L'Manberg drowned in blackness. Savage rains assailed the night, languishing to the last of the bleeding skies. Through it all, the inhabitants slept soundly in their beds. All but one poor soul, forgotten on the broken stage, his wings wrapped around him in a feeble attempt to ward off the cold. Only now the rain rinsed away the last of the exiles' bloodstains from the cobblestones. Once the unjust rulers of this land, now corpses in this deathless land. Maybe one still wandered the wilderness, waiting for his legs to break under him, for his heart to stop beating–but the other most certainly had never made it past the walls.
This isn't what I wanted.
The date was September the twenty-second–night of the inauguration. Just a few hours prior, Quackity had stood on this same stage with Captain J. Schlatt–now President J. Schlatt. That man had come out of nowhere and captured the nation, with such authority in his hand and voice as Quackity could never hope to attain.
"It's good to be on top," President Schlatt reflected as he stood upon the great podium cast in cloudy evening light, his mass of followers still settling after the banishment.
"And it's good doing it together," added Vice President Quackity, standing to his left. On the other side huddled the secretary of state, Tubbo, recently returned from his pursuit of the remaining living fugitive, Tommy Innit. Aptly stripped of his old-fashioned coat, hat, and boots, he now wore only his white button-up and white trousers which made him look an awful lot like a choir boy. A sopping wet choir boy thanks to his scouring the pond. George was also there, an ambiguous member of the cabinet, but who cared about him.
"And it's good to eat FOOD!" Schlatt declared, and no one dared object. All the guests except for Punz, who was still scouring the countryside for the runaways, stormed through L'Manberg's walls and piled into that creaky old RV thing for the banquet. Only four people could squish into the built-in seats around the table, besides that one loose chair. J. Schlatt took his place there, of course, heading the tiny table like a king. He directed his vice president into the bench on his left. It took Quackity around ten minutes to finally make it there, on account of everyone accidentally stepping on the ends of his wings. His copious feathers prevented anyone from thinking they could join him at the bench. Tubbo sat across from him, and Sapnap crowded in after without asking permission, leaving everyone else to loaf around awkwardly. Then the fox-boy and his girl served them all exotic foods–probably from Spain or something–that the two had made together because they did everything together. Who couldn't see how their hands still trembled from the day's earlier events? Quackity almost said something about it, when someone rolled over a big barrel of the hard stuff.
"Yeah!" Schlatt cheered. "About time we broke out the brew!"
"Where did it come from...?" started Niki, watching Fundy top off the first glass with whatever the barrel contained. It glowed a rich shade of amber, trimmed with white froth. Fundy shrugged.
"Oh." Tubbo smiled sheepishly, though he was visibly shaking. "It's my Great Gran Matilda's mead recipe."
"That's what you've been doing with all that honey?" Niki looked ever so troubled.
But Tubbo lost himself reminiscing about Great Gran Matilda. "She always made the bestest mead. She had enormous vats of the stuff back on the farm. Tommy, remember the time you accidently fell into one and I had to rescue–"
The words split off as he realized there was no one named "Tommy" to laugh with anymore, and he suddenly stood very still, his eyes wide and blank. Yet nobody cared because now Schlatt stood, uplifting a dribbling cup of the liquid gold. "A toast to this momentous election, and the many voters (whoever they are), and of course myself, the newly elected emperor!" Then he downed the entire glass like a shot. Quackity copycatted right away. Now I know why they call it a shot, he thought, feeling like someone had downright fired a sugar-coated bullet through his mouth and into his brain.
No sooner did he swallow, than Schlatt raised another brimming glass, prompting everyone to do the same. "This is for those vermin we kicked outta here. We can whoop it up knowing that they'll never step foot in this glorious land again. Rest in ruin, Wilbur Soot, and take the kid with you!" He guzzled it once more, only to reach for another.
Most everyone still worked on their first round. Fundy couldn't take it and collapsed to the floor. The second after Sapnap aggressively bottomed his glass, he decided to unleash every blade and dagger on his person, and would've felled the lot of them had not Karl locked him up in the bathroom. Sam didn't touch the stuff (actually he didn't touch any of the refreshments), Niki had long since left the scene, and it took all of Quackity's might just to keep himself from retching all over the table. And then there was Tubbo, who held his liquor like apple juice.
"What is the legal drinking age in America?" George smelled the rim of his glass and frowned, looking all too hard at Quackity.
"We're not in America! It's all house rules here," Schlatt roared. "Don't you worry, I'm a responsible adult who'll make sure no one has too much fun!" And he signaled to the waiters (now just Tubbo) to fetch Quackity a refill. When his vice president hesitated to take it, Schlatt jerked him back by his hair and drowned him in the sweet poison. "And this is for Tubbo's Great Gran Matilda!"
The next terrifying hour waltzed before Quackity, clear as a kaleidoscope through his polarized aviators. There was everyone (except Punz and maybe Eret), all eating, drinking, reveling, and what-not, but why were they sideways? Whose idea was it to place the table on one wall and the lightbulbs and slimy ventilation grates on the other? How was anyone supposed to open the windows? No need to look out the windows. This bewitching glass of liquid was the entire world. Quackity smiled, slumped against the emperor's shoulder, vaguely aware of a hand petting his head like a royal cat's.
Then Schlatt stood. Quackity snapped upright, his first reaction to cover his ears because the sound of the motion was too loud. The very air screamed despite him doing nothing to provoke it, and then there was Schlatt. So loud, but Quackity couldn't understand a word he said. I don't have to know. I just want to sleep forever….
"I'll show you a party trick!"
Someone yanked Quackity up by his arm. One of his wings caught under his own foot, bringing him to the floor. They laughed. Quackity laughed too. Then Schlatt–it had to be Schlatt–hauled him up again, this time towing him through the crowd. Quackity's limbs turned to nothing as he let the man show him the exit.
The icy drizzle felt electric, forcing his eyes open. Quackity now stood on his own, tottering, as it were. Schlatt loomed inches away, or maybe a mile. What difference did it make? He looked a hundred feet tall to Quackity. "Well?" Schlatt said.
"Well what...?" Quackity reached to wipe his eyes and rubbed his rain-stained sunglasses instead.
Schlatt spread his arms wide. "Show us what you've got, Quackmeister. I didn't make you my vice president just to stand around like everyone else."
"I don'...why do, you can't..." The words spewed out, no rhyme or reason to thread them together. Finally, Quackity managed to sputter, "¿Qué quieres?"
Schlatt scoffed inaudibly. Then he leaned close to his ear until his whispers burned Quackity's skin: "I want you to give these guys a show, but especially me. After all," Schlatt's hand crawled over Quackity's shoulder, "it's about time you stretched out your wings for me." A whip of lightning scourged the sky.
"What?" Quackity tore out of Schlatt's grasp, stumbling back against the side of the van. He refused to look at the spectators plastered against the windows, apparitions shut behind misty glass. The rain, the drink, all fogged his senses. He grinned, biting his lip as he forced himself to go over the words before they left his mouth. "Look, I don' fly around for any occasion!"
Schlatt stood so straight, spoke so soundly. "How about on the occasion that your emperor requests it?"
"It's–it's raining! I can' very well show you, show you wha' I got in a storm."
"You can always count on a parrot to talk back to you." Schlatt whipped around, grumbling back to the van. Disappointment showered on Quackity like the rain above. He lingered there, unable to get much wetter.
Parrot?
Not even vice president for a day, and I've already let my president down.
Schlatt was the most disappointed out of anyone; most of the others were probably too juiced to know or care about what was going on. The merry-making continued. All Quackity could do was crouch on the bench and laugh at the others as if they were dumber than he. As the party waned, it came time for some to pack up, fetch their horses, and depart to wherever the weirdos had come from: Bad and Skeppy to the Quartz Mansion up Prime Path, Ponk to his treehouse and its many lemons, Karl and Sapnap to the latter's lake house. Tubbo lived in the van with Fundy, so he remained at the table with haunted eyes, stuffing leftovers into his pockets as if he might not eat another meal.
"It's raining harder and Sap isn't feeling too good," Karl pointed out. "It's a long way to Community Lake and I gotta get this guy to bed." He shouldered a drooling Sapnap, who mumbled something about secret sauce.
Quackity leapt to his feet, jarring his souped brain in the process. "Thure shing. I mean–sure thing! It's about time I turned in too. I'll join you."
"No," Schlatt's voice sliced in, hand slamming on Quackity's shoulder. "You're going to stay by my left hand like a good little vice president."
Left hand. Why the left hand?
"You sure about that...?" Karl looked concerned.
Quackity shook his head and smiled. "Important cabinet duties, y'know? Maybe I'll catch up later." He smiled until they vanished from sight, wondering where this would all leave him after the party ended.
It left him huddled to himself under the podium canopy in the shadow of the monstrous thing they called the White House. But the vice president had no place in the White House. No place in his own, newly-attained country.
Why? I worked so hard to get here. To become part of this family of L'Manberg.
There will be many nights, but only this one will be so cold. This is the beginning of everything greater and new. Things will get better.
The rain increased, broken by claps of lightning, burnishing the town in barren white. It slanted under the canopy until Quackity relinquished his sopping-wet beanie. And the sunglasses; no need to hide when there was nobody around. He could still feel the mead he'd guzzled, glowing like a spotty candle, warming his insides. A sorry party favor. His wings enveloped his shivering body, feathers stiff against the cold.
Just like that grungy little street urchin from long ago. Curled upon a doorstep, face buried in his downy wings. A child with no father. Night and day, the child dreamed his father would return–extinguish the thunderclouds with a flap of his majestic alabaster wings and sweep him up in his arms. Then he'd finally have a family, a home, a place where no one would abandon him ever again.
"What are you doing out here?"
Quackity started, snapped around. Through the parted podium curtains, the open door of the White House radiated in the midst of the desolate storm. In the center of the doorway stood J. Schlatt in a bathrobe, gazing down at his bedraggled vice president on the grimy porch.
"I don't have a house in L'Manberg." Quackity shaded his eyes from the light. He tried to shuffle to his feet, successfully backing into a sludgy rain puddle instead. "I–I hope you don't mind me loafing out here."
"Don't mind?" Schlatt looked incredulous. "The heck are you talking about? Get in here! I totally thought you were behind me. Why'd you stay behind?"
Quackity choked a laugh. "But the White House is for the president..."
"And the president doesn't need twenty bedrooms." Schlatt turned around, disappearing back into the building. "You're my vice president–that basically means you're my heir. So shut your face and make yourself at home. This place is way too big for one man."
Heir.
"I mean–I can't say no to that!"
Quackity took his glasses and beanie, then followed his president within, at once greeted by unexpected warmth and beauty, nothing like the block of cold stone and plaster it had been yesterday. Someone had furnished the place over the past twenty-four hours–drapes and candlesticks, mirrors and mantelpieces–all livened up the otherwise dull, lifeless gray.
"I dunno where all this junk came from," Schlatt drawled. "I certainly didn't pay for it. But, hey, you don't see me complaining. Here." Schlatt produced a towel out of nowhere and tossed it over Quackity's head. "You're not supposed to get wet, Duckface."
"Oh, thanks, Pres." When Quackity pulled it out of his eyes, Schlatt was already walking away. "Thank you," Quackity repeated. "This means a lot to me." So this is what it's like to have someone looking out for you? Not the expected interactions between government officials. Just earlier Schlatt had dragged him into the rain and insisted he fly, but ultimately he hadn't forced him. He doesn't treat me like a pawn. I'm his number one, but more than that. Like a friend...?
Schlatt's yawn vibrated from somewhere else in the mansion. "I found another bedroom on the third level, so you can move in there. Just not the one with the double doors. That one's mine."
The renovations weren't limited to the first floor, but continued all the way up to the bedroom on the third story. It was a prim and pretty chamber with everything anyone could want–dark oak furniture, lace curtains, a royal canopy bed. A fresco covered one wall, depicting a white castle with many marble bridges, turrets, and courtyards arranged across a rock that looked something like a giant stalactite, all hovering in a sunset-soaked sky. Quackity stared at it, even as he kicked off his muddy shoes, removed his coat, and nestled into the bed's plush welcome. The rain thrummed outside the window, so distant now.
Is this what it feels like to have a home? It reeked of mead, but maybe it was supposed to. I finally belong somewhere, which means I'll never be abandoned again, never run away again. He fell asleep gazing at the white castle.
Not a friend. Family.
Sprinting footsteps, the whoosh of a curtain, and a bedazzling flood of sunlight in the poor vice president's face. Quackity shrieked, smothering his face in a velvet pillow. "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!?"
"This is the day that the Lord hath made; let us rejoice and be glad in it!'' Karl said merrily, silhouetted before the beaming window. Quackity burrowed into his cocoon of blankets and sheets. Now was not the time to rejoice–his head throbbed, stomach tossed, arms, legs, and wings cramped; even his tongue felt too big for his mouth. And through it all was Karl: "The sun is shining, the birds are tweeting, and all the people are gathered in the town square for President Schlatt's morning announcement."
"Morning announcement!?" Quackity bolted upright with such force that it sent him tumbling off the mattress and onto the rug, cocoon and all. "Who said anything about a morning announcement?!" he wriggled.
Karl came over and unraveled Quackity like a deconstructed sushi roll. "President Schlatt did, just last night. You were right next to him..."
"Right, right," Quackity groaned, reluctant to admit he'd been too intoxicated to make sense of anything that evening. He gagged. "Why do I feel like throwing up before I've even had breakfast?"
"Well," Karl started, rather uneasily, "I'm not the most knowledgeable on the subject...but I'm pretty sure you're experiencing a hangover."
"Oh, I see, you already went through with it yourself."
Karl blinked his honey-colored eyes. "Oh, I didn't–I didn't have any of the stuff. No offense to Mr. Tubbo or his Great Gran Matilda, of course, I'm sure he did a good job on the mead. But you wanna be careful with that kind of stuff. I don't–I don't think President Schlatt played a very good example back there."
Quackity cocked an eyebrow. Karl was a strange man. Maybe a little dorky at times, but that didn't mean he wasn't cool.
Karl looked uncomfortable. "I'll go get you some water and, uh, toast. Be right back."
Why is he here? Didn't he spend the night at Sapnap's lake house?
Minutes later, Karl had a Quackity-blanket-burrito perched at a little lacquered table by the window. While the vice president nibbled on bits of burnt gluten-free toast topped with Bavarian cream, Karl produced a steel comb and attacked his thick, black hair.
"Since when did you become my valet?" choked Quackity as Karl found yet another knot. "I'm vice president, not crown prince."
"Mr. President Schlatt said this country's entering a new period of prosperity, so everything's got to be one step above what it was. Also why Mr. Tubbo, Fundy, and I decided to prim this place up yesterday. You see, we got more than just votes during the election, ridiculous as the whole situation may be."
"You must have a lot of time on your hands."
"You're not wrong," Karl stifled a chuckle, glancing ever so briefly at the castle mural. He paused in his brushing, and Quackity looked up at him–the funny boy stood there blinking rapidly before shaking his head and proceeding to brush.
Quackity cleared off the toast without vomiting; his valet cleared off everything else, not to mention supplied the vice president with a complimentary stick of gum. Despite Karl's best hairdressing efforts, Quackity still yanked the blue and red beanie over the top of his head so the ends of his hair stuck out in a fringe of quills at his neck. Then Karl gave him his blazer jacket, expressing his dismay over the gaping hole in the back, but Quackity told him to clam up. Just a dab of shoe polish, a pinch of neatening here and there, and Karl finished it all with a smack of powder puff, inducing Quackity with the whooping cough.
"Made for the stage." Karl took a step back to examine his work. "Now if you don't mind," said the valet, "I must go now and attend the president. He told me he likes to sleep in a bit, but we can't wait forever."
"Do what you gotta do," wheezed Quackity, bidding his servant leave and wishing he was allowed to sleep in.
He listened to Karl retreat down the corridor. Then the creak of the double doors, a swish of a curtain, and Schlatt's "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!?" booming down the hall.
Quackity waited as long as he could in the solitude of his bedroom. He then took this opportunity to preen his feathers–a meticulous task he loathed doing, especially in front of others. Most other people found it laughable or just gross. He should have done it before Karl dressed him up, but it couldn't be helped now. Skip this task and his wings would itch and fester the rest of the day–something he had learned for himself since no one had taught him growing up.
"Dumb feathers, dumb wings, dumb morning speech," he muttered, peering out the window to see what he was up against today. Only everyone who was anyone, whether they lived there or not. No, it's not dumb. This is my new life. This is everything I could ever want. Schlatt's plodding footsteps stopped in front of Quackity's room, followed by a second pair.
"It's time," said Karl through the door. "Are you ready?"
Quackity laughed to himself, wiped the excess grease on his hands over his pristine black coat, and donned his fingerless gloves. Then he bid farewell to his bedroom and the castle on the wall, making for the stairs. Before he left the building, he pushed his bangs out of his face and hid his eyes under the polarized sunglasses. With luck, they'd make him feel as cool and confident as he looked. He opened the White House door, walked down to the podium, parted the curtains, and the plaza opened before him, fresh from yesterday's downpour and teaming with onlookers. Already he felt a rush of energy from the stage and audience. Schlatt stood at the end of the platform, greeting them or dissing them off, who could say? Tubbo perched on a cranky little stool to Schlatt's right. Quackity took a deep breath, watched his step on the damp, ruptured planks, and came to his president's–his emperor's–left hand. The masses turned their gazes to him. So did the dawning sun, casting his freshly-oiled feathers in glossy gold. Quackity waved, grinning like the picture-perfect vice president he was.
"The sun rises over another beautiful day in our country. Another chapter in our nation's history." As Schlatt's grand words unfolded across the plaza, Quackity could see the beholders' faces clearly, some looking as hungover as he felt. There was Sapnap's fervent awe, Fundy's waffling uncertainty, Niki's look of desolation, and Eret's…who knew. Quackity smirked at them all, smacking on his piece of gum.
"The next page of the textbook our children will be reading till the end of time." Schlatt halted. "Tubbo, you better be getting this down."
"Yeah, faster, Tubbo," taunted Quackity.
"Yes! Yes, of course!" Tubbo's pen frenzied to record the emperor's every word in what would be historic documents in years to come. Either he never slept or he never woke up. His hair sprang in every direction, his shirt was buttoned wrong, and he paused every few seconds to blink and shake his head.
"Very good," said a very contented Schlatt. "Yes, this great country. This great country that we've done a great disservice to! Our nation needs to expand." Schlatt's gaze shifted, and Quackity sensed he was about to drop a bomb. "I reckon...we take down the walls. All citizens of L'Manberg are required–"
Immediate uproar, which was strange because everyone should've known it was coming. Eret voiced the sweat and reverence he'd put into building the borders. Tubbo blundered something no one heard. Quackity found himself giggling at it all. But one voice rang above the rest, like a bell upon a tower.
"You have no right to do that, Schlatt!" Niki.
"REQUIRED–! To help tear down the walls of this country." Schlatt paused, scanning their faces over and over again. "Unless, you're not a citizen anymore." You'd have to be deaf not to hear the undertones in that, blind not to see the fire searing Wilbur's rebel colors. Everyone understood, as acknowledged by the sudden hush. Niki's expression still dared to challenge the emperor, a single unyielding face in so many. An unusually haggard face, having spent the night in tears. Schlatt smiled. "Thus ends the second presidential speech. Let's get to work. Everyone, break out the pickaxes! We're gonna fill the walls with gunpowder and send them crashing down!" He burst into mad laughter, slapping his secretary of state so hard upon the back, he reduced the poor bee boi into a sprawling heap on the edge of the stage.
"Yeah! Let's get to work, baby!" Quackity hurrahed, dragging the stunned audience into a forced ovation. Yet even his own claps felt tense. Why am I doubting? This is what I've wanted since the start. To remove the walls so anyone can join the family of L'Manberg. But what was that about expanding...? Shut up, Schlatt knows what he's doing.
Schlatt talked the whole way down the podium. "You know, we could love doing this. I don't know why they built walls in the first place."
"To keep me out," Quackity cackled. "They wanted to keep me out, but they couldn't." He flashed his grin at Niki, at Fundy, Eret, anyone else holding back. Schlatt gestured to them to follow. He might have threatened them into coming, but that wasn't Quackity's problem.
George got out his tool; all the world envied that eye-catching netherite pick he wielded in his left hand and, almost reluctantly, laid upon the wall's exterior. Come on, George. This is what SWAG 2020 was all about. Except you cared more about your cozy bed than SWAG 2020 or your "friend," Quackity. And to this day, you've acted as if you've done nothing wrong.
"Let's go!" Quackity shook away thoughts before they could break his smile. He had forgotten to get a pickaxe, so he snagged a random arrow he found stuck in the grass and ground away at the stone. "Yeah, Fundy, you got it!"
Fundy faltered, an iron pick drooping in his hands. How awkward he looked in that vivid revolutionist attire, what with the dizzying pinks and blues clashing with his sickeningly orange hair. It was like he was trying to be a sore thumb, with or without fox ears–though Quackity would never scorn him for those.
"Fundy...you too?"
Fundy's ear twitched at the feather-soft voice. He moved, sluggishly, like his feet were made of lead. His voice followed suit, haltingly, "I'm...I'm a citizen of L'Manberg, Niki."
She'd hadn't smiled once since the inauguration. Her entire presence felt gray, as if Wilbur's demise had killed a part of her. She went right up to Fundy, as if trying to read those ivy green eyes. "Exactly," she said. "So why...? Why you of all people?"
Fundy's lips parted, wanting to say something, but what? He had no answer, no excuse, no reason, but everyone knew it: Wilbur's blood swirling in the water at the foot of L'Manberg's western wall. Who would be next?
Niki saw it and backed away, tugging her own revolutionist coat around her. "I really thought we could...I thought I could trust you, Fundy!" And she turned and walked away from him. He started, but forced himself back to watch her go. Watch her fade away from him.
"Quacksmack! Mine!"
"I'm working hard, Pres, just like you want! I'm working hard." Actually he was watching Fundy watch Niki watch their friendship fall apart. Or is something more than friendship going on...? He almost swallowed his gum and had a good coughing fit.
Beside him, Tubbo focused on carving a hole out of a stone block twice as big as his head, just by the gatehouse. It crumbled steadily, softened from the rain. "Schlatt," he panted, "are you really sure this is a good idea, man? I mean, we gotta be careful with this. We could quite easily blow up the entire nation and bury ourselves alive."
"Oh, yeah, we got this," said Schlatt, not the tiniest bit concerned. "Hey, c'mon, Georgie. Don't stop now."
"It's about time this happened." The British man knocked chips of stone in every direction. One fired to the far left and smacked Sapnap in the nose, but George didn't notice, oblivious as always about whatever happened to his "friends." "So, how far are we going to expand the nation?" he asked.
Schlatt paused his own pickaxe. "I'm American–all we know how to do is expand and conquer. I figured we just build walls around everything that's been built. Kinda like claim it, you know?"
"The entire SMP," George breathed.
An image of Dream standing in the shattered windows of the aerial courthouse flashed in Quackity's mind, alongside the terror he had felt in those moments. What am I doing right now?
"This is literally my third day back," said Schlatt candidly. "I haven't seen most of this place. I don't exactly know what's been going on here. All I know is that I want it."
"He just wants whatever wealth is up for grabs," remarked a nearby fox-boy.
Eret leaned into Tubbo to whisper something. Quackity strained his ears, but all he caught was the word "dictatorship."
" 'Whatever wealth'..." Schlatt pondered this. "I mean, yeah. You know that, Fondue. You're Dutch."
"I don't know what that's supposed to mean, but sure."
"Listen, peeps, I'm looking out for us. I mean, Tubbo, tell me that we don't deserve everything."
Tubbo chose his next words carefully. "To be fair, I think...I think we should be fair."
"Well, if we wanted to be rude, we'd take it by force."
"Is that not what you're doing right now?" fired Eret (who wasn't putting that sweet diamond pick to any use).
"We're taking it via financial, uh...incentives! Financial incentives. Plus, I was totally voted in. I won that election, so this is what the peoples want." His voice drifted away as he passed through the gate and worked on the wall from the other side.
"We're gonna free you, Eret," purred Quackity, creeping from around the British man's shoulder.
Eret's expression switched from critical to distraught as he withdrew from the slinking figure. "Free me?"
"Haven't you been hearing Pres? We're gonna give you freedom." Then he whispered, for drama: "We're gonna lower your taxes and give you a happy life."
Eret scoffed. "I'm the king. The taxes go to me."
"Do we even have taxes?" came Fundy.
"Wait, you're the what?" honked Schlatt from the other side of the wall.
"That's just part of it," added Tubbo. "You know that–that–" he forced himself to spit it out, "there's quite a lot of treaties in place here. I don't know what your agreement was with Dream when he endorsed you, but, Schlatt, you're kinda..."
"I'm not sure what you're talking about," said the untroubled president.
"Those who do not know history are doomed to repeat it, Schlatt!" Eret slammed his hand against his beautiful black wall. "The walls were built to keep your people safe."
Schlatt came back around to look Eret in the eye–er–blindfold. "No, no, no, Ernie. We are past this era of boarding ourselves in, of restraining ourselves by walls and boundaries." Quackity nodded vigorously, even as his mining appetite drained away. "This marks a new era!"
"Then I'll–" Eret hesitated. "I'll be the first to warn you that you are lining up for a second war."
Schlatt shrugged. "Maybe I am, Ernie. Maybe I am." He slicked his hair back with a dirty hand. "Boy, where's Dream Cakes when you need 'im? I'm gonna have a long discussion with him about the future of this nation. Tubbo, not enough mining! If you're not gonna kill Tommy Innit, you might as well make yourself helpful!"
"So sorry!" Tubbo battered the stone with a whoppin' eighty pickaxe-swings a minute.
"I love child labor. It's so fun. You're lucky we don't make you a chimney sweep."
Quackity laughed obnoxiously at this, spying on Schlatt out of the corner of his eye until he went out of earshot. Then he whispered, so that only Tubbo could hear him, "You don't think he's gone a little crazy, do you?" He motioned to where the president ambled about, stopping every now and then to bombard the wall with his pick.
Tubbo stopped and stared. "What do you mean? You did this."
"No, no, no, no, listen to me."
"You've literally doomed our nation, Big Q. You pooled your votes..."
"No, I'm talking about the walls coming down, but especially the expansion."
"And why do you have a problem with that? It's what you've argued for since the beginning. For L'Manberg to be just another part of the SMP. One big, happy family, you said."
"Yes, but–"
But was it? He always imagined the walls coming down figuratively. To let in all those who were shut out before. Was this the way to do it? He had never considered expansion. What would Dream do as they started infringing upon the rest of the SMP? And what would protect them when he retaliated?
What would happen when those dark walls finally breathed their last?
"Quackster! There's a vice president-shaped space to my left!"
"I'll be right over, Pres!"
Too late, Schlatt was already coming his way. Quackity hopped to his side like the good number one he was. One big, happy family. He'd force himself to swallow the thought. After all, he wasn't a raging sociopath; he was true to the people. It was best for him, best for everyone, and no one, not even Dream, could deny it.
The feeling wasn't mutual. Tubbo rested on his pickaxe, drops of sweat sparkling on the ends of his hair. "Schlatt," he puffed, "this is a, a good idea, but, it's not too late to...turn it all around, you know...?"
"Oh no, Tubbo," Schlatt leaned against Quackity's shoulder, squashing the duck-boy an inch or two shorter. "The die has been cast. And you are my right-hand man."
Quackity prickled.
"Through thick and thin, Tubbo. Through hell and high water, through rocks and hard places, you are my right-hand man. And you will do exactly as I say, when I say it."
"O-Of course."
"That's my man. Now then, I was thinking," and Schlatt shoved Quackity aside and spun round, staring up at the sky, "we had a banquet and all, but one of these days, we should throw a festival! We gotta party some more and invite everyone from around the SMP!"
"Like Wilbur and Tommy?" Tubbo blurted, then smacked a hand over his mouth.
Schlatt doubled over, wheezing. " 'Wilbur and Tommy?' Wilbur and Tommy are dead! A distant memory, Tubbo!"
"Oh." Tubbo stared at his shrunken shadow. "But they were the founding fathers..."
"A DISTANT MEMORY! In fact, I might as well BAN the words 'Wilbur' and 'Tommy.' They mean nothing. We don't even know who those people were!"
Quackity curbed his snickers. Tubbo said nothing else, gaze wandering over the black and yellow stripes on the base of the wall as if they were so much more than chipped paint on weathered stones. Then he hoisted the pickaxe over his shoulder and continued to hammer the stubborn wall.
The silence didn't last, as Schlatt spoke again, his voice suddenly dark and narrow. "Don't remind me of those two again, Tubbo. They're gone"
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, sir. I'll do better."
Gone. Wilbur and Tommy–how strange it felt not hearing their domineering voices day in and day out. Maybe their exile was a bit harsh. The child had scampered away so disgracefully, here and there, trying to dodge his pursuers. And Wilbur. Bleeding, burning on his knees. So many colors, like something out of a painting. A grotesque work of art, that's what it was. That was before the second arrow hit, before the wolves smelled blood in the water. Whether Wilbur was alive or dead, he was gone, and they'd never hear that voice again.
No more speeches, no more songs. Just the sound of pickaxes breaking away the groaning walls.
"Heyyy, let's keep mining these walls, gentlemen! C'mon, it's a good day!" Schlatt hollered through a loudspeaker.
It was a new day. The president had decided that he and his vice president deserved a break from whacking at walls, so here they lounged upon Eret's western watchtower (which they hadn't asked permission for), overlooking L'Manberg from the other side of the river. While everyone else scrambled about like little ants far below, dodging spots of drizzle as they toiled, Schlatt and Quackity enjoyed a lazy picnic in the rain. Picnic, meaning two cups and a bottle of whiskey. When Quackity asked about the mead, Schlatt replied, "Oh, that stuff ran out ages ago, so I got a generous supply of this sauce from the traders. I've always favored quantity over quality, you see." That's why it smelled so bad.
"Hey, Mr. Emperor President J. Schlatt, this is–"
"Seriously, just call me Schlatt, or sir."
"Yes, Dad–I mean–sir! Yes sir!"
"Sheesh, what do you want?"
Quackity flapped his hand at the view. "You sure about all of this?"
"Oh, yeah."
"Yeah? Can I–can I ask you something?"
"I mean...I'm not gonna care, but you sure can try."
"I just–" this was it "–whatever made you want to do all this in the first place?"
"Oh sure, I'll take that." Schlatt stretched back on the veranda chair. "You see, Quackers, I am an ambitious man. I hear something big is going down, usually with a lotta money or power or something, and I'm there. That's why this guy from a dumpy little sea town has made it so far in the world."
"Then you've finally reached your goal?" Quackity slurped on his glass, and choked on the rancid drink for the second time since the picnic began.
"Goal? Ah." Schlatt shook his head. "This is just the beginning. We're going to expand, and we're going to build. You think this tower is tall? I'm gonna make one like a needle to the clouds! And on the other side of that, a magnificent hotel, with a hundred stories! I see it now: a marble lobby the size of a ballroom under a crystal chandelier. Red carpet on all sides, and a spiral staircase enclosed in glass, leading up, never down. A diner in each suite, a hall of pool tables and bowling alleys, and a grand piano on the second floor." Quackity could see it too; Schlatt's dreamlike words twirled in his mind until he could feel the scarlet carpet beneath his feet, finger the white-and-black ivory keys. He barely heard the president's next sentence. "The rarest, most eye-catching staff worldwide, consisting entirely of winged people. But I won't stop at the hotel. We're gonna have skyscrapers! Restaurants, towers, fountains a couple hundred feet tall! All lit up against the night sky!"
Then it struck Quackity. "Wait, have you seen the City of Lights? Have you been to L-Las Nevadas?"
"That's cute. But it's Las Vegas, and yeah, I pretty much own the place."
Quackity was up in an instant. "Then is it true that you can go there and get rich with just a pocket of change? That a beggar can become a billionaire with the roll of a dice and a stroke of luck?"
"Here, come close, kid. Look, the thing about the City of Lights is that it's not visitors and customers that win it all and bring home the bacon. It's the house."
"The house?"
"Yeah, the guys who own the place, who make the rules. And if you make rules, you can always win. Because the house always wins." And he flicked a shiny gold coin into the sky, snatching it midair with a raindrop or two.
The house always wins.
"What about you, Vice, got a backstory?"
The dreaded question. Quackity had known it would come around at some point. "Not much. You're talking to someone who's lived on the streets his whole life. I dunno why the earth is tilted."
"Well, yeah, but what about your folks? Whoever gave you that stupid name anyways?" Schlatt leaned forward. "I've always wanted to know more about the fabled winged people. Tell me about them, your family."
"Oh, I don't...I never had any of those. Everyone's just called me 'Quackity' since forever, and no one in my city had seen any wing-y people since–"
"Wait, what are you, an orphan?" The disappointment again. "What's up with the surplus of orphans in this place?"
"I'm not an orphan!" Quackity snapped, then caught himself. He hugged his arms. "Look, my mother...she, like a lot of the other kids' moms, she was a...a..."
"It's okay, kid. You don't have to talk about it."
Thanks, Pres.
The picnic thing kept going, awkward as it was. Quackity took his glass and walked up to the parapet where he distracted himself with the view. The picnickers weren't even on the tower's peak, but rather, the lowest of its four stacked tiers. He studied the river rushing through the gorge a hundred feet beneath him, the trestle bridge to his left. Then his gaze reverted to the L'Manberians–their slaves laboring at the walls. So small, so far beneath them.
"They're just about done," Quackity narrated as the slaves packed dynamite into the stone. They had all but exhausted the country's supply of explosives, but that was okay because the age of wars was over. Now was a time of peace. Quackity whooped. "Yeah, they're done, baby! They've got the walls loaded, and they're ready to come down!"
"And we've got the best seat in the house." Schlatt came up behind Quackity, in time to see all the little citizens duck for cover. Any minute now. "Here," said the emperor. "Let's have a toast. To expansion!"
The icy rattle of the glasses. Quackity had no more wiped his mouth than the earth rumbled. The dust raised its hands, releasing a violent surge starting from the northern wall and making a full circle of stormy demolition. A bluster of screeching birds escaped from the countryside into the skies. The black stones making up the walls crumbled into ash, thundering, wailing on its descent.
You hear that? That is the sound of a dying nation.
Quackity stood frozen at the crenel, unable to tear his eyes from the ruin. It wasn't the beautiful picture he had imagined, the free country he'd campaigned for. No, it was...exposed. Someone had ripped away its shield, its mask, and now everyone could see it how it really was: a land of lost children and their rickety little castles.
"Well, no one said it wasn't going to be messy," Schlatt remarked dryly. "Watch your step."
Something touched Quackity, and he started to turn, but then the strangest thing happened. The sky lurched to one side and suddenly his feet were no longer beneath him. He vaguely heard someone scream, but for all he knew, it was him. He was falling. Like the walls.
Then he hit the water, or it hit him. The impact nearly jarred him into unconsciousness, plummeting him to the riverbed. Splintering pain ripped up his arms, his body buckled and should've snapped, but he lived to see another sunset. The current swept him downstream, down to the southern bridge where it weakened enough so he could scrape his way onto the bank. There he remained for maybe ten minutes, splayed upon the grass, every inch of him trembling.
I fell off the tower.
And lived. Why hadn't he, a slight frame of delicate bones, shattered? Maybe this had actually worked to his advantage, and he had floated like a feather down to the river.
Didn't feel like floating. How did that even happen? Bad footing? Just a drop too much of whiskey? Or maybe Schlatt...
Idiot. Why would Schlatt try to kill him? They were family, they supported each other. He couldn't bring his limbs to raise himself up. They hurt too much, not to mention he hadn't preened this morning, so now his wings were all water-laden and heavy and–
Wings. Schlatt wants me to fly.
No. That was too far. That was a one-time thing on the night of the banquet. Schlatt looked after him.
Schlatt pushed me off a hundred-foot tower to see if I would fly. And I didn't.
"That was pretty epic, so I can't really blame you for fainting. But seriously, watch yourself next time." Having descended the tower, Schlatt strolled over from across the bridge, casual as ever. He nudged Quackity's prone form with his foot. "You're not broken, are you?"
Quackity gasped. "Schlatt, I–I almost died!"
"Hushy, now. You're talking like death is permanent or something. You know we can't do this without you."
"What do you mean, 'like death is permanent or something'?!"
"Listen, get up, I gotta give my next announcement."
"I'm sorry, I don't think I–I don't think I–"
"Here," Schlatt heaved Quackity up by his arms until he got to his feet, and allowed the fragile duck-boy to droop against his president's shoulder. Quackity clung to him like a wet kitten, comforted and terrified at the same time. Schlatt even put Quackity's scuffed sunglasses back on his face. It's okay. Schlatt is looking out for me. It was my fault. I fell off the tower. They hobbled out to where the others gathered to survey the destruction. No one had seen what happened at the tower, all focused upon the walls, or, lack of.
The two hiked to the summit of the rubble, not even bothering to find shelter from the drizzle. Schlatt beckoned for Sam to fetch him another loudspeaker. While the creeper guy went about this, Quackity sank to the ground so no one could see his shaking knees. He cupped his hands to his mouth and boomed in his best announcement voice: "Citizens, please tune in for the third presidential speech." His voice cracked at the end.
There were no chairs over here, but most were willing to sit in the wet soot, being already dirty and exhausted.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN–!" Schlatt, bellowed into the loudspeaker as Sam handed it off to him, "–of this great nation! I come to you, on a great day. It is only the second day of my reign and we have totally, completely, and utterly–removed all walls!"
Not a single cheer. Quackity tried, but succumbed to coughing up the last bit of river water from his impromptu dip.
"The barriers that held back the citizens of this nation have been removed. The country has been uncaged. This, my friends," the president, a murky outline against the setting sun, presented the ruination with a flourish, "is what power looks like. And you know what...?"
"What?" croaked Quackity.
Schlatt glanced at him, a foreboding grin slashed across his face. "You know what I'm feeling?"
"What are you feeling!"
"I say, fellas," and he turned to all of them. "I say, we rename this great country."
That was a new one. "Schlatt, that–that's really not–" Tubbo started, but again, but of course, Niki was louder than him, than any of them.
She stepped to the foot of the rubble, to the king of the mountain's throne. "Schlatt, you can't do that! You have no right to do that!"
Schlatt ignored her. "No longer–"
"You have no right!"
"SHUT UP! House rules!" he yelled. That dignity turned to fury in a flash, rightly met with silence. "Thank you," he said smugly. "As I was saying, no longer will this country be called 'L'Manberg.' I say that's rather out-of-date. No one uses apostrophes."
"True, true." Quackity rubbed his grazed forearms.
"I say..."
"Don't do it. Don't do it," Niki said again and again.
"Effective immediately. Our great nation is now...Manberg."
Quackity fell over gasping. Schlatt was right when he said he was an ambitious man.
"MANBERG!" the president said once more, grander this time. "What do you say about that, fellas? Manberg! That's right, this country will no longer take L's!"
"Manberg!" Quackity clapped from somewhere in the rubble.
"Have you no respect for history?" spat Eret from below, insisting on being annoying.
"History is overrated," Schlatt retorted.
"This is not the L'Manberg I belong to." Niki's soft voice edged with venom. "You're going to pay for this. Because you have no right–"
Be quiet before you get into trouble. Quackity wobbled to his feet. "Hey, let's get a clap. Listen up, guys! I know change is weird, but–"
"Vice, wait," Schlatt cut in, turned to Niki. "You have something to say, woman?"
She had something to say all right. "You cannot remove everything, everything we built and fought for. I will not stand for it."
"Anyone wanna stand with her?" Schlatt looked pointedly at Eret, who kept his head down, then at Fundy, who shrank away. Quackity flicked a glance at Tubbo at the base of the mountain. He didn't move either.
"Wilbur would stand with me," Niki said, her voice in a sad and faraway place.
"Do you want to be exiled?" Schlatt chuckled. "I'll make it easy for you, sweetheart, mainly 'cause that baked bread is so good and we are a very hungry people." If she wasn't so nice, she probably would have said something like, "I hope you starve" at that point. "Just promise me, promise your president you won't speak that name again."
"No." Not a trace of hesitation, of consideration for what was about to happen.
Schlatt gave her time to amend her answer, but she didn't, and he stood straighter, looking almost reluctant. "Very well. As penalty for your actions and lack of participation in the advancement of the borders, it's only fair you provide compensation. I'd say..." His eyes met Quackity's. "What do you think? You think three-hundred-fifty emeralds should cut it?" Quackity's smile tensed.
Niki squeezed her fists. Raindrops pearled her cheeks, glossed her uniform. Would she never bend?
"By this Sunday?" Schlatt continued. "Yeah, you've got until the dawn of the twenty-seventh. If you fail to bring me the money by then, consider your little baking business over. That's right, you and I are gonna have a little chat."
Her gentle brown eyes burned until Quackity had to look away. Then she whipped around, a flash of cream-colored hair. Fundy tried to reach out to her, but she shrugged his hand off. They only watched. None would go with her.
"Well," creaked Schlatt, stretching his arms above him. "I'm not gonna lie, my bones are aching. I think it's about time I go rest. Sorry for ruining everybody's lives. You guys can clean up this mess tomorrow. Toodles!"
"Yeah, good night, Pres," Quackity mumbled, but Schlatt was already gone. Everyone else did likewise. Fatigued after the long day's work, they probably all took a swim in the river before hitting the hay. Quackity, however, needed to speak with someone.
Mossy curtains and swinging lanterns, the little bakery cuddled in the sea cliffs. Niki busied herself moving the potted plants out of the rain. She saw him long before he got close, turning her back and retreating into the shop.
"Listen, Niki."
"No, Quackity. I'm not talking to you."
"Change is inevitable. It's for the better of the country."
"No, you can't do this!" She spun around. There was the fire again.
He leaned in the doorway, just out of the rain. "I'm sorry, Niki. Schlatt's the president, not me."
"My name is Nihachu."
The cutting edge of her voice made his skin tingle, but he forced himself to remain unmoved. "What's the issue? What do you need changed?"
"We–the people of L'Manberg–fought so hard, Quackity, and now everything is being taken away. Is this what you wanted? The walls–he tore down the walls, and you're not going to say anything about it?"
"Niki–"
"Nihachu."
"Listen, I'm just the vice president. Schlatt told me I have to stick by his side. I don't know what to do either!" He fingered the moss on the wall. "I don't want anyone to get hurt. I'm trying to find the moral–the moral–I'M TRYING TO BE MORAL, NIKI!"
Before he could shriek any louder, she came forward and slapped his cheek, knocking his sunglasses crooked. Right away, she seemed to regret it, at least partially. Nah, he deserved it.
"Calm down," she whispered. "Look out the window." Through hazy glass and tears of rain, the great flag withstood the howling darkness, never submitting. "What do you see?" she asked him.
"It's an, uh, icon to you poor oppressed peeps and your selfish little ideals and–"
"Look again. Every part of the flag represents what L'Manberg stands for. The blue stripe on the top symbolizes freedom, liberty–something we don't have as Schlatt's slaves. On the bottom, the red stripe commemorates the blood that was spilled as the L'Manbergians fought for independence. This land and its peace came with a price, a price that should never be forgotten. Ever since the war, Wilbur emphasized this, this striving for peace, which is what the white stripe in the middle stands for. And you chased him out with flaming arrows." Her voice tremored, and she paused to regain her composure. "Finally, the black and yellow accents denote L'Manberg's walls–our security and reminder not to surpass our limits. Today you tore down those walls."
Quackity swallowed, not meeting her eyes. "You want to go against Schlatt?"
"Yes, we have to fight him! He's taken away so much, and he's only going to take so much more. I am not going to let that happen."
"I dunno, I dunno."
"What more are you going to wait for him to do?" She looked like she wanted to slap him again. "He already tore down the walls, he renamed the entire nation, and he–Wilbur! What am I supposed to do without him?" In a second, her eyes glassed over, catching Quackity off-guard. Why would she betray such emotion in front of me of all people?
Then he spoke, hushed. "Just one thing. You pay the fine. You do what Schlatt says–" she started shaking her head "–and we can, we can wait it out, Niki! Things will get better!"
"You can wait it out, Quackity. And see where that leaves you."
Froggy: J'ai ajouté une note à la fin du dernier chapitre expliquant. Merci encore!
Things have gotten dark, but so is humanity. Hope will be found.
God bless,
Unicadia and VAERYS