Chapter Text
Spamton shoots out of bed like a bullet, sweat dripping down his temples, collecting in the feathers of his cheeks. He leans forward on the edge of his small mattress, heart racing, collecting his thoughts, head in his hands.
“Ughhhh…why can’t I just have a normal dream for once in my life. God… what time is it even?”
He looks over at the small popup next to him, and his eyes open as wide as they can be.
[2:22]
“…”
“Pinks gonna kill me.”
He gets dressed as fast as he can, not concerned with his hair, or even if he puts on matching socks. Tripping over trash piles [It’s about what you’d expect living with 4 brothers] before bolting out the door.
Cyber City is as lively as ever, with its blinding billboards and traffic congested streets. Constant honking and an overstimulating scent of acid and car exhaust. A lot of Darkners are usually waiting hours to get where they need to go, but someone’s a little impatient.
The echoing taps of Spamtons’ dress shoes can be heard, as he weaves through the grid of alleyways dimly lit by blue and green advertising and the warm pink and yellow glow from windows created by Poppups. As he’s bolting through, he catches a glimpse of the Sweet Cap’n Cakes group, waving hello and the trio reciprocating.
He smiles, but the nice moment is ruined as he slams into a wall of Plugboys and other Darkners visiting from other Dark worlds.
At the concerningly busy crosswalk, Spamton shoves his way through the crowd, which is surprisingly easy given his small stature. Of course not without complaints from the Darkners he’s cutting through, not that he can hear.
Blasting rock music in his ears and vaulting over a car that decided to break over the crosswalk, Spamton is rushing to get to the marketplace to meet with Pink, his oldest brother and mentor in advertising.
He DOES get there…eventually…
Sweaty and out of breath.
“SPAMTON!” Shouts a voice in the distance. It's Pink, approaching him with a disgruntled face, feathers fluffed up. Spamton prepares for the incoming nagging, pulling the earbuds out of his ears.
“You’re late…AGAIN!!!” Pink pinches the bridge of his nose. “You need to take this job seriously, Spamton. I can’t keep waiting for you when we have money we need to be making.”
Spamton doesn’t say anything, as he’s still hunched over trying to catch his breath. He just looks up and gives a thumbs up, much to Pink’s growing annoyance.
Pink rolls his eyes, “oh god what am I gonna do with you..? LOOK— just…fix your hair, clean yourself up, and meet me at the plaza. NOW, not later. PLEASE!” He storms off, trying to tidy himself up and maintain his composure.
Spamton heads over to the tea shop, one of several businesses his brothers own. Immediately greeted by the scent of every variety of tea in stock: minty, fruity, earthy…god, it’s kinda overwhelming. He’s also greeted by Blue, the more mellow of the brothers.
“Ho, hoo… Got scolded by the big boss again?”
Spamton walks past Blue, sighing deeply, “yeah, but what else is new? You think he’d get the memo by now that advertising ain’t exactly my thing.”
Blue leans forward on the sales counter, raising an eyebrow, “Not to sound like Pink or anything, but you ARE an Addison, Spamton, it’s literally in your programming.”
Grabbing the handle of the bathroom, he pauses. He looks back to glance at Blue. Snarkily he responds:
“Geez, you do sound like him.”
Spamton walks into the bathroom and locks the door behind him. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, in and out.
Opening his eyes to the mirror in front of him—
“iiiIIt’s me….unfortunately.”
He’s not much to look at, being the smallest and youngest Addison. He approaches the sink, splashing water on his pale face and combing through his fluffy snow white hair. He then focuses on his outfit, a black turtleneck, dark green blazer, and cream colored pants, making sure everything is neat and clean. If he had a choice in the matter, the outfit would be a lot better.
Spamton would give himself a motivational speech, but it wouldn’t do him any favors. He hates advertising. He hates being an Addison…being small. Insignificant. Looked down upon.
He’s always daydreamed of a better life, of fame, fortune, love. He wants to be a rockstar, a musician with fans. Standing on a stage, tall with pride, a crowd chanting his name, begging to have foreheads and other body parts signed by him…
Eyes closed reeling in those chanting echos grinning ear to ear:
“Spamton! Spamton! Spamton! Spa—”
*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*
“—Spamton! SPAMTON?!” Pinks waiting for you, he looks pretty pissed!”
It’s Blue, and upon hearing him, Spamtons’ face immediately droops as he crashes back down to reality.
“Shit.” He whispers to himself.
He slithers his way out of the bathroom, Blue staring at him with concern, though it seems more about the incoming scolding from Pink than the time he took in the bathroom. Spamton looks straight ahead and sees Pink, glaring at him with fury, cupping his hands between the glass and his eyes.
Dread builds up as Spamton approaches the Tea Shops doors, and as soon as he steps out, Pink grabs him by the wrist, dragging him to the plaza.
Blue smirks and exclaims “GOOD LUCK OUT THERE SPAM!!”
Spamton gives no response, but has the most unamused expression as he’s dragged along.
————————————————————
Before Spamton can even process what’s happening,
he’s thrown into the plaza's center; with an advertisement being placed into his hands:
“FIND THE PERFECT CAR FOR YOU!
NEW OR USED!
[Click here!!!]”
The plaza is where the most foot traffic is, “a perfect place for advertising” in Pink's words. Speaking of, he’s currently running around, ensuring everything is set up and ready to start the usual business day. After the 100th time circling and keeping things in order with his brothers, Pink turns his attention to Spamton:
Pink doesn’t say anything, but the look on his face, like some stressed out parent, says all you need to know. Oddly enough, Pink is gentle in handling Spamton, brushing and straightening out his shoulder pads.
Spamton slaps Pink's hands out of the way, “ALRIGHT, enough man, I’m not a baby, I look fine.”
Pink sighs and straightens himself up, positioning himself next to Spamton, smoothing the feathers on his face and his hair. Spamton rolls his eyes and just stares at him with a look on his face of:
“Really…?”
Pinks has always been obsessed with looks and presentation: every feather, from his hair to tailend, must be clean and neat. His pink blazer, his tie, his pants, ironed to perfection. He makes sure his brothers reflect the same level of vanity he does, of course with a certain someone never keeping up.
After all the frantic running and preparation, everything is still for a couple of minutes. Spamton FINALLY decides to break the painfully awkward silence:
“You know…” Spamton smirks, “I wouldn’t have been late if you didn’t sell so many cars, they don't even fit on the roads anymore. Like, LITERALLY they’re stacking on top of each other. It’s insane.” He makes a staircase motion with his hands, just for emphasis.
Pink scoffs at the remark: “Funny way of saying I’m good at my job...But don’t you start blaming me for being as late as you were! What were you even doing?! You were supposed to be here at 12!”
There’s a genuine moment of hesitation in Spamton, his mouth opened, he was going to give an answer but…he’s not sure himself.
“I…don’t know.”
“Seriously?! Spamton it’s not a difficult question, you REALLY don’t know what you were doing before you came here? You were with those musicians again weren’t you?!”
“N-no, I swear, I was home! it’s just—sigh—It’s hard to explain, Pink.”
“You—“
Before Pink could even begin his sentence, a potential client had appeared, it was almost like a switch had flipped inside of him. He went from being a grumpy, disappointed parental figure, to a charmingly bubbly salesman, and honestly… he IS really good at what he does.
Too bad Spamton doesn’t really care enough to learn how to be like him.
While Pink is distracted, Spamton slowlyyy slides away, creating some distance between them. If he’s here now, might as well make it less mundane.
He pulls out his most prized possession:
A small MP3 player; with a black matte color, and buttons in yellow and pink. It may be little, but it makes his life a lot brighter when there’s a soundtrack always playing.
It was given to him by the Sweet Cap’n Cakes group, the group in which Pink describes as:
“Probably the worst influence Spamton could’ve found.”
Granted, they aren’t bad people, but they definitely influenced Spamton into reaching beyond what he was made to do.
Spamton shrugs “oh well..!”
Spamton puts in his earbuds and hits play and suddenly, everything’s better. As he’s jamming out, he does occasionally peak over to ensure Pink is still occupied in nailing the sale.
Eyes closed, head bobbing, heart beating to the rhythm, honestly, Spamtons fighting every urge to not jump around…
Something else makes him jump though—
*ZAP*
Spamton snaps his eyes open and rips the ear buds out of his ears, he mumbles to himself:
“What the hell was that?!”
He inspects the earbuds and the MP3 player:
“There’s no damage, no exposed wires?…so then w—“
*ZZRT-!*
“Agh—!”
Before Spamton could even find an answer, his head snaps involuntarily to his left. Forced to lock onto an alleyway by him, a strange glow of yellow and pink calling for him. He begins to sweat, his eyes are wide, his heart beating, no longer in rhythm…
Yet, he can’t look away…there’s something about it.
Against his better judgement, and his own will, he starts to shuffle towards the alleyway, as if he’s getting nudged in…
The unnerving feeling grows, twisting and turning in Spamton's stomach, he feels himself moving faster and more urgently towards the opening. At this rate, he’s kicking the ground in vain against this invisible force desperately trying to get him into that alleyways maw.
He’s panicking internally now, his eyes are glued shut, bracing as he feels himself getting colder.
His mind is a broken record, repeating on loop:
“Oh god-pleeeAaseee be a Poppup- god oh god oh god I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die I’m gonna die I’m gonna-“
Like a car getting slammed on its breaks, he stopped.
It’s deathly quiet, only hearing himself sucking and blowing air between his teeth.
He peeks one eye open…
“Cat.”
The “cat” is at the dead end of the alley, casually cleaning itself. It slowly rests its “paw-like things” on the ground, and opens its pink and yellow eyes like Spamton didn’t just slide in here.
A wide white grin grows in the void of its head.
“…”
“…Its…purring…?” Spamton whispers internally.
And yet, suddenly… every agonizing moment of tension gets vacuumed out of his body.
“caaat…” he says almost disappointingly.
*meow*
“…cCaATt?! IM FEARING FOR MY LIFE OVER A CA-“