesitates for a moment, but she smiles sadly, pulling Lanino a little closer.
“Of course you do—just like the weather.”
“…”
Heat continues rising to his face as he watches the couple depart for their own dressing room.
What was that supposed to mean??
He huffs, realizing he’s alone in the dark, a gentle glow coming from his and Tenna’s dressing room. The sounds of business from behind the bar tell him that Ramb’s gotten to his tasks.
…time for Spamton to follow suit.
Crossing the threshold, he sees Pippins all over the dressing room, at least a dozen candles now lit throughout. One of them is taking a screwdriver to the smoke alarm, the fire sprinklers. Good idea…
His mouth goes dry as he suddenly sees what should be the most obvious in the glow. Tenna. They’ve laid him down on the sofa, the shitty red sofa with the broken spring. He takes up every cushion—the TV isn’t usually this size when he’s actually occupying the space.
A vision of walking in on him at his vanity, cigarette in hand, poring over a new script, flashes through Spamton’s mind. He turns, a wobbly grin on his screen as he greets Spamton, starts talking about his ideas for next week’s episode.
…
He swallows, stepping further, tense in a room he’s only ever felt safe in.
It’s hard to look away. He almost wants to. Surreal. So surreal. One moment, the guy is going on and on in his big showy way, laughing, hyped to hell, then the…very next, he’s—
“Do you need anything, Mr. Spamton, sir?”
“N-No,” Spamton shakes himself out of his daze, giving the Pippin an anxious smile. “No. I’m fine. Go ahead, get outta here. Ramb’s making food. I’ll let’cha know if we need anything...thank you, for the help.”
They never need to be told twice to call it quits, and within a few seconds, they’ve filed out, the door closing gently behind.
....
In the candlelight, it’s not too dim.
But it is too quiet.
It’s too quiet, when he’s sharing a room with Tenna.
“…”
“…fuck,” a breath rattles out of Spamton. His hand goes over his heart, willing the tremble in his fingers to stop. “You always gotta be the center of attention, don’tcha?”
He huffs, moving to his vanity stool to roll it closer. There’s no joining Tenna on the sofa.
As he sits, his eyes never leave Tenna’s still form, up and down his body.
“Well…great timing. Couldn’t be better,” he sighs, scratching the back of his head. “What are those damn kids gonna do now, I wonder? You ’n me are in deep shit if they start readin' books, right?”
…
“Or worse, playing cards,” he groans, hesitantly putting his feet up on a few centimeters of space the sofa allows. “Don’t get me started on cards.”
…
Silence. Of course
Spamton leans over, gently, so gently, tilting Tenna’s monitor to face him.
“Geez, Ten, it’s like I’m talking to myself here,” he jokes, his laugh strained.
…
…
Catching the sight of only his own reflection in the dead screen, little by little, his facade faded.
Call it shock, call it fear, call it….something else. Something Spamton can’t place a word for.
Or maybe somewhere in his mind, he refuses to name it, but—
…
He scowls, pushing Tenna’s monitor in annoyance. His head tilts, but goes back to a stable position. Facing Spamton, reflecting him as he shudders another breath, harder this time. He shoves this time, harder, palm flat, his grunt and the dull smack against the bevel breaking the silence.
When all Tenna’s head does is tilt back again, settles, stills, silent, he stops.
It’s still just his reflection.
His deep frown.
His knitted brow.
The flickering lights of the candles.
He’s just off.
Never out too long.
Could be a long night.
“...so this is just normal,” he mutters, disgusted. “Everyone else walking around like this is normal. Nothing goddamn normal about any of it…look at you.”
He nudges Tenna’s hand with his the tip of his shoe—
“Might as well be a—“
—and Tenna’s arm slips from the cushion, totally limp, a solid thud against the floor that makes Spamton gasp, almost choke. He curses, up so quickly from the rolling stool that it jostles, flying back and hitting his vanity with a loud clatter.
He takes Tenna’s hand off the floor. Heavy. Lifeless. Cold.
…
Spamton clutches it. Holds it to his chest like he’s trying to push it inside himself.
“Whaddya have to go scaring people for!? Huh?? You get off on it or something!?”
Not the first time.
Won’t be the last.
“Why am I even in here?? I-I could be partying with the Pippins and Ramb!! Free food’s the food that tastes the best! But no, they stuck me in here to babysit you!”
You’re scared.
You care about him.
“And you made Elnina cry!” he continues ranting, face hot. Damn candles. “You—I mean…I didn’t help, but—t-that’s all your fault! Why’d you hafta—Christ, Ten, I was so—!!“
“…”
“…I-I was so…”
“…”
…
Spamton shakily seats himself on the worn carpet, pressing himself against the sofa. Close. He wants to be closer. He needs it.
His forehead comes to Tenna’s screen, a spike going through his chest. He’s cold. A total absence of his usual warmth. Stillness, where his static should be tingling against his skin, pulling even Spamton's hair closer.
“…come on, ya cathode,” he murmurs, his thumb running along the side of Tenna’s hand. “The kids wanna see a scary movie. Right? You wanted to scare ‘em so damn bad? Can’t do that if ya don’t wake up.”
His other hand strokes Tenna’s bevel, the way he knows gets the most crackles on his monitor, those adorable pops and smatterings of RGB.
…
…to no response.
…
“You’re not supposed to be scaring the hell out of me!” he laughs, hurriedly wiping his eyes, hot tears brimming. Stupid. Stupid, he’s so stupid. This is normal. Everyone’s saying it’s normal. The hell’s he crying for!?
“I-I don’t even give a shit about the marathon anymore! Just wake up. Wake up so I can smack the circuits outta ya and not feel bad about it. Wake up so I can yell at ya. Wake up so I can—“
…
It’s only with a little hesitance that his lips meet Tenna’s screen.
Not the first time.
Hard not to feel like the last.
…it’s just cold glass, and his hot frustrated tears.
“…t-this is what you do to me. You know that? You don’t even know that. Never, not once in my fuckin’ life, cried over someone—and you do that to me. ‘Cause…’cause you’re good to me. And I’m…I’m not even good.”
He wheezes a laugh, fighting off the way his voice broke. Rubbing his eyes harshly. Stop.
“I’m not. I’m not good, Ten. And you…you like me anyway? You keep me around? You want me around?? I’m not even good at the shit you need me to do around here. Only a handful of good ideas, cursing on set and giving the censors hell, fighting with you over stupid shit, and you…you want me?? You treat me like I’m somebody? You let me call shots on your show? You… we …?”
His hand goes over Tenna’s chest, where his panel is.
Cold.
Another kiss.
Just a smudge on glass.
“…you’re an idiot ,” he mumbles, voice low. “Or you’re as messed up as me.“
…
Something in his chest clenches, heart pounding its way up into his throat. Shoving the word up with it. His voice trembles, down to a whisper.
“...which makes sense —why I goddamn—”
“—single breast! So help me, heads will roll!”
The suddenly white screen blinds Spamton, then the overhead lights, the studio lights, a sudden VWOOOO as power surges through the building.
He hears distant cheers.
“...”
Spamton watches, blinking stars out of his vision as Tenna’s gaze darts around. Registering the dressing room. A quick spark flashes between his antennae.
“...oh God! I didn’t go out, did I?? What time is it!?”
His gaze finally falls on Spamton, who—
…is still on the floor. Eyes red, breathing quickly, still clutching Tenna’s arm and hand like it’s his only possession in the world.
“…Spammy? Hey!” his voice softens in a heartbeat. Spamton shivers as Tenna’s free hand comes to stroke his cheek.
Voluntary. Warm.
Alive .
“Heeey, what’s going on? Are you cryi—?“
“These goddamn candles,” Spamton sputters, rubbing his eyes frantically, but leaning into Tenna’s palm on instinct. “M-Messing up my eyes…”
“Candles…oh. So I was out…”
“...yeah,” Spamton replies lamely. “S’what everybody was saying...”
“…are you okay?” Tenna’s voice is so gentle, as if he’s trying not to startle Spamton with the question. As if he’s not the one that was just dead to the world. “Were you worried?”
“No, course not,” Spamton lies through his teeth, voice still shaking. “You only passed out on the floor mid-sentence with no warning, why would I—?“
Spamton’s deflection is silenced with a kiss.
Soft lips.
Warm screen.
Buzzy static.
… Tenna.
He melts in an instant, whimpers, his hands flying to cradle the sides of Tenna’s monitor as Tenna’s hands caress his body, pulling him closer, getting him up off the floor.
Relief.
“Ten,” he breathes, his touch roving Tenna’s warm torso as he’s settled onto his lap. Anyone else in the world, he’d detest being picked up and handled, but Tenna. Tenna. Spamton presses himself to his chest, lips to his monitor, his bevel, the screen with overwhelming urgency.
“Don’t—” kiss “—do that shit—” kiss “—ever again.”
“I can’t control the weather, Spam!” Tenna laughs, returning the affection with his hands at the small of Spamton’s back. Soothing.
“We’ll get a generator. Hook you up."
“We’d need one for the whole studio, not just me!”
“Fuck the studio.”
“Spammy~!”
Creeeeak.
“Mistah Spamton! The powah’s back! Howzzit lookin’ for Mistah Te—?”
…
“…”
“…”
“…my 'pologies!”
The door slams.
“…w-we got eight til showtime.” Ramb’s voice muffles through the door. “The forecast looks good, only some light rain now. Ms. Elnina’s feelin’ like ‘erself again, too, and the crew’s all fed. I think we can still pull it off. If…ah…that’s still—?“
“Ramb, find a Pip and tell ‘em to call places!” Tenna calls across the room, projecting through the door.
“On it, Mistah Tenna!”
Spamton clumsily slides off Tenna, whose screen has been an adorable shade of pink for the last minute or so. He can’t say he’s not just as embarrassed, but frankly, the relief he feels is still too strong for him to care about anything else.
“...R-Ramb’s a tight ship, so—don’t worry!” Tenna laughs nervously, wiping Spamton’s smudges from his screen with his pocket cloth.
“Ain’t worried at all.”
“Good~”
He’s shrunk down to his usual dressing room size, enough to where he doesn’t have to lean down too far to kiss Spamton again, caressing his flushed cheek.
“Thank you, for taking care of me,” he murmurs with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, if you were scared…if I scared you.”
“…”
Spamton kisses him again, a quick peck, a grin coming to his face.
“Hey. Thought you called places. What kinda marathon doesn’t have a host? Get outta here, I’m right behind you.”
“...”
Tenna’s smile wobbles, giving him one last kiss before laughing a soft, “Okay~” And in a few quick strides, he’s out the door.
Spamton hangs back, listening to the sound of hurried footsteps in the hall. There’s several calls of things like “Glad you’re back, Mr. Tenna!” Pippins calling instructions, cues, etc..
He takes a step toward the door.
In the hallway Lanino passes the doorframe, Elnina in tow, their hands connected.
She sees Spamton out of the corner of her eye, meets his gaze, and gives him a happy grin before they’re off and away
…
The word settles in his mind.
The one he hasn’t considered.
Or…no. He has, and he’s tried crushing it down and throwing it away.
What was apparently only twenty minutes without Tenna had felt like an eternity.
An empty, sad…suddenly meaningless eternity.
…there’s a word.
And he’d almost said it out loud for the first time, just before Tenna had finally woken up.
Were you worried?
Thank you for taking care of me.
…
Spamton smacks his cheeks, bracing himself.
Relax.
It’s over…
Even when he’s conscious, Tenna makes him think too much…
With a final check in the vanity, Spamton hurries out, knowing that whatever horror film is on the docket for tonight, it won’t faze him at all.