Chapter Text
After checking and double-checking the lights, Tenna cued Mike to get the show on the road. The shadowguys burst into song, starting off with an old classic jazz tune that Tenna hummed along with. She had approved it herself, their set mostly predetermined, but those ladies were quite specific with their contract allowing for improv. The negotiations had gone well this round, everyone turning out happy.
Except for one.
Making her way through the wings, waving a quick hi to Mike (how she got down from the booth so quickly, Tenna would never know), and patting a nervous-looking Pippins on the back, Tenna slid into a seat at Ramb’s in the green room. It had been a long week so far. It was only Thursday, but Tenna’s nerves were shot due to a certain someone’s constant presence.
“Ladies, Elnina. Drinking already, I see?” Tenna didn’t let them reply. “I’ll join you. The usual, please. A double.”
The weather duo looked a little surprised, but it was Ramb who spoke up first. “All good there?”
“There’s no business like show business. But goodness, if that business doesn’t get to me sometimes.”
Tenna put her head down on the counter, listening to the giggles from the sun and cloud next to her. “It’s not fairrrrrr,” she whined, putting on her normal act. She considered shrinking to really seal the deal, but decided it wasn’t worth it. “Ugh.” Saying it out loud, admitting to her coworkers exactly what (or who) was pissing her off? That was a lapse in control. They could fill in the rest themselves. She just needed the validation, even if they didn’t know that the stupid saleswoman was who was on her mind.
Ramb set down an Old Fashioned, extra bitters, next to her drooping antennae. “Luv, you gotta let it out sometimes. We’re… we’re here, a’right? And we get showbiz, just as well as you.”
Tenna pushed herself up, accidentally flashing the barmaid as her scowl neck dropped. Ramb closed her eyes out of respect, pretending to polish a glass. “I appreciate it, Ramb. But you know I’m just joking, right? It’s acting, darling. If you get it, you’ll get that, too.” Lanino and Elnina exchanged a glance and giggled even harder. Glaring gently, she shoved the sun into her boyfriend. “The two of you need to get back to work. I do too. Ramb, thanks for the drink. I’ll probably bring it with to my dressing room, and get the glass back to you later. Bug me about it before you do inventory tonight, will you?”
Ramb worried her bottom lip. “Of course, luv.”
“Oh, and if you see Spamton, remind her that I asked her to come by.”
Tenna left, not bothering to check that her underlings were listening. At the moment, she only really cared about one, anyway.
---
“Why hellooooooooo, [Don’t [miss] out!] Tenna, you asked to see me?”
Spamton walked in without knocking while Tenna was gazing out across the cliffs, her porch door open to get some fresh air. Focus. Focus.
She wasn’t focused.
Tenna bit the inside of her cheek, letting her fangs pinch the flesh without cutting it, giving her just enough pain. The drink hadn’t had too much of an impact, but it never hurt to recenter.
“Spamton G. Spamton, the woman of the hour. Come in, come in! Can I get you a drink?” Of course, it never hurt to have more to drink, too. It made her seem more genuine, more clingy. Spamton liked that. Finally, she turned to the Addison at the door.
She was leaning against the frame, holding her suit jacket over her shoulder by a finger. Tenna pretended not to imagine what else that finger could do as she swept over Spamton. Her slacks were still pressed, the crease from the iron down its legs making her look even more angular. Her white shirt, pink-and-gold pinstripes, was half tucked in. Tenna wished she had the balls to walk over and snap her olive green suspenders against it, watching her tits jiggle and hearing the soft gasp (or would it be a moan?) resulting.
Wow, Tenna needed to calm it down.
They’d had a long day, and still weren’t done––the kids had put on MTV, meaning the shadowguys had it covered, but soon enough Asgore would get home. Tenna would have to freshen her screen, probably have a coffee. But right now they still had an hour or so, and she could use that time to keep wearing down Spamton. And her own patience, of course.
“If you’re offering.”
Tenna broke her gaze, hoping it hadn’t come off as hungry. She might not have eyes, but her screen tended to betray her at the worst times. “So, for tonight.” Spamton rolled her eyes loudly. Ignoring that, Tenna busied herself pouring a neat bourbon, hearing the door shut quietly behind her as Spamton entered.
“FOR TONIGHT. Tire of Luck is on, so some phrases. Let me know if you have any suggestions that won’t get us killed by the censors. Importantly for you, however, we need prizes. How do you feel about a Cungadero for the grand prize? Or a trip to… somewhere? Last week, we had––“
There was a warmth behind her body, making her stiffen and cut off her rambling.
“We had those [Choose your OWN flavor!] teas for the board, and bespoke suits for the grand, I remember. My buddy still owes me for that break.” Spamton reached around her and grabbed the glass. “A Cung would be fine, I’ll see what I can rustle up. Thanks for the drink.” She pressed up into Tenna briefly enough that it was probably an accident.
Tenna felt her claws beg to extend, to dig into the table, to dig into Spamton’s back, but simply bit down harder to keep them retracted. No static taste yet, so she’d only need to brush her teeth before the show if she had a coffee.
Pretending not to be affected, Tenna turned around with her drink, leaning back against the cabinet. She matched Spamton’s lean against the pool table and smiled widely to show off her fangs, just subtle enough to indicate that she wasn’t taking Spamton’s shit today. She raised the glass. “To you, and to our partnership.”
After a moment, Spamton raised her glass in return. “To us.”
They both drank deeply, Tenna keeping her lack of eyes cooly on Spamton’s throat, trying to decide if she had really seen a gulp upon flashing her fangs. She ignored the heat pooling in her lower wires and focused instead on her plans. Long term, long term. It wouldn’t do to rush their partnership, to get her success or for other reasons. Keep it in your skirt, boob tube.
“[CRT stands for Cathode Ray Tube], we’ve still got some time before the show. Let me step out to make a call about the Cungadero, but what do you say we play some pool and I finish my drink after that?”
“Sounds hunky-dory to me.” Angel above, Ramb was rubbing off on her. At least it sounded more old fashioned, rather than like she spent too much time at the bar.
Spamton grinned and ran her fingers through her hair, greasing it back further. “[We’ll be right back!]” she said, stealing Tenna’s voice line.
Tenna waited until the door shut, then waited 10 more seconds. She then threw her head back, letting out a soft sigh, and shuddered. She considered grabbing at her tits just to relieve a bit of tension, quickly making up an excuse that her bra was slipping down to permit herself. “Darn strapless bras,” she muttered to herself. If she took extra time adjusting it, letting the wire bite into her skin, and massaging around, well, that was just to check for breast cancer. After all, the high-energy electrons coming from the nape of her neck could do that, right? She had to be on top of her game to prevent it. The second soft moan coming out of her mouth was uncorrelated.
She finished arranging her clothes by pulling at the pleats on the neck of her dress, then turned to the pool table and started setting it up. This was a bad choice, she knew just how Spamton got, and she was rather hot under the collar herself. But the two of them had been doing this dance for a few months now, what was one round of billiards before the show? They were professionals.
Tenna arranged the balls, solid-stripe-solid-stripe, 8 in the middle, pull the wood triangle to tighten them together. When Asriel was a baby, Asgore would put on pool tournaments, the soft click of wood and felt on ivory––they were fancy tournaments––lulling the child to sleep. Tenna’s set was a replica of those, with their heavy ivory balls and maple wood cues and deep green felt. She lifted the triangle from the table and set it below on its hook.
Briefly, she cursed phones. She knew Spamton needed to take calls often, once letting an ad space go unused to do so, but… she hated to admit it, but she was jealous. The attention they got. From Spamton and otherwise. What she wouldn’t give to have that for herself.
She took another sip from her drink and grimaced. The ice had melted, leaving the whiskey diluted and the flavor fading away. The orange peel at the bottom grinned up at her, mocking her.
Extending a claw, she fished it out. No use wasting the whiskey on it, she had just slipped it into her mouth to tongue it off when she heard the door open.
“Apologies, [Anthill]. The Cung will be here in 30 minutes. Plenty of time for a round of pool, I’ll just keep my phone with me.”
Of course she would.
Tenna slowly pulled the peel from her mouth, relishing the bitterness of the rind and scraping it with her teeth. She tossed it into the trash with a graceful arc, then turned to Spamton who was watching with a bored look. Still, the flat mouth and slightly creased forehead couldn’t hide the way her eyes followed the orange as Tenna sucked it. Good. Attention back on her. They could work on the expressing it later.
“~Play ball!~”
Tenna lined up for the break, not giving Spamton a chance to ask who was going first. If she leaned over a bit too much, well, that wasn’t her fault. She slid one hand back along the cue, index finger over, thumb and middle guiding, before violently pushing forward.
Spamton jumped slightly at the sound, watching the balls swirl around the table, and grabbed her drink. “[It was a good 8reak.].” The 3 fell in, followed by the 15. “Thanks, [Babe the Blue Ox], for getting one of each. You’re [solid, liquid, gas], I’m [stars and stripes].”
Her ads were coming more frequently. Good. It meant she was at a loss for words, or at least the right words. Tenna tossed her head back and looked around the table. Clean strike on the 2 to the corner pocket, trickier on the 7, but it would put the cue ball in a nasty spot for Spamton. Maybe she could get the 2, then the 7?
The safe bet was the better. Even if the 2 set her up poorly for the 7, a sink was a win. The more strikes she got in, the more likely it was to spook Spamton even further. The saleswoman mostly kept a straight face, a straight (well, relaxed, but never-changing) posture. Her eyes and voice were what betrayed her, and without a repertoire, it was hard to know what those tells were.
At this point, Tenna knew her just barely under the surface, not quite inside and out. Hopefully, she’d get inside soon enough.
Tenna shot the cue to the 2, adding enough spin that it sunk without scratching.
(Spamton had been a mystery when she first arrived, the Cyber World darkeners still a little new on their third interaction. As Lord of Screens, Tenna had taken to interacting mainly with Queen, the two of them gossiping about new liquid crystal displays and touch screens. Queen had gotten generous with his battery acid that day, the TV Land crew spread across his ballroom, chatting with the laptop’s inhabitants.)
The 7 was trickier, but she managed it with a behind-the-back shot, thrusting her chest in Spamton’s general direction. Drat, now she had to find another shot to fuck her over.
(Spamton had arrived outside, revving the engine of her Cungadero, making such a racket that Tenna couldn’t help but look out the window. The greasy saleswoman had locked her car quickly before rushing into the castle. Queen stared with Tenna, his eyes flashing LMAO, stating quietly that Tenna should make her way to the entrance to greet the new arrival. She did as he said, lounging as inconspicuously as an 8-foot CRT could by the double doors for 10 minutes.)
She could get the 1 if she hit the 14 first, but that risked hitting them both in. The 4 held a similar issue. The 6 would take a rebound shot, which she wasn’t very good at. She could always just reposition the 5…
(Spamton walked in, no less greasy but at least in a dress shirt. She scanned the crowd before catching Tenna pretending to do the same, but actually watching the Addison. Swatch scurried over, scolding Spamton for being late. She had simply laughed and told Swatch that her clients came first, if she wanted to keep her job as a big shot dealmaker.)
Screw it, she’d do the 14 to 1. Spamton was oddly silent, probably keeping in some ad spots. Tenna let herself breathe heavily as she lined up the shot, less obviously presenting herself this time.
(Tenna’s first impression was annoyance. Sure, confidence was good and all, but calling yourself a big shot like that? This girl was cocky. She seemed like she would be hard to work with. The outfit and hair made her look untidy, but she still carried herself like she was the highest standard for womanhood. Tenna’s impulse was to knock her down a peg, but if this was who Queen had been talking about, then she could make use of the twerp. Tenna did not address the part at the back of her mind that said she was cute, deciding to deal with that later.
It was later now.)
They sunk together, Tenna having pocketed them both. Spamton barked a nervous laugh, slicking her hair back again. “Thanks, [American Girl Dolls for sale!].”
That was a new one. “Did you just try to call me ‘Doll,’ Spamton? And don’t think I didn’t hear you call me ‘babe’ earlier.”
The Addison turned #cd2d4d red. “[I can neither confirm nor deny].”
Tenna put down the cue. “I’m sorry?”
Spamton opened and shut her mouth, then grabbed and chugged the rest of her drink. “[One moment please.]” With a curious tilt to her head, Tenna watched. She wished she had eyelashes to bat innocently. “It’s me who should be [I’m sorry?], a dry mouth makes my condition worse. My, er, phone call was a little distracting.”
$#1†, so it wasn’t Tenna showing off that had gotten her hot and bothered. Trying not to shrink in disappointment, she said, “Well, I’m sorry to hear that. Please, feel free to have some more––though perhaps coffee might be better for us both. We’re on in 45.”
Spamton checked her Rolex. “I’ll take another bourbon. Do you want one?”
Tenna lined up a random shot, towards the 5. Barely touched it.
“I’ll get one for us both. It’s your turn.” She grabbed Spamton’s glass from her hand, letting their fingertips ghost. Something dark in the back of her mind told her to grab her arm too, to make her focus on Tenna rather than on that stupid phone. She knew she had to play nice, though, to get what she wanted.
The balls clicked behind her as she swung her hips stupidly, trying to act seductive. Blame it on the heels. On the bourbon. On anything but her need for her business partner.
“I sunk the 12, Tenna.”
“Alright. Single or a double on the drink?”
Another round of clicks. “...Single.”
Tenna considered pouring a double anyway, but decided against it. She poured one for herself though. The balls on the table behind her thunked softly but sharply against the felt. Spamton must’ve hit the cue hard to get it to move like that. “That’s the 11.”
Despite the hard hit, the sound of ivory hitting leather was drowned out by Spamton’s laughter. “Not too shabby, hm?”
Another click, but only one.
“A miss. Back to you, Miss.”
Tenna flashed her award-winning smile as she brought them back their drinks. This would only be drinks three and four for her, but then she needed that dang coffee.
She took the cue and took in the table. The 5 was in a much better spot now, but the 6 would now need a rebound in the other direction.
“So what’s on the [Cat-themed Weekly, Monthly, Yearly planners only at Office Max!]? Anything out of the ordinary?”
This, Tenna could deal with. At least she wasn’t talking about her damn phone call. “Not much. Lanino and Elnina said there were some pressure fronts swinging by that could bring a tornado this week, though. You could find some ad spots for roof repair.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Do we have the usual [point me in the right direction, will ya?] for Tire of Luck’s board, or are we doing the tea again?”
“The usual.” Tenna sunk the 5. “Next week we can do another theme, though. Maybe candy? Mother’s Day is coming, Toriel loves chocolates. It might convince them to go buy some. Do you… do you earn commission from those sales?”
Spamton shook her head, a dark strand of hair falling into her face. “Not from TV ads usually. From a spot on a show, I would get a standard rate, but that doesn’t depend on what gets sold.”
Interesting. “So no royalties.”
“Ads aren’t [Let’s get creative!] works like TV shows. They’re products, just like what they sell. One-time purchase, and then they’re not yours anymore.”
“I assume it’s a pretty big payday all at once, then.”
Spamton watched as Tenna sunk the 6, too. No rebound necessary from the new position. She caught Tenna’s attention, cigarette in hand, and waited for the nod before lighting it. “It’s nothing to sneeze at. I’m better with links to click, with websites, and emails, but I’m a woman of many talents.”
Tenna was torn between pressing more on the finances, finding out why the hell Spamton would stay here if she wasn’t making as much as she did in Cyber City, and pressing more about those other talents. Either could ruin the mood, depending on Spamton. Instead of acting, she lined up her shot at the 4. Her last before the 8. This one would be tricky. She could feel Spamton’s eyes on her back, from the other end of the table. Rotating the stick in her hand, she prepared to strike.
“[Hochi mama!]!”
She was lucky she hadn’t hit it yet, because Spamton’s outburst would’ve certainly thrown her off.
“Spamton! What the [explicative]? Are you okay?”
“Stubbed my [head, shoulders, knees, and toes]. Sorry.”
Tenna tsked before lining up her shot again. She missed anyway.
Spamton snagged the cue from her. “Let me show you how it’s done.” She had to stifle a giggle.
“Of course, show me a big shot, will you?”
The girl preened at that, her slicked-down hair unable to hide the gentle brustle of feathers. She aimed at the corner pocket, where the 13 and 9 sat. “Now’s my chance.”
She got the 13 in solidly, but the 9 rolled over slowly, too slowly. Tenna had just started to smile teasingly when Spamton, enthralled in the game, jumped against the table to see better. The small jolt was enough to let the 9 down, too.
Were it any other game, were they playing for stakes, were it not Spamton in her dressing room… Tenna would’ve called it and brought the 9 back out. But the air was crackling with enthusiasm, Tenna was 3 drinks in, and Spamton was pretty short anyway. Probably couldn’t even see from down there.
She chuckled to herself. “Your shot again.”
Spamton circled the table like a hawk, getting into it. “What all’s left here… the 10? You’ve got the 4, then onto the 8. Seems we’re pretty evenly matched.”
“Seems like.” The Addison chose a spot, lining up for a rebound from the wall to the 10 to the side pocket. “Showing off, are you?”
Spamton smiled and paused before hopping up on the edge of the table to get a better angle. “Well, do you like what you see?”
Tenna nearly spat out her drink. She felt her screen start to turn pink, but ignored it. “I like that I’m a ball away from the 8. Let’s see how you do.” In order to intimidate Spamton and for absolutely no other reason, Tenna went around the table and pressed up right in front of where Spamton was sitting. For once, they were closer to eye level. Tenna was still eight feet tall, of course, but Spamton was only two feet shorter now.
Of course, that put Spamton right next to Tenna’s tits, with a full view of them if she was to just look down.
Tenna didn’t see that as a problem.
“Go ahead, take your shot.”
Spamton shot, then turned her head to look at Tenna. “HI.”
“Hello, dear viewer.”
“I have a proposal.”
Tenna raised an eyebrow.
Spamton gently pushed back on Tenna’s chest, making room for her to get down. They kept eye contact the whole time.
“Do you know what makes something [the No. #1 Ranked Salesman]––er, something catch the eye of the viewer?”
“Tell me.”
“[I, II, III, IV, V, VI]. VI.”
Okay, maybe Tenna didn’t know her well enough to get this speech quirk. “I mean, IV? As in drugs? Medicine?”
Spamton shook her head. “Those too. I mean when you’ve got a [Hochi MAMA] on screen. S-E-X sells, [Nobody puts Baby in a corner]. You know it, too. Why do you think you and [Hostess Cupcakes] keep your jobs? You’re great announcers, but there’s more to it than a nice smile.”
They were both business women, why was Spamton telling her this? “Yes, I do know that––that––sells. Censors are still online, sorry.” Chuckling, Spamton made a sound to indicate that it was fine and waved her hand, still quite close to Tenna’s chest. “What’s your proposition?”
“I’ve got some ads coming up. Ones that would take up a late-night slot. Only Asgore, maybe Toriel would be watching. Or Asriel, if he’s feeling daring. I need a [hochi mama]. Someone who looks good in a bikini. To lay across my car. [Do you know what I think, do you know what I think, about it?] who would be interested in the part?”
Tenna chewed her lip, pretending not to understand. “Um, I can ask around, maybe––“
“[Whatever you do, do not connect the cathode and anode together, that will result in–].”
“Yes?”
“I’m talking about you.”
“Me? Little old me? Work for you?”
“You got it, boss.”
Tenna let the flower bloom from her nose, hoping it would be seen as ironic. “I’d love to. But let’s finish our game first.”
“Let’s. I missed, so it’s yours.”
Tenna took the cue from Spamton without breaking eye contact. This was going well.
The cue ball had barely moved with her shot, but the 10 was significantly closer to a pocket. Must’ve hit it hard enough to bounce back perfectly––of course Spamton had that kind of dexterity to do trick shots. Damn her.
Regardless, Tenna was good at the game, if not at trick shots. She sunk the 4 with ease, then returned Spamton’s gaze while calling the 8 to the corner, a straight shot. Keeping her face towards Spamton, she sunk that, too. She was well-trained at keeping her tail from wagging too much, but even still, she was happy it was hidden under her gown as to not give away how happy she was to have won.
“[gg noob],” Spamton said.
“It was close. Shall we play again?” Tenna glanced at the clock. Still 20 minutes. Worst case, they could finish the game after-hours. And get to discussing that ad. And have another drink or two.
And maybe make use of her couch.
“Let me get us some coffee first. Can you reset?” Spamton nodded. “You normally take a double shot of espresso, yes? Anything different you want?”
Tenna’s drink cabinet was quite diverse, both for cocktails and lattes. What can she say, Toriel’s cooking shows had influenced her. And it made her feel like a good hostess whenever she had anyone in the room with her. Not that she did, other than Spamton.
“A [big shot] sounds good.”
Tenna listened to the wood-on-ivory clicks of the table being reset. “Un café allongé pour la madame?” They were just close enough to Canada to get French-language broadcasts, and while she wasn’t as good at French as she was at Spanish, she had still picked up a little.
“I didn’t know you were a [baguette], Tenna.” Spamton said it like a slur, but Tenna heard the teasing tone.
“Je parle assez de la langue. Vous me comprenez?”
“[Not a statement that functions as a response].”
Good. If those raunchy late-night movies were to be believed, hearing someone speak French was erotic, even if they didn’t understand it. She could work with that.
Back to the drinks, though. Her fancy espresso machine took a minute to prep, having to tamp down the grounds, but it was worth it. She did not pretend the dials on the machine were her own chest as she set it to run twice as long, nor did she run her fingers down them just to feel the sensation of metal on metal. Angel above she should not have agreed to a second game.
For herself, she used the other half of the allongé to make herself a latte, frothing the milk but not bothering to try and make the swan she’d been practicing. She wasn’t any good at it yet, anyway.
She set sugar cubes on plates and brought the drinks back to the table. Spamton had set up the triangle strangely, all of the solids near the back, making them far more likely to sink. Probably just a different philosophy for the game.
“Can I [break it up, you two!]?”
“Go ahead.”
Unsurprisingly, Spamton sunk a solid. She then proceeded to miss an easy shot on the 3. Tenna raised an eyebrow, but traded the espresso for the cue before lining up on the 10.
She played in silence, focusing in. The drinks were starting to hit, and she could feel her magnet voltage swaying, surely making her screen a little lopsided. The coffee should take that out by the time they were on stage, but in the meantime she would need to keep herself more under control. Spamton simply watched, stirring the sugar into her drink with a finger, making sure to clean it off regularly by slipping it into her mouth obscenely. Tenna would’ve sworn she saw Spamton close her eyes at one point, savoring it, making a practically orgasmic face. Probably just hadn’t had a good espresso in a while.
Tenna nearly cleared the table now that she wasn’t thinking about their conversation as much. The 10, the 11, the 9, the 15. Maybe the edge she thought Spamton would get from the layout was more even.
She missed a shot on the 14 though, giving back the cue and taking a second sip of her coffee. It wasn’t quite as good as she had thought from the reaction her co-host was giving, but it wasn’t half bad.
Spamton moved, as if to block her view of the board. Tenna laughed––she was tall enough to see the whole thing, anyway. For a moment, though, she could’ve sworn she saw Spamton’s hand move to the cue ball, moving it to get a better shot.
Hang on.
“Spamton?”
The hand moved back as quickly as it had approached. “Yes, [Cathode]?”
“Did you just–” A ringing sound interupted.
“Sorry, gotta take this. Probably the Cungadero arriving, anyway.” Spamton finished her espresso in a single gulp. Despite her growing anger, Tenna did take a moment to appreciate the flex of her throat as she swallowed. “[Toodles].” Spamton turned to leave, but before she could get to the door, Tenna slipped a finger down the back of her collar, brushing a claw against her neck.
“Let’s finish our game after the show.” Her voice made it clear that it wasn’t a question.
Spamton turned, saluted, turned back and rushed out of the room, rotary phone in hand. Oh, she was in big trouble for this. At least they’d have that prize.
Tenna sipped her drink. Still 5 minutes until curtain call. Her screen was back to normal, the magnet voltage under control. She glanced at her mirror, seeing the ring of lights around the edges reflect in her screen. Another sip. Had Spamton been cheating the whole time?
No point in thinking about it now. She flexed her claws, then rearranged her dress’ scoop neck again before finishing her drink. After the show. After the show.
Assuming she made it through.