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Tenna’s earliest memories are with Toriel and Asgore. He was placed gingerly on a table, his plastic nerves just barely processing the feeling of soft fur as Asgore patted his head proudly, gushing to Toriel about “making their apartment their own.” His first few years were a whirlwind of activity: learning the ropes with stagehands and Zappers, managing the rarely-helpful Pippins, and slowly expanding the studio with the arrival of Elnina, Lanino, and various Shadowguys. Each night, when Toriel and Asgore would slowly settle onto their discounted but well-loved couch, Tenna took center stage, entertaining the couple with the best channels his antennas could receive
It was an admittedly lonely time. His fellow darkners were too busy learning their respective roles to make small talk, and Tenna was often running himself ragged trying to provide the best quality television his cathode-ray tube could provide. Show business wasn’t for the weak; underperformance leads to replacement and obscurity.
Tenna remembers when a western, cowboy-esque darkner was the most famous in the business. They were the star of Asgore’s, at the time, favorite show, and strutted around Tenna’s set with a confidence only exhibited by the TV elite. He got drinks with them once, had a heart-to-heart about relevancy and their fears concerning the fast-paced industry they were in once the two of them were well past tipsy. Not two weeks later their show was cancelled, overtaken by a more successful western show. It was Asgore’s new favorite. Tenna never saw the darkner again.
Eventually, Tenna heard occasional snippets of conversation between the pair about an eventual move. When they sat down at night to watch their shows, Asgore’s hand would rest on Toriel’s stomach, both of their faces a mix of disbelieving joy and slight anxiety. When the day finally came, Tenna was ever-so-gently carried from his table to the back of a van. His studio was alit with excited chatter, stemming from an infectious joy that their lightners were bringing them along to their new house. Elnina and Lanino were giggling to themselves as they speculated on their new weather, Elnina hoping for hotter days with a dreamy smile and Lanino wishing for more rain with a bashful grin. Tenna was exuberant, locked in his dressing room as he pondered how to make his shows more captivating, more interesting, more attention-worthy.
The new home was quaint yet welcoming, and Tenna indulged himself in the careful handling he was given as he was placed upon his personal pedestal in the living room. Not long after the move Toriel brought home a squirming bundle of flesh. She and Asgore would coo at it on that same, lived-in couch, barely paying attention to his carefully planned shows and instead looking after their bundle of apparent joy. If Tenna was any less gracious a darkner, he would’ve taken offense to their blatant lack of care! (He did take offense. It took five Pippins, three Shadowguys and the weather duo to coax him out of his sulk in his dressing room).
At first, he didn’t understand what was so appealing about the kid. What did that crawling thing have that his electron guns and phosphorescent screen didn’t?! But one day, while the parents were distracted, the baby crawled to the living room, slapping its grubby paws onto Tenna’s polished screen. Tenna froze, before hesitantly playing the first kid-friendly channel he could find: Sesame Lane. Instantly, the kid was enamoured, settling back slightly to gaze wide-eyed at his flashing screen. Tenna preened at the attention, putting extra care into his display for their attentive viewer.
It continued like that for a while. Tenna watched the child grow, going from babbling mindlessly at the pretty colors and sounds to actually understanding and laughing at the jokes said. And admittedly, it was a bit of an ego boost. Toriel and Asgore never paid him this much attention! One day, after giggling particularly hard at a joke Tenna made sure to emphasize by brightening his screen and slightly increasing his volume, the kid put his arms around Tenna’s screen. “I love you, Mr. TV!”
And boy, didn’t that just melt his wired heart! Tenna’s sure his screen glowed a slight pink for the next week as he rode out the high those words gave him. In the studio, his workers started (slightly!) abusing the joy he got from that to get him out of his funks; a quick “I love TV!” boosted his mood like nothing else! (And also increased the chance of letting his crew off early, but that was neither here nor there).
Because of this, when Tenna saw Toriel bring in another, fleshier child, he practically danced with joy, calling out exuberant orders to his stagehands in preparation for the increase in viewers. He fondly remembers the original kid (Asriel, he recalled from Toriel’s fond yet chiding call as he tried to feed Tenna pie) holding up the new addition with a beaming grin, introducing the two with a: “Kris! This is Mr. TV!” Kris had stared at his screen with newborn wonder, and Tenna felt his spotlight shine brighter.
From then on, it was his job and his passion to entertain the two rambunctious little tykes. He played shows early in the morning as Toriel had to drag Asriel away from his screen to get to school, at midday when Kris sat in their booster seat, eyes fixed on Tenna in rapt attention as they tried to eat and missed their mouth entirely, and at night, Tenna’s favorite time of day, as the family of four laid on that couch watching until the kids fell asleep. He would watch as Toriel and Asgore picked them up and carried them off to bed, their family like a real-life version of the Grady Grunch.
But though the night was his favorite time of day, nothing compared to the anticipatory excitement he felt as Christmas approached. The four would bring in the biggest tree they could find, setting it beside him and decorating it to the tune of Tenna’s softly playing Christmas music, his screen alight with a crackling fireplace. Asriel would hold up Kris to put ornaments on the higher branches, Toriel would come in with hot chocolate, and Asgore would stretch up to place the star up top, bringing his family in for a hug once he did so. It was perfect.
(And sometimes, when the day was over, the family was asleep, and the tree was fully decorated beside him, Tenna would feel an aching in his soul. He wished, beyond anything else, that he could actually interact with his favorite family, tell them how much he cared. And yet, the fourth wall remained thick, and he tried to tell himself it was just as good.)
Christmas Eve came with the Holidays, the Dreemurr house echoing with shrieks of laughter and the mouthwatering scent of slowly roasting ham. Tenna would watch as the children flickered in and out of view, chasing each other to the tune of Dess’ maniacal laughter and Asriel and Noelle’s harmonized screams. Kris would follow with a grin wider than any he’d ever seen on them, plastic horns on their head as they followed Dess like a little henchmonster. And then night would come, Tenna’s studio washed, cleaned, and primed for the most important showing of the year. His show would softly glow with whatever movie they picked that year, his audio slightly lowering with each kid that fell asleep. He always felt bittersweet at midnight, his emotions clashing between contentment from a job well done and the unachievable desire to repeat the day forever. Sometimes he’d catch himself praying to Ol’ Saint Nicholas like the lightners would, begging for just one more Christmas Eve. His prayers were left unanswered.
And then, slowly, everything started falling apart. It began with small, hushed arguments when the kids were asleep. Toriel’s “you need to be home more, the kids need you!” clashing with Asgore’s “the town needs me! I’m trying my best!” Tenna would watch as they slowly drifted apart, no amount of re-runs of their old favorite shows enough to bridge the ever-widening gap.
Asriel slowly became restless, perceptive enough to catch on to his parents’ moods, watching Tenna with wide, tear-filled eyes as Asgore came home late once again. Kris seemed to be dealing with other challenges, wearing their plastic horns at all times, occasionally clutching at them with a white-knuckled grip.
TV time became stilted. Whenever a police or detective show came on, Toriel’s smile would strain, eyes flicking to the ever-more commonly empty spot on the couch. When a monster with horns, antlers, or even fur came on screen, Kris would watch with an enviously attentive stare, their sight fixed on features they didn’t have. Asriel would flinch every time a family fought on TV, nervously alternating between the screen and his parents. Asgore would sit on the couch at midnight, alone. Hollowly gazing at his favorite shows, his eyes cradled by deep, purple bags.
The studio started getting anxious. Tenna would swap channels frantically and angrily, yelling at stagehands to permanently cross shows off of the showings list. And as the fighting got worse, he started making his own shows. Carefully spliced audio and footage mashed into a gameshow format, a show on a channel that would only play when the parents were out of the room and the kids were on the couch looking at Tenna with desperation. He’d replay jokes Kris used to laugh at, celebrating if they ever smiled at his attempts. He’d play footage more relevant to their older ages, more suited to the teenaged Asriel and his more jaded personality. The two would come to him looking to escape, and he and the studio would scramble for content, anything to help out their favorite lightners.
It wasn’t easy, and it only got harder. Each day Tenna felt a part of him break, becoming more erratic by the day. He remembers a particularly embarrassing day when the fighting was particularly loud. Tenna had stormed off air and into his dressing room, completely ignoring the Ad he was supposed to film with the current big shot. The big–Sp–he followed Tenna into his room, and Tenna burst into tears on his very small shoulder. The stress of the day creeped into his head like static snow, and his limbs felt like they were covered in a layer of dust. Tenna remembers being slowly soothed to sleep with promises of making it big and getting the family back. Promises that were completely baseless.
Things only got worse. The worst day Tenna can remember starts with Kris. Kris! Tenna’s little goober! They had flushed a bath bomb in the toilet, and ran out as the bathroom started to flood. Asgore, who was already in an awful mood, screamed at them. “What were you thinking!? You ruined it! You ruined everything!” Toriel had slapped him, teeth bared in a furious snarl. “How dare you take your anger out on Kris. You’re barely even home anymore, you’re barely even a father to them!” Asgore had snarled, eyes filled with tears. “You know what’s happening out there! I can’t always be there for them! If you were a good enough mother this wouldn’t be happening!”
And so, their fight continued, poisonous words laced with barbs and thrown with reckless abandon. Asriel and Kris had huddled in front of Tenna’s screen, their soft voice crackling with a stream of “I’m sorry!”-s as Asriel tried fruitlessly to calm them down. Tenna had played their favorite show, volume increasing as he tried to block out the sound of screaming from the kitchen. It almost felt like he himself was screaming, screaming out into the void as his audience shattered in front of him. Asgore left the house, the kids went to their room, Toriel sobbed on the couch, once again oblivious to Tenna’s attempts at distraction. They all were. He couldn’t help them.
Asriel got older, his conversations centering around college with a fervor that was part excitement and part relief. Toriel congratulated him with a smile that didn’t meet her eyes, Kris didn’t even look at him, their hands trembling. The day he left the door slammed shut with a thud that felt final. An end of an era that left no room for a new beginning. Kris shut down. They stopped talking, stopped smiling. One night, when Toriel was asleep, they sat in front of his screen, gazing at Tenna with eyes that felt like an accusation. The shows didn’t reach them, and they left without looking back. Tenna hated the night.
Toriel became their last viewer. Watching without truly seeing as Tenna coughed up reruns. Of dramas, of comedies, or romance, of family; endless reruns pushed to an audience of none. His boards collected dust, his studio lights flickering with neglect. His pedestal felt like a prison, and everyone was gone.
His employees left him alone, as Tenna was stuck in a perpetual slump. He was gone, leaving only a pipis that Tenna cherished like the dated, uselessly sentimental CRT he was. Constantly clinging onto the past. His dressing room filled with static snow, its use more comparable to a coffin than anything. And all he could do was cry.
And now Tenna lays, crumpled, alone, and forgotten in a frozen abyss. The snow starts to melt and seep through his plastic covering, water leaking onto his wires. His screen flickers between erratic beams of color and ever-encroaching static. One of his amputated arms splays crudely on his side, the other lost to the all-encompassing white. If he tries, truly and completely tries with all his remaining yet meager strength, he can almost pretend that it’s just another Christmas at the Dreemurr’s. The violent crackling in his ear is just muted conversation. And soon, Kris will pop into view with their toothy, child-like grin, eagerly waiting for the movie to start. Tenna can feel his slowly-dwindling sensors falter in relief. Yes, Tenna thinks, it’ll all be back to normal soon.