Chapter Text
The telltale slam of a TV-shaped door could be heard all throughout the studio, and the same thought crossed every single TV Time employee's mind:
'Shit. The boss is fuming.'
It didn't matter why, or how, or when, but something had happened to set him off. It was an unfortunately usual sight, and the palpable tension that hung in the air was commonplace.
Everybody walked a little quieter, the lights were a little dimmer, employees hiding in the shadows and mumbling stage directions instead of loudly proclaiming them as part of their ’Mr Tenna's mad’ routine - anybody could be the target of their boss' volatile anger, and him going on a brutal firing spree was not out of the question.
Of course, he always immediately rehired the targets of his rage and mass firings like nothing had happened, his face strained with a grimace like he’d been forced to bite down on a lemon - some of the hundreds of small-letter clauses and loopholes in their increasingly complex contracts making him able to do so without any consequence. However, the fear still remained, for if he was feeling particularly cruel, he could draft a new contract so evil, so exploitative, so legally binding, that any darkner would wish they’d been petrified long, long ago.
The booming steps of an even bigger than average CRT-headed showhost echoed through the halls, slowly approaching. Scratch that, he was sprinting, and he wasn't fuming, he was about to EXPLODE.
"PIPPINS!!!!!" The amount of feedback and static crackles in Mr Tenna's voice distorted his shout into a deafening roar. The door of the green room burst open, half of it flying off its hinges and landing on the other side of the room, cracking the potted cactus in the corner. His screen was black, a feral grin stretching from side to side and occasionally flickering, as if straining to stay on. Sparks flew from his antennas, every TV in the breakroom turning on as if tuned to the same station, broadcasting his rage.
"WHO'S. THE PIPPINS. RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS?????? WHO????!!!"
His silhouette bristled, distorted by spikes of electricity, screen quickly swapping between channels, (an image of burning fire and people screaming?), before switching back to the increasingly strained smile. Short huffs of breath left his digital grimace, his teeth sharp and flickering, hot air disturbing the dust around his vents, making it twirl through the air in a frenzied dance. His tone was like molten lava, dripping and sizzling, ready to explode in a cataclysmic eruption. He was a natural disaster waiting to happen, a typhoon, a storm that slowly charged the air with enough electricity to make your hair stand, ready for the lighting strike.
The green room was mostly empty. A couple pippinses stood completely frozen in the middle of the room, trying to obscure a makeshift cardboard sign and a cup with some dice, clearly caught red-handed in some kind of gambling scheme. One of the dice slowly slipped from the terrified pippins' grasp, and fell on the floor - loud like a gunshot. Tenna's head immediately snapped, turning like a guided missile and zeroing in on the culprit.
The pippins feared for its life. There were rumours... rumours of employees who'd wronged Tenna, who'd disappeared to never be seen again... It could feel its head shaking, wishing it could turn itself into a tiny die like his light world counterpart, and not have to face his slowly approaching, now sizzling and cracking as he grew a couple feet taller, boss.
"WAS IT YOU!? DON'T WORRY, HAHAHA!! IT'S ALL GOOD!!!! COME ON, IF YOU TELL ME THE TRUTH I'LL ONLY DOCK NINETY PERCENT OF YOUR POINTS!!!!"
The pippins felt claws engulfing it as its feet slowly lift off the ground, getting further away - was this how it died? At the hands of a CRT with anger issues, and doing what he loved, running an illegal gambling scheme- and suddenly drop back down, its head spinning as it bounced on the ground a couple of times. (It landed on a four, and also quite painfully.)
"...Tenna?"
As loud as his voice had been before, you felt like your quiet declaration echoed even louder in the mostly empty room, losing itself through the corridors and reaching every hidden corner of the TV Time set.
"HAHAHA. AHAM. EHEM. TESTING. YES, IT SEEMS LIKE MY VOICE IS COMING IN LOUD AND CLEAR, MIKE!! THANKS FOR THE, AHA, MIC CHECK!!"
You stared silently at him, his screen flickering between his usual blinding white smile and face, and pure black, digital sweat dripping from his face whenever it switched on.
"Gotta keep the crew on their TOES!!! YOU KNOW, JUST A ROUTINE CHECK!! EVERYTHING is HUNKY-DOODY!"
The buzzing of his screen and the pop of static still filled the room - or whatever room wasn't already being taken up by the CRT himself. Tenna was the largest you'd ever seen him - his knees bent almost up to his chest, and his back touched the ceiling. The top of his head scraped some of the tiles as he slightly turned, some dust falling from above, illuminated by his screen.
"We'd ALSO been discussing... Some CONTRACTS! Overtime pay (or the lack thereof), vacation days (or the lack thereof), ALLOWED activities and PASTIMES during WORKING HOURS..."
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the pippins scramble to his feet and quickly make a run for it, escaping through one of the green room's side doors.
"And of course, any hypothetical GAMBLING and other ILLEGAL ACTIVITIES would result in a docking of POINTS of over 95% of their salary, but I'm sure EVERYBODY KNOWS THAT!! HAHAHA!! HAHA!! HA!!!!" - He managed to hold his screen mostly on, a strained smile all the way through. You were staring up at him, looking... sad? Dissapointed? ...Afraid?
"...Tenna."
You slowly lifted your arms and crossed them over your chest.
Ah.
You were angry.