Chapter Text
The most important and best year for Spamton G. Spamton was 1997, the year where he truly felt like a big shot. Those soaring rates of Lightner clicks and his overwhelming fame felt so good to be true. To think that he was once such a short and out of the ordinary Addison who was working as a mailman, now being drenched in fortunes and getting five star meals everyday, it was a dream for him. He couldn't believe that it was already about three years since, and now it was already the fresh year of 2002. Spamton was so-so on certain changes, especially since now there is E-commerce and other new companies, but he was only invested in his company and potential deals. However, since it is no longer 1997, he has noticed a decrease of calls from the individual over the phone...Mike.
Usually Spamton would be on the phone nearly every other hour, smiling and talking about his great achievements to Mike while sitting at his luxurious dark-brown wooden desk with his papers and pens neatly placed in front of him. Mike would always give praise, and gave Spamton more ideas for products and commercial advertisements, but now since the calls have been less and as irritable he has gotten over the past few weeks, Spamton had to use his own ideas, even if they are stupid but hey, if it makes money, why not? He goes to pick up his pen and thinks about reasonable products that are advertisable. As he was tapping the pen against the desk, a sudden hotness on his cheeks slowly crept on him. He groans and uses his free hand to rub against, but it felt particularly unusual. He gets up and sighs, and heads over to the bathroom to look.
"Ugh...I better not be getting sick. Not right now, damn it...", Spamton said to himself before he turned on the light.
To his surprise his cheeks were pink, almost as if he was just blushing, but something felt off. He bent down so that his snow white face was closer to his reflection, opening his black doll-like eyes to get a better look. He trailed his white hand down the corner of his cheek, to be met with a sore-like type of pain.
He hissed slightly as he continued to touch his cheek, realizing that this wasn't a sign of sickness. He takes a breath and decides to check on other areas of his body to see if there are other signs that could explain why this is happening but to no avail, there was not a single bruise or weird pink marks on him. He straightens himself and fixes his tie, and goes back to his desk and sits down in his chair. Contemplating on what to do, he glances over at his red phone, debating to call Mike and ask for help. He shakes his head and decides to grab the receiver, raising it up to his ear and hoping to hear something from the other end, but to his great shock, Mike answers.
"Hello Mr. Spamton, I'm sorry it has been a bit since we spoke but--"
"OH THANK GOODNESS! I-I thought you abandoned me for the slime or something...aha." Spamton interrupted with relief. Mike chuckled and sighed.
"Oh I reassure you I don't plan on that, HAH. So, what do you need? Ideas? Favors? Gigs? Something more...personal?"
"OH uh...n-none of that, especially the last part but I have a situation here, and I need help...I have these weird...pink like colored bruises on my face? But I have NO idea where they came from and I swear a chick did NOT slap me last night while I was drinking at the bar but...." Spamton stops as he thinks of what to say. But with a grunt, he slams his fist.
"Look, fucking dammit...ever since you took your precious time not getting back with me in time, and now this...just please I NEED to know how to make this go away or else I'll look stupid in my photos, meetings and commercials!...I'm sorry, that was out of place..." Spamton sighs as he wipes his eyes. It fell eerily silent, and it was deafening. Mike clicked his tongue and cleared his throat.
"Well, since you have been listening to my advice all this time...I got you covered. If this is bothering you so much, more about appearances, then why not try wearing some makeup? Maybe find some powder that will cover those marks up and maybe try a little cover up to make others notice something different, ay? Like how you dyed your hair black.."
Spamton blinked a few times. Was Mike suggesting that he changed his appearance again? But it could be minor, maybe a fresh look after a few years wouldn't be that bad.
"Oh. Well I guess I could try that, you do know what's best for me...uh, thank you Mike, again." He placed the receiver back down, and he ran his fingers through his soft, black hair. He sat there for a moment while looking at the clock on his desk, both its hands pointing at nine o'clock. Seeing that it's already getting late, he gets up from his chair and walks towards his bedroom, turning off the lights behind. Spamton began getting undressed, taking off his signature red jacket, loosening his tie from his collar and placing it neatly on his dresser. As he was about to unbuckle, he paused and chuckled to himself.
"Why do I wear pants that are the same color as my skin...well, the material is softer. But still, tomorrow I'll switch to my red pair." As he continued, he put on his pajamas and walked into his bathroom. He once again looked into the mirror and the pink blush was still there on his face. He gently touched the pink cheek with a finger and still felt the soreness. Blinking a few times, he brushed his pearly whites and headed to bed, where he laid face up, staring at the ceiling with the covers up to his chest, and his hands together resting on his chest.
"This will all be fixed soon, right? Mike knows what to do, he never proved me wrong...I'll be fine, I'll be fine...". He took a deep breath, and he closed his eyes and let himself fall asleep.