A jaunty, meandering whistle danced through the air of Tenna's office, accompanied by the light aromatic smoke of a lit candle and the clacking of his typewriter. The old showman was multiple pages deep into his rough script for the pilot of a new show, its novelty and the comfort of knowing nothing had to be perfect having propelled him through on a steady, optimistic pace for hours now.

He barely even noticed he'd started whistling. It stemmed naturally from the rhythm of his typing; he really loved the distinctly sharp, mechanical clicks of his trusty Corona typewriter he'd been upkeeping since the 70s. Some of his greatest work had come out of that thing, and there was no reason to assume more couldn't today. Hell, maybe it was the sound specifically that helped him find the rhythm to begin with, serving as his slightly unsteady metronome.

The sight of him working must've looked straight out of a Merrie Melodies, or maybe the beginning of a musical sequence. As he noticed an incidental rhyme in the monologue of one of his characters - the peppy paperboy with dreams of being a big shot like the leading detective - he wondered if maybe he could make this a musical...

At the thought his whistling and typing cut off abruptly with an amused huff. Nope, he'd tried that once! Twice actually.

Before TV was even a thing and he was just some kid throwing himself at any venue who'd have him, he tried to get into work with a local theater swearing he could write musical scripts. A lie he could not fake till he made it. Then years later when he was working TV backstage as an underpaid writer, his background in theater got him the job of writing a musical sequence thrown on his desk without warning and on one of the shortest deadline's he'd ever had.

He brought a hand to his face and sighed with a smile, I really tried to rhyme 'alligator' and 'theater'. A little voice in the back of his head always told him third time may very well be the charm anytime the opportunity came up, but sometimes you had to know when you were beat.

It took Tenna a moment to realize just how exceptionally good of a mood he was in. He looked up at the late afternoon light streaming through the high windows of the office, a light breeze came with it, keeping the air as fresh as it was pleasantly scented by the candle.

Usually remembering crappy failures from his past like that would have him more dower, but he still felt light as ever. He glanced back towards the candle as he leaned back over the typewriter to get to work again, and couldn't help but crack a wide smile reading its label. Like a lot of things these days, he could probably blame his high spirits on that name. And now seemingly on his scent alone -- funny a though as it was.

He began his work again, letting the familiar clicks and clacks of his typewriter fill his ears. And just as he was feeling another melody rise in his throat, he was startled by a loud bang on the door.

As boss of a very hectic business it wasn't like him to be so surprised by sudden visits, but he had surely impressed upon all his employees new and old that Friday afternoons - when reruns basically put the whole place on autopilot - were Tenna Time! Which gave him a very good idea of who his guest was before he even asked. And the thought turned his stunned pout back into a bright smile.

"Who is it!" he sang with the melody that'd been pinned to his tongue.

"It's Tony Adison," the expected voice answered edgily. "I need to talk to you about somethin'."

Having his hopes met, the old showman hardly cared about the sour tone. "Sure, c'mon--" His eyes snapped down to the candle. In one swift movement he yanked it off the desk and placed it in a cubby of the desk below. Lucky for him the wick had sunk low enough the flame would never meet the wood above.

"Sorry -- C'mon in!" he finished without dropping an inviting note.

Barely a second later the door before Tenna swung open to showcase his associate, mid eye-roll and arms already thrown in the air. "Look, Tenna, I understand we have some contract trouble between us, but this is getting out of hand for me."

The salesman's genuinely troubled mood finally reached his boss, who tilted his head innocently while setting his arms down on the desk. "What's the matter, big shot?"

"It's the door, Tenna," he sighed as he walked up to the desk. "Look, as I take on more responsibilities here I'm gonna have to be easier for people to find. Do you even know what happened just now?"

"No..."

"I was just informed by one of your goons that 10 different computers I ordered were sent back to the post office cause some joe-shmoe answered the door, sent someone to go find me to verify what it was, and couldn't fuckin' find me sittin' in my office like an oblivious jackass! I didn't even realize till I went out to get some water and that Michelle-chick told me the whole deal.

"And--" he paused. "Wait, why the hell didn't anyone just come to you about that?"

"This time Fridays is usually my dedicated script-writing time. Heh," he couldn't help but smile. "Most everyone knows they're not really supposed to bother me right now."

"Oh, how pleasant -- look," the salesman placed his hands on his associate's desk and leaned forwards. "I know this is your little passion project studio where you just cruise along with the power of family and friendship, but with me around - with me actually trying to get stuff moving around here - we gotta be more professional about these sorts of things, OK?"

The two men locked gazes, Adison staring into Tenna's neutral expression determined and expectant. Maybe Tenna's lip twitched a pinch when his associate so curtly shrugged off his boundaries, and hopefully not a second or third time during his little rant, but that was OK. He was having a good day.

"I see what you mean, Tony," he replied with a light nod as he pushed his Corona aside. He leaned back in his chair with his hands in a pensive clasp. "We should definitely do something about incorporating you better into our chain of command. You're kinda just locked in the back of the studio all day, aren't you?"

The salesman drew in an unabashedly frustrated breath, "Sure... let's start there..."

"A lot of that has to do with the heavy paperwork you've been buried under. I mean, you kinda end up like me here, nose deep in writing scripts," Tenna gestured to the sizable pile of papers beside him. "It's important work, but not as important as having a presence in the studio!"

He hummed in pre-prepared thought before leaning forward again. "How about... we try to work your schedule around so that you join me and the crew on set during the main hours of the day! That way it's easier for folks to get a hold of you if they have issues, huh?"

Adison's posture slumped in disbelief. "What about the goddamn office? The goddamn broom closet of an office! What about when I'm NOT following you around?"

"Well, if you're around when people need you it won't be an issue whether they can find it! Plus, it'll make sure you have your time to keep your nose to the grindstone."

"Tenna, this is not--" He dragged his hand down his face as if he were dealing with a petulant child. "This is not just about the packages shit, it's about my PRESENCE in this studio! You've just been shoving me into the margins of all the work going on here -- it's like I don't exist unless you want me to! I don't have people's numbers, I don't have my own lackeys, I don't have my own name on my own goddamn door -- but you got all these big designed for me!"

Adison's cheeks grew visibly redder, "You gotta remember that it is ME who's supposed to be developing this place right now! I'm the one here to modernize and put things in order, and I can't do that if you just treat me like-- like a little side attraction to show off before putting me back in a cage to perform a miracle!"

Tenna continued to give his associate a blank stare. And it was becoming increasingly harder for him to pretend to himself it was for any reason besides masking the burning heat growing in his chest. "So..." he began with a patronizing sing-song tone. "Is this about you not feeling appreciated here...?"

At that, Tony Adison's entire face practically lit red in anger. At least Tenna officially didn't start whatever was about to happen.

"Are you fucking dense!? Why are you saying it like I'm some fucking kid? I'm Tony Adison!! Of course I expect to be treated better wherever the fuck I go!"

My, what language! Didn't Tenna tell him to watch his tone around him? The showman's clasped fingers tightened around each other.

"I am literally a walking miracle in this place, I am here to pull this little radioshack out of obscurity and into the 21st century and you expect me to do that while being treated like your little-- your little lapdog!!

"And it's not about the fuckin' door either! Your such a fuckin' creep about this too!"

Tenna's body tensed in his seat.

"About EVERYTHING!" He gestured to a shelf behind the showman's head, "The shit with the Pipis!" He threw his pointer finger at his straining hands, "The ring! And the socks I'd bet money on that you are STILL wearing! And now," he began looking around the room and gesturing vaguely. "This!! What is this!? Is this a fuckin' joke!"

The showman finally stood. His hands planted firmly on the desk as he leaned forward, towering over the little salesman easily. Looking down into his defiant face, he let his own expression twist into a snarl. "Is what a joke to you?"

"The damn smell, you freak!!" he spat.

Suddenly, all thoughts dropped straight out of Tenna's head like a stone. His expression drained of all venom as he asked dumbly, "The what?"

"Oh no! Oh no-no-no-no," Tony reeled back with an incredulous, manic laugh. "No! You're not playing THAT dumb with me! Tell me, asshole -- in the air, right now? What the fuck is this scent?"

"Uh..." Tenna wasn't even playing dumb, or more, he was doing such a bad job of it it came back around to a perfect cover. "Uh-- uh what do you mean, Tony?" He picked up a smooth amused tone, "A-Are you sure you're feeling alright?"

"You are not fucking with me today, Tenna. Why the fuck does it smell llike this in here." His gaze finally landed to the side of the desk where any wisps of smoke would've been visible. "You still have the damn thing lit, for fucks sake!

Tenna didn't look. But to hide the way his entire body froze up he did lean back, puffing up his chest in feigned shock. "Tony, what are you implying? Are you trying to say I've been smoking something!? Why I--"

"It is a candle, you dipshit -- and I know you know it!" He jabbed a pointed finger as he took the ground relinquished by Tenna on the desk. "And I know, you know, I know exactly what type of candle it is."

"Wha-- A candle!?"

If Tenna was one single thing, he was an actor. And he could act his way through anything, no matter how useful it was to do so. On a good day, he could even act his way out of the dumbest shit you've ever seen.

He leaned back and laughed, relaxing his posture and lightly placing his hand on his chest. "Oh, Tony! You had me there for a second, ha! So what I've been lighting up candles in my office? It's a fun hobby! Helps creates a nice atmosphere and everything." He finished, his voice even and open, "But I don't see what that has to do with this conversation."

Adison stared death at him. His face still flushed red.

"Look... I do get what you're saying about not really having a place here yet -- though I don't really appreciate your language. But it's OK." He waved his hand, purposefully taking any edge out of his tone to impress civility. "I think we're both just getting a little worked up. It's been a long week, and we've both had some real stinkers thrown at us today especially, so how's about we just--"

"What is the scent?"

Tenna looked at him innocently. "I just told you, it's a candle."

The salesman replied with a cruel smile, "What scent of candle?"

"Oh, it's uh..." he smiled and bent to the side clumsily to peek at the candle he very much already knew the scent of, and lied. "Some kind of..." though he couldn't stop himself from blushing at having to actually describe it.

"... A pine and leathery kind of scent." He snapped back up. "It's a bit like a good cologne actually. Heh, the smell's kinda familiar to you, isn't it?

The salesman's smile morphed from cruel to downright deranged. He tiled his head and crooned, "Is it, perhance, the novelty Tony G. Adison scented candle that was discontinued after 6 months, and could not possibly be in your office unless you had gone out of your way to look for it?

"Much like how you materialized a - also discontinued - novelty Tony G. Adison Pipis, and Championship Ring, and goddamn SOCKS out of thin fucking air?"

Tenna gave an awkward chuckle -- the natural, playful kind of awkward, and not the on-the-verge-of-jumping-out-a-window kind of awkward he actually felt. "That would be ridiculous."

"If you don't show me that fucking candle right now..." Adison sighed sharply, practically blowing steam out of his nose and ears. "I am going to jump over this desk, and kill you."

"Look, I--

"Or better yet! Cause I know this is the only threat that actually motivates you to do ANYTHING -- I'm leaving."

"What do you mean?" Tenna hiccupped.

"I'm walkin' out that door and packin' up my shit and flying back to New York right now. If you don't admit to me you've been hoarding my shit, I refuse to work here!"

"O-OK, look," Tenna chuckled in earnest awkwardness. He reached down to grab the candle from under the desk without even thinking. "This is all just so silly to get worked up over, Tony! Is it really such a crime for me to seek out your merchandise? Like I told you, I'm a collector at heart. I do it with my stuff all the time -- a-and I wouldn't be offended if you did it with my memorabilia!"

He planted the glass candle jar down onto the desk. His hand on the rim as there was not even a point trying to obscure the label. (A scheme which had run through his mind earlier).

He had to look away from his associate's face as it twisted acutely into disgust and indignation. Adison hissed, "Oh, buddy-boy, this is not just about memorabilia... Cause if it was a collector's item, it wouldn't be used to the goddamn base of the glass!"

Tenna's face couldn't help but flush.

"You are a mess," Adison sneered bluntly. "I don't know what this is, I don't know what all that other shit was, but it is some sort of complex you have. You just OBSESS over having everything in some perfect little... just holding onto every little thing in a perfect form, like it has to be in stasis or some shit. And it is one thing if its your old junk collection, or the old posters, and toys, or what have you, but you are not doing this possessive bullshit with ME!"

Suddenly he snapped his fingers, "And fucking look at me when I'm talking to you, I'm serious, are you five?"

The showman's face twisted in embarrassment and indignation for a second before he dragged his head towards his associate with a more neutral pout. He would retort if he had any clue what would come out of his mouth.

"I get what the fuck you're doing. You're trying to keep me under your fat fucking thumb cause you want to reap every little thing you can out of the name of Tony G. Adison while actually treating me like your fucking pet!" His stern voice melted into a petty whine as he finished, "And I, frankly, refuse to go along with this shit."

Those last words sent something cold crawling up Tenna's spine. "L-L-Look, I..." he sputtered with a crooked smile. Something in them -- the familiar way they were said. "I-I really don't mean anything by it, I really mean that I just think it's nice to... to participate in your brand, I-I guess?"

"Then why the fuck have you been treating me like the dirtiest secret in the studio? Like you don't fuckin' trust me to do anything!"

He winced. "I... I-It's just different! It..."

The toys, the candles, the jewelry -- it was so much different from the real thing. Something he wanted but still couldn't... handle... clearly. Because what do you do when you want... everything someone else has but not... to be consumed by them? Sometimes it all just...

But that wasn't an answer.

This was: "It's... It's that damn contract your under, Tony..." Tenna relaxed his shoulders and looked down. This was an answer his business partner could take. "I'm still just... trying to get used to working with you, heh, and it's hard to think of how to fit you in without making too much of a scene."

He looked up with a sympathetic expression, "Ever since the days of tabloids it's been hard for just an NDA on every contract to really keep things down pat, and I just figured the more I kept things on the down and low - the less people saw you here - the less there'd be to worry about...!"

The salesman folded his arms, his expression still guarded.

"But you are right, I can imagine it doesn't feel right at all to have so much put on you with so little support. And recognition, right?"

He eyed the man suspiciously, but no longer enraged. Not done with him yet. And not stopping him.

"So how's about this!" Tenna clapped his hands together with a humble smile. "Like I was trying to say earlier -- you and I over the weekend get together and really talk through how to better mesh our two visions! I promise to put your name on your door at the very bare minimum." He pulled his hand up in a dramatic oath-swearing gesture.

The little display was met with silence for a few moments, Adison seemingly waiting till he was forced to drop his head and open an eye nervously.

Still the salesman just looked at him, and Tenna had to fight a nervous swallow. The blank stare he gave Adison earlier must've been torture...

"We'll talk about it over the weekend," he finally deadpanned. And in the same breath, snatched the candle glass right off his boss' desk.

Tenna instinctually gave a clumsy attempt at intercepting, but at least he fought the whine that rose in his throat.

"Also bare minimum, is me throwing this shit out." He turned towards the door and shook the glass teasingly. "Cause whatever you say, this kinda shit creeps me the fuck out."

The old showman grimaced at his back, "Aw, but those are just-- can you blame me for being such a fan of your brand? You do a HELL of a job selling it!"

"Yeah, yeah whatever, I'm the best thing that ever happened to you and you get off on that or somethin' -- I'll tell you when I can talk over the weekend." And without a second glance, he slipped straight back out the door with a rude slam.

The noise didn't make Tenna flinch half as much as the crude comment. He looked down at his desk, where a novelty Tony Adison candle-shaped emptiness now met him.

He sighed and turned away, his loyal Corona catching his eye. Well... he began half to himself and half to the typewriter. Now we only have two instead of a nice set of three...