Blazichu's writing blog. Sometimes I post proper fic, but most of the time it's headcanons, meta or unfinished bits and pieces. Fandoms rotate depending on what's up. As of June 2022, it's mostly Submas with the occasional Psychonauts or Deltarune sighting. If you want to get ahold of me, it's best to try me on main, but I keep an eye on what's going on over here, too.
No idea what this was for, but I just found it in an unrelated folder, so here you go:
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“Hey, uh, don’t… don’t hold it against Kris, okay? They didn’t get to choose this stuff. When it wasn’t that soul… thing it was the Knight.”
There was a miserable, dry laugh. “It’s sweet of you to defend them, but I already knew that.”
“You-- huh?”
“You really think I’d agree to-- to keepin’ hostages if it was just about an audience?” He asked, […] “Nah. Even if they didn’t promise it’d-- it’d bring Dess back, I had to help my kid. They were in over their head, and needed someone. I just… didn’t really get the scope of it, you know? I was always able to help them before, but that was with the… with their parents and Asriel. School. That sorta thing. It’s kinda… kinda hard to know just how big it is out there, when you’ve been plugged into the same wall all your life.”
“You knew all of-- and you didn’t--?” She bit her frustration back before it could explode, trying to reason that Tenna had done the exact same thing she’d just tried. He’d been covering for Kris, back then, taking the heat off of them when they couldn’t handle any more-- and in his case, he’d redirected the fault, taking it for himself. She guessed that was what a TV was for: to distract people from the [?] around them.
In hindsight, he’d had a deal with the Knight, and if the Knight had Kris acting for them, then of course he had to have known. What Susie didn’t get was…
“Even about the soul?”
The light shifted against his glass and, slowly, he inclined his head. “That was the scary part. The Knight? Everyone knows about the Roaring Knight, but the… thing that Kris ripped out of themselves changed them. I know-- I knew Kris. Even when it wasn’t getting basic questions about them wrong, that thing was no Kris.”
[?] prickled uncomfortably at the back of Susie’s neck. She knew that now, but back then? The two had been indistinguishable. It sucked, hearing again and again, how obvious it was to anyone who’d known Kris, when the soul might have been what bridged the gap between them. It might have been her friend, first.
“I kinda had to wonder: why were they letting it run around in their skin?” / “They took the thing out in front of me, so I saw that they could assert themselves. Why would they give it free [reign] of the controls? Why would they let it have fun for them? Never did figure that one out.”
Follow-up to yesterday's outline. It was initially part of the same whole, but I belatedly decided it worked better as a sequel. Not totally happy with it, in hindsight, but there are some interesting ideas in there.
As a warning, I stopped in the middle of things, so while the stakes aren't particularly high, there's no proper ending. Same as before, this was leaning Met/tatenna; that said, I think it could be read as platonic.
Another long one today. I've actually split it between two tonal arcs, so there'll be a second part along tomorrow. This is another one where I got so invested in the build-up that I neglected to get around to the point.
This is a 'Tenna is given to the Blook household' premise, but there are a couple of my usual staples in the mix, too. And also a sleigh. You'll see.
The stated intention was to write Met/tatenna, but the way I did things, it can also be read as platonic. I was mostly playing around and getting a feel for their dynamic.
This one's totally incomplete, and never even had an end point, since I was just noodling around. I still like the idea of playing with RGB/CMYK in this context, but think writing may not be the best medium for it.
Ooooookay, we've got a release date in sight, and I've been putting off screencapping/posting a few outlines, so let's just get to that, shall we?
This is the oldest of the bunch, not quite a Trash Heap AU, but certainly an UT AU. I meant to get past UT proper, but it just ended up being a lot of backstory. That said it's kind of fun in and of itself.
(I know Tenna's characterization is a touch odd in the above-- it's because it was meant to be backstory/help his character develop in this AU.)
There's also a tiny bit post-UT, but it never actually went anywhere:
"…what was that?"
"Beats the hell outta me, kid."
"So it was the Knight. Got it." Susie sniped, before she could give it even a second's thought-- then realized that probably wasn't appropriate. "Uh. I mean--"
[Joking/unbothered] "Wow, so that's what RUDE damage feels like, eh?"
[Begins to relax] "Pff. Sure. Like you didn't already know."
Awhile back, I mentioned that I wanted to focus on Tenna and Toriel again, and this is my latest attempt. While I like some of what it does-- particularly the segment with Susie-- I don't know if the pieces are really working in this particular configuration. And, to be honest, that last section was tacked on there because the gag was stuck in my head, rather than because it really suited the premise.
The only warning on this one is for past Spa/mtenna, but that's just Toriel learning about her TV.
-
Toriel liked to think herself a rather adaptable person-- it was all part of being a teacher, and working with small children. She’d been all too happy to welcome a tiny human into their family, had accepted the divorce with as much grace as possible, and tried not to let it show how much the increasingly empty house ate away at her.
So, when an outpouring of new residents-- darkners, they called themselves-- flooded the town, she did her best to accommodate their new neighbors. She didn’t let herself stare, wouldn’t speculate as to where they’d come from; if she was meant to know these things, they would come as a matter of course.
But there was this one…
If she wasn’t an honest woman, Toriel might have let herself believe it was just circumstance. The darkner in question stood out like there was a beacon on him at all times, towering above the likes of even Asgore, with a booming voice and easy cadence that naturally drew attention. He was a performer, even when there was no stage on which to act, and everything about him made that clear.
The fact that he didn’t have any permanent features, but a wide grin projected onto a television screen, made it even more obvious than the rest.
When she’d first seen him, Toriel hadn’t been in any state to make a connection; there were so many new faces to sift through, and she couldn’t find the one she was looking for. The dusty purple had caught her eye, but quickly been discarded in favor of renewing her search for Kris.
Looking back at it, there was a cruel irony in that.
The first she’d looked at the darkner and really seen him, she’d felt as though someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over her. She’d heard tell of other monsters meeting their personified possessions, but hadn’t thought she’d ever find herself in such a position. She was just a silly lady-- one who liked baking and a good book, and worried more than she ought to. What did she even have that might come to life? Surely not her cookie cutters or pie tins.
But then she’d looked a massive darkner in the face, and recognized their family’s [?] CRT. The one she and Asgore had been gifted after their wedding. The one that her new husband had immediately managed to dent.
The one that had sat in their living room, untouched, for years-- until it had finally broken, at which point she’d put it on the curb.
It was alive. He was a person.
God. She’d left him out in the rain.
Despite his size and relative [ubiquity], though, Toriel had yet to find a moment where she could approach the darkner. There was always someone else there, someone who needed his attention; in order for everyone to live together, there was an enormous amount of work to do, and as a leader, his input was vital. She’d only seen an opening twice, and both times, he’d made himself impressively scarce.
Toriel was no fool. She knew when someone was trying to avoid her, and wanted to respect that sort of boundary, but, in addition to everything else she was, she was also a very stubborn woman. They didn’t have to make this a regular thing. They didn’t have to be friends. She just wanted to know what kind of person she’d, unknowingly, lived alongside and-- if at all possible-- to apologize.
She wished she’d known. If she had, she never would have--
Well. At least she wasn’t alone in that [?]. Half of Hometown found themselves in a similar situation, confronted with animate objects of neglect.
But the kids. Oh, now that they were safe, the kids seemed to be having the time of their lives. She’d seen Kris and Susie tear by with what appeared to be a monster, but was purportedly a darkner prince, and run straight up to [???]. Berdly had honed in on a woman in blue, who’d promptly fled Noelle’s side, leaving her at the mercy of a band of bipedal audio equipment. There were even darkner children, who were attempting to befriend [???].
That was how she’d learned her darkner’s name. A [flustered/busy] Susie had blurted it as she rocketed across the town square, causing the TV in question to look over and brace for impact; what they’d discussed at the time, Toriel didn’t know. She’d been too preoccupied with the fact that he’d adopted Asgore’s hideous pun, mistaking it for an appropriate form of address.
At least there was some plausible deniability; it seemed he only actively used the last half, saving the given name for theatrics. By itself, ‘Tenna’ wasn’t awful. In fact, Toriel thought it suited him. It was only the full title, Mr. Ant Tenna, that made her want to vanish from the face of the earth. She would have hoped that Asgore felt even a shred of her embarrassment-- having been the one to christen their television set-- but she knew her ex-husband better than that.
By contrast, she was only beginning to understand her ex-TV. He was a loud, goofy thing, and made no attempt to hide that fact, reveling in the attention he drew. He was always eager to earn a laugh, even if it was at his expense; as long as it made someone happy, he seemed content. His size rapidly fluctuated with his moods, betraying just how big his emotions really were.
That fact made all the difference, when he’d once shrunk down and fled before Toriel could approach him.
He knew her intentions, and, it seemed, was avoiding her like a storm front. Apparently, she wasn’t any more subtle. After the second near-miss, Kris had dryly told her that Tenna was exceptionally good at dodging uncomfortable conversations-- even the ones he, himself, acknowledged had to happen.
Apparently they knew that based on a [?] interaction with his former fiance.
Toriel didn’t know what to do with that information: not the fact that her CRT had an ex, and certainly not the fact that her child was disconcertingly invested in said CRT’s love life. She supposed she could sympathize. She’d lost count of the bouquets that Kris had ferried from one household to the next-- then, belatedly, worried that all the flowers she’d thrown out had also been darkners.
How was anyone supposed to go about their life, knowing that anything they touched might have been someone, in another world?
-
His back was to her, screen fixed on [whatever]. Quiet as a church mouse, Toriel padded nearer, until she was in arm’s reach, and gingerly tapped as close to the shoulder as she could get.
The effect was immediate. Tenna dropped [whatever] and whirled around, hands clutching at either bicep, screen frantically pivoting too and fro.
[…]
“Hey,” Said a familiar, gruff voice, and a clawed hand reached up to knock against his frame. “You’re okay, and you’re gonna be okay, okay? No one here’s gonna hurt you. [something else].”
There was a juddering, static sigh. “Are-- are you saying that because you mean it, or because you wish someone’d tell you the same thing?”
“Both?” Susie said, pulling a face as she thought it over.
[…]
“Susie,” He said, before she could make it through the doorway, and-- when she looked over her shoulder-- added, “It’s gonna be okay, sweetheart. You’re already incredible.”
The set of her jaw shifted, and she offered a stilted nod before bolting away.
Toriel laced her paws together. That was a lot. More than she would have laid out, apropos nothing, but… Susie had accepted it. She hadn’t even breathed a word of complaint over the saccharine nickname. There was something there, which Toriel had seen in bits and pieces over the past [timeframe]-- a mutual understanding, or shared [?]. She couldn’t imagine getting that sort of response out of Susie, who always treated her so [not carefully but?].
That was one thing she still struggled to accept-- that, sometimes, the darkners knew them better than the other Hometown residents.
[...]
He glanced over, as though he’d forgotten she was there, and, with a measure of surprise the [?] didn’t quite call for, said, “Susie? Yeah, she’s a great kid-- first in my Hall of Fame! Haven’t had such a spirited viewer in--”
He stopped abruptly, and-- though he didn’t have any eyes-- she could feel the weight of his gaze flicker nervously to and away from her.
“Hah. Well. The specifics don’t really matter, when you get down to it. Kinda pales in comparison when her other claim to fame was saving my life.”
[idk how to phrase it, but ‘she picked you up off of the curb?’]
Tenna stayed silent for a beat, then gave a [?] perfect, clearly rehearsed laugh, “Two times, then! Chalk another victory up for Susiezilla-- how does she do it, folks?”
-
But, before they left for the day, there was one thing she had to know…
“Mr. Tenna?”
It was immediately met with, “Yes, Ms. Toriel?”
“Forgive me if this is taboo, but when, precisely, do darkners come to life?” […]
His namesakes swayed from one side to the other as he leaned dramatically in thought. “Depends on the darkner. Some of us are awake from creation, sometimes we have to bond with a lightner first, but most of us fall somewhere in the middle.”
She paused. She needed to be more specific, then.
“When did you happen to ‘wake up’?”
“Eh, somewhere between my box being opened up and getting plugged in for the first time. If I’m being honest, my first day was a little fuzzy. (But now I know that’s just part of being in a Dreemurr household!)”
Ah.
“Then… you are able to recall when Asgore and I would--”
“Yes.” He said, the tilt of his mouth suggesting that, if he’d had a jaw, it would have been clenched tight. “Couldn’t exactly, hah, look away back then. Just tried to really focus in on my work-- if a TV can’t even distract himself, what good is he?”
“I see.” Toriel said [tightly], and forced herself to take an even breath, in and out. “Well. I certainly appreciate your… discretion.”
This is the latest attempt at an intro for the Kingpin AU, and even it doesn't have a proper opening. I don't know why I wanted to write it up, since I don't plan to do anything else with that premise, but I guess it was worth it to get it out of my head.
Can't think of anything that would need a warning, but give me a poke if you noticed something I spaced on.
-
Her head snapped up, which startled Tenna into pulling back, so their noses wouldn’t collide.
“You can see in the light world.” She repeated, and would have made intense eye contact, if he’d had eyes, “And-- the Knight. Did you see the Knight?”
Something flashed across his face-- quite literally-- but it quickly blacked out, and was replaced with a stark white grimace. “I can, but I’ve never actually, heh, seen the Knight? Even when it-- my back was turned, y’know?”
Susie [grimaced] in answer, and took a hissing inward breath. “Yeah, okay. That’s fair. But maybe they looked different in the light world. Who’d you see in the living room back then?”
“You, Tori, and Kris…?” He [?] slowly, namesake twitching as he thought it over, “Just the way the Knight wanted it, not a-- not a soul out of place. Hah.”
[…] “…so how’d you know that, then?”
“I… looked?”
“Nah, not us. How’d you know what the Knight wanted if you never saw it? How’s it possible to make a deal with someone you never met?” […]
He laced his hands together and flexed them, so the fabric stretched over his knuckles. “Easy, you use a separate, dedicated channel.”
A different channel? Did that mean the Knight was able to broadcast its orders?
...she’d already known that, actually. How many times had they seen Tenna run off because he’d picked up on some kind of private signal? The calls connected directly to him, without any phone or foreign device. No wonder he didn’t have anything to give her; the instructions must have filtered straight into his head. That sounded awful.
With an explosive sigh for another dead end, she folded her arms over her chest-- and, belatedly, realized that Tenna’s screen was on again, but impassive, lacking a mouth with which to emote.
“What?” She asked, recognizing anticipation when she felt it. “I’m not mad, dude. If you didn’t see ‘em, you didn’t see ‘em.”
“I had a question, actually.” He said-- which was weird, since he didn’t put his full face back on until after he’d voiced it, “I was shut off for a long time. No idea how long, or what’s been going on in the house, but everyone’s so different, now. You’re-- you’re Kris’s friend. Do they seem… off to you, too, or am I just working with old news?”
Susie hesitated. Yesterday, she would have passed it off as Tenna’s bias, seeing Kris as the kid they’d once been, but now, she wasn’t so sure. Something was going on with them. Noelle seemed to think they were being weird, too, and Susie didn’t see it, but she didn’t know them as well as a childhood friend, or comfort object would.
“I dunno. A lot of weird shit is happening right now.” She finally said, “And it’s not like we’re not looking, but that’s why it’s taking a while to find you a new owner.”
Tenna nodded and folded his arms, trying to downplay the way his claws poked into the fabric. “I’d help you kids out if I could, but… well. You already know. Big electric box. Not even plugged into anything, anymore.”
Right. He was a big, electric box stuck in a closet, where he was staring at the [inert] light world forms of everyone around him. The only way he was getting out of that was if she or Kris actively moved him, but they had bigger-- bunker-- things to worry about; Susie was able to take him from one place to another when need be, but they couldn’t exactly lug a CRT around with them, just because.
But… Kris had used one of Noelle’s pencils the other day, like they didn’t have an entire armory on them. Susie definitely wasn’t carrying a [?] of hairbrushes, and she didn’t think they were, either. Maybe things worked differently for their equipment-- and darkners could become equipment. Or, at least, some could. As far as darkners went, Tenna was a pretty powerful one; there was no reason he couldn’t give it a shot.
“You could try being something else.” She said, and then realized how stupid it sounded, as Tenna’s expression went utterly blank. “I mean. Sometimes darkners decide to come with us. I don’t know how they do it, but they turn into armor, or weapons or something like that. It’s all magic, right?”
“Not-- not any magic I’ve heard about.” Absently, Tenna tugged one of his namesakes down, fiddling with the bauble at its end. “I don’t know if I can do that. Costume changes and scene transitions are easy enough, but I-- those aren’t permanent. They don’t change what you are.”
“Yeah, but it’s not that serious. The other guys turned into something they already had, and they can come out whenever.” In unison, Susie and Tenna glanced-- up and down, respectively-- to the [pin] that glittered at his lapel, and he raised a hand to cover it.
“C’mon,” She cajoled, jumping so she could catch and tug at at his cuff, “It’ll get you out of here, and until we find you a new owner, you can help us fight. Everyone gets somethin’ out of it.”
[…]
“It can’t be that hard. The weird puppet could do it, and you’re the Lord of Screens or some shit-- it’ll be easy for you.”
His antennae perked at that, and he tilted his monitor to the side. “Hah, uh, no? King of Hearts, actually.”
Huh.
“Whatever, I don’t really care-- all that crap just means you’re a super strong darkner. If you wanna, I bet you can do it.”
His fingers curled around the pin, and she saw his thumb slide beneath the fabric.
“C’moooooon.” She drawled, again, subconsciously baring her teeth in an eager smile, “I’ll even be nice and take you to see the lake. It’s not a beach, but it’s better than the closet, right?”
Tenna stayed quiet for another few seconds, holding totally still, all the way up to the tips of his sensors. It was a little weird, when he was usually so animated.
“You have to keep me with you.” He finally said, completely serious.
Susie breathed out a laugh, unsure what else she should have expected.
“You really think I’m talking you into this just to ditch you?” She asked-- then sobered when she remembered the state in which they’d found him, previous: half hidden under a sodden blanket, thrown into the rain by someone he’d loved. Which was to say nothing of the Knight’s betrayal a few short hours, prior. “Nah, man. I… I get it. Long as we’re in the light world, you’re stuck with me.”
His antennae [wilted] in what must have been relief.
“Then it’s a deal.” He said, strangely softly, and shifted to unfasten the pin from his suit jacket. As he knelt down, his demeanor changed by a matter of degrees, and he added, “Still don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing here, but I guess we’ll just improv.”
[…] “We had to fight the other guys first. Maybe you need TP to do it?”
There was a beat of silence, cut short as Tenna snorted. “For a smaller nose, maybe, but TP doesn’t really help someone like me. Just give me a sec here, superstar-- I’ll see what I can do.”
[…]
The pin backs were visibly loose, and when she moved to test one, it wobbled under her thumb. A split second later, her hands were empty and there was a TV in front of her again, clutching at a sleeve, looking stricken.
“Whoa, careful there! The arms are, ah, still tender.” […]
“Oh.” Susie said, lamely. “Sorry. Then how am I s’posed to put it on?”
Tenna’s mouth flattened into a straight line as he held the pin back out. “Well, now that I’m expecting it, I can take it long enough for you to put me on; just don’t go unclipping me all willy-nilly, alright?”
“Did… did it hurt?”
“No,” He said, after a second, “It was just pressure. I guess I jumped the gun when you touched it.”
“Good. You’re still healing, so you’ve gotta protect ‘em.” Susie [?], at which point the tension in Tenna’s form gradually lessened.
“…can we get a second take?”
She shrugged. “Go for it, man.”
With a deep breath that was purely spectacle, he began to reshape his darkness, and the massive body in front of her faded from view. The pin in her hand shone with an unnatural, internal light, and she felt something move against her palm. Gingerly, she lifted the edge to take a look, and found the two clasps had vanished, morphing into a single piece of metal that ran across its length; it wasn’t a lapel pin anymore, but a decorative hair pin. Any other time, Susie would have balked at such an accessory, but it wasn’t a frilly bow or some tacky, lacy thing. Yeah, it was still gaudy, but not girly.
“Hey, good idea.” She muttered, and wasted no time slipping it into her unruly mane. It was perfect, actually. He couldn’t just fall out, there-- she’d have to detangle him before he went anywhere.
“Don’t hear that often,” Kingpin quipped, from somewhere around her right ear, “Better revel in it while I can.”
It sent a pang dangerously close to Susie’s heart, and she huffed, “More like you better get used to it, doofus.”
There was a beat of silence.
“You’re a real sweetheart, aren’t you, Susie?”
“Shut up!!!” She [?], flushing maroon as she turned her back and stormed out of the room.
Her pin sighed, fond and dramatic, then fell silent.
Shortly after I posted those bits and pieces of the Kingpin AU, I tried to rewrite an opening sequence. I like this better than what I had before, but it never really got to the point, and the next day, I realized there was a better way to handle it. I can't think of any ships or triggers to warn for in this one-- it's pretty short.
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[Susie couldn’t sleep that night; is in her Dark World bed room seething]
In that semi-lucid state, the rippling stained glass morphed from one panel into another, seamless, as though it was something as malleable as water, and not-- supposedly-- ironclad. For some time, a heart pulsated in her mind’s eye, and, like its cage, she circled around it, trying to puzzle out what it could mean, why it would call Kris something so… dehumanizing.
Before she could form any coherent thoughts, though, the image rippled and flattened, turning into something else.
Right. That one. They hadn’t talked about it-- they hadn’t addressed most of what they saw-- but they’d found it in an out of the way corner or, really, a dead end. She wished they had acknowledged it back then, because she didn’t know what to make of it, now. Was it a bad omen, one more drop in the bucket labeled ‘fate,’ or was it a sick silver lining?
There wasn’t really any doubt who the Lord of Screens was, and yeah, the Knight had slashed Tenna-- but, while he’d been near death, he’d managed to pull through. It hadn’t ever touched his screen, which was a minor miracle, because Susie didn’t think she would have been able to help with that. The arms were simple enough. Hard to look at, but not that complicated. She had a feeling the actual CRT part would have been a lot more complex. He was alive, thus defying the prophecy, but they hadn’t known to--
…Susie hadn’t known to expect an attack. She didn’t know what she would have done, if she’d known, but it would have been something. Ralsei, on the other hand, did know. Susie knew that for a fact, not only because he’d admitted to having [early] knowledge of the prophecy, but because of what he’d said, back then.
"You've brought smiles, light into the Lightner's lives... so there's nothing to be ashamed of, if... that ever comes to an end."
Fuck. Damn it. He’d laid it out right there. If he’d known about this ‘Lord of Screens’ garbage, then he’d known time was running out, the closer they got to TV World’s Dark Fountain. It wasn’t an ‘if’ to him-- it was a when.
"Darkners... all become obsolete eventually."
[…]
She imagined swiping her claws through the image, shattering the depiction of a breaking screen, and-- inadvertently-- woke herself up cold.
Susie had been front and center when it came to patching Tenna up. She’d seen the wounds left in the Knight’s wake. They were clean cuts, sure, but--
But they weren’t made by a sword. She’d seen gouges, digging deep into the metal on either side of the severed arms. Claw marks, just like the ones she’d left in the imagined prophecy. If the injuries had been inflicted by one of the Knight’s sword-shaped bullets, then maybe that would have counted, but Susie had ripped into her share of [?] over the years, and never considered her nails blades.
Something hot and peppery rose in the back of her throat, replacing the cold sweat that she’d woken to. It didn’t match. She’d watched the Knight draw its blade-- a deliberate, intimidating gesture-- and by that point, Tenna had long since fallen into the snow. There had been two wounds, not one. The Knight only had the one real sword; it couldn’t cut in two places at once. And there was no freaking way it had messed up its aim, if its target was a giant CRT, who’d had his back turned.
Did that mean it hadn’t happened yet? That the Knight’s betrayal was an unrelated injury that Tenna had to pull through, so he could die according to the prophecy’s [specifications]?
I tried to make this one work for a while, but I've completely lost momentum for it, and it's just collecting dust. It was inspired by semiohazard's broken Tenna AU-- where Susie takes him to Castle Town, despite his injuries-- but never got to the point where I was actually exploring that concept.
Quick warning for standard post-cleaving imagery, but it's just a little bit, right at the end; skip the last segment if you want to avoid it.
-
For about an hour, Susie meandered around town. She’d never seen it quite like this, before-- cast in imperfect darkness, light reflecting from the puddles in flashes of gold-orange-- and, for a few minutes, that was enough to keep her mind off of everything she’d seen and learned that day. It only lasted for a few minutes, though, before the weight settled back over her shoulders, worse than a sopping wet jacket with [?] weighing its pockets down.
She was tired-- but more on an emotional level than physical. Not to say the Titan hadn’t been a bitch and a half, but it was just… itself. It wasn’t pretending to be anything else. There was no illusion of convincing it to their side, and she’d appreciated how simple that was. It wasn’t a dead lightner, brought back to life in the dark, or a prophecy that seemed so [?] one minute, only to betray them at the very end. It wasn’t her friend, who seemed so resigned to their place in it, or her other friend, who [??].
Honestly, she’d take a Titan right that moment, over the prospect of heading home. She’d kind of been banking on bumming around at Kris’s place for a second night, and now that the option was off the table, she didn’t know what to do with herself. At first, she’d wandered off to the graveyard, drawn by the memory of Toriel’s comforting words, but the sight of the headstone beside it gave her pause, and spun her right back around. There was no point in heading down to the bunker. All she could do there was punch in random numbers. And maybe break a hand when she got bored of that and punched the door, instead. No heading home, either. Not now.
For a while, she lingered in the streets, watching the lights in the shallow standing water, leaving her mind a merciful blank; it couldn’t last forever-- someone would get suspicious if she stayed too long, or passed through to many times-- but it was good while it lasted. On her way out of the alley, a drop of water plopped directly onto her snout, and she automatically looked up to see where it had come from. It was just a light post, surprise, surprise-- but, beyond that, she noticed one of the apartment’s second story windows cracked open, so its owner could enjoy the fresh air.
Hell, it was late enough, now, that Toriel had probably gone to bed-- she was only waiting for her kid to get home safe-- so there wasn’t any reason to make things complicated, but… who said Susie couldn’t crash at Kris’s after all? Kris’s room, that was. She’d seen it from the inside. She knew which window would lead to it.
She’d wanted to talk to them, before ducking out of their living room-- and the [?] scent of the wine Toriel was inadvertently splashing this way and that. Maybe she should’ve taken them with her. Or just grabbed them and dragged both of them upstairs, so no one had to deal with that. She’d seen how they’d looked away, once they’d realized what was happening. Yeah. She’d head to Kris’s, and hang out. If they were awake, they could talk about what happened at the church, and if they were already asleep, she’d just… flop onto their brother’s bed for a while. Just on top. She wouldn’t get it dirty or anything, and no one had to know she was there. It was better than all of her other ideas.
The Dreemurrs’ place was exactly as she’d left-- as though nothing had happened in the hour she’d been gone-- and she could hardly stand the [?]; her hands curled into fists, and for the second time that night, she looked to the moon, hanging lower in the sky than it had, the first.
She clenched her jaw, and, from somewhere deep in her chest, rumbled, “We aren’t gonna let it happen.”
The moon, unconvinced, remained silent.
Her eyes dropped down, to something more accessible, and it took a second for Susie to realize that Kris’s window was already open. Were the both of them on the same page, after all? Were they giving her an in? She scrunched her snout in concentration and looked for anything she could use to get up, but came up empty handed-- which didn’t matter that much, since she could just use her claws, but after getting to know the contents of Kris’s house, she didn’t really want to… damage it. If [?] could be a darkner, then what was stopping a whole building from being one?
Susie managed to boost herself up off of the windowsill, scale the shutters, and then anchored herself in at the top of the window, on her tip-toes-- tail tilted at a stupid angle-- to balance on its upper edge. It left her pressed flat against the house’s siding, in a tough position to get any further, but she was close. All she had to do was reach the next sill, and that was it-- she could haul herself in through the open window. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, considering her options.
She bet she could make that jump. They’d had worse in the dark world.
Damn, it was too bad those claw things didn’t exist in the light world.
She curled her hands, claws sinking beneath a board as she [sank] down to leap. For one [?] second, she felt the smooth windowsill beneath her palm-- and then it began to slide under her scales, slick from the humidity. Panicked, she grabbed for it, and heard wood carve under her hands as her momentum slowed. When she managed to hoist herself up, there were two long, dark grooves in the pale paint, and she grimaced as she pulled herself past them.
When she landed on the bedroom’s floor, she let out a [?] sigh, and then-- with a muted inward gasp-- looked around herself. There was no one there. Kris’s bed was all messed up, like they’d lain down, but they weren’t anywhere to be found. Maybe they’d sneaked out to find her instead? She guessed she was originally breaking and entering, but, before, it felt like it was in the cool ‘teenager breaking in to visit a housebound friend’ way; now it felt like she’d just forced her way into the Dreemurrs’ house, because she was the delinquent everyone saw her as.
[Looks around. It feels strangely lonely, here, knowing what it was on the other side]
There was a thump from the western wall, and Susie jumped-- then froze at the sound of Toriel’s muffled and indistinct voice. It was followed by another. The guy from the grocery store.
Ah shit, that was rough. No wonder Kris bailed. She would, too-- and since they weren’t here, she should.
She pushed herself up off the floor, and her shoulders tensed at a [?] crunch underfoot. To her dismay, she found a cellphone as she raised her shoe-- and she [?] leaned in, trying to assess the damage. It wasn’t too bad. There was a case on it, which had absorbed most of the impact, leaving only a [?] fracture across its bottom-right corner. With a guilty [?], she turned it face-down and nudged it halfway under Kris’s bed, hoping that, when they noticed, they’d dismiss it as normal wear and tear.
She didn’t manage to turn all the way back to the window before something else occurred to her. It was lonely here, faced with an empty room and distant voices. Susie would bet dark dollars that she wasn’t the only one feeling it, in that moment.
Instead of crawling back out the window, she carefully paced in a half-circle, watching for any other obstacles between her and the doorway, this time. It looked the same as it had that morning, aside from the blanket thrown haphazardly over the old birdcage, and--
…how the hell was that bloodstain back? They used vinegar and everything! She’d still been able to smell it on her claws when she’d held Kris’s knife and made the second fountain.
Her eyes flickered back to the covered cage--and cages were important in the prophecy, weren’t they? That was what it used for Kris, instead of calling them human, like a normal person. She sort of wanted to tear the blanket away, hoping it would just be something normal, like a disembodied hand scuttling around within the bars, but she really didn’t want another awful surprise, tonight. She knew what she’d get, if she went downstairs; it wasn’t great, but she’d made a promise, and had yet to fulfill it.
Neither the floorboards nor the door creaked as she moved, which allowed her to silently close it behind herself and hook an immediate left, down the stairs. She’d been here just last night, so it shouldn’t have felt so different-- but back then, Toriel had been puttering around between the kitchen and her own room, and the TV had been blaring as she switched through channels.
There would be none of that tonight. She padded over and stopped in the living room, swallowing thickly as her fragmented reflection stared back at her.
The dark fountain had been sealed, so TV World didn’t exist anymore. That meant Tenna couldn’t be lying, lost and hurt in the snow any longer-- but he was still alone, in a state of disrepair. All of the other darkners had been ferried to Castle Town, already, leaving the Dreemurrs’ broken old TV to sit on the same [stand] as he always had, like he could handle their abandonment, too. What had she been thinking? She should have left everyone-- or at least someone-- until she was able to smuggle him out. It would have taken a while to find a time Toriel wouldn’t see her… basically stealing the family TV, but she could have done it. She’d have Tenna out of there by Monday at the latest; it would be easy to cut the first half of class, so she could run up and grab him. No one would even care that she was late.
…who even said she had to wait? Susie lifted her head, casting a furtive glance to the stairway, and then to the front door, only [?] paces away. She could get this done right then and there. It wouldn’t be easy, but it seemed simple enough. Open the door, grab the CRT, and walk them both out. It was the perfect crime.
She stepped nearer, and worked her hands under his lower edge, testing the weight distribution. He was front-heavy. Very front-heavy. As long as she could find a balance, it would be fine, but why the hell were CRTs made like that? If something rammed into the TV stand hard enough, he would’ve fallen over and cracked his screen right open.
With a wide stance, she took a couple of short, backwards steps-- only to find sudden resistance. Her tail swung out, helping to compensate for the strange footing, and she staggered forward to rest Tenna back against the stand before she could drop him-- then peered around his edge to figure out what had happened.
Oh. Right. He was still plugged in. She traced a hand down the cord, pointer claw following the groove in the plastic coating, and hesitated when she reached the plug itself. Somehow, yesterday morning felt like it was months in the past, but the sense memory was fresh in mind: unforgiving stage lights beaming through clear plastic, podiums slowly melting under the open flames, and a presenter’s voice that shook on the tail end of a loaded quiz question. She’d been outraged at first, but the longer it drew on-- the clearer it became that Tenna, himself, couldn’t control the [mishmash] of a game that progressed around them-- she’d had to put her head down, trying to tune the noise out. Back then, she hadn’t known exactly where it came from, but the thinly-veiled pleas for reassurance, that he was still worth something, that they wouldn’t get rid of him, had struck a chord.
She stepped away from the outlet, and back into the center of the room, where she could look the CRT in the screen.
“I dunno if you can hear me, but you remember what I said, right? I’m gonna take you somewhere safe-- and it’s gonna suck, but I’ve gotta unplug you first. It’s just for a little while, though. Promise.” She wanted to touch, to seal the deal, but didn’t dare press against his glass-- so, instead, she shuffled forward, and stretched either arm out atop his console, mindful of the antenna she’d had to tape back into place.
Without meaning to, she found herself resting her chin there, too, and when she sighed, a cloud of dust rose into the air.
“No one’s getting thrown away.”
Unlike before, with the moon, she found an answer-- a steady, electric hum that coursed through the CRT, even when he was turned off.
Honestly, Susie wasn’t convinced he could hear her reassurances. She had been paying enough attention to know that he could see and hear in the light world, but with this much damage, it was possible that he wasn’t really… there to get it. They’d never found him in the dark world, so she didn’t know if his [weathered] body had been able to withstand the Knight’s attack. When they’d gotten back to the light, she’d been unable to switch him on, no matter what she did. Maybe this was all a futile effort, but she had to try. She promised.
It would work, she told herself, even if he hadn’t made it in TV World-- being exposed to a different dark fountain would change things. If it had brought the Old Man back, it would work for Tenna.
She pulled away with the scent of dust in her nostrils, and a thin coating on either sleeve. It was lucky she was dealing with a darkner, or that would have been really gross.
Susie made it quick. She pulled his plug before she could let herself think about it too hard, and then hurried to open the door. The realization that she didn’t have a hand to close it with only hit when she was lugging Tenna’s stupid, heavy body through the threshold-- but she decided that Kris would cover for her. They’d see it was open when they got back from whatever the hell they were doing, and they wouldn’t even need to climb up to their window to sneak in. It worked for all three of them.
[…]
She hip-checked the closet door wide, took a deep, dust-laced breath, and leapt into the dark world.
As she plummeted into the dark, the weight vanished from Susie’s arms, leaving her free to cast them wide at her sides-- and then plant one palm on the ground to steady her landing. Before straightening up, she peeked through her bangs. To her disappointment, she didn’t find a darkner standing there, waiting for her-- but, instead, a mound of machinery and red fabric. The cracked screen looked exactly the same as it had in the light world, albeit tilted onto its side as its owner lay [sideways], a position which left one of Tenna’s shoulders exposed.
Susie pushed herself upright, pacing over with more care than she knew she was capable of, and with that extra height, found both of his severed arms lying in a heap behind him. Gruesome, but… good, right? As long as they were here, they could be reattached. His broken antennae was already taped up where she’d tried to mend it, which gave her hope.
I've been sitting on this one for a while, trying to figure out how to make it work, but by this point, that's not gonna happen. It's pretty fragmented, and I'll try to offer context where I can, but the winter newsletter dropped in the middle of writing the lead-up, and promptly threw a wrench into it/took the wind out of my sails. Maybe I'll post that another day, but honestly, I'm just not happy with it.
This is another one with a Spamtenna warning, if that matters to anyone.
-
“You. Told. Me. To wait for you. Look me in the nose and say you wouldn’t have resented it if I ignored that and ran after you.” […] “You ran out without ANY kind of explanation! After we agreed to weather it together! You never tell me ANYTHING that matters, and I-- I gave you everything I could! The only thing I never-- I couldn’t-- it’s because I don’t even understand myself!”
“[I 👅 CAN’T 👅 UNDERSTAND] WHAT?”
“No. Ohoho NO. You are NOT turning this back around on ME.”
-
[Without going too deep into it, the previous part established that Susie talked Tenna into acting as a piece of gear, a la the secret bosses. (Kingpin, fwiw.) This section was taking place in a dark world where she'd gotten separated from Kris and Ralsei, and was unable to pacify enemies on her own, so the closest thing to responsible adults decided to help her. Depending on how you define 'helping.']
He flicked his wrist, summoning a stack of cue cards, and dipped into the usual 'TV host' persona.
"Alright, contestants, what number is SUSIE thinking of?"
"HEY, DON'T USE ME AS A GUINEA PIG."
"Less backtalking, more THINKING, please!"
[...]
"[4 4 4]."
"It was eight."
"Aaaand our answer IS," He dipped a finger beneath the card, flipping it to show them its face-- upon which the number '8' was printed in bold text.
"But-- but you made that card before you even ASKED me for a number!"
"Precisely!" He [?], dismissing the cards and leaning in to whisper, through gritted teeth, "I have no idea how I do it."
[...]
"[WHY NOT!?] UZE Y0UR [USED CARS FOR SALE] INSTEAD OF ASKING [THIS LITTLE SLIME]."
Tenna pressed his hands together, palm to palm, in front of his screen, and spent a moment staring at them, deep in thought. Then, wordlessly, he flung an arm out to grab the cards again. "Alrighty, folks, for a whopping ZERO points-- it's the question on everyone's mind! What's the secret to Mr. Spamton G. Spamton's success?"
"[Redacted]."
"Uh..." Susie's eyes flicked up and down, trying to glean anything she could from the puppet's ragged exterior, "I dunno. Drugs?"
He tilted his head, considering it-- and to her utter shock, so did the host in front of them. He seemed to notice his blunder a moment later, and snapped back into character.
"Those are some FANTASTIC answers, but unfortunately, we were looking for--"
A garbled screech cut him off, warbling and rasping, lingering far, far longer than she could bear to listen. She clapped her hands to the sides of her head and cracked an eye open, to see what was going on-- and found that she wasn't the only one doing it. Cards gone without a trace, Tenna had his monitor clutched between his hands, claws sinking into the plastic, deeper than he'd ever let them, prior. There was... something going on on his screen, but as soon as Susie looked, survival instinct jolted her away. Whatever it was, it had been in rendered in black and white, but the camera had moved too much to make anything distinct out. A... a face, maybe? A horrible, distorted face?
“OKAY, OKAY! IT WAS A BAD IDEA, TURN IT OFF!”
But nothing changed.
Susie turned her attention to the only other [?] available. Spamton’s mouth was open, only by a centimeter, but he didn’t seem inclined to shut it any time soon; his eyes were stuck on his ex-partner, and he only tore them away when Susie knocked on his head, hoping for any kind of help.
“I DON’T THINK HE HEARS ME. HOW DO WE GET HIM TO STOP?”
[he thinks about it; climbs up]
Seemingly unfazed by the increase in volume, he tried pushing both antennae down-- probably trying to disrupt the signal-- but that didn’t have any effect. He balled a tiny fist up and gave the top of Tenna’s monitor several ineffectual whacks. From [?] steps away, Susie saw his jaw work-- either side tapping together as he thought it through-- then he climbed back down to a shoulder, where he tilted his head and reached under the [?] monitor.
“[MONSTER MANIAC] C’MERE.” / [be there to keep him steady]
Susie couldn’t see whatever happened, but the cacophony cut out, leaving her ears ringing in the silence it left. Tenna wobbled, and didn’t even try to catch himself as his limbs failed beneath him. Susie had to duck as an arm fell straight down toward her.
Something clicked, followed by a tinny bwoom, and one of his slack hands trembled. Susie pushed against his shoulder, trying to sit him upright, and when she was confident he wasn’t about to tip, stepped back to see if that really had helped, or if Spamton had just fried his former fiance’s circuits.
Tenna’s screen didn’t light up, and she wasn’t sure whether that was a problem or not, but his namesakes moved about, trying to get a feel for where they were, and-- when he had the wherewithal to [?]-- his [trembling] hand raised to pluck a salesman off of his lapel.
With a voice like static, he rasped, “That’s why.”
“Shit. Are you okay??”
“Blind as a bat, but my vision should come back before too long.”
“[WHAT’S NEW, PUSSYCAT]”
[…]
“Huh? Look, I’m sorry-- really am-- but I can’t tell ya anything there, unless you wanna hear about [something re: where they are irl].”
Susie turned her head, looking back and forth, but didn’t see any sign of [w/e]. “Do you… mean the one in the light world? Can you see--? I thought you said you were blind!”
“Sweetheart, I can do that any ol’ time-- problem is, it’s all I can see right now.”
[…]
“Wonderful. Great. So glad to hear it.” Tenna [?], without any of the usual showmanship. He limply clapped his hands, and let his monitor drop. “If it’s all the same to you two, I’m taking a commercial break.”
-
[Around this point, I tentatively placed this dark world in Flower King; I was going to make use of Asgore's TV and the super hero comics that sit on top of it, but never got around to actually writing that part. It'll come up again later, so for the record, said TV is Kenton Tenna, an obvious allusion to Clark Kent. While they aren't carbon copies by any means, there's a clear (and unnerving) resemblance to canon Tenna, which the two active party members notice.]
-
[this could potentially be happening in the pants hole]
“All I ever wanted was to make people happy, and you weren’t ever gonna be happy if you weren’t free. Yeah, Mike had a bad feeling about it, and it was trading one contract for another, but I thought you trusted me not to let you get hurt. Or to hurt you. I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t.” / “I love you too much for that.”
[…]
“Hah. I mean, more viewership would’ve been nice, but ratings don’t mean much if you don’t have the right audience. Mostly I wanted it for us, so neither of us had to worry about being thrown out again, but…" / "I sort of…”
“[SORDID SECRETS REVEALED] WHAT?”
“I sorta thought that, if I was-- y’know-- bigger, I might be more, uh… me.”
“[WHAT THE ACTUAL--] DO YOU MEAN, [CATHODE]. UR 15 [FEACHURE] TALL.”
The edge of his screen scrunched at the thought. “Not physically. Uh… geeze. I dunno how to explain this one, Spam-- it’s why I never tried, before. I don’t really, hah, know myself.”
“I THOUGHT YOU [LOST AND FOUND] A COMMA LASt TIM3. ARE YOU [1/2]ING AN [IDENTITY FRAUD]?” / “IS IT BECAUSE OF [IMPOSTER SYNDROME] BACK TH3Re?”
“I-- Look. I don’t even want to THINK about how he fits into it, right now.”
“STOP THINKING. START [SPEAK TO ME].”
“Maybe he’s me, too? Hahah. I don’t know how much of me there is, but it’s more than just--” / “this. This part’s me-me, but there’s something else, and I dunno what it is.”
“…R U SURE NO 1 [HELLO? HELLO, HELLO?] THE PHONE?”
[This dark world was, of course, capped off with a fight. Against what, I have no idea. For clarity's sake, Kingpin has two features when worn: it can give the user an extra action on their turn, and passively increases TP gain when worn in conjunction with Dealmaker. During the fight, it/he really pushes things to give Susie an extra extra action in order to dodge an otherwise catastrophic blow. Ultimately the #&$@ Squad makes it through the battle intact, but there’s a stumbling point where they don’t have as much TP as they expected, and have to make do.]
Her hair fell over a shoulder, itching against her scales, and she raised a hand to brush it away-- only to send fist full of loose strands sailing over her arms, making the sensation even worse. She tried flapping the hand up and down her arm, trying to rid herself of it-- shaking her head for good measure-- and nearly missed the plink of metal impacting against [stone?]. If her glasses hadn’t affixed onto the source, she might not have noticed the [?] sized, hollow triangle that tumbled from her person.
She heard a distant “[%$&#]. [$%#&], [$#&$], [#&%$]! U BETT4R B BACK hERE [1--” and her vision dissolved into [?] static.
Unsure what to make of that, and unable to ask with Kris and Ralsei there, she pushed Dealmaker up and leaned over, trying to get a better idea what had him so up in arms.
Another, more delicate, piece of metal tumbled from her hair-- and that was when it clicked. That was Kingpin’s wonky fastener.
Or-- to be more specific-- it was half of the fastener.
Susie pounced forward, scooping the little piece of metal up-- then set her sights on the first piece that had fallen. The [sharp] shape glinted in the light, proving that it wasn’t a triangle at all. It was a lone letter. Heart sinking in her chest, she snatched that up, too, and reached into her mane-- where she’d last felt the clip-- only to find that space empty. Hair shed with her every movement, raining down over her shoulders and the floor alike, and finally, all of the rummaging caused something to tug against her scalp; a sharp edge pricked her finger as she grabbed at it, and she ripped another cluster of hair out as she pulled it free.
Without anything to hold it in place, the pin’s hinge immediately swung open and, numbly, she set it beside the other two pieces.
Kingpin [?] back at her, unresponsive, and bisected from top to bottom.
Susie could feel [?]’s eyes on her, asking after [???], but she couldn’t just leave it there, wondering, fearing for the worst. She curled her hand around to pieces and brought that fist up to her snout, where she could quietly [?], “Tenna…?”
Neither her pin nor her glasses answered.
-
[This is far, far later, and I don't know exactly how we get there, but eventually Susie heads out to a transmission tower and makes a fountain there. Dark world-wise, it's more vertical than anything, drawing inspiration from Delta Towers, for the obvious reason, and because of the V shape to it. It's also, comparatively, a very small world, since 'irl,' it's just a tower in an otherwise open space.]
What met them at the top both was and wasn’t a surprise.
The tower was topped by sprawling [?] of double-sided screens, curling around the peak like a faceted halo. They were bright-- almost too bright to make their contents out-- but when she squinted, Susie was able to find some detail. Some were in motion-- playing back daily news, cartoons, [?] or the like-- but others were relatively still, reflecting the faces of those who watched them.
[idk how they’re going to get his attention]
A creaking groan emanated from the screens-- more industrial than darkner-- and the sound converged in the center to become, “Ugh, really? You’re killing me, here. As if this wasn’t hard enough with the outage-- what else are we adding to the schedule? Breaking news, emergency broadcast…? Please, just not another amber alert…”
Several screens flickered, their pictures dissolving into static, then they winked out entirely-- and as they did so, they began to form a larger image. It stretched upward and twisted at the waist, two arms raised over its shoulders; another reached to brace against its back, and the last snapped impatiently to itself. With a visible, full-body sigh, the silhouette turned around, and the shape that had once been its head vanished, only to reappear-- a flat rectangle-- when it faced them [head-on].
It jolted in surprise, hands flung every which way, and hastily tucked its arms behind itself.
“Oh! Hah. A-- a surprise premier it is, then.” / “(You really dropped the ball on this one, didn’t I, Ant?)”
[action depends on Dealmaker’s status. I want him to call out, and potentially succeed in using an actual name.]
“Ah geeze, Sp--” / “Just give me a second, will you, you two? I’ll be right down.”
[…] Light flared from the silhouette’s center, and a body emerged from the flat plane it had once inhabited; at the same time, the screens fell dark.
The form that descended an invisible set of stairs-- straight toward them-- was massive. Maybe it couldn’t measure up to a Titan, but even from afar, Susie could tell the scale was beyond Tenna’s usual fare-- though, the nearer it drew, it also seemed to shrink, which made for a strange optical illusion. It was like she could see it coming closer without growing closer.
Subtle changes [?] with every step. First it was the disappearance of the extra arms tucked behind its back, then a shift in the shoulders, padding them into distinctive sleeves. The two-dimensional plane of its head gradually filled out and tapered back-- and when he came to a halt, hovering just beyond the tower’s [top/floor], he was almost the CRT they knew. If it wasn’t for the harsh light that made up his body, it might have been convincing.
[...]
[Kris throws their sword as they enter-- which plunges into a lower screen. That earns a yelp, and said screen turns red, but that's it]
[I want this to be a place to openly address the deal/what they were hoping for, and show the full extent, because SOMEONE was still shielding them]
"I liked Ant-- Kris made him a real cartoon character, and that's a dying art. He's a sweet little part of me, but uh, looking at the rest of it... yikes. This is why you've gotta be careful blending genres, you know?"
[...]
[re: the cue cards; they’re drawing from the expanse of data he broadcasts, but…]
“But it knew what number I was thinking! I’m not part of your stupid broadcast system!”
There was an inward hiss, and, [idk if he’s able to emote/how much he can]. “Yeahhhh. Like I said, Ant’s a cartoon, and real world logic doesn’t always apply when I’m him. Personally, I’m not touching that one with a three-hundred and ninety-six foot pole.”
No one responded. Somewhere, to the far left, one of the screens played the chirping of a cricket.
“You know, ‘I wouldn’t touch you with a thirty-nine and a half foot pole?’ With all the remakes, I thought someone would… Ah forget it.”
Okay. Alright, this was beginning to feel a little better.
[...]
"Eh... I guess I can let you take me off my hands. With the internet outage, I'm already in over my screen balancing the digital signals, and trying to integrate an analogue-only [set/persona] is NOT helping the migraine. If you manage to get my console over here, I'll see what I can do." / "I'm, uh. I'm not gonna ask why you've been carrying my corpse around in your pocket. Don't think I, hah, want an answer."
Shaking that [?] off, he curled a hand around the pieces and turned toward the halo of screens-- making a beeline for one with Kris's sword stuck in it. One large hand wrapped around its hilt and tugged it free before adjusting its grip, holding it like a butter knife.
"You kids ever watch Schoolyard Pop? (C'mon now, Kris, I KNOW Toriel sat you down in front of the educational block when you were a Krisling.) They used to run an episode on sneaky words-- things like homophones and contronyms." / "The word 'cleave's' a contronym, you know? It means two very different things depending on how you use it. Usually, people mean cutting something open, like with a cleaving knife, BUT..."
He tilted his head down and-- even though he'd shifted to have the usual CRT monitor-- everything above his shoulders vanished the instant he moved into profile. The curled hand relaxed, and he spent a moment tracing a pointer finger against his palm-- presumably pushing pieces back together-- then flipped the sword around. Susie half expected him to plunge it straight into his own hand, but with a focused precision, he slowly dragged the blade across his palm. Red still dripped down from the site, but it wasn't nearly as [?] as a stab wound would have been.
A third hand appeared, poking around the bloodied one, then plucked something up out of it-- and the flat plane of a rectangle turned to look back at them.
"But you can also use it when you're talking about fusing things together. The more you know, huh?"
[...]
"You should be set. I don't want to rush you, but would you mind heading out the Fountain before I wake up? The last thing we need is a feedback loop up here..."
[something to the effect of 'I like you better when you're Ant']
The Lord of Screens laughed and leaned in. He couldn't wink, and didn't even try a gesture to get the point across, but it still landed. "Coincidentally, I like YOU better when I'm Ant-- but I'm not convinced anyone can compete in that particular ring. Good luck with me, Spammy.”
This is the beginning of the other piece I've had in mind since 3&4 dropped; this version was written just prior to the winter newsletter (and after the fact, I went back and adjusted a couple of details to fit). I had some half-baked ideas about playing card suits at the time, which didn't really go anywhere, but there was potential. Another important note is that this file was labeled "Heartstrings."
The only warning I feel a need to slap on this is for Spamtenna (mostly in the past, but you know how it goes), so if that doesn't chase you off, have at it.
-
“Susie! Kris! How are you-- GAH.”
The greeting fell short [...] While Tenna had been making an effort to work within Castle Town’s scale, he was back to towering over them, surprise giving him a couple of extra feet. It was only exacerbated by the way he boosted himself up on one foot.
“S-Susie! Put that down! You don’t know where it’s been! Oh, golly, did no one ever tell you not to handle strange rats? Do they run those PSAs anymore? Why don’t they run them?! Stay there, I’m going to-- no! Put that weird small thing down first, then I’ll--!”
Susie didn’t know what she’d expected. Of course he’d react the same way; Tenna wasn’t exactly someone who embraced change. She held the ‘rat’ out by the collar, offering him up for inspection. “Dude, chill out. He’s like, a cyber rat or something. We can’t catch computer viruses.”
She couldn’t track the eyes of someone who didn’t have any, but still managed to follow Tenna’s line of sight; he tentatively set his foot down, leaning in just enough to [?].
“That is not a Maus.” He said, hand twitching toward the collar of his tailcoat, primed to grab something from an inner pocket, “Put it down nice and slow, now, okay? The insulating foam was no good, but I’m sure I’ve got something in here…”
Off to the side, Kris raised their hands, trying to placate him.
He echoed the gesture with the one that wasn’t grasping at [?]. “What? No? Kids, please! This is how you contract rabies! It might look docile, but its brain is MELTING in there!”
[that definitely earns a snide remark]
Absently, he withdrew the hand that had been buried in his jacket, looked at the prize he’d pulled, and frowned.
“Yeesh, nope. We aren’t reenacting Old Fella yet.” He muttered, tucking the pistol away for another day.
Susie also frowned, and shoved the puppet at Kris-- which earned her a dismayed [yelp]-- then marched up to stick her snout past his lapel. There was no sign of any gun, or cans of foam. She didn’t even see a pocket sewn into the fabric, just the lining and dress shirt beneath. Something tugged at the collar of her vest, and pulled her up to meet Tenna’s [unimpressed] screen.
“Heard of a little thing called PERSONAL SPACE, superstar?” He asked, but sounded completely unruffled. Made sense. He’d lived with Kris all their life-- he’d definitely had worse.
She ignored that. “Where’d it go?”
“Beats the heck outta me-- probably wherever the studio goes. Let’s try to stick to the program here, yeah?” Tenna sidestepped, moving enough to mirror Kris and their captive.
[...]
“—pulls the strings, it pulls the strings, it pulls the strings--”
[Susie reacting; that’s not the helpful part]
“—makes them ring, until your heart gets--” He slapped a hand up against his chin, forcibly slamming his jaw shut.
Opposite them, the light of Tenna’s screen perked in interest, and he shifted his head, following some invisible line upward. His namesakes twitched in thought, and his expression smoothed out as he looked back down. “Go on then, let’s have the rest of it.”
“—GETS RIPPED APART.” Exploded out from the puppet; just as violently as the sound itself, his hand went flying down, and something in his eyes changed as he stared at the TV, pupils nearly trembling from his own intensity.
Tenna’s mouth quirked up, but almost as a challenge. “Is that supposed to be a threat?”
“IT’s A [SO IT IS WRITTEN, SO SHALL IT BE].”
On the edge of her vision, Susie saw Kris’s head turn toward him, as if startled, but she didn’t know what about this was even remotely surprising. “That’s what I meant. The guy’s real confused about strings, but I dunno what you gotta do with it.”
“It’s just the title,” Tenna muttered, waving a hand to usher that thought off to the side-- which Susie was okay with since it didn’t make any sense at all. “Almost sounds like a contract dispute, but I’d know if he was one of my employees. Had to renew ‘em all after the uh, restructuring a few years back.”
“Pulls the strings!” Spamton spat out, almost compulsively.
Tenna inclined his head and pointed to him. “Yeeeep, there it is.”
“…but didn’t you guys work together?” Susie asked, looking between the two for a second, then focusing on the latter as she shook the puppet in midair. [idk wording; she has to use Spamton’s name]
The host’s antennae shot up, and his hands flew out in front of him, “Wha-- where did you hear that name?!”
“Dude. Dude? You wouldn’t shut up about the guy.”
“I never once used his name! You can’t slander a private citizen on air!” […] “It was Ramb, wasn’t it? Of course it would be Ramb, it always is…”
Susie resisted the urge to drag her claws down her face, but only barely.
[a little more, he still can’t recognize-- but Susie convinces him to take a closer look, and at that point Spamton makes a bid for freedom. Chase ensues, is recaptured.]
The projection of lips drew back in a grimace, but he played along with them, leaning in to…
…to inspect the puppet with his antennae…?
His expression shifted, nose crinkling disgustedly, and Spamton thrashed against it; Kris stepped close to grab his other side, keeping him from hitting anyone with his free arm.
“…different kind of RAT.” Tenna muttered, standing up straight with his arms folded tight against his chest; his monitor tilted slightly, just enough so he could look away while acting like he was still focused on them.
It was answered by a nervous, “It’s coming for me…” which fit the insult, but Susie got the feeling that was supposed to mean something else.
“It was about the contract then, eh? What’s it matter to you? The thing’s been dead and buried for years, and you already weaseled your way out of taking any responsibility.” Tenna [?], shifting his weight to one side, closing off even further.
[that should probably get a response, re: the trash zone and what life has been like there]
[...]
“You’re that worried about these little STRINGS, huh?” He all but snarled, screen going black; an arm swept through the air, coming to a halt above Spamton’s head, and his hand clenched, as though there was something there to grip-- but it was totally empty.
The weight in Susie’s hands eased, and then vanished entirely as the puppet was hoisted up by means unknown. She looked up again, where a clawed thumb acted like it was running across something-- like it was slowly strumming a guitar. Were… were they still there, even without the big mech suit? Susie thought they’d been powering it, like wires. Yeah, they’d had to hang Spamton up to get him talking again, after he’d shut down, but if the big version had to stay plugged in, then the small version could hold a charge, right?
Apparently not.
“SURE. Why not? I can cut ‘em for you.” A set of fangs lit up in the darkness, spitting each word like it was trying to poison him. “A deal’s a deal, right? You couldn’t uphold your end-- why should I put the effort into holding you up, now?”
Spamton went totally still, and Susie thought that was weird. She’d grabbed a lot of kids in her days at different schools, and some of them went slack from fear, but others writhed around in her grip; it depended on the person, and Spamton had already demonstrated that, when he freaked out, he went wild. Was he just… cool with this?
Oh. Wait.
“That’s what you wanted anyway, right?” She asked, staring up.
Behind two-toned glasses, a pair of eyes flicked her way-- and then pointedly snubbed her, turning back to Tenna.
The thumb claw idled in midair, crooked like it had something caught on its blade.
It trembled.
“What are you trying to accomplish?” Tenna asked, a whisper compared to his usual [?]. His free hand laid flat against his chest, and then clenched, the tips of claws poking into his coat. “If you’re still chasing freedom, this isn’t it. This is isolation. You cut these strings, and you’re alone, as good as abandoned, and you did it to yourself. I’ve never been a religious kind of guy, but to me, that doesn’t sound like heaven. Sounds like hell.”
[…]
“Yes or no, Spam. Just realize that if I’m doing this, I’m starting right here.” The hand at his chest pulled away, the tips of claws resting on an invisible line.
And, finally, the puppet began to tremble. All this time hanging stock still, and something seemed to break through in that moment. His jaw worked frantically, words managing to overlap in an unintelligible [?]; Susie thought she heard ‘answer the phone’ and a couple ‘hearts,’ which made her think it was more of the same.
When the deluge ended, he gave a terse shake of the head.
For a moment, Tenna stared him down-- screen still dark-- then laid a hand out beneath him, releasing the bundle of invisible strings so he dropped into a waiting palm. It was only a few seconds before either of them spoke, but it felt like a small eternity.
This is another take on 'boss titans,' which I found interesting in concept, but just wasn't able to take anywhere worthwhile. I don't think there's anything to warn for, with this one.
-
[We need some kind of massive threat to respond to, and idk what it is right this moment. The Knight doesn’t make sense in this scenario, and I don’t like the idea of it being a Titan, given what this is about. Maybe it’s a threat from the light world/another lightner? Idk, but whatever it is, Kris, at least, thinks it can’t be fought on normal terms.]
The metal tore clear through both layers of fabric, popping the stitches and causing the mends to come partially undone.
“Shit,” She hissed, trying to push the arm back into its socket, so she could try a new-and-improved healing spell-- but she didn’t get the chance.
There was a [?] whine from behind them-- and Susie immediately recognized it as power building, flowing through a tool. She jerked her head around and-- either in response to the noise itself, or her reaction to it-- Tenna turned to follow suit.
They were just in time to see Kris’s sword pierce into the cobblestone.
This fountain didn’t burst out from the earth, like the Knight’s had; instead, magic almost oozed up from the ground, like some kind of messed up lava lamp, until it formed a continuous [mass]. It was pitch black, like each of the [?] before it, but with a [?], uncanny red sheen, which silhouetted Kris, standing before it. They must have stepped away while it was still coming together.
But why? Why would they do any of that? As if [?] wasn’t bad enough, they had to go and add a freaking titan into the mix? They didn’t seriously think that it would listen, just because they’d made the fountain, did they?
She was so wrapped up in the maelstrom of thoughts that the motion beside her didn’t register, at first-- not until a soft, “Ah. That’s how it’s gotta be, huh kiddo? What a casting call…”
With his good arm-- the one that [?] between them, now that they were facing Kris-- Tenna braced against the ground and pushed himself upright. His screen was just as dark as the fountain before them, but, even so, Susie could tell that it was fixed on Kris’s back, and, once he was standing, he immediately started forward; his one working hand found his dangling arm, and pulled it flush against his side so it didn’t flop around with each step.
[…]
He looked at them. They looked right back up at him.
“You sure, Kris? I’m not sayin’ no, but… you’re really gonna trust me again? After last time?”
They pulled their head upright in a tiny nod. “It turned out better this way. Sorry about your arms.”
His namesakes twitched at that, but Susie couldn’t make anything of the [?] behind it. Either confusion or offense, probably, if her own [?] was any indication.
“I’ll make it up to you-- pull out all the stops, this time.” He said, before--
Before walking into the fountain.
Susie lurched forward, as if to stop him, but failed on two counts. On the physical side, Kris’s arm snapped out and grabbed a combined fistful of her hair and jacket. She could have shrugged it off, but it came as such a surprise that it made her hesitate for just a moment-- enough to realize that there was nothing for her to grab, anymore. It wasn’t that Tenna vanished beneath the fountain’s darkness; it was that his form dissolved into darkness as soon as he made contact.
“That’s… like last time again, right? He didn’t really just--? Kris, why’d you go and-- What the hell just happened??”
Kris looked at her, silently, and tilted their head toward the fountain, which began to petrify right before their eyes.
[…]
Something began to crack-- and, while it started as a hairline fracture, it was so close, and the scale so grand that even those first few [crackles] felt like a clap of thunder. It was made all the worse a moment later, when the pillar burst apart from within, completely severing its top and bottom halves. The sound of solidified darkness crashing into the ground was absolutely titanic, but Susie didn’t know what else she should have expected, since Kris made a titan.
Information filtered in piece by piece, between the bits of rubble that rained down. Instead of a single fist punching through, like an almighty butterfly breaking free from a cocoon, four arms spread out in a perfect cross, only just floating back from a flourish that had shaken the pillar from the core. None of them were attached to hulking silhouette above them, testing different formations before settling into place at the titan’s [empty] sides. Far above, two delicate [limbs?] fluttered endlessly, tumbling like the tails of a kite, and, somehow, didn’t tangle hopelessly together.
There was far more detail, looking at its full scope-- something behind it, sturdier than the feelers, but more flexible than its limbs, and [???]-- but its face plate was what put everything into perspective. It wasn’t a single piece, but two white triangles nested together, one pointing up, the other down. If someone was to press them flush, they would have formed a perfect rectangle.
At one point, that had been Tenna. Maybe it still was, maybe not. Susie didn’t pretend to understand.
Which wasn’t to say she wouldn’t try.
“What did you do?” She demanded, treating Kris to a dose of their own medicine and seizing them by a mixed handful of shirt and scarf.
They made a choked sound at first, then wiggled enough to get some breathing room, and [?]. “Nothing he didn’t agree to.”
“He would’ve agreed to [something absurd] if you asked him, dumbass!” / “You turned him into a freaking titan.”
The titan in question flexed its arms cautiously, attention on the [direction] two, even though all four were interchangeable. One warped antennae twitched sideways, and as the two quirks [registered], some of the pressure in Susie’s chest began to ease. He wouldn’t be worried about his [direction] arms if he didn’t remember hurting the original one, and the way the antenna moved was way too close to [thought] to be coincidence. Kris hadn’t convinced their friend to sacrifice himself and be remade-- or, at least, he hadn’t died because they’d convinced him.
That did put a new spin on things. A titan. On their side.
Susie didn’t like how they’d gotten there, but there they were, and she could at least enjoy the show. Tenna would appreciate that, wouldn’t he?
[…]
“Hey jackass, where’d you sword go?” […]
Without looking, Kris waved vaguely toward the titan-- who, naturally, noticed none of it.
Of course. There had to be a blade involved. Non-negotiable. Why couldn’t Kris have at least used one of their backups?
“Then grab a pencil or something, ‘cause I’m not picking up any of your slack.”
This is a piece I've had in mind... basically since I played chapters 3 and 4, but only implemented a few months after the fact. I didn't like that draft, so I took another stab at it, and wound up with this. It's choppy, and missing connective tissue, but the major story beats are there. And here is your requisite Spamtenna warning.
-
There was something earth shattering going on, and the reasonable part of Tenna could recognize that fact-- but he found himself unable to internalize it. Rather than the Roaring that [?] in front of them, all he was able to hear was the roar of a blade cutting through the air, sharp enough to rend stone and metal, and as it echoed in his head, the world warbled around him. It might have been the darkness that spilled out from the artificial geyser, or it could have been the buildings that towered over him, growing taller by the second, causing a [?] sense of vertigo to splinter through his head. His arms hung at either side, dead weight, burning at the welded seams.
He had never seen the Knight before today. He’d made his deal with Kris, and when it had attacked him, his back had been turned-- but there was a familiar power that condensed around it, unmistakable as it tore through the streets, back from whence it came…
Only to stop in front of them, eye narrowed as it looked his way.
The ground lurched beneath him, and the Knight [grew] ever larger, ever deadlier.
Something flew into his screen, obscuring his vision, and it took a second for Tenna to recognize that, whatever it was, it didn’t hurt. It was a thick, dark stripe, which took up the bulk of his visual range, but he could see a strip of Castle Town above and below. His frame shuddered, and whatever it was, it rubbed harmlessly against his glass.
Fabric, he realized. A sleeve.
He forced himself to raise his head-- peering past a [?] old suit and greasy dyed hair-- and found the Knight tossing its head, almost nonchalantly. No longer interested in the pair of them, it turned its back in full and charged away, clear through the town’s gates.
The body in front of him stood stock still even after the threat was gone-- trembling from the tension that held it steady-- and, with a herculean effort, he managed to lift a single hand, which he dropped clumsily to Spamton’s shoulder. As it made contact, his head whipped around, practically nose-to-nose with Tenna’s blank screen, and his chest heaved as the rest of his body followed that line of motion. Plastic hands dug into the mended [?] of his tailcoat, scrabbling for anything solid, and while one stayed anchored in place, the other let go just as soon as it had found purchase, skittering upwards, across Tenna’s casing. It pawed anxiously at the hairline fracture in his upper corner, and then pressed against that spot, as if to hide the damage that had been done.
It felt strange. Tenna had had enough time to adjust to the surface level changes, and did his best not to dwell, but the hard, tepid plastic was a far cry from warm code. That wasn’t to say he hated it. Even if the make and shape were different, it still moved in the same patterns, and he could read the nervous twitching of digital muscle so easily, even though it was a [?] joint shivering against his glass.
His arms wouldn’t respond for a second time, but both of them needed him to take initiative and reach out, so, with bracing [breath], Tenna unfolded himself-- not vertically, but to the sides and forward. It had been so long that the feeling of fabric on his secondary arms-- the sleeves that blossomed into existence along with them, and the rough [?] that his hands landed against-- was jarring in and of itself, helping to coax him back into the moment.
Where there would have been nails scraping against his plastic, once upon a time, [?] fingertips gripped him more tightly.
“YO U DIDN’’T [NOT ALL IT’S CRACKED UP TO BE, HUH] WORSE. RIGHT?”
“Fine-- I’m, I’m fine.” He managed to [?] back, voice springing into place with a practice ease, though it took his scrambled circuits a touch longer to answer. “Just, uh, a bit of stage fright. Hah. Nothing… happened, did it?” It took a second for him to realize how stupid that sounded, what with the [?] of darkness gushing up from the gates, so he tried to steady his tone for, “To you, I mean.”
[…] “OV [CURSE] NOT. I’M NOt [HE’S THE ONE] [CLEAVED RED BY BLADE].”
The hand attached to his arm tightened, and while Tenna appreciated the sentiment behind it, in that moment, with the Knight’s aura still fresh in his memory, any contact against the weld was too much. It was enough to jolt his primary arms into action. One joined the rest, wrapped against his former partner’s back, and the other moved upward, where it met the back of a slender, segmented hand.
“Then it’s okay. We’re both alright.” It came out more tightly than he would have preferred, since he’d been drawing upon the [?] that used to help him soothe a frightened child back to sleep, but the [tension] in his own words was unavoidable.
A doll’s head thumped against the bottom edge of his screen, giving him a perfect view of shaggy black hair. “N0.”
Tenna had meant it on a more personal level, but on the broader spectrum, that was true. His screen was too full of [?] to turn and put the fountain in his sights, and he didn’t particularly want to in that moment, so he stayed still.
“I’’M s0RRY.”
Oh. Was it… was it really that bad? He understood that friction would develop between two conflicting sources of darkness, but they’d all heard about the Titan the kids had taken down. Surely they could do the same today, with an entire dark world’s worth of allies behind them, ready to lend their aid. His fellow darkners couldn’t just give up, now that they’d made a home of their own.
“Me too,” He said, more steadily than before, sliding their hands down so he could use it to tilt his partner’s chin toward himself, “But we can’t keep talking like the show’s already over-- the cameras are still rolling, aren’t they? We still have plenty of time, so let’s save any more apologies for the blooper reel.”
Spamton looked at him-- not just a shift in posture, but staring properly up-- and his jaw dropped half an inch, hanging open, [?] like he wanted to say something, but ultimately remained silent. It had been hard enough to make things work back in the day, and Tenna didn’t know how they could possibly be compatible like this, but he leaned in nonetheless. If he could recognize a hand’s nervous tremors, cast in plastic, then surely Spamton would know a kiss when he felt it.
It wasn’t much, as expected-- just hard materials bumping off of one another-- but they would have time to figure it out, later down the line. He had to make himself believe that. A plastic cheek shifted, nuzzling against his screen.
Outside of their little bubble, the world went cold. Subconsciously, Tenna’s grip tightened, but he didn’t hear any complaint from the puppet crushed against his chest. He felt hair against the bottom of his monitor, and turned to follow his partner’s gaze-- to where the second fountain was petrifying from the ground up, its flowing edges hardening into [?] stone.
Without the [?] cacophony to distract from everything else, voices carried across the town; a collective murmur washed through the crowd, but one rose above the rest-- angry, [?], and most of all, betrayed.
“—when you were working against us the whole time!”
Tenna was quite familiar with that voice-- its owner and the tone alike. Her fire had only been aimed his way a handful of times-- soothed to a pleasant ember, in recent days-- but he remembered its [burn] all too clearly, and knew that, at this rate, she’d burn herself and her [target] out. He didn’t particularly want to draw her ire but they couldn’t do this, right now. They had to put their [disagreements] aside for the time, all of them.
The nervous buzz amped up. Darkners began skittering around beneath the new tower, an inch away from panic, and distinct words began to [?] through the town-- the same that they’d exchanged, just seconds earlier. ‘I’m sorrys.’ ‘I love yous.’ It was dialogue fit for a finale, not a fight. On a hunch, Tenna scanned the crowd, and while he’d known he wouldn’t find King among them, he couldn’t see Queen anywhere, either. No wonder they were beginning to panic-- it was a terrible thing, to feel the end creep up and not know what to do.
Someone had finally seen him at the edge of TV World. She’d given him hope for the future, then, and while the path hadn’t been as straightforward as any of them might have liked, she’d been right. He had a place, now, and someone who wanted him. Time to pay that [hope] forward.
He dropped his arms, making sure to offer one to his partner as he stood up; the scale between them wasn’t quite right, yet, but as he straightened his back, it began to stabilize.
As Tenna took a breath, about to [???], a plastic hand seized one of his index fingers and shook it. “WHAT THE [!$?!] IS THIS? U NEV3R [FULL DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT] ABOUT [FOUR WHEEL] [ARMED AND DANGEROUS].”
He flexed it idly, inadvertently curling it around Spamton’s, and wracked his brain any answer that wouldn’t get him yelled at. The pickings were slim.
“What is it? Good question! I know what it’s good for, at least!” He [?], taking the opportunity to press the pad of a finger against the puppet’s nose, and-- while he was distracted-- grabbed his hand to get both of them moving. Tiny feet [?] behind him, and when he realized what had just happened, Spamton grumbled ad-ridden profanity, but he didn’t drag them to a stop, for which Tenna was grateful.
When they reached the kids, the three were [?] in a sullen silence, looking up to where the pillar stretched up into the darkness. Susie’s claws wrapped around the handle of her axe, hair falling into her face as she [???], and Ralsei stood a pace away hands clenched so he couldn’t wring them. Kris was even further from her, hands on their elbows, and from the [?] that wracked their form, Tenna knew they were only an inch from digging their nails into the soft flesh of their arms.
They weren’t fighting anymore. That was something, at least. Tenna had been prepared to break it up, if need be, but he was grateful that he wouldn’t have to dust off the old [?] gloves.
“Heya, kids-- hope we’re not poppin’ in at a bad time, but it seems light we oughta get a move on if we wanna take care of this. You’re the Titan experts around here, any words of WISDOM for us common folk before we jump on in?”
Kris’s stare immediately turned upon him, and Susie’s snout scrunched up as she realized someone new was talking to her. Ultimately, though, it was Ralsei who answered him.
“Wisdom? I-- I don’t think I understand, Mr. Tenna. We just need to make a way up, so we can fight it. There’s nothing for anyone else to do.”
“dO YOU [HEAR YE HEAR YE]rself, [PEARLY WHITES]?” Spamton asked, scaling Tenna’s lower arm so he could grab onto the next, “YOU N3ED [???] BUT YOU DON’T NEED [HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME!]?”
The arm he’d just vacated followed him upward, to press a finger to his hinged mouth. “A way up! That’s a great start-- an easy one, too! But I don’t s’pose there are any more… preventative measures to take?”
“There’s no stopping it, now; it’s going to hatch no matter what.” Ralsei [?], fidgeting with the edge of his scarf, unable to fully tear his eyes away from the tower-- or, rather, the chrysalis.
“What if we break it down?” Called a new voice from somewhere in the crowd, but moving nearer-- and their attention moved to a pair of darkners, clinging to their third to see above the [crowd].
The speaker’s suggestion was joined shortly thereafter by, “Kick it off!”
Between them, the CD player cocked their head, “Jam it open?”
[T] “That’s a GREAT point! If it’s still developing, we can head it off, can’t we? Before it turns into a butterfly, a caterpillar is just--”
“[NON-GLOOBY SLIME]?”
Pausing at the sound of his own voice echoing into his vents, Tenna folded a set of arms over his chest. “I dunno about non-glooby. Speaking as someone who’s been stuck in a--”
“[EXTREMELY LOUD INCORRECT BU]G, [ANT].”
“No, it’s not the same,” Ralsei insisted, scarf waving as he dropped it to [?] them down, “And please try to take this more seriously! We’re in real trouble if we can’t--”
“Can’t what, kick its ass?” Susie cut in, moving to lean against her axe as she looked around them. “We did it once-- you, me, Kris and the old man. We got everyone here, now, so it’s gonna be a piece of cake. Why the hell shouldn’t we try to crack it open and see what’s inside?”
“Because It Will: Explode Into Tiny Bullets. Like An Annoying Blue Virus.” Echoed down from above-- and there was Queen. Her throne followed the tower’s curve, floating down so she didn’t have to speak quite so loudly by the end of it.
There was an offended huff from the right side of Tenna’s head, but for now, he pretended he hadn’t heard anything.
“Sounds sick.” Susie [?], though she didn’t make any attempt to see it through.
[Some prep before it starts to crack; get stuff assigned and darkners moving.]
“You’ll keep everyone going down here, right Mr. Tenna?”
“Huh?” Tenna asked, turning away from [?], […] “What’re you talking about, buddy? You said you need a way up, and I’m the TV for the job-- a really great host knows how to make themselves the stage for new talent, you know! (And forgive me for running the tapes back, but I am a great host!)”
There was an indulgent hum to his right hand side. “[A PERFECT 10!]”
He felt his screen warm. That was a far cry from where they’d started-- and far more forward than some of the latest additions. [Something implying he grew a bit]
“Please stop hitting on your ex,” Ralsei begged, just short of despairing, which was… concerning, given what loomed over them. “Or at least wait until nobody can hear you.”
“WH4T’CHA MEAN [4/5 DENTISTS]? IT’’5 [ALL ACCORDING TO KEIKAKU] [KEIKAKU MEANS PLAN]. BUILD HIM UP, WATCH HIM RE3>H [HEAVEN].” Taking care to avoid the tender weld, Spamton flopped over Tenna’s shoulder, which allowed him to make eye contact with the prince. “AND WHO SAYS [X MARKS THE SPOT]?”
That shook Tenna out of his distraction, and he nodded toward his former cohost. Was anyone saying that? They had better not be-- that was a private decision, and nobody else got to make that call for them.
From where she was hovering over the Swatchlings, Queen made a show of rolling her entire head. “Can You Two Be Gay Any Other Time?”
Without sitting up, Spamton flapped a hand in her general direction. “IT’S [Y2K]. WH4T OTHER TiME?”
“What do you take me for?” Tenna tried, making a show of puffing up in mock indignation, “Of course I can!”
There was a brief puff of air in her cheeks, but she quickly schooled her expression before getting back to work, [?] with a parting: “Your Useless Answers Have Been Recorded. Thank You For: Your Participation.”
As she left, Tenna gestured toward her with a lower arm, shrugging the shoulder above it. “In any case, I reckon Queen’s got everything under control-- but if you don’t need a hand up, I can make myself useful down here.”
“It’s not that we wouldn’t like the help! It’s just-- uh-- a little more than we can ask from you. You’re nothing to sneeze at, but a Titan is… well, titanic.”
Another piece of stone flaked away from the cocoon, and Tenna squinted at the growing web of cracks. There was no guarantee that it was the height he needed to reach, but there wasn’t anything above it, which was promising.
“Just under [???] feet, do you think?” He asked, tugging the knot of his tie loose in preparation.
The tiny body on his shoulder straightened up. “GIVE ‘R [TAKE MY WIFE...’S FLEAS].”
He nodded to himself, looping the tie around his neck so he could work on his tailcoat, next. “Dunno if I’ve still got that kind of height in me, but it’s worth a shot.”
[The Titan emerges, they have a good idea what they’re working with]
“Still think you can get us up there?” She asked, impatiently tapping the flat of her axe against her boot.
“Sure can! Even if I can’t exactly match it these days, I’ll get’cha where you’re going.” Tenna squared his shoulders, and-- ignoring the jolt it sent through him-- looked to his partner. “It’ll take everything I’ve got, though. I’d appreciate it if you could watch my back, but if the kids need you…”
Spamton waved a dismissive hand at Susie, who looked tempted to bite it clean off. “THEY’LL [DEAL OR NO DEAL].”
[???] “Well, what you you say? Deal? No deal?”
Susie’s lip curled-- but the [irritation] was largely performative. “Dude, what kind of money do you think we’re getting from a freaking Titan? We’ve got other gear, you know.”
“TH3N It’’S A DE4L.” Spamton shot back, almost without waiting for her to finish. He looked up for a second, then back at the ground, and made a point of grabbing onto Tenna’s shirt with both hands.
Good choice. It wouldn’t do to lose him in this.
Trying to stabilize himself, Tenna knelt down, lower hands bracing against the cobblestone below, and with those four anchor points set, willed the magic that lived in him up and out. It was harder without an emotional beat to respond to, and when he forced it, he could never maintain it for a full-length episode, but-- for better or for worse-- this was a battle, and would be over far sooner. When he felt himself leaning over the kids, he made a conscious effort to straighten up, putting his weight on one side while a hand flipped, offering itself as a platform. They could fit comfortably enough as things stood, but he had more work to do.
The titan stretched out in full, wings spreading to reveal the [?] of its face.
…he had a lot more work to do.
The mended connections in his arms groaned with every inch he gained, and he already knew they would be a problem once he was back at his usual size, but that was for future him to worry about; if he stopped to address it now, they might not even get that far. He gingerly raised one over his head to stretch it out, hoping it might lessen the strain, but didn’t dare repeat it on his right shoulder.
They were getting somewhere, now-- primarily up-- and the darkners below were making a point of skirting around him. He pushed up from his knees, which almost certainly drew the titan’s focus, but he couldn’t repay the favor, just yet; he had to get closer, and ensure that he didn’t hurt anyone along the way.
Tenna did not like doing this sort of thing. His resting state was already beyond standard scale, and he had precious little reason to push his limits, outside of giant monster movies, so he usually didn’t; it made everyone else so small and fragile, made their world feel… cramped in a way he couldn’t really think about, unless he wanted to question his own existence. Sure, he’d known he was a big electric box plugged into a wall, but if he grew tall enough, would he find his own ceiling? It didn’t bear consideration.
For now, he sidestepped the thought-- and the town’s perimeter wall, putting him nose-to-neck with the titan.
It seemed nonplussed, unbothered by the TV in its space, but certainly not friendly, if the hail of bullets was any indication. Tenna lowered a hand, shielding the kids from it, but couldn’t do anything to keep it from impacting against his frame-- this time, anyway. As it [???], he took the opportunity to sidle behind it and wrapped all three free arms around it, doing his best to hold it in place and keep the kids steady in his palm, where they could mount an attack.
[...]
Something shifted near his collar, and a moment later, he heard a very loud-- and very familiar-- wolf whistle.
“I [I LOVE TV]!”
[something quick to lead from one line to the next]
There was a faintly audible, “Ah screw it,” followed by a hollered, “GO FOR IT, YOU LITTLE FREAK! KEEP HITTING ON THAT OLD MAN.”
Without meaning to, Tenna felt himself draw up taller-- he didn’t notice that his angle changed, and that he could see the kids without the titan’s [?] getting in the way. “EXCUSE ME?”
“OR PISS HIM OFF. THAT WORKS TOO.”
“THOSE R 2 OF [A FEW OF MY FAVORITE THINGS].”
Tenna [?] a booming grumble-- and, at first, both laughed at him-- but then a wing caught him in the screen, and all three of them were forced back to reality. He sputtered around the feathers and readjusted; one arm stayed wrapped around the titan’s trunk, but the other two caught it in a nelson hold over the arms, where he could grab onto the wings and keep them from flapping around all willy-nilly.
The beast lurched in his grasp, and a moment later he heard a rough, “THANKS, TENNA.”
When he was able to peer past the struggling limb, he found all three of the kids righting themselves-- Susie anchored onto his palm and Ralsei caught in the [?] of his glove, while Kris wrapped an arm around a fingertip. While windswept, everyone was present and uninjured, so he counted it as a victory.
[...]
Light exploded outward, beaming through the hole in its face-- and sending its head hurtling back. While he’d had a decent grip on the wings that extended from it, Tenna had no such hold on its actual head, and on that recoil, it impacted against his screen with a resounding crack. Stars exploded across his vision, and he couldn’t tell whether it was the titan, dissolving from the inside out, or the splintering that lanced through his head.
He stumbled forward as the body in his arms evaporated, and quickly tried to regain his balance, flinging three arms off to the sides to compensate for his inability to see. From his palm, Susie whooped, and there were a number of cheers from the town below.
While he didn’t feel steady enough to manually shrink down, Tenna could feel the strain on his body, and found that-- with adrenaline beginning to wane-- it wasn’t giving him a choice in the matter. He adjusted his stance, trying to keep his center of gravity [?], and didn’t fight against the tide of magic. Color began to creep back in as the town’s walls reached his chest, so he did his best to kneel down, giving the kids the chance to disembark.
Susie immediately took it, leaping down even though it was still quite the gap, and Kris followed a moment later. Ralsei was the last to [?], taking a quick look behind himself before leaping after his friends.
Around the same time, Tenna felt something scuttle behind his neck, from one shoulder to the other, and he leaned back to the right, trying to figure out what Spamton was up to.
He couldn’t see very clearly out of his left side, though. He’d known what had happened as soon as his mind let him [?] the splintering of glass, but it still made his heart sink. There was a long, thin blind spot running down the left part of his screen, now, and on its either side, the world doubled.
The [worn/stretched] connections in his arms screamed at him from overuse, and the various nicks and bites from bullets and… spawn stung. Tomorrow was going to suck, but at least they were alive to see a tomorrow.
As he leaned down, braced on a secondary arm, he realized he’d made it back down to his usual size, and heaved a sigh of relief. He allowed his vision to flicker out for a moment-- just rest, and nothing worse-- which meant he didn’t have any forewarning when tiny hands pressed themselves against the crack in his screen. Tenna yelped and, inadvertently, pushed himself backwards, landing hard-- but harmlessly-- against the stonework. There was a raspy, exasperated sigh from nearby. Something landed on his chest, and the hands made their way back to his glass.
When he blinked back on, a little sprite stared back at him, and boldly rubbed its hands over the crack again, trying to mitigate the damage.
[...]
He let the hand flop down onto his chest, where Spamton promptly picked it back up in both of his own.
“[SENSATION] WHEN DO YOU HAVE THESE?”
The urge to shrug burned, but the unstable connections in Tenna’s shoulders burned hotter. He settled for flapping a wrist, trying to minimize the issue. “Had ‘em up my sleeve since I was built. I know I told you about the studio’s early days, back when I was a one-TV operation-- I was able to do everything myself, but it took a couple’a helping hands.”
At those words, Spamton’s mouth clacked shut and he jerked his head to the side, pulling another few sprites into existence and [?] them directly into Tenna’s face. It was too hard to look straight at them, where they vanished and warbled through the damaged glass.
“WHY’’D Y0U PUT EM [UP, UP AND AWAY]? [????] IF YOU NEVR EV3N [THE SHOW MUST GO ON] ME.”
“They’re just… kind of creepy crawly, aren’t they?” He sighed, fixing his gaze on a point [wherever] so he wasn’t tempted to watch the pixies, thereby making his dizziness even worse. “Not exactly suitable for all ages.”
Spamton abandoned the arm in his grip and crawled upward, stretching out so he could grab Tenna by both edges of the screen-- which, for him, was quite the feat.
With his nose so close it was actually bending at the tip, he [?] “THEY’RE [RATED M FOR MATURE].”
Even if he hadn’t felt his screen blip bright red, Tenna would have been able to see it radiating across his former cohost’s plastic features.
“That was not what I meant!”
[…]
He sighed and tilted his monitor, watching how his left arm responded as he tried to heave it into motion. His fingers twitched in response, and the elbow joint made a solid effort, but it was dead at the shoulder, which hardly came as a surprise.
“Well, the usual set’s out of commission, so you’re gonna see more of these ones.”
This was going to be a single 'what if' in a larger piece-- which I mentally referred to as "You're Red Now (That's My Attack)"-- exploring what the prophetic "red" could mean. In this instance, it was looking at color coding of darkners, and the red guitar.
Since we don't know what the guitar's deal is as of February 2026, this is my spin on that darkner (just in case you're totally opposed to a fan version).
(And, because I won't get another chance to say it, I was listening to The Place Where it Rained while writing this. You'll see why that's relevant, further in. I'm still quite happy with that parallel.)
-
Tenna was TV World. It wasn’t a fact he advertised, but the signs were there, if one knew where to look.
When his temper flared, so too would the stage lights, beaming hotter and brighter than usual, glaring out at the dark world when he couldn’t. If he was sick, the studio responded in kind; coffee makers stopped working, monitors refused to turn on, and even the backstage lights would flicker as his consciousness waned. On those occasions that he was unplugged, the both of them were disconnected from the dark world entirely, allegedly leaving only the purple cliffs and a footprint that had once been the metal wastes.
Everywhere Tenna went, the studio followed. Even if there wasn’t room for it to physically manifest, it was always a channel away.
So when he woke up after the most eventful night of his life, after meeting his lightner for the first time, face to face, after trying and failing to hold the kids’ attention as per the plan, after something attacked him from behind, tracing fire in its wake--
After all of that, it was only natural to wake up in the green room.
It was cold. Damp. He thought he remembered that, too. Toriel had unplugged him again, and without power, he couldn’t see or hear the outside world, but he was still aware of the chill that seeped in-- and of the wet something that pooled at the top of his head, weighing his antennae down. It was impossible to tell how long he’d spent, exposed to the elements, but it was enough to seep clear through his being. Every single room in the studio was cast in cool light, and puddles of condensation gathered on the tiles.
If he was being honest, Tenna was surprised to see it-- but only because he hadn’t expected to switch on, ever again. When he’d felt the moisture in his casing, he could only think that the deal had fallen apart; he hadn’t been able to release Toriel the way the lightners wanted, so why was there any reason for them to follow through, when he hadn't?
So why this? Why was he here, in the studio, at all? Had someone taken pity on him, and brought him somewhere new? Was this, somehow, the junkyard? TV World’s winding backrooms offered no insight into the matter, and the door to what had once been the cliffs was blocked off, but there was one more avenue to explore. Though he could have snapped his fingers and changed the scene, Tenna found himself padding through the last hallway, instead, past the defunct parental controls, arms hanging limply as he went.
The final door refused to open.
He stared at it for a moment-- at the dimmed light that meant the lock should have been inactive-- and then to monitors that lined the walkway. They were dark, inactive, just like the [?] beyond-- the phantoms of those who’d once filled his place, before obsolescence had come for them.
There was nothing to be found, there. No combination. No hope for [?]. Just the promise of what awaited him.
He forced himself to look away-- back down the hallway-- and leaned, hard, against the door. His arms swung back before he realized it, thudding against the metal.
“Knock, knock.” He snorted mirthlessly, sliding down to the ground.
Something knocked back, and he felt the door reverberate against his spine. It was harmless-- a tiny thing-- but after the unbearable, splitting pain that had sprung up on him from behind, Tenna couldn’t bear it; he yelped and threw himself forward, just barely catching himself before falling flat on his screen. Cold air rushed in through his vents as he tried to catch his breath, and-- hesitantly-- he turned to look.
Knock, knock.
Did… did he want to know who was there?
Whoever it was, wasn’t company preferable to wandering the studio halls, alone? The devil he knew had already sold him out-- why not take a risk on the one he’d just met?
“Hell—hello? He asked, voice softer than he would have preferred-- and it seemed to prompt movement on the other side of the door. Something scratched against it, not with a metal-gouging force, but the sound of claws tracing over [???].
“I’m here.” Someone whispered, audible even through the steel, “You are, too. That’s… great. Honest. Just say the words, and you’ll be free.”
“Words?” Tenna echoed, lacking the energy to really emphasize it, or cut to a mock-up sponsorship.
“The code.”
His gaze rose, again, to the monitors that stretched overhead. All they showed was a broken man, staring up into nothing.
“I don’t know a code-- not anymore.”
“You know.” The voice thrummed, insistent, “You had it before. You still know it.”
…he had?
Did… did they mean that pass code?
He’d been warned that it was unwise to reuse passwords, but it had only happened as a coincidence-- or, as much of a coincidence as was possible, when two people were working with the same information. He’d used the number once, to protect something in the furthest reaches of the backrooms, and Toriel had used the same combination, hoping to lock sensitive content away from the kids’ eyes.
Would someone really use it for a third time?
“Please, Anthy. Just say it.”
“Twelve twenty-five,” Tenna all but mumbled-- and then realized he was still facing away from the door. His arms refused to support him, so he couldn’t push himself up, but he managed to turn around, and opened his mouth to speak when--
The doors eased open, and a darkner stepped through.
At first, all he could process was red. They were the first spot of warmth he’d seen since waking up here, and it was mesmerizing. That was the same reason he’d always favored red, himself-- it kept the viewers’ attention where he needed it-- not that he’d had much choice in his actual costuming; that coat was long gone, left on the TV stand, if he had to guess.
The newcomer leaned over to take his limp hands, and the motion strummed something from their core. Tumbling, triangular curls blocked his view of their face at first, but they straightened up, pulling him with them, and a single black-and-yellow eye affixed onto him.
The eye curved in a rueful smile. “Why so small? Was it a hard trip?”
“Rogue?”
“Rouge today.” He said, more clearly than the rest of it-- a healthy strum-- and pushed his mane back from his face. Clawed fingers [ran/traced] across his frets on the way down, click-click-clicking until there was nowhere else for them to run. They were shiny, black and lacquered, just like the picks Dess had always used-- just like the one Tenna still had hidden away in his body, the studio. Kris had gifted it to him. They’d slotted it into one of his vents, a lifetime ago, and no one had ever asked him to give it back.
It was one of the few things he’d ever been allowed to keep for himself.
Rouge. How long had it been? He used to be over almost as often as the Holidays, helping Dess practice as they followed along with the music videos Tenna would play for them. Tenna had watched the two of them practice the songs she’d come up with, and laughed silently as one melody morphed into something else, causing the kids to ad lib their way to the end. Once upon a time, the guitar had been a composer on the show; his ability to balance the Shadowguys’ solos was unparalleled, and in the time without him, they’d run a-musical-mok.
He’d been another loss in the running tally. Another half-forgotten face that would never be filled out again.
Until now.
It was hard for Tenna to get his head around that; once people left, they didn’t just come back. He’d done everything in his power to help them come back, but it hadn’t worked, in the end. He’d failed.
So why was Rouge here now? Or… why was he there with Rouge?
Was it any different, he wondered, if he wasn’t waiting for someone, but joined them, instead?
“Where are we?” He asked, one hand falling to the opposite wrist. That wasn’t where it ached, but he couldn’t bring himself to trace a line all the way up to the actual source of his pain.
Rouge leaned back on one leg, and the opposite hoof tapped against the floor. “Asylum. Or maybe purgatory. Depends on if you belong down here or not.”
Tenna tilted his screen, trying to make out any detail in the world beyond the studio. There were dark, ochre shapes in the distance, but nothing he could put a name to from so far away.
“Us? We’re good.” Rogue said, swaying nearer. One of his hands slipped into a faded denim pocket, and the other curled into a fist, hiding his painted claws. “She brought us here, herself.”
His fist struck out in a practiced motion, playfully punching Tenna below the elbow, but what was meant to be a gesture of solidarity proved the opposite, instead. Minor though it was, the force caused strips of damp tape to peel away from shorn metal, and without that small amount of support, the wires of Tenna’s shoulder pulled against one another, begging to rip free again.
He couldn’t help but bark out at the sudden, searing pain, and desperately reached up to grasp at the joint, trying to pull it back together, to relieve the strain. Rouge’s eye dropped in horror, and they clip-clopped closer, so they might help. The sound of it was almost comedic against the [?] Tenna had been thrown into.
His vision wobbled as he clutched the arm against himself, and while the pain lessened, it didn’t vanish in its entirety; some part of Tenna knew it would take major repairs to [??], but even then, they would still ache. The damage would never be undone.
Rouge circled around to his opposite side, trying to play it safe-- but he could tell when the younger darkner noticed the loose sleeve on that side, too; he didn’t end up touching either arm, choosing to lean into Tenna’s side to offer support as he steered them back into the studio.
“The hell happened to you?”
A single, piercing laugh erupted from Tenna’s speakers. What hadn’t happened to him, really? The deals dissolving, the show falling apart, the crew cutting ties and the lightners, disappointed… It all hurt, just as [keenly] as the arm that was trying to succumb to gravity, but none of that could be taped back into place.
“The Knight made a… [?] entrance.” He said-- and he could have sworn he heard Rouge’s [?] underscoring the title.
Rouge hissed. “She…? Oh. I guess that makes sense. She had to get you out somehow, if she was gonna bring you home.”
“Home?” Tenna echoed dubiously-- almost contemptuously. He didn’t know where they were, but it wasn’t home. Home wasn’t a dim umber landscape, or the static abyss they were moving through. It wasn’t even the studio. He was TV World. How could TV World, then, be his home?
No, his home lit up in gold, sunlight constantly beaming through the dust-softened windows. Home had an open door, which welcomed all visitors into its [?], and he’d been happy to be one of the first to greet them-- even if it meant he was the last to see them leave.
Home was warm and dry. It buzzed comfortingly, whether from conversation or electric current. His home was where they’d been safe. Happy.
Tenna… was beginning to wonder if it even existed, anymore. If it did, he certainly couldn’t go back, now.
“Home.” Rouge said again, vocal chords thrumming firmly. “Maybe it’s not right now, but it’s gonna be. That’s why we’re here. To make it home.” He paused and laughed. One hand raised like he wanted to repeat the punch from before, but he caught himself well before it could loose, and he covered for the near-blunder with, “Good job, old timer. You made it home.”
“Don’t get cute with me,” Tenna rumbled back, trying to maintain the momentum, but unable to keep his tone light under the reality that awaited, “I watched her unwrap you, you know.”
“Pff, yeah. You might’a mentioned that before. Fifteen or twenty times. I bet that dusty old Angel watched Toriel unbox you.”
…it wasn’t far from the truth, actually. Toriel always had kept the Delta Rune hanging over the door. It didn’t manifest as anything in the dark world-- he would have known, after the split, when he’d had to renew everyone’s contracts-- but he’d always been vaguely aware of it. Bibliox mumbled about it, from time to time. His words had never been anything intelligible.
When they passed through the last door, into the green room, Rouge’s eye [?] toward the back wall. “Where do you keep stuff for repairs?”
Rouge had been to his office on occasion, but never the dressing room, so that was out-- and Tenna wasn’t entirely sure that Mike’s room would still exist, under the circumstances, so he nodded to Ramb’s station, good antenna pointing the way. “There should be an emergency kit under the bar, unless the Pippins ran off with that, too.”
He heard a snort, and then the [clopping] of hooves. It made it sound like there was a bull wandering around in the studio. Maybe that wasn’t anything new, actually. Maybe there always had been a bull-- dressed in red, chasing everyone away-- and he’d never stopped to ask himself what purpose it served. Why hadn’t he just seen it out?
When Rouge came back, he had the kit in one clawed hand, and a rag in the other.
“Sit down.” He said, kneeing Tenna in the leg, though with a hesitance that suggested he didn’t know whether that, too, would come loose. “Doesn’t matter that you’re smaller than usual. I can’t see that high up.”
Even at this height, the couches here weren’t meant for Tenna. He tried, awkwardly, to seat himself, and in the process, his grip changed, unable to keep his arm steadily in place; as he hissed, the studio’s already-dim lights faltered. They lit back up a second later, as he pulled himself together.
Rouge looked up at them, and let out a metered strum of a sigh. “Geeze. Who’s been lookin’ after you, light-ways? They’re doing a crap job-- you smell like wet dust.”
“Has anyone ever told you you’ve got a real way with words?”
“Nope.” Rouge said, climbing up to the couch on his knees, and craning to get a look at the wires.
“Have you ever wondered why that is?”
He snorted. “Nope.”
The familiarity of it hurt, in a way unlike the tension that threatened to rip his arms apart from the inside. They’d talked like this before, too-- and now here they were, like nothing had ever happened, and no time had passed. How was it possible? Everyone else changed around him. Kris, Asriel, Toriel, Noelle… his mailman. They’d all outgrown the spots they’d once filled, leaving Tenna to his stand-- and now here was Rouge, [?] as his last day in the studio.
“Is… there anyone else out there?” He asked, staring down the open hallway, but unable to see as far as the final set of doors.
Without looking up from the repair kit, Rouge lifted a shoulder. “No one important yet, besides Dess. You know how she is. Doesn’t have to be perfect, but every choice’s gotta mean something.”
Tenna felt his expression brighten, just a touch. A light turned on somewhere behind him. “Of course I know-- I’ve never seen a more heartfelt lyricist. I imagine you were her first choice, weren’t you?”
“’Course I was.” The guitar [?], stopping in full to stare Tenna in the screen. “Don’t be too jealous, superstar. Second place ain’t bad.”
When he laughed, this time, there wasn’t any weight beneath it. “Ratings can only go so high-- that’s why nostalgia’s the real measure. I’m glad you were here for each other; it would have been a real plot twist if she tuned in anywhere else.”
“Good one, I guess. ‘Tuned in.’” Rouge echoed, rolling his eye-- but he seemed happier than before. He finally looked back to the kit, and separated the tools he supposedly needed. “’n I’m glad you finally put your face on. You had me worried for a minute there.”
Tenna nearly let go of his arm to touch his monitor-- unaware that he’d been blank this entire time-- but remembered why that was a bad idea at the last second. Despite that, he still felt a couple of claws graze harmlessly against his glass, and ruefully looked down to find his secondary set of arms [?] free beneath the damaged pair.
He supposed it didn’t matter, anyway; the shirt was already ruined, so what was another couple of arm holes going to hurt?
“Hold on tighter.” Rouge said, steering the nearest hand to the one he was focused on, “I dunno how to do the full repair. There’s time to figure it out, but right now it’s just gotta stay on.”
A black claw worked its way beneath the sodden tape, adhesive giving in strange, gooey patterns that itched as soon as Tenna looked at them. He knew Susie had done her best to patch him up, and couldn’t ask for anything more… but why had they left him outside, where their efforts would be undone? Where the moisture would surely reach his exposed wires?
Another strip ripped away, fluttering to the cushion sticky-side down. Ugh.
“You’ve got those old home repair shows, right? Gotta be something in there.”
Tenna was relatively sure that the show Rouge was thinking of was, in actuality, a sitcom, but he had plenty of DIY programming to pick from. It would be strange to rerun it, knowing that Rouge would turn right back around and use that information on him. Better than sitting around broken, though.
The pile on the couch grew higher. As the last [?] was stripped away, Tenna felt the weight of his arm shift-- first as he was left to support it alone, and then as Rouge’s clawed hand wrapped around it, compensating for an angle he couldn’t [?]. The younger darkner hummed a chord in consideration, and then took the rag to the seam of Tenna’s arm, scrubbing at the residue and lingering beads of condensation.
“Eh. Gotta be fair to whoever’s work that was. I ain’t gonna do any better right now.”
“It wasn’t meant to be permanent… I think. I was, ah, a little busy dying at the time, though, so what do I know?”
The rhythmic scrubbing stopped, and Rouge shook his hair out of his eye to stare at him. “You need a better lightner, man. I mean. I guess you got one now, but still.”
That was a bit ironic, to Tenna. Sure, the Dreemurrs didn’t use him much lately, but Susie-- Susie had been incredible. And she’d said somebody would want him, just before the Knight had… just before Dess had…
He wasn’t sure he could agree with Rouge, on principle-- but he wasn’t about to say as much, when the younger man was literally holding him together.
-
[To touch upon: Raise Up Your Bat ( ‘demon heart,’ ‘future’s lost its rights’, etc.), everyone ‘there’ being demons; have the lights flicker red a la the second sanctuary's color shift. Emphasize that this isn't a matter of morality/turning 'evil,' but perception; if the Angel is antagonistic, then what does that make a devil?]
This is one where I had a few scenes in mind, but I never ended up writing everything out and stringing it together. (It was initially supposed to feature an 'Adults vs the Knight' fight, and, obviously, the moment of 'Oh shit, that wasn't a dream,' among others.)
I'm probably not going to get back around to it, but I'd love to focus properly on Toriel and Tenna at some point.
-
Their avatars had been wandering around “beautiful TV City” for an hour now, and there hadn’t been a single glimpse of their host since the last commercial break. Kris wasn’t worried per se-- they had to assume Tenna was working something out, in regards to their deal-- but they were… uneasy.
Most of that could be chalked up to Susie and Ralsei, put thoroughly off-balance once a stout, bow-tied microphone had appeared onstage instead of their usual host, but there was a part of that anxiety that lived purely within themselves, too. Tenna had been able to juggle everything in the backdrop, before, so what was happening, now? Had the Knight finally appeared for the hand-off? If so… why were they even onstage anymore? They could just wrap everything up and get going. They had church tomorrow, and their mom would--
…they would not be going to church tomorrow, they realized. There was no reason to get up early.
Guilt squirmed in their chest. It wasn’t constricting anymore-- it had resigned itself, once they’d drawn their TV into the plans and set everything into motion-- but they’d never been rid of it. Maybe they never would be.
They absently took a picture of a gold, TV-headed statue. A flower bloomed from its nose.
Ralsei gave a weak laugh.
[...]
And there, standing out like a [?] in the fresh snow, they found the subject of their search. To Kris’s surprise, and no small amount of horror, Tenna wasn’t alone; the halves of a prize ball lay, separated, two dozen feet away, and the assumed ‘Grand Prize’ it had once contained was nestled in the crook of his arm, patting sympathetically at the edge of his screen.
Oh god. Their mom was awake. What were they supposed to do about that? Could they get Ralsei to pacify her?
“The hell…?” Susie grumbled, its sound almost-- but not quite-- swallowed up by the snow, “Toriel’s—? Crap! Kris, we forgot about Toriel!”
Speak for herself. She might have forgotten, but Kris could hardly think about anything else as the games progressed-- much less now. This was not part of the deal, and they didn’t know how they were supposed to fix it; they only knew the ‘whats’ of the Knight’s plan, not the ‘whys.’
Out in the snow, two heads popped up at the sound of Susie’s voice.
“Susie! Kris!” Tenna [?], and then reality seemed to filter in, along with the magnitude of this screw-up. “Hey… there! You’re, ah, you’re… HERE!”
“Susie…?” Toriel echoed, squinting through the snow, “Oh! Susie! Kris! The both of you are always welcome in my dreams, but perhaps you could entertain yourselves for a moment longer? Mr. Tenna-- ah, our TV-- and I were discussing something somewhat… personal.”
Reality flickered around the edges, and Kris thought they saw the words ‘technical difficulties’ flash before their eyes before the world steadied again.
When Toriel’s attention landed on them, Susie drew up straight, shoulders set-- and now she looked back and forth between Kris and their mom. “Uh… a dream! Right! Totally! Have… fun?? C’mon Kris!”
[…]
When they turned to peek over their shoulder, the tables had turned. Toriel was standing on her own two feet with a TV cradled in her arms, and was smoothing Tenna’s namesakes down in a comforting gesture. The tilt of her mouth as she stared over his head wasn’t promising. That was a look she usually saved for their dad.
What could Tenna have said that made her pull that out? Not… not anything important, right?
They shuffled backwards, snow accumulating at their heels, then threw subtlety to the wind and marched back into the fray.
“—not know, or I would not have said that. I am sorry; you will always have a home with us.”
Oh. Nothing dangerous yet, but that was close enough to what they’d promised the TV that they couldn’t risk the conversation going any further.
Toriel’s eyes landed on them, and she purposefully muted the [?] in her face. “Is that not right, Kris? We do not need a new TV.”
They set their jaw and nodded their head, trying to communicate that they agreed, but their deal still stood.
It was unclear whether or not the message landed when Tenna pushed off of Toriel’s arm, giving himself space to grow back to his full size. “R-Really? You’re not going to turn me off, again? Oh Kris, you LITTLE STINKER, I should’ve known I could still count on you!”
“Yeah, dude-- Kris rules, and no one’s getting thrown away. Does that mean we can, you know…” Susie pointed a claw toward the billowing fountain in the distance, guiding their collective attention. “Not that I can’t stay up and marathon everything you throw at me, but I gotta think of these two wimps.”
From Tenna’s right hand side, Toriel cocked her head at the sight, unsure what she was looking at-- but then Susie’s actual meaning came through. “[Something about bed and church in the morning, still under the assumption she’s dreaming]”
“Well… once your mom says that’s enough screen time, there’s no arguing with her.” He mumbled, antennae sagging into his face and fingers tapping together. He turned on a heel-- kicking a wave of snow up on his unoccupied side in an unnecessary flourish-- and cast an arm out, point the way forward. “How’s about I help you sign off for the night? (It’s past 10 PM, you know-- gotta keep track of these kids!)”
[...]
[back from the rainy church day, but ch 4 hasn’t happened yet; the kids were just ‘studying’ and goofing off in the dark world; Toriel’s still drunk tonight]
“-- for —f that damn phone!” Said a voice on TV.
Toriel gasped and pulled her paws to her mouth, scandalized.
“For the telephone?” She asked, head whipping around to look, accusingly, at the landline.
“Not like this!” Said another channel.
There were a couple of muzzy seconds as Toriel tried to process that, then burst out in laughter, sprawling across Chairiel and nearly knocking her wine glass off of Tenna’s stand.
Susie took a step back, out of the doorway. “Uh. Know what? I’ll… see you tomorrow, Kris.”
They tried to grab at her sleeve, but before they felt even a wisp of the fabric, she’d already turned away. That seemed weird. Toriel was flushed and giggly, but this wasn’t that bad. She didn’t seem to notice Susie’s departure-- too busy staring at the phone with her head tilted back-- but that didn’t mean much when the TV did.
“So long, for now-- Sue-- see!”
It was loud enough to echo out the front door, and Susie paused a good ten feet away and-- haltingly-- bared her teeth in a [?] smile. “Yeah. Later.”
As she marched down the road, Kris turned back to the living room. The cheese board at the Holidays’ was fine and all, but they wanted to grab some of the leftover pancakes from that morning; they just didn’t want to deal with… that in the meantime. Maybe it would be better to wait until everything had died down.
There was a crackle of static as the station changed, and Kris made their decision; they rolled their eyes at the volume and-- on their way upstairs-- took a detour to dial Tenna back.
As they crossed into the kitchen, they heard a cobbled together, “Goodnight-- Kr-- iss!”
They got the distinct feeling this was about to snowball into something much bigger than a drunken night watching movies.
They also, inexplicably, felt like they’d dodged a bullet somewhere along the line.
There's not much to this one, but, somehow, I do need to warn for graphic mechanical injury.
-
“Noelle,” She muttered, as she wrote. “You said you wanted a TV for retro gaming, and this is a really good one. His name is Tenna. Take care of him for me.”
She stared at the note for a minute, figuring that was about as much as she could add-- except for one thing. Maybe her handwriting and the awful spelling would give her away, but just in case Carol saw Tenna first, she made sure to sign it, ‘Kris.’
[...]
“…wait.” [TV] said, whipping around to look at him. “You’re getting a signal??”
“Uh… yeah. ‘course I am! Hard not to with these things waving around!” He cocked his head, sending his namesakes flopping to the side. “You mean you aren’t?”
[exasperated/jealous] “No! I haven’t had a connection in days-- not since the internet went out. I usually stream lo-fi [holiday music] when Noelle’s studying, but I can’t give her that, and it’s gonna kill me.”
Tenna knew most, but not all, of those words. Some of them even made sense in this context. He wasn’t about to ask for clarification.
[...]
[He would have shrunk down prior to this, to speak on roughly the same level. Still bigger, but not staggeringly]
“You’re hurting her, Carol. I-I get it, you know? I’ve been right there, too-- and all clinging to the past did was leave claw marks in the people I was trying to hold onto. We… we just want what’s best for Elly.”
Carol’s eyes bored into the proffered hand, as though she was driving an icicle into it, but-- despite that scrutiny-- her own hand lifted from her chest.
“Of course I want the best for her.” Her wrist turned, and it stuttered in the air, unsure where it was going. “For Noelle. […] but what about December? Toriel can help Noelle. [?] can help Noelle. Even that purple ruffian can help-- but I’m the only one who can help her.”
Quick as a flash, Carol’s flighty hand jumped upward, over her shoulder.
Tenna had half a second to process the chillingly familiar shriek of metal flying through the air. He saw hands on a hilt, directly before him, and-- for just a moment-- he could see the blade as it carved through his screen.
There was a distant grinding sensation-- the feeling of half his monitor, sloughing away, into the snow-- and, mercifully, the world went blank.
Somehow, his very last thought wasn’t [?], but:
Guess Dess really is her mom’s daughter.
[...]
Despite [whatever happened with Carol], guilt ran down Susie’s spine. She knew roughly what she’d find, if she turned around, and it was the last thing she wanted to do right now, but… but she couldn’t just act like everything was great.
She’d been the one to bring Tenna here, to reconnect him to the Holidays, and-- and because she’d done that, he was…
[…]
Noelle frowned and pulled her along, closer to the corp-- to the snowpoff. It was only when she knelt down that Susie noticed the lump was… shivering? She crouched down, too, to figure out what they were dealing with, and came away with more questions than answers. It was white, but not the same snowy white as the rest of the [?]-- it was almost holographic, a sneaky combination of colors that only looked pale from a distance. It was also warm. Way warmer than snow should have been. So… probably not snow.
There was something that sounded suspiciously like a sob, and, for beat, the shape fell into static.
…okay. It was snow, but not this kind of snow. It was the kind that played when a TV wasn’t--
Susie was keenly aware of a large piece of purple plastic at the edge of her vision, and-- with this new thought-- she struggled not to look directly at it. To distance herself from the urge, she stuck her hands into the solid light, and came away with an elbow in her grip.
The shape froze, then part of it twisted around to look at her-- past the two hands pressed to its face. Somehow, neither of them was directly connected to the arm in Susie’s grasp.
“…girls?” [???], the lisp hissing worse than ever, “Y-you should, hah, go somewhere else. Not that I’m not grateful for the company! Just… you kids don’t need to see this.”
Susie looked him up and down-- half trying to figure out what she was seeing, and half trying to figure out what was supposed to be so terrible-- then glanced to Noelle. She craned forward and, somehow, found another elbow. When Susie followed it, she noticed the hand was pressed to the side of a blocky head. The one she was holding mirrored it.
That made everything else snap into place.
“You’re good, man.” She [/], gravelly and uncertain, “You don’t need to hold it together. Your, uh… your screen’s not gonna be a problem anymore.”
Noelle pulled on the arm in her hands, prompting Susie to follow suit. The darkner between them yelped as they did, flailing as he tried to hold the sides of his head in place-- then, when he realized it was a futile effort, abruptly went limp. The secondary arms they still held were the only things keeping him from face-planting into the snow.
“Mr. Tenna?” Noelle [?[, and a fluttering, almost insectoid, antenna twitched in response. “I’m… really happy you’re still here. And I’m really sorry, too. I-- I didn’t think mom would-- I didn’t think mom could--!”
“Not your fault.” Susie grunted […]
[…]
“Um… maybe this is a dumb question, but… Mr. Tenna? Is it possible you’re the antenna on the CRT, and not the TV itself?” / “I just! Noticed that they’re two different pieces, the other day! I don’t know! Maybe that’s dumb!”
[Kris] “You’re right. I tried to pry them off twice. The second time was because dad told me no.”
“I remember that.” Tenna muttered, looking off to the side and folding his arms over his chest. It left him with one more, unoccupied set, and he belatedly crossed those, too. “First time in my life I felt a sense of impending doom. And the second.”
“It… is kind of in your name.” Ralsei [?], smile awkward, ears flopping as he tilted his head.
One set of arms unfurled, pressing against what wasn’t technically a screen anymore. “Oh my god.”
“Oh my god?” Noelle said at the same time, eyes lighting up. “You’re totally right! [TV Darkner], like [pun]. If you were the CRT, your name would be like… Caesar or something!”
