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Assistant: Title: Noises Off
        Author: runicmagitek runicmagitek 
        Chapter: 1/4 
        Summary: Perhaps this was a good sign. A step in the right direction and away from his downwards spiral of uuuggghhhh. Because the way Mettaton saw it, he now had one of two options.
  One: retreat to the lukewarm comforts of a lumpy couch until he became one with the cushions and waited until the inevitable heat death of the universe collapsed onto him to finally end the soul-crushing boredom.
  Or two: watch whatever the hell was on his newly acquired TV.
Alone and bored to death, Mettaton looks for a way to pass the time while the Internet is down. Good news, he does. Bad news... uh, it’s totally normal to want to kiss your recently acquired TV, right? (asking for a friend, haha...)
        Contents: Chapter 1
    

    


      
        
          noises off(noun)theatersounds made offstage intended for the ears of the audience: used as a stage direction
            
            (See the end of the chapter for  more notes.)
            
      
  

  
  
    
    It had been twenty hours, ten minutes, and fifty-one seconds since the Internet died, and Mettaton teetered on the edge of sanity. Could a ghost even die from excruciating ennui? At the rate he was going—or not going, having spent at least sixteen of those hours sprawled face-first into the couch, groaning nonstop—death would’ve been a mercy. Instead, he wallowed in the doldrums; the thought of wailing and thrashing in an attempt to feel something again was far too tedious. All because he lost his outlet for... uh, everything.A place to express himself, truly and freely. A place to socialize with like-minded individuals, because a family could absolutely be you and your three online friends keyboard smashing over anything and everything. A place to share joy and sadness and outrage, only to be met with support instead of scrutiny (okay, the latter still happened, but the block button was the best invention since sliced ghost bread). A place, above all else, to escape to. Now it vanished, as if someone yanked the power cord to his laptop. How rude.Mettaton groaned for another two minutes, sinking deeper into the couch. How could he live like this? Ugh, forget that—how could he survive in a world without the Internet? The group chat blowing up over a recent typo? Ghosted. The forty open browser tabs of the cutest second-hand corporeal dresses and boots on sale? Gone forever. The ongoing updates over the latest Mew Mew 2 zine discourse? Vanished into the abyss. That one meme he needed to show Blooky, because reasons, and finally located it after who knew how many search queries? lol. lmao even.This was torture. Cruel and unusual punishment. The worst ever, of all time. Someone needed to be arrested and tried in court for this atrocity against all monsterkind, because this profound, soul-crushing boredom was absolutely criminal. And if it lasted another second, then Mettaton couldn’t be held responsible for his—A clatter shot through the house. He rolled over, blinking. Did someone knock? The silence thickened inside. Maybe I imagined it. Or they went away—The door rattled against the fist of whoever pummeled it. Great. Just great. Without Blooky to hide behind, he had to do his second least favorite thing: answering the door.Floating off the couch, Mettaton approached the commotion. He disregarded the one wall mirror by the entrance, eyes to the ground while composing himself. It would be fine. Quick and simple. Like ripping off a ghost bandage.He froze. Actually, no. This was terrifying. Nothing about this was fine. Zipping back, Mettaton swiped his favorite blanket, draped himself in its pink fuzziness, returned to the door (d@mn it, there was still knocking!), and peered out a window.Wait a minute. It was Asgore’s kid. And the purple girl. What were they doing there? In the rain, no less! No doubt it was an elaborate prank; why else would they waste their time knocking for three days in a row now? Simply a means to poke fun at the nobody who refused to leave the house, except once when he snuck into the library to scour fashion books, but that had been an utter waste, and—Mettaton squinted. “What?”No, he misheard that. Wonderful, he was dying of boredom and brain damage. Just to double-check, he burrowed deeper into his blanket burrito, cracked the door open, and repeated what he thought they said.“You want to give me your TV?”Both kids nodded. The purple one smiled, bright enough to banish the overcast weather.Huh. Okay. They actually stayed true to their word and found something to entertain him. What a plot twist. Not what he had in mind, but refusing them would’ve been rude, yes? Easy, sure, but if they went out of their way to do this, then he could at least humor them.Plus the purple girl kept emphasizing how good of a TV it was. Really good.Upon agreeing, the kids procured The Really Good TV. Honestly, that alone was astounding; maybe they were both on the track team (Blooky’s snails could learn a thing or two from them). Swiftness aside, they presented the TV at the doorstep, as promised. Almost like the Monster Scouts going house-to-house and selling their monster cookies, except... you know, less edible. And exciting. And jam-filled. The rain most certainly did not help with the ambiance.Mettaton regarded the television. Far bigger than him and his laptop combined. Sun damaged the exterior, rendering the complexion uneven. Definitely clashed with his aesthetics. Did it work? Poor thing looked like no one had touched it, let alone used it, for years. Probably shoved in an attic to collect dust, forgotten even on garbage collection day, because who would remember a broken piece of junk?His eyes widened slightly. The toxic thoughts—more familiar than the building he had to call home—ebbed elsewhere. He regarded the antennas upon the television, crooked and broken. A bit of duct tape fixed it. Barely. But it was fresh in comparison to everything else. That much Mettaton recognized. Despite the circumstances, someone wanted this outdated box to persist, to keep it around. Broken parts and all.That was also familiar, truth be told.One blink and he viewed the television in a different light. Not obsolete, but retro. Not clunky, but stable—reliable, even. Not broken, but... different. Off-kilter. Eccentric. Unique. One of a kind.Mettaton hoped neither of the kids spotted him smiling beneath his blanket veil. “Oh my, it’s a handsome little thing, isn’t it?”That handsome little thing had a name, too. And he went by Tenna. Mr. Tenna, if he wished to be polite. Alright, that got a light chuckle out of Mettaton. Perhaps this was a good sign. A step in the right direction and away from his downwards spiral of uuuggghhhh. Because the way Mettaton saw it, he now had one of two options.One: retreat to the lukewarm comforts of a lumpy couch until he became one with the cushions and waited until the inevitable heat death of the universe collapsed onto him to finally end the soul-crushing boredom.Or two: watch whatever the hell was on his newly acquired TV.The purple girl (blast, he needed to ask for her name when they next crossed paths!) plopped the TV on the living room floor, next to an electrical outlet. She gave minimal instructions on how to operate it (no, him), but the knobs and buttons were labeled, albeit faded with time. Once alone, Mettaton sat down, staring back at the TV. At Tenna.“I suppose we should do something,” Mettaton piped up after a spell. “Wow, already off to a great start. Not any more awkward than I expected, really, but....” Another pause, then he scoffed. “I should’ve asked those kids for more help with... this! I’d look up a how-to guide if the Internet wasn’t down, but here we are.”Nothing but the pitter-patter of rain upon the windows filled the house.Poking out of his blanket, Mettaton crept towards Tenna. “You’ll need to forgive me for being clumsy, darling. This is... new to me, silly as that sounds.”He glimpsed his faint reflection in the glass of the CRT monitor. Darker patches scattered about the surface, where images had burned in with use. He resisted the urge to frown: at his appearance and ineptitude.“I’m more accustomed to devices that are smaller, slimmer,” he continued, mostly to calm his nerves while figuring out how the hell to work this TV. “You know, with touchscreens and apps. Not like—” Mettaton scanned over the console and the matching remote control. “—this. So many things to press and turn.” He chuckled. “Almost tempted to test them all and see what happens!”And he did exactly that. Pokes and prods and strokes of every kind. Each button and dial gave a satisfying click in response to his actions. Granted, nothing happened, because the power cord was still on the carpet... but also something did happen.The tactile sensation of each tangible control scratched a sensory itch. It rivaled the serotonin surge whenever he shared a stupid sh@tpost online and received a single like within a minute. Except the added layer of touch made it... ugh, the word eluded him. But playing with every little thing that went click had Mettaton kicking his nonexistent feet and—oh, right. Fidget spinners. That was the word. He read about those once. It was like that. Kind of? Maybe? Highly doubtful that the intended purpose of a TV was that, though.“Ah, my apologies,” Mettaton said. “Didn’t mean to tease you like that. Just... nervous.” Another deep inhale, and he brought the power cord to the outlet. “Now then. Let’s get you plugged in, darling.”Sound sputtered from the built-in speakers. Static flooded the screen. Garbled voices struggled to break free, then plummeted into white noise. Mettaton flinched at first, but approached with caution and curiosity. Perhaps there was a button to fix the image? Or did the dials need to align with constellations? Mettaton floated about, testing via trial and error to improve the image and audio. One more nudge of a single antenna—gently, slowly—and everything flashed into clarity (well, as clear as it could get).And Mettaton froze, entranced by what unraveled before him.It wasn’t that he was unfamiliar with music videos. Plenty cropped up on a daily basis from various monster performers across the world. It wasn’t that he disliked the melody, either. The lyrics were incoherent, likely due to the audio quality, but the tune was catchy; no shit the performers danced their @ss@s off. It also wasn’t that he had never seen anything titillating or scandalous before (uh, have you been online?). But something about this, from the mismatched colors on an old screen to the lead singer’s opulent outfits to the entourage of shirtless monsters carrying her (it was her, right...?) like a floating throne to poses and gestures that left no room for interpretation, because there was no room amidst all those crushed, undulating bodies....Oh. Oh.Heat surged through Mettaton. If he could blush like a normal monster, no doubt he’d invent a new shade of pink to match his blanket, which he now hid behind, all while choking on a scream. Great. He had Tenna for all of, what? Ten minutes? Not even? And he was getting into more trouble with him than that one time he clicked a random hyperlink that bricked his previous laptop (which was an accident!). Except this time, Mettaton wasn’t overcome with guilt and self-deprecation. Nothing of the sort, actually.This time, he giggled—at himself, at that lovely music video, at Tenna. This time, he peeked out from the cocoon of his blanket, eyes glued to the screen. This time, he lost himself in the fantasy he thought solely existed in the tiny corner of his mind.“Now that is entertaining!” Mettaton sprawled out on the floor, chewing on his lip. “We’ve only just met, and you seem to know me better than I do. Didn’t expect you to be an overachiever, Tenna! Well, hats off to you, darling. You’ve made an outstanding first impression. High marks across the board!” He brushed his fingertips along the remote control, tracing the outer edges before grasping it firmly to browse the channels. “Let’s have some more fun, shall we?”  “What are you doing?”Mettaton nearly choked on the crumbs from his ghost potato chip bag (bag number four he devoured, but who was counting haha!). He hadn’t heard the door open. Also hadn’t noticed the sun had already gone down, sending the living room into a pitch-black abyss. But Tenna served as a light in the dark. His flickering glow washed over Mettaton, who only strayed to grab more snacks. Oh, and some pillows. And his sketchbook to doodle new body/outfit designs (wow, that music video really lived rent-free in his brain). An excellent day! Probably the best thus far for the whole year. And all done (gasp!) offline! Blooky would be so proud of him.Except Blooky floated before him, looking ten times worse than Tenna upon arriving.“Blooky!” Mettaton vaulted upright with a flourish. Nowhere near as fabulous as that one singer-dancer, but practice made perfect. “Welcome home! It’s good to see you!”They didn’t blink. “Is it?”“Of course! I’ve been having such a wonderful day. You see, these two kids stopped by—well, they have been for several days now, but you were busy at work—and oh! You wouldn’t believe what happened! I answered the door, and they wanted to give me Mr. Tenna over here! And Blooky, really, it’s such a treat to have someone around to keep me company—”“It has a name?”Mettaton’s grin faltered. “He does, yes. That’s what the kids—the purple girl, you’ve seen her around, right? She said that was his—”“So, you spent all day watching TV?”“With Tenna, yes!” He fidgeted, despite his efforts. “Aren’t you proud of me, Blooky? I didn’t rot away on the couch.”Silence. Absolute silence. Except for the laughing track crackling during the sitcom Tenna chose for them post-dinner.“Um, okay. Sure.” Heaving out a tremendous sigh, Blooky removed their police cap and floated away. “I’m glad you’re doing better and... having fun? I guess?”“I-I am, yes.” Mettaton trailed behind, tension building in his incorporeal body. “Wait, where are you going?”“To bed.”“But don’t you want to join me and Tenna for—”“Look, I—” They stopped, then lowered their gaze. “It’s been a long day. Undyne didn’t show up and isn’t answering her phone. Not since last night with....”“With what?”Blooky shook their head. “It’s nothing. I don’t want to think about it. So... yeah. I’m going to lie down and pretend I don’t exist until tomorrow.”“Okay...? Uh, good night, then?”No response. Blooky simply drifted upstairs. Even the usual thrum of their post-emo new-chillwave music didn’t tremble in the walls. A week ago, Mettaton would’ve considered that a blessing (finally, they remembered to put on headphones!), but its absence hollowed him out as well as the house. Not like there’s anything I can say to cheer them up. Sighing, Mettaton returned to his spot on the floor, front and center for Tenna.“Sorry you had to see that,” he said, looking more at the hem of his blanket than at the glowing television screen. “Blooky is a sweetheart—my dear cousin, too—but ever since they started working at the police station....” Mettaton sighed. “I suppose they’ve always been rather somber, for a lack of better words, but they are a good ghost. So don’t take it personally. I’m certain they’ll warm up to you soon! Besides, they love music. Surely we could find a performance or show or something that’ll pique their interest.”Memories of earlier that day crashed into him: of the music video Tenna played upon being turned on. A shiver shot through Mettaton, but no chill resided in the air. A part of him yearned to flip through the channels until he stumbled upon that video again, simply to re-experience it. Don’t get your hopes up, he mentally grumbled. Doubt lightning will strike twice.“But for now,” he said, “I guess it’s you and me this evening, hmm?”Tenna didn’t respond. Not like a normal monster, verbally or physically. Unless the awwww! from the studio audience in the sitcom counted, which... yeah, no. It didn’t. Just a coincidence. Much like how those kids turned up the following day, as promised, to deliver a bit of entertainment. And said entertainment ranged from talk shows to cartoons to weather reports to cooking competitions to celebrity gossip. It rivaled, if not surpassed, the fun he typically found online.Maybe that was why he chatted with the inanimate object. What difference was there between that and liveblogging his thoughts into the void? At least Tenna made him smile, made him feel something other than existential dread. And that, sadly enough, was more attention than he had received from all seven of his so-called “followers”.I bet none of these hosts and actors and performers ever have to deal with radio silence. Mettaton cracked a smile. Or is it television silence? Ah, nonetheless, it must be nice to have adoring fans. For a moment, he soaked in that fantasy. Would anyone be interested in a ghost, let alone him? Mettaton slumped. I wouldn’t be a fan of me, either. Not like this. No one remembers a name or face like mine.Then it hit him. He gasped, sitting upright. “Oh! Where are my manners?! I never properly introduced myself, did I?”A hundred thoughts screamed at him. What are you doing? Why are you dancing and striking a pose? Are you seriously befriending this television over anyone else in Hometown? What difference does it make if the d@mn thing knows who you are or not? Regardless, he did his best to mimic the charismatic monsters locked behind scanlines and occasional static—even tried to envision what he would look like if he was... well, anything but a ghost.“The name’s Mettaton,” he purred with a wink, “and don’t you dare forget it, darling!”Credits rolled. An orchestral outro played. Commercials followed for any late-night viewers still tuning in. A twinge of self-consciousness crushed Mettaton as he chuckled and cloaked himself in his blanket.“I-I’ll be right back! Need more snacks, so don’t start without me!”Wow. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise with Blooky retiring early, because having anyone witness whatever the hell he just did would’ve been worse than death. Spraying his face with water helped. So did screaming into a bag of ice in the freezer. Sadly, the embarrassment lingered, but... something else eclipsed that terrible sentiment. Something Mettaton couldn’t put his finger on. Was this what other monsters meant when they said their heart was racing, but in a good way? Like in romcoms and visual novels?Was it possible to experience that while pretending to be on TV, in front of a live studio audience and homes across the world?Mettaton smiled wistfully while locating fresh snacks: lightly buttered ghost popcorn. That smile persisted when he returned to Tenna (“See, darling? I told you I’d be back!”), then bloomed into something more smitten with each passing hour, highlighted by a different broadcast. The witching hours eluded him, as did his fatigue and the barren popcorn bag. All he knew was that he couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this happy, this attentive, this... this at ease.Maybe that was what home felt like.
  
  

    
      
        
        
          If all goes well, I'm hoping to update this weekly AAAAAA stay tuned for MORE 💖💖'
User: Summarize the chapter based on the content provided, ensuring to follow the set format and emphasize key aspects within the specified length.
User: Summarize the chapter based on the content provided, ensuring to follow the set format and emphasize key aspects within the specified length.
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