IT'S!! TV!! TiME!!

Tenna got his challenge, and I got permission to use the poll option to influence the outcomes of his challenge!

In short, I need three muses to give Tenna a taste of his own medicine, and issue HIM a challenge for a change. Think of it like giving him some kind of task he must succeed in! They might appear in the Intraspace and on "live tv".

This is an interest check for people whose characters would/could come up with a challenge for Tenna. I'll plot with you over DMs, whether it's through tumblr or discord. I won't be starting this until after the event, but once the ball gets rolling, I need to be prepared!

This post will update when challenge slots are filled. Thank you so much for reading! (Edit: I'm not locking in until 24 hours goes by and people get a chance to look at this post!)

Challenges: 2\3

It’s a natural instinct for a lot of people to try to comfort Till with touch, but he’s grateful Tenna didn’t do that. As much as Till tries not to judge by appearance, the tall man reminding him so much of the segyein from his world most likely would have caused Till to spiral into a panic.

The TV is playing something on the cooking channel, the sizzling sounds and rhythmic chopping strangely comforting to him. Humans didn’t cook in his world. It reminds him of the friends he has here, who are always bringing him food. It reminds him that almost everyone he’s ever loved is here, safe and sound. Alive.

“Y-yeah…” Till says hoarsely, his voice's natural rasp accentuated by his throat raw from crying. “I-it really… r-really… s-s-sucks…”

Till nods gratefully to Tenna, wiping his eyes and drinking the water in front of him. Trying to take deeper breaths. Pulling himself back together piece by piece.

“Ivan w-wants t’ finish the song we sang t-together. We… we wrote it together t-too. He says it’s important to h-him—an’ I g-get it—but… I dunno how h-he can even s-stand t’ think about that d-day… A-and even if I wanted t-to, I… I c-can’t perform anymore! Every time I get on stage, I f-freak out… I start seein’ shit that isn’t th-there… stop singin’…”

Finally getting his breathing under control, Till lets go of his throat to cup his water with both hands, watching his tears drip into it.

“S-sorry… I know that’s... a lot. I don’t make a habit of tellin’ people here because… y’know… And everyone from my world already knows. The competition… it takes place on live TV. Winner determined by audience voting. That’s… that’s part of why I got so mad at ya when I thought… when I thought you threw that guy in the pit ‘cause your audience told ya to.”

Till takes a shaky breath, brushing away more tears.

What pulls him back up is the relief in Till's posture. He looked tired, his face was splotchy, there were tear-stains all over his shirt... and yet, he looked a lot lighter than when he walked in here.

"...Well. Now I really get where you're coming from. And why you thought I was going to hurt you back there. But after everything you've told me, I feel like the least I could do was listen. So... we're square now, okay?"

A sigh finally escapes through the vents to the side of his head.

"In a weird way, I..."Kind of know how you feel."Eh, nevermind that. Here's what I can say."

He offers a smile to the Lightner, holding a hand out to shake.

Till’s eyes widen the more the TV talks, his mouth dropping open. He is so sure, for a moment, that the man is actually talking about Till and Ivan using a thinly veiled metaphor, until he mentions the other person being 4 feet tall, which Ivan certainly is not.

“…What the fuck, man…?”

“YEAH. That’s almost our exact situation… Look! I even punched a wall, too!” Till waves his splinted hand, absolutely flabbergasted. Shakily, he runs his hands through his hair, tears momentarily stemmed in his shock.

It’s at times like this when Till wishes that alcohol affected him like other people. By some miracle, here is a person who seems to know exactly what Till is going through, and Till is determined to talk it through, ghosts and flashbacks be damned. He drains the rest of his mug and then orders a triple shot of tequila for good measure, which he throws back immediately. Finally, five drinks in, he thinks he can start to feel the alcohol work like it’s supposed to—but that could just be because he truly wants to talk to someone about this.

“…Ivan is dead. Or, at least, he was. I… I watched him die…” Not to be held back any longer, tears that were welling up in his eyes spill over onto the wooden bartop. “The duet we did… We were both forced into a singing competition. Tournament style. Only the winner lives. Loser dies. I was… There was never any doubt in my mind that he would win. But I… I just didn’t wanna be without him, y’know? I was so scared t’ be alone… I didn’t see any point in continuin’. I… stopped singing. B-but Ivan, he… he threw his chances away even harder. He—”

Till chokes up, unable to continue. He feels cold rain prickle against his skin, though he knows logically he’s inside. As if summoned, the ghost with Ivan's face stands in the corner of his vision, staring at him with piercing red pupils and a sharp-toothed smile. Till tries to scratch at his neck to alleviate the pressure there, but the bandages are in the way. Luckily, his own touch is grounding enough that he finds it in himself to continue.

“He made sure I would win. He saw that I didn’t wanna keep going and… and he didn’t care what I wanted. For some reason, he… he must’ve hated the thought of losing more.” Till’s breath hitches, properly weeping now as the memory practically plays out behind his eyes.

“He’s so stupid,” Till agrees with a laugh that’s tangled up in a sob. “I’ve already hurt myself! I don’t even care if there’s nothing I can do, I-I just want to be there for him like he was always there for me! It’s so, so hard for me t’ talk about, an’ every time I try, we just get mad an’ start fightin’ all over again!”

“You know what he told me?! He thought I “wouldn’t care” if he died! How could he think that?! An’ when I try to tell him, or show him, how much I love him… he just shuts down! He doesn’t believe me! Th-they had t’ pull me, kickin’ and screamin’ away from his c-corpse… I never would have left him if I had any other ch-choice! I… I would’ve stayed with him! I n-never even had t-time t’ grieve him b-before they dragged me a-away t’ my next round! I w-wanted t’ st-stay—”

"E-easy there..."

Oh, this was so much worse than two lovers having a falling-out. This was some sick and horrible tragedy, the cruelty of which he'd only witnessed in fiction. He's not even sure what to say to him at this point, or if he should say anything at all. ... Maybe he should text Kris and Susie that he'd be home late. They'd understand.

"I'm, sorry. I don't... know what to say." ... "That's horrible."

Someone he loved so much that he was ready to throw everything away for him, being ripped away by circumstances out of their control. And there was no time to recover: keep performing, or die.

The show had to go on. What good was a TV that didn't work? After Dess disappeared, they needed him more than ever. The kids needed him more than ever. Bury the guilt and keep going. To keep looking for someone who didn't want to be found would only get him and the entire Dark World shut down.

At the very least, he could stay with him. Something idle and mindless plays on his screen, giving some kind of background noise so that the poor human didn't have to deal with only his own sobs to cut the silence. He did the same for Toriel the night Asgore moved out. What else could he do?

Not that the tight, uncomfortable smile that replaces it is much better, but he can't get rid of that one as easily.

"H-hah, I wouldn't go that far. It's still a little out of tune." Wukong puts the instrument back into its place, less interested now in pilfering it than before. He's still not quite looking Tenna in the- face (which is kind of a pain to do on a good day) as he shakes the dust off his hands and turns towards the exit. Which is blocked. "I think I'm done for now. So I'm just gonna- you know."

"What, you're done?? I've got a tuner in the back somewhere, we can fix it! C'moooonnn."

Instead, his entire frame crouches down to beam at the other at screen-level.

Till throws his arms up in frustration. “But then again, the interview you did with Ivan was in some ways more truthful than he’s ever been with me 'bout how he feels about our— about what happened, so who the fuck am I t’ judge?!” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in order to rein in his frustration before he can vent it at the wrong person.

“Sorry… What I’m tryin’ t’ say is… I’m glad you didn’t have any hand in planning it… and I’m kinda glad it happened. Actually, I’m not sure it was planned on Ivan’s part either, ‘cause there’s no way he would’ve been that honest 'bout his feelings knowing I was watching.”

He’s too tired to smile, but Till’s eyes definitely curve up in amusement at Tenna’s choice of drink, though he doesn't say anything. He barely glances at the menu before he orders a tankard of the house ale, something cheap and quick. The bartender pours the drink right there in front of them, and Till downs the whole thing in one go before gesturing for a refill.

“…You could say that,” Till finally mutter bitterly. “Then we were here an’ we talked about it and… and I thought we were good—well, not good, but I thought we were okay—but apparently, we didn’t talk about it enough, ‘cause I didn’t know that song he was talkin’ about was so special t’ him! I-I… I thought he’d never wanna think about it again! I never wanna think about it again!” He can feel tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, and he stops to take a long swig of his beer.

Both he and the server share a mutual look of understanding; the guy was having a rough one (poor thing.) Tenna would take him home. With another refill, the server left the two to their conversation. It's not even the second time something like this happened to him; Toriel talked to him a lot when she thought no one else was around.

Hell, he was in the same position years ago, bawling his screen to static with Ramb, Lanino and Elnina beside him.

"Well... Can't say I know a lot about being an idol, and I don't know what went wrong with your duet. And I don't have to know. What I can say, without a shadow of a doubt, based on a true story..."

"Is that men like that decide to go off and do their own thing because they think they're doing you some big favor. Oh, don't worry about it, life partner who I trust my whole life with, except for this one life-altering event that I'm not gonna let you in on because I need to suffer alone. It's STUPID, is what it is. Guessing your Ivan pulled one of those on you."

That's... not very encouraging at all. Maybe he's the wrong one to talk to about this.

"You meet up again here after he up and disappears so bad you think the guy is dead, you start talking, you think you're through it, and then oh! Would you look at that! You've gotta find out through someone ELSE that there was something much BIGGER going on, and you end up screaming at each other and fighting and getting so pissed off you throw a punch at the wall and knock out the electrical wiring because he's 4''something and you'd flick the guy and you'd kill him. And then have to deal with all that bull@#$%. Ugh."

...

Perhaps the only reason he could tolerate this day-to-day style of living was because he knew eventually it would end and he would resume his real quest. He didn't have to think about what would come after that. There was something comforting about the certainty of the time loops, just as there was comfort in knowing the mundanity here would not last, even if what was coming next would be worse.

"Eeeeeexactly! There's way too much going on here to worry about what's going on back where we're from right now, right?"

With the conversation successfully steered away from himself, he finishes the last of his drink, and goes back to the notebook.

Back his face returns: smirking!

"No future with that attitude, you mean! Weren't you just complaining about how boring stories are when everyone tries to follow what the big prophecy says? And here you are, saying you can't see a future because you have to go back eventually. Why?"

"When we get here, things stop back home. Time's not moving--everything'll just start up again the moment we're kicked out of here anyway. Why not enjoy seeing where the drama in the dollhouse goes without wondering why there is drama."

His companion gets a few pokes on the top of his head for emphasis.

"Ah- Sorry." He tucks both hands into his lap. "I suppose that is one nice thing about this place, if I'm being generous. At least I can set myself on other goals. Even if that goal right now is simply to survive with my wits intact."

At some point he'd have to go home, though, and all of this would be lost to him.

"I'm holding you to that. Don't do anything stupid, don't try and go off and change the world on your own. You've got this whole city to do something with!" He cautions, moving his arm in a big, sweeping motion toward the window facing the street.