Chapter Text
Spamton entered the bar, his head already pounding from the trash weed he had just smoked with the green-haired prostitute and Floridinn outside. Just some, like, fucking dirt trash weed. He showed the bouncer Swatchling his ID, walked up to the bar, ordered an Old Fashioned, and looked around. He was looking for…. Aha.
Tenna had decided on a booth in the corner, surrounded by a green Pippin, a tall Mic-headed darkner, and a Shadow Guy, all sipping on their own drinks. He spotted them from across the bar.
Battat, a martini.
Jongler, a pint of beer.
Pluey, a margarita.
And, Tenna, nursing a pina colada.
Spamton stood at the end of the booth’s table. “Why did you bring them?”
Pluey frowned.
Jongler muted.
Battat furrowed his brow, and stood. “Because you’re nuts, man. We can’t trust you anymore.”
Tenna avoided screen-to-eye, and stirred his already half-melted pina colada with the little umbrella, uselessly.
“Once I get what I need, we can be done here. So what’s it gonna be?”
Battat laughed in frustration, as Tenna turned his head to the wall and polished off his drink.
“It’s not “Gonna BE” anything, Spamton, why in the hell would we break into Queen’s mansion for something as stupid as that? And just for you?”
“Just for me?”
“What are you gonna do when you get that new body? I’m not helping you, and these two are too stupid to do that. Tenna won’t even acknowledge that this conversation is happening. Get lost, freak.”
Spamton slammed his hands down on the table. “Listen, I don’t give a shit about what ever the hell you guys are fucking doing, but if I don’t get that fucking disc by this fucking Thursday, we’ll… I’ll… They’ll…”
Tenna slammed his cup on the table. “Yeah. The Roaring. Get the hell out of here, Spamton. Find someone else to do your dirty work this time. I’m so damn tired of your shit. I’ve got games to plan with the Mikes for our HEROs.”
“It’s not about the boards, or the contestants, or the prophecy, you fucking dipshit!! If we don’t get this shit under control, they’re gonna find all of us,-”
“HEY” Battat cut him off. “GET OUT OF HERE.”
A Swatchling approached them from behind. “Is there a problem?”
“Yeah, this guys is trying to gets us to commits crimes.” Jongler said, pointing to Spamton.
“Hey, wait, you don’t get it, it’s- It’s an emergency!!” His small body wriggled.
“Alright man, quit resisting. I need to get back to refilling drinks.”
Spamton spun back in his arms and looked back. “I’ll get you m… m… [Mother Fuckers]”
Tenna’s head snapped over and he stared at Spamton being dragged out. He hadn’t heard him bracket since before they started dating. Maybe I should’ve listened… as he watched him be taken out of the bar, he shook his head, and waved another darkner over to get a refill on his drink.
Jongler leaned in across the table. “Yous’ is okay, bawss??”
Tenna sighed. “I don’t know. Just… I really don’t see how becoming NEO is going to help anyone. But I don’t want to see him so unhappy. So… afraid.”
“Don’t worry about that idiot,” Battat waved his hand dismissively. “I really doubt that puny little e-mail could get very far, and I’m sure he’s just being crazy about the alley cats. I’ve seen ‘em around. They’re harmless. He’ll be back at work tomorrow, I’m sure.”
Tenna received a refill on his drink, and sipped it thoughtfully. “I guess you’re right. Now, let’s get shakin’ Mikes, we’ve got work to do.”
—
Summer was taking a lap before his shift, seeing if any regulars had drinks he could polish off. He was cut off an hour ago, but he had a methodology for combing the bar for extra drops.
Ah, the Mikes. Never here for fun, but because it was one of the only bars in town that let you smoke inside.
“Hey boys, Tenna got you workin’ like dogs again?”
Battat winced and Pluey motioned at his neck to get him to stop. Jongler just put his head in his hand.
“Oh, this is Tenna, huh? Guess I never got to meet him. I’m Summer.” As Summer gave him a look up and down, his screen locked in on his face, buzzing with ozone and static loud enough to hear across the table.
“Aww, you’re cute.” Summer scooted his ass up onto the table, as the Mikes moved their drinks aside and grabbed their napkins and pens. They knew what he was doing. Tenna didn’t.
Summer leaned onto his elbow and pulled on Tenna’s tie, making their faces close, their noses practically touching. Tenna was taken aback by his straightforwardness, and tried to look away. “I’ll give you a discount if you request me tonight.”
Which gave Summer the perfect opportunity to let go, slide off the table, wave goodbye to the boys. “Gotta go get ready for my performance. See you four after the show, I hope.” He winked and slinked away.
“Jesus, he’s somethin’, huh?” Tenna was awestruck.
Pluey tapped on his gloved hand, and then pointed to the coaster where his brand new Pina was supposed to be sitting. To which, much to his dismay, was gone. His screen fuzzed over with anger, and he practically pushed Battat under the table to climb over him and march right after Summer.
But by the time he got there, he had already climbed on stage, and had began announcing for the show, swallowing massive glugs between sentences. Knowing the importance of a performance, he decided it wasn’t worth it, and turned to go help the Mikes finish up the second board they had conjured up based on Mantle.
But Summer’s voice began to fill the bar, vibrating every screw and plate and frame of plastic and wire inside of him. It almost made him sick to hear. It was like it was hypnotising him. It also didn’t help that he was about five Coladas in, and it was so, so dark in the stage/bar area compared to the booths with their own personal overhead table lights.
He could barely wobble his way through the bar to his table, and put his hands on his hips.
“I’m gonna need you guys to finish this. That dipshit stole my drink and I’m not gonna sit here and let him get away with that.”
Battat put his head in his hand and Jongler piped up. “Um, bawss, yous don’t seem alls that good, we’s been doin’ some chattin’ and we’s thinks you should sits back down withs us.”
Tenna’s arms dropped to his sides and he stiffened. “Your contracts say you follow my orders, do they not? Get to fucking work.”
And with that, he turn-heel, and then tried his hardest to drag himself back to the bar that was nearby the stage.
“Can you just give me like three shots of your cheapest, strongest vodka. Ant Tenna is the name on the tab. After that, close it out. Don’t let those stupid assholes at booth 12 order anything else on it. Here’s my card.” He slid it across the bar to the tender, and miserably turned back around to stare at Summer up on the stage.
It was a shame. The darkners behind him were dragging, or otherwise making off-beat mistakes. But through all of the bullshit background noise, Summer carried the cues, didn’t trip over them, it was almost like he was the only one on stage. Tenna received his shots. He threw two back to back, and hissed at the harshness of the liquor. The room was already spinning. He didn’t care.
All he could hear was Summer. He recognized the tune, but whether it was his drunken stupor, or the shitty band behind him, he just couldn’t place it. It was mesmerizing. It was maddening. It was just what he needed to put his head down on the bar and… cry.
Why is this happening? Spamton was supposed to help me, and it just seems like at every point where he can, there’s something else that comes up. It wouldn’t hurt me so bad if he wasn’t pushing me further and further away. He won’t pick up my calls. He won’t even hold my hand anymore. God, I sound like a teenager, don’t I? He knocked back his last shot, and stumbled out of the bar without even telling the Mikes, and without waiting for Summer to finish his set like he originally intended to.
Out at his shiny red convertible, he sat in the front seat, and pressed his forescreen against his leather steering wheel cover as his TV spun, trying his hardest to blink away how drunk he had gotten. Without sitting back up, he dug his pack of smokes out of his jacket, snapped the ball of the Camel Crush between his fingers, and lit it, taking a long drag, and exhaling against the wheel.
I shouldn’t have gotten those extra shots. I shouldn’t have even stayed to watch Summer. I definitely shouldn’t have talked to Spamton like that. He’s terrified. But he won’t talk to me, or let me help in a way where I know what’s going on, or even in a way that isn’t a crime, a scam of some sort. I’m too drunk to drive. I should just call a cab.
Despite sitting in his car with his flip phone in his hand and the cab company on speeddial, he didn’t move. He kept lighting cigarettes, and watching the street and the bar itself.
He knew Spamton liked this bar. It was the only bar in town that let Darkners smoke inside. It was the only bar in town that had hookers of all shapes and sizes. Spamton liked that. Tenna didn’t. He felt dirty here, like it was tainting him inherently by being here. So why in the hell haven’t I dialed a cab yet?
Darkners kept slowly filing out of the building, and for some reason, he felt himself watching for… something. Someone. He didn’t know who. Maybe it was Spamton. Maybe it was Summer. He was too drunk to know or care enough to figure it out. The lights went off. Some more folks came out.
And then he heard yelling. And crashing. And then, the door opened, and Summer was tossed out onto the street by two big swatchling bouncers. He hit the ground hard, face first, and immediately flipped around to swear in their faces, screaming insults that made his spit fly. They ignored him and locked the door behind him.
Summer shakily brought himself to his feet, stumbled, and hobbled underneath a streetlight to examine himself and pick the gravel out of his palms and knees. Tenna looked around to see if anybody cared, but the handful of darkners on the street also ignored him. He sighed, and debated with himself for a few seconds, before he dropped and stomped on his cigarette, looked both ways, and crossed the street towards Summer.
“Are you okay? Do you need any help?”
Summer didn’t look up at him, he was too busy picking rocks out of his skin. “50 an hour, 200 a night.” He slurred out, and Tenna sighed to himself again.
“Hey, do you need help.” He repeated, more firm, and leaning down to try to meet his eye. “I can help you.” Summer’s blank stare slowly lifted to meet his gaze, and Tenna felt himself start to smile. He began to hold out his hand, and then,
BAM!!!
Summer rocked him straight in the screen, spun around, and ran, his heels echoing clicks down the road, as he disappeared down another alleyway. Tenna was left reeling back, the punch vibrating the bits in his head and making his visual connection fuzzy for a bit, seeing stars and static. He scoffed as he leaned against the streetlight, waiting to regain his vision and his composure. Darkners were averting their eyes.
And as he sat and ruminated about what had just occurred, he felt his screen grow hot with rage. This… back street WHORE just solicited me twice in one night, and then assaulted me when I tried to help him!! He crossed the street back to his car, and climbed in, slamming the door shut hard, and he gripped the wheel with both hands and pressed his forescreen to the wheel. The sound of the leather wheel cover scrunching under his tight hold was the only thing that made him feel better.
It felt like, lately, doing the right thing hasn’t done him any good. It’s only been taken and stepped on. Why am I even still here? And with that, he put his keys in the ignition, pulled out of his parallel park, and began to drive back home, without even bothering to turn on the radio. Summer’s voice still rang in his plastic skull, haunting.
He didn’t even know the song that he was singing. He thought it was some sort of, like, sad R&B, the band wasn’t good enough to keep up with his voice for him to tell. It was more of Summer’s style, cadence that really carried it into something beyond a genre. He realized he was getting distracted by thinking about it, and started to phase back in to driving. He missed his turn. What the hell is going on?
When he got home, he stripped down and crawled into bed, and instead of putting his suit away nicely, he left each piece on the floor. His head was swirling from the booze and the punch and all the thoughts he couldn’t let go of. What he had to said to Spamton when he snapped, god, he was on edge. He was sure he would come back, he knew he would. He knew his show would fail without Spamton. And what the hell was wrong with Summer? I shouldn’t go back to that bar, he’s clearly crazy. But I can’t get that tune out of my head. How did it go again?
It wouldn’t hurt to go back and ask, right?