Chapter Text
It was raining in Cyber City.
Whilst an illogical statement, it was nonetheless true, falling in thick sheets of digital droplets that sparked and crackled on the circuitry underfoot. Shop signs and lights glared down at the city's inhabitants, bathing the streets in a twenty-four hour neon glow.
In an abandoned alleyway, dashing through the rain, was what looked like a puppet.
In a feeble attempt to protect his hair, he was holding an extremely oversized air freshener over his head. It was green, and shaped like a pine tree. It lacked any kind of smell, as it was used up.
The soaked puppet approached a large dumpster, placing the ornament gently to one side as he worked on wedging his plastic, ball-jointed hand under the lid. Once successful, he carefully slid the tree in, before following himself with a sharp clunk.
Inside, he turned on the only feeble light he owned, glow sputtering gently. He usually wouldn't waste the batteries like this, but it was a bit of a special occasion.
With care, he felt at the softened edges of the tree where the rain had destabilised the code, tsking quietly. His face glitched to one side, particles of his own code dislocating to the left, before resettling again in their usual position.
Pulling the dry newspaper he called a blanket over his head in a futile attempt to warm himself, he began to work.
Shaking hands he didn't quite recognise yet ripped jagged, wonky stars from scribbled-on papers, which he stuck to the air freshener with tacks and bits of nails he had been keeping an eye out for for weeks. Yesterday, he had ripped a red 'SALE' sticker off of a display owned by one of his siblings, and today, he shredded it into little round red pieces, sticking them haphazardly to his tree.
He sat back and admired his work. Without the lights, and the TV snow, and the presence of [[Anything You See On TV!]] it just wasn't quite the same. The puppet scrubbed something wet from his face that wasn't rain.
He sighed. "MERRY CHRISTMAS, [Trash Heap]." he murmured, and leant against the frigid wall of the bin.
.
.
.
Spamton was annoyed.
It had been an otherwise normal morning in TV World’s studio. Get up, get ready, answer the phone. Sear the words of his benefactor into his brain so that he could turn a profit and become a [[Big Shot]]. Receive a coffee made to his specifications from his usual pippins, brought to his door at exactly 8.30am on the dot.
Except, and Spamton paused at his vanity to meet his own dark eyes with a glare, there was no coffee. No pippins. Whilst it wasn't unusual for them to “forget” his coffee, he had hoped after last time… well, let's just say he had hoped he wouldn't have to be imparting any reminders again.
With a sigh, he fixed any outstanding flyaways around his face, and preened flat the feathers fluffing angrily up around his collar. He slipped his arms into his creaseless red blazer, and with one last exasperated glance in the mirror, swiftly made his way over to the door of his dressing room.
The hallway outside was empty.
Ok, that was ok, sometimes the studio could be very quiet at this time of morning. He glanced about both ways, still somewhat hoping his usual pippins would appear, but the hallway remained empty and dim.
With a grunt, Spamton shoved his hands in his pockets and made his way down the hallway to Tenna’s room. He knocked loudly on the wooden door, and the sound echoed down the silent hallway.
“[He y, hey!], Ant! Are you ready?” he called.
No response. Spamton sighed, running a hand irritably through his hair, before snatching it away, remembering he had just styled it.
With a grumble and a shrug, he turned and stalked down the hallway and turned a corner, heading now to the Green Room in search of coffee, or the nearest person who could get him one.
“[What are you looking at?]” he muttered at a watercooler as he passed, and felt a little guilty as it bubbled politely back at him.
As he neared the Green Room, Spamton suddenly noticed two things.
Firstly, there was a strange sort of vibration humming through the air. A distant thudding, almost like what you would hear outside of a club with very loud music. He could feel it through the soles of his white leather shoes, buzzing slightly from the linoleum tile.
The second, was a pile of abandoned decorations piled up by the door. They looked like they had been hastily forgotten in favour of something else, left discarded haphazardly to one side. In the low lighting of the early morning studio and Spamton’s coffee-deprived mind, he was unsure what kind of decorations they were. Something glittery. Something round.
He shrugged. Something for someone else to tidy up. Whatever those props were? Not his problem.
He opened the Green Room door.
Sound and light blasted from the room, an incomprehensible jumble of sheer volume and activity. As it turned out, the reason the hallway was so empty was that literally every other employee of the studio seemed to be here.
As Spamton blinked into the brightness and noise, trying to comprehend what exactly he had walked in on, he felt his jaw grow slack.
Behind the bar was Ramb, handing out box upon cardboard box to a hoard of pippinses and shadowguys who were cheerfully hauling them away to [[Heaven]] knows where.
Across the way, Lanino and Elnina were bedecked in matching red outfits with white fur trim. They were dictating a group of zappers who were teetering dangerously on ladders in an attempt to hang glittering tinsel and garlands of cranberries and pinecones from the starry green walls.
A few shuttahs surrounded a massive, high definition fir tree that had not been in the studio the day prior, and seemed to be in a seriously intense discussion of the most photogenic way to hang a bundle of knotted, unlit christmas lights upon the tree.
And, at the centre of it all, trying to corral the chaos like some mad conductor of the world’s unruliest orchestra, was Tenna.
He seemed taller than usual, and was shouting orders like it was his job (which, Spamton supposed, it usually was). Unfortunately, he was wearing the most hideous Christmas sweater Spamton had ever seen. It was green and red and white, with tiny little TVs sprinkled among snowflakes, reindeer, and santas. Christmas lights were woven into the wool in every colour imaginable, making it look like he was glowing from within. A scarf of golden tinsel was wrapped merrily around his neck, alongside a large santa hat that tightly hugged the four corners of his boxy head. Little holes had been cut into the hat to let his antennae curl cheerily through. Spamton suddenly realised that alongside his shouted orders, extremely loud Christmas music was blasting from Tenna’s own worn and crackling speakers, popping with feedback occasionally from the sheer volume of noise.
Christmas music. Christmas tree. Christmas tinsel and garlands… Oh. Oh no.
He felt himself grow dimmer and paler than his usual bright white glow usually allowed, but before he could slam the door on the eruption of festivity, Tenna spotted him from across the battlefield with a staticky squeak of delight.
“Spamton~!” Tenna cried, and twirled towards him with glee. To Spamton’s horror, a sprig of holly sprouted from the tip of Tenna’s nose, instead of his usual flower.
Somehow, Tenna made his way over to Spamton, deftly dodging the employees that would otherwise be so easily crushed underfoot. His smile was spread so wide it touched each side of his screen, fangs on full display as he grinned down at Spamton with unbridled excitement. He grabbed the sprig of holly from his nose and tucked it neatly into the buttonhole of Spamton’s lapel before he could even begin to think of protesting.
“You FINALLY made it!” Tenna exclaimed, and, as if he knew exactly how to further Spamton’s grumpiness, grabbed him by the armpits and swung him around in a circle. Celebratory confetti rained down upon them. “I didn't think you'd ever arrive!”
Spamton felt unwell. It was far too early for spinning. “[Cathode] it's,” he checked his watch, “Ten to nine in the morning. I haven't even had my coffee.”
“And we’ve been at it since seven!... Ah,” he paused and put one finger to his mouth in thought, holding Spamton with one hand. Christmas music assaulted Spamton’s senses inches from his face, and he wrinkled his long nose in disgust. “Did, uh, anyone actually tell you this was happening today?”
Spamton looked around at the chaos. “Nope. [Nada].” He wiggled his legs feebly. “Put me down?”
“Oh! Sorry.” Tenna placed him gently on the floor. Immediately, a pippins almost pushed him over, rushing past with a large tub of assorted baubles.
“What the [$!?!] is going on, Tens?” asked Spamton with exasperation. Tenna only beamed at him, screen glowing brighter, if that was possible.
“Why, it's December first! What do you think we're doing?” he stepped to one side as a group of shadowguys lugged another highly detailed tree past from… outside? Spamton realised the doors to the Cold Place swung often with the coming and goings of the crew.
He looked away and hesitantly back up at the expectant CRT. “...Decorating… for Christmas…?”
“Correct!” a loud correct ding! cut through Tenna’s Christmas playlist, sharp and loud. With a wince, he seemed to finally notice his own volume, and the noise dimmed just a notch.
“But Ant, isn't [Wish You a Merry Christmas] a Lightner holiday?” he looked apprehensively around the room and the ceaseless buzz of activity. He winced as a zapper fell from their ladder, landing roughly on Lanino beneath them as Elnina clutched at her cloudy curls in distress. Lanino raised one shaky thumbs up and she wilted with relief.
Tenna was oblivious. “Ah that's right!” he bent at the waist to get a better look at Spamton, golden tinsel scarf almost dragging on the floor. The addison couldn't help but notice how the TV’s long cable tail swished excitedly from side to side. Christmas lights had been wound prettily around the wire, giving it a bright, eye-searing glow. He forced himself to look up into Tenna’s equally bright screen instead. “This is your first time doing the holidays with us, isn't it?”
Tenna raised one gloved hand to his head in a mock swoon. “Oh, Spam, I completely forgot! Sometimes it just feels like you've been with us in TV World since forever~!”
Spamton rolled his eyes. This wasn't the first time Tenna had forgotten to inform him of yearly traditions since he had started co-hosting with him a little under a year ago. He thought shamefully of the Nose-Nuzzling ‘97 trophy he had definitely been forced to compete for, shoved to the back of his wardrobe in his dressing room.
Spamton scratched at his neck bashfully. “Well, Tens, I, uh, hate to [Break It, You Buy It] to you, but I'm not exactly… a fan of Christmas.”
It was the wrong thing to say.
There was an immediate record scratch from the CRT’s speakers, and Nat King Cole’s Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire sputtered and died to a dull ember of silence.
In the sudden quiet, it seemed the whole room turned to see the source of Tenna’s silence.
The shuttahs ceased their argument where they had finally untangled the lights and began hanging them with pristine accuracy.
Lanino and Elnina shared a furtive glance from where they were helping the fallen zapper to their feet.
At the bar, Ramb just put one paw over his face in resignation.
Unusually, the pippins, who were often the most dissident of Tenna’s employees, looked particularly miffed on his behalf, glaring at Spamton with ill-concealed contempt.
A single bauble clattered onto the linoleum tile.
“What?” he asked the room. “I'm allowed an opinion.”
He glanced up at Tenna’s dark screen just in time as it shuddered back into activity, his mouth a hazy, unfocused wobble.
“Yes! Yes, that's so- so TRUE, folks!” grit out Tenna, and put one heavy hand on Spamton’s shoulder. “ACTUALLY, Spam, why don't we, uh, take this into the hallway?”
With gentle, but unyielding force, Tenna roughly dragged Spam back through the door he had just come through, shutting it firmly behind them with a click. As soon as it was shut, there was a pause before a cacophony of noise seeped from under the door as the studio’s crew tried to organise themselves without the guidance of their boss.
Tenna turned to Spamton, fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose as he tried to keep ahold of his composure. Spamton found it hard to take him seriously as his bedazzled cohost lit up the dim corridor like he was a Christmas tree himself, lights sparkling against the tile and vaguely glittery wallpaper.
“Spam, you can't just - can't just say something like that in front of the entire crew! Think of the morale!” he waved one hand frantically above his head before sagging and shrinking, ever so slightly. “Do you… really, not like Christmas?” he murmured, and fiddled at the lights entwined in his tail.
Spamton huffed and leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
“What can I say, [CRT]? It's just a ploy by big corporations to get everyone to [Buy Now!!]” he shrugged. “Trust me. I know a scam when I see one.”
“No, no, no, Spam, you've got it all wrong!” Tenna let go of his tail, and took the ad’s smaller hands into his bigger ones, covering them gently with his thumbs. “Christmas is about joy and laughter, and spending time with your family!”
Spamton thought bitterly of his addison siblings back in cyber city, and had to hold back a scoff. Like he'd spent his rare holiday time with them.
“‘It’s the most wonderful time of the year~!’” sang Tenna, a tiny jingle accompanying his tiny rendition. “It's about cosy lights and good food, and warm drinks,” he continued normally, squeezing Spamton’s hands softly. “It's about spending time with those you love.”
Suddenly Spamton’s eyes couldn't meet the TV’s screen, so he looked down at his shiny white shoes, which were reflecting the Christmas lights from Tenna’s sweater. Reluctantly, he wiggled his hands out from Tenna’s. The CRT was so warm. “I don't like Christmas,” he repeated.
“Well, how about a bet then?” asked Tenna, and Spamton looked up so quickly, their noses almost collided.
“What?” he must’ve misheard Tenna.
“A bet!” Tenna smiled at him coyly. “I bet that I can make you love Christmas again.” He toyed with the holly at Spamton’s lapel, leaning in closer than a boss probably should. Spamton didn’t mind.
“I bet, that under all - all this -” he gestured vaguely, before tapping one finger on Spamton’s chest, claw poking him unthreateningly, “- is someone who would love a bit of festive cheer, some mulled wine, and a mince pie by the fire. The magic of Christmas.” He pulled his hand away and several suspiciously Christmas coloured sparkles glittered magically from his fingertips.
Spamton scoffed, looking away. “I’m a [Real Boy!] you know, this isn’t some Hallmark Christmas movie where you can just convince me to love Christmas.”
“Wanna bet on it?” repeated Tenna, grinning at him now.
Spamton sighed. “Yeah, sure, why not. But,” and Tenna paused the outreach of his hand, ready to shake on it. “I [Joker’s Bet] that I can prove to you that Christmas is just [Capitalism, baby!].”
Tenna’s smile quirked to one side, “Sure. You can try.”
They shook on it, Tenna’s large, gloved palm easily encompassing Spamton’s smaller hand. Tenna pulled Spamton into twirl, spinning him like a dancer. He beamed at him, and Spamton couldn’t help but return it, his own tiny, reluctant grin mirroring Tenna’s.
The tinsel at Tenna’s neck tickled at his face, causing him to sneeze as Tenna straightened up from where he’d been crouching to meet Spamton at his level.
Keeping his hand in Spamton’s, Tenna tugged him back towards the Green Room with renewed excitement, throwing open the door once more.
With one regretful last look at the peaceful and quiet corridor, Spamton followed him into the surge of festivity.
“Alright folks!” boomed Tenna, at odds with the gentle squeeze of reassurance he gave Spamton’s hand, “Can I get an ETA on the nutcrackers please! Hey, you! Go find the special sparkly tinsel? You know the one!” He snapped the fingers of his free hand. “And you! Go get Mr. Spamton our BEST Christmas hot chocolate!”
“Coffee please,” corrected Spamton.
“Make that a coffee!”