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He found himself missing mostly small things nowadays. It was easier to fret over the small stuff. Those tiny problems seemed like something he could tackle, instead of lying there - helpless to do much else. He could broaden his scope sometimes, on his worse days. He missed his stage. He missed his crew. He missed singing and dancing. He missed action stunts. He missed having the stamina for running. For walking. He missed getting up and walking longer then a few feet from his bed to the couch before getting winded. He missed having the energy to do anything. And so on and so forth, until it just became too much to bear, and all he could spend the day doing was sleeping.
Tenna spent a lot of days like that.
It hadn’t been all at once. A CRT could hold electricity for years at a time - one of those ‘fun facts’ that got less fun when he’d realized how much of an antique this made him - so when he’d been unplugged, nobody else had noticed. Only he had the sense of something being wrong. His tether to the light world, snapped without mercy or warning, marooning him in the dark along with everyone else.
At the time, he’d been hoping it was a fluke. Toriel always had trouble getting between all of the wiring plugging himself and the game console into the wall, so she’d unplugged him so she could reach around. Just give her a day or two and she’ll remember to watch that cooking show to take notes. The… one he hadn’t gotten any new episodes for in months, sure, but surely there were some episodes she hadn’t watched yet! Or maybe Kris could rent a tape from that old rental shop they’d always gotten their tapes from! They’d come back. They always came back eventually.
Always.
It took a month for his screen to start dimming. It was the start of the new year (and if he’d been smarter, maybe he would’ve known something was wrong when they unplugged him right before the holidays) and it was getting cold out. She’d just forgotten. Again. Heating was expensive after all. They didn’t have a fireplace like in the specials to warm up with. Keeping him unplugged would save on the costs. He just felt tired because of the weather, that’s all. The weather duo must have said something about snowfall. Even though they were just as cut off as he was, that had to be it. It always snows this time of year. Things were still fine.
Business would continue as usual until he was plugged back in. Rehearsals, program talks, running through a new routine idea. Ignoring how he spent more of those run-throughs in the director’s chair instead of alongside his crew. How each day got a little harder to keep his screen on through the whole routine. The muted hum and buzz of his head that throbbed when Tenna flicked back on.
Tenna felt more embarrassed then worried when he slept through a whole choreography run. It wasn’t boring - far from it, the shadow guys had stayed in prime form - but his head felt heavy and full of cotton, and the music just became a dull thudding sound in the back of his case. It wasn’t long before his screen was shutting off, leaning heavy on one of his hands.
He only woke up when Ramb nudged him awake. His head made a loud buzzing sound that pulsed between his vents and made Tenna nearly swat him away, “What?”
“Rehearsal ended a while ago, Mr. Tenna.”
… oh. He’d really missed the whole thing. Tenna sat up at that, looking over an empty stage. The lights above were dim to the point of darkness. “… nobody woke me up?”
“Well, no one was really eager to poke the sleeping giant.” Suppose Tenna couldn’t blame them. He had almost turned Ramb into a ping pong ball across the room after all. Still.
“No one at all…?”
Ramb’s hands dwarfed Tenna’s by comparison, but he still felt small when he gripped them back for security, looking again to the stage as the smaller darkner carefully pulled him back to his feet, “Still feeling under the weather?”
“Mm… it’s… it’s cold out. Probably caught something from the kids in sympathy, or I need a good dusting. One of those.” One, he thinks. As if his vents weren’t feeling stuffy. Like the cold hadn’t begun to cut into his body even with the suit on. And when was the last time he’d even seen one of the kids, let alone both? He drew his hand back, hugging himself right to try and warm up. “I can walk fine.” He pouted.
Ramb gave a patient smile, “Course you can, luv. But it’s gotten late. Let’s get you to bed.”
Ugh, talking to him like that is why Ramb didn’t get to handle the points. Acting like he somehow knew better then Tenna. Treating him like a child! And the worst part is this time he didn’t even have the energy to argue. He’d barely worked today and still felt bone tired. Pathetic.
Maybe he really was getting old…
… no! That’s. That’s ridiculous! He’s still got it! He was still entertaining! Toriel… Toriel made a mistake. His chords were behind him. She didn’t see it. Course she didn’t see it. Out of sight out of mind, heh! Any day now, she’d remember. And he’d feel that spring in his step and click his heels together and be back to normal in no time!
Not that. Anything was wrong with him. Because he was fine. This was a cold. He was just sick for a longer time then usual. He’d recover. And when he did kick off his shoes, get into his pajamas and sink into bed, he could almost ignore the fact that getting under the covers didn’t make him feel any warmer. The studio was just cold. It would warm up as he slept.
…
That first day, he didn’t know how long he’d slept for. He laid there in a daze. The edges of a stress dream at the lip of his consciousness. Something about trying to wake up only to keep falling back asleep, later then ever to a very important event or school day. He could never recall which one it was by the time he woke up. His case felt all at once heavy and numb. Stuffed full of feather down made of lead. Tenna kept considering getting up - he needed to be up so they could keep practicing. They could be on any day now after all. But the bed encompassed his heavy form, and his screen would buzz out again as sleep took him under the covers into darkness within darkness.
Once more, he only woke to a gentle nudge, and a purple paw by his face. “Brought you some lunch. Think you can eat a bit, Mr. Tenna?”
“I’ll have it later.” He mumbled against a pillow.
“It’s been a few days. You should probably have something.”
His screen turned a touch brighter, alarm bells ringing in his head as he forced himself upright, “Days??”
Ramb nodded. He had a large bowl of what looked like alphabet soup in one hand - every letter but T I M E and of course V plucked out from the bunch) - a spoon resting on its rim. His face was subdued with concern, “Almost bordering on two, sir. Folks were beginning to worry.”
“Two days…” Tenna put his hand on his chin, “Oh god we’re gonna be so behind. That tap routine is still so rusty - it’s been weeks since I practiced-“
“And it will be longer if you don’t stop and rest.” Ramb fixed a spoonful and held it up to Tenna, “Now ahh-“
He briefly glowered at the spoon, trying to will Ramb to set it aside so he could eat it cold at some point. Ramb didn’t budge - damn him - so Tenna opened his mouth for the airplane. He was gentle, at least, and the soup had that slightly tinny can quality that Tenna actually liked on a good day. It was warm - a lot warmer then he felt - so he gradually opened up a little more to eat the rest. Truth be told, Tenna just wished it’d been anything else when he looked back on it. Just eating had exhausted him, enough to find himself laying back down, with enough heat in his middle to assure him that maybe he’d be okay. He’d needed rest for a while and now he was paying back on borrowed time. It happens to everyone.
But an off day became days. He’d been borrowing off of limited resources for over two months, and now what electricity he did have to work with was depleting. Fast. He kicked himself with every dance number he’d so carelessly wasted it on, waiting for the day Toriel would plug him back in and fix him. But it wasn’t happening. He’d sleep days away and hope and hope she’d remember - please remember the fun they had, turn me back on, what did I do wrong? - and wake up to another morning, afternoon, evening of disappointment. He could count a handful of times his crew visited. Maybe two handfuls for his seconds in command. But time blurred together.
His main constant was Ramb. A part of him wasn’t sure why at first. Tenna had never been the best with the plugboy. He was older like Tenna was - a reminder of a bygone era that he hated to think back on. And on his worse days, when the exhaustion and soon, soreness from not moving for so long, would make him snappy and irritable - Ramb was a good target for his wrath. Always taking it with that sad tilt of his brows and a half smile. Bartenders did have a measured patience for dealing with unruly clients after all. And… at least he stuck around. Though if he went off to do lord knows what while he slept, wasn’t any skin off Tenna’s bones.
Three months into being unplugged, a month into this new routine, Tenna had felt particularly awful. His screen had dimmed into a soft static fuzz that barely lit the corner he was sitting in, hunched in on himself. Ramb was changing out his bedding, and he needed to stay awake so he could move back on in a few minutes. But he was so cold. So exhausted. He hadn’t even done anything but get into this chair and it felt like he’d pass out once he was done panting. A harsh coughing fit had shaken some of the dust out of his vents. Toriel really needed to dust him soon. It was itching his buzzing nose to the point of agitation.
“Nearly done, luv. Elnina did a bang up job on the quilt, didn’t she?”
Tenna looked up at that, “I didn’t know she sewed.”
“Well, a lot of the crew has picked up hobbies here and there with the downtime.” Ramb said, smoothing sheets to the edges of the bed, then tossing on pillows to lean against the backrest. “Makes the days go by quicker.”
Tenna gave a half smile, “Maybe if she works on another, she could bring it by? I could help with laying out the…” he trailed off, watching the way Ramb frowned, and how his brows got a little sadder. “… what?”
“She uh. She did, luv.” He spread first the comforter, then the quilt across the frame. Stars and moons dancing amidst a blocking of colorful squares that, the longer Tenna looked, the more he could vaguely remember laying a few pieces out on his bed. He must have dozed off during it. A queasy feeling passed through his stomach, curling tighter inwards.
He wasn't old enough to start forgetting things like that, was he?
“Alright, there we are.” Ramb opened up a corner of the blankets for the boss darkner, then trotted around a bed that made him look miniscule, taking Tenna’s hand between both of his paws, “Let’s get you back in.”
Tenna sat for a moment, his screen dimming to black, chin tucked against his chest. “I’ve already rested enough. I- I should check on the crew. They’re slacking off - they need me back - someone needs to -“
“Why?”
Tenna looked up. Ramb was rubbing his thumb over the vast expanse of the back of his hand. “Why?? Because… obviously, Toriel is going to need me again - she’s going - they’re going to broadcast something else. Something soon. And - and I need to be prepared when that happens, Ramb! I can’t just keep sitting here!! I need to be ready so -“
“Tenna.” Ramb looked at him with those sad little puppy dog eyes that Tenna still wished he could swipe off his face, especially as fear and anger gripped his chest in unison. “I’d know if we were plugged in again. But… we can see how you feel after lunch, alright?”
“… right… okay, yeah. Sure.” But he wanted to go now. The stage had to be in ruins by this point, without anyone to watch them. It must have dust bunnies everywhere. If he ate just enough to get Ramb off his back and wake up a bit, he might be able to march over and find out exactly how his studio was holding up. Even if getting up from his chair and shuffling back to bed still left him winded and lightheaded. Dizziness tugging him down between the fresh blankets to run his hands across the quilt. She’d really done a lovely job. The fabric was a little scratchy, but some washes would help soften it up.
The soup was fully liquid at this point. Something orange - carrot, maybe? He’d felt so sheepish asking Ramb for it. Chewing had become one of the latest endeavors he couldn’t handle, much to his chagrin. Might as well have asked Ramb to pre-chew it for him at this rate, much as that thought made him gag. At least if it was just a bisque or broth, he could just focus on swallowing it. And ignore the burning shame of getting too worn out to lift the spoon. Maybe he’d ask Ramb for a silly straw soon and cut out the middle man while he was ahead. Granted, Ramb had never made fun of him for literally needing to be spoon fed, but it was the principle of the matter. Waiting for it with his mouth open like some baby bird was getting humiliating.
… though, hey, why was it taking so long anyway? “Uh. Ramb? Anytime you wanna start?”
“You need your screen on for that, luv.”
“What? Is it not?” He felt along his face. Smooth, black glass brushed against his fingertips. At some point, the buzzing had stopped within his case. In fact, it had ceased all across his body. It just felt heavy - several tons of metal that now weighed him down like an anchor. “Eheh… whoops. Guess I… I just need to get my makeup back on, folks!” He joked, because that’s what this was, right? Just a joke he wasn’t in on? He focused, much as his brain allowed, on turning his screen back on. Waiting for the odd ‘TWANG’ that sometimes came after a long nap or that buzzing to start again in his skull.
Ramb lowered the bowl to the nightstand, “Mr. Tenna?”
“I’m - I’m working on it. It’s somewhere. I just need to uh.” He swallowed anxiously. His stomach felt like it was knotting up. He gripped at the sides of his head, fingertips dragging against his vents, coming around to try and palm at his glass. Tug his nose out the old fashioned way like a cartoon character might. But the glass would have no give unless he wanted to crack it open. Tenna’s breathing grew sharp. “R-Ramb?” His voice sounded unrecognizable to him. Small and scared, confused as his shoulders boxed close to his case. “Ramb I’m trying. I swear I’m trying-“
“It’s alright,” Ramb brushed his knee, “We can give it a go around later.”
“B-but - I was gonna - I need to -“ Every sharp inhale was puffed harshly from his vents as his body started to shake. “I can’t turn it on.”
“You’re working off of nothing.” Ramb gave his hand another pat and stood up with the bowl in hand, “We’ll try again later once you’ve had some rest. Sound good?”
Later. Always later. Never now. Never when he needed it. He wanted to get up and run so badly. Somewhere that wasn’t this bedroom. He wanted something that wasn’t goddamn soup. And again, found himself too tired to fight Ramb on the point that maybe this was as good as he’d be later and they should just go for it anyway.
Tenna wished he could remember what his last soup had been before then. Something with broccoli? Back when they’d been figuring out he couldn’t chew right. Trying to puzzle a piece out from between his teeth had been the most activity his brain had in days. He just knew he didn’t appreciate it nearly enough. Days passed together every time he laid down, and while he didn’t need to eat, without anything in the tank, he just couldn’t stay awake for anything. Once, he even slept through an entire week like this.
So many little things he’d taken for granted. Having the strength to haul himself to set. Energy to chatter endlessly. A clear mind. The green room couch. Regularly seeing others. A stiff drink. The idea that he was going to wake up better and this would all be just an awful nightmare. And now, above all else, what he truly missed was flavor itself.
“Popcorn, especially.”
He wasn’t bright eyed and bushy tailed, but he was at least alert enough to hold a conversation. Which by all accounts meant he was having a good day. He hated calling it that. A good day would have been him jumping out of bed like that old man with a ticket to the chocolate factory. The most he’d been able to do was an exhilarating shuffle from the bed to the couch so his back had a new position for variety.
Ramb, as per usual, sat by him with a tray on one of those rolling prop racks, getting everything set up for lunch, “Ah, right. Movie night with Kris and Dess.”
Tenna nodded, “Movie theater butter, right out the microwave. Oh! With those little chocolate candies they’d put in too!”
“I think I liked it better when they put the marshmallows in.”
Tenna tilted his screen at Ramb in an exaggerated manner, “Marshmallows?? The whole thing would become a sticky mess!” He coughed, dust catching in his windpipe. Had to remind himself not to yell too much.
“The salty and sweet contrast worked better for me!” Ramb shrugged, “Call me vanilla if you want.”
“Alright, Vanilla, you can come to me when you’ve got sticky little hands smearing it on your buttons.” Tenna both shuddered and chuckled fondly at the thought. Back when Kris’ hands were small enough to still reach his buttons while standing, instead of having to lean over. “I’ll keep my chocolate.”
“If you insist, sir.” He wiped off the end of the injector, “Can you open your shirt for me?”
Tenna stilled. His hands lingered on a few of the buttons on his pajama shirt. “… do you think… if it smelled like it, could I taste it?”
“Hard to say… maybe if I held a bag of it under your…” Ramb pursed his lips, “… I could always blend a touch in-“
“I don’t think you’d want to clean the kernels out of the tube, Ramb.”
“… Suppose not.”
Tenna still hesitated for a beat, before getting to work on unbuttoning his shirt.
After he’d been under for a week straight, Ramb had suggested the tube. It was a hole as big as the circumference of a pen, drilled into his fuel tank and fitted with a length of clear tubing. It had only been considered as a temporary solution, until Tenna had the strength back to form his screen again and eat properly. That had been well over a year ago.
The tube now was fitted to his middle, flushed daily with water between meals, its airtight seal at the point of entry turning it into a permanent fixture between his panel buttons. He was lucky he hadn’t needed his screen on to speak or see, or else he’d truly be in some sort of hell. Trapped in a body that was breaking down in slow motion, and not even able to see or say what was wrong with him.
“Nothing to be embarrassed about, luv. You just need a bit more help then before.”
Every time he ‘ate’, Tenna vividly remembered those words. And remembered how it had felt the first time, looping it in his head as Ramb fixed the injector to the end of the tubing. They hadn’t narrowed it to a science, and Ramb had makeshifted some tubing together with a funnel, angling it between a spot in his chest vents. Tenna had to hold it in place so it didn’t slip and send soup mix slurry across delicate circuitry. A task in and of itself when lifting his arms felt like a chore.
They’d figured it out now, of course, but he could never shake that feeling. The awful cramping that had sprung up within his body afterwards and made him want to vomit. There was nothing to gag on though. Just the uncomfortable sense of fullness without swallowing anything, expecting an aftertaste where there just wasn’t. Nowadays, the process was easier on both of them. It didn’t give him much energy, but something. Enough to sit up. To talk. To miss when he could do more. His hands brushed against the quilt, dragging it closer around his shoulders as Ramb finished up, readying the syringe with cold water to flush the tube clean. “Almost done.”
“Mm…”
“And… there!” He moves it back, coiling up the tubing into a little loop to pin back against his panels, “You’re good to button back up, Mr. Tenna.”
“Why should I bother?” Tenna huffed. “In a few hours, we’ll just be doing this again.”
“Well, you feel nicer when you’re all dressed up, don’t you?”
“This isn’t dressed up, Ramb. This is lounging. If I wanted to be dressed up I’d dig out my suit.”
“The single set of buttons is probably for the best-“
“Can you stop assuming you know what’s best for me??”
Ramb’s ears stand up briefly, then flop down again as he shifts on the couch. He moves the tray aside, table rolling off with it, “I’m not.”
“Yes you are.” Tenna clenched his hands tighter on the quilt. “‘You need more rest.’ ‘Just lay back down, sir’. Have some soup, drink some water, try to stretch today - what’s the point, Ramb??” Tenna whirled to face him and his head spun, but he pushed on regardless, “What’s the point of any of this??”
“… does there need to be one?” Ramb patted his knee, “Is just living not enough?”
Tenna gave a bitter laugh, “Right, because what a wonderful life this is, eh Ramb?” He threw his arms up, “I used to own this world! I used to be something, and I was good at it! I was…” He slowly relaxed his shoulders, until slumping over to hunch over his lap, “I did a good job. I know I did good. And what do I get for any of it?” He waved a hand out and let it fall back down, “Stuck in a tiny box with a goddamn tube in me.”
Ramb didn’t say anything. There must have been something he thought of saying, with the way his face briefly shifted, but he bit his tongue. Probably for the best with how grumpy Tenna had grown.
“… if we stopped feeding me, what do you think would happen?” Tenna angled his screen away - a futile effort, since he already had the world’s best poker face on.
“I… I’m not sure.” Ramb said, “Suppose eventually, what energy stores you have would be used up, and you’d be asleep until your body had another source again.”
“… would people miss me?”
“Well, I… I would assume folks would-“
“Be honest.” Tenna cut him off, turning to ‘look’ his way. “Please.” He gripped the quilt till one or two of the seams popped besides his casing. Ramb was still. Opening and shutting his mouth, hands fidgeting on his lap. And Tenna kept focused on him until his antennae drooped and his voice came, small and scared like a child’s would. “… would you miss me?”
“… I like to think I would.” It was only a small comfort. Post feeding always tugged on his energy levels, and Tenna could feel himself relax further into the couch, allowing Ramb to help him lay on his side so he was more comfortable. “Need anything else, luv?”
“… stay.” Tenna could feel his consciousness slipping. Then the weight of Ramb, moving up to lay on his chest, his blocky head resting on one of Tenna’s broad shoulders.
“I think I can do that.” Ramb said, clapping once to turn the lights in the bedroom off. He settled against Tenna as the CRT’s breathing grew heavy and slow, and to no one in particular, murmured, “Hopefully we have better luck next year, eh Mr. Tenna?”
If Tenna heard it was a year already, he gave no indication. No sob or sigh. No sudden breakdown. Just reached up to palm the back of Ramb against himself and leaned his head to the side. He just didn’t have it in him anymore to grieve the lost time. Only the brief thought of asking Ramb to pop a bag of kernels in the microwave for the hope of an aftertaste.
Maybe it would at least be something new again.