𝙎𝙥𝙖𝙢𝙩𝙤𝙣 𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙪𝙙𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙛𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙟𝙞𝙜!

𝙎𝙥𝙖𝙢𝙩𝙤𝙣 𝙗𝙚𝙜𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙪𝙙𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚, 𝙎𝙥𝙖𝙢𝙩𝙤𝙣 𝙥𝙧𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙪𝙙𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚.

𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙣𝙤 𝙖𝙪𝙙𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚.

indie/selective SPAMTON G. SPAMTON of Deltarune

written by BRE.

<3  “ * Now in pink for just $10.99. ″  He near immediately interjects with a satisfied grin at them in his utmost service tone of voice, and when they inevitably turn him down he tosses his twirling pink locks as he turns his way back toward the counter with them, making that laugh.   “ * Oh-honhonhon~! ”  

However,  before he could make more than a few delicate steps, the other’s briefcase, rather cheap but he assumes it can’t be helped , causes him pause as a paper glides along the tile to tap his heel. Just before they can reach for it… its stomped on with fluorescent green work shoes. The addison promptly bends down to snatch it up for himself.  “ * Busy doing… what, exactly? “  He half laughs, a second’s pause as he glances over it, and his brow raises at them as he looks from the page to the salesman. “ * Are you just– looking at cool bikes..? What is all this? ”

He steals glances at the other papers, and some tables of info he could recognize from a foot away, with his constant experience with them. His arms are crossed along his chest but one unfolds to hold out their loose paper as he leans on one hip.  “ * Darling, isn’t your job JUST sending emails..? Why waste time comparing products like an investor? ”  

       Spamton  doesn’t  quite  RUSH  to  gather  his  papers...but  he  doesn’t  want  them  laying  around  for  too  long...not  out  of  embarrassment,  but  strategy.  Spamton  is  a  relatively  smart  and  cunning  man.  He  can’t  have  Pinky  getting  any  ideas  from  his  little  treasure  trove  of  what  he  KNOWS  will  be  cold  hard  cash  someday.  The  bot  doesn’t  flinch  either  as  the  addison  snatches  up  one  of  them.  “Bikes?  NO,  no,  no.  They’re  scooters,  buddy.  Motorized  scooters.”  The  distinction  is,  apparently,  very  important.    

       The  glance  that  follows  is  what  Spamton  HOPES  to  be  unreadable.  In  reality,  he’s  annoyed.  SMILING  broadly  to  mask  this,  Spamton  reaches  out,  expecting  to  be  handed  the  pamphlet.  “Do  you  ever  think  of  doing  something  more?  Promone?  Something  BIGGER?”  Before  his  friend  can  answer,  the  spambot  continues.  “Not  an  investor.  A  salesman!”  

Something  unsaid  seems  to  hang  over  their  heads...