Long Live L'Manberg

Chapter 53: Terms and Conditions May Apply

tw// mentioning of suicidal thoughts and actions

Quackity struggled to stuff his arm into the hole of his jacket, ensuring the fabric was snug before he buttoned it from the bottom up, stepping outside of Pogtopia into the icy winter air. Manberg was a little under a mile away, the tip of the black flag just barely visible over the sea of dead trees. Shivering, Quackity gently shut the door behind him, a sealed brown envelope in hand. If karma was truly on his side, today was the day he would take everything from Schlatt, granting the country what it truly deserved- a leader. The night before, he alerted Schlatt about his arrival, the two securing a time and place to meet.

He didn't remember the walk to Manberg being so awkward, the eyes of the locals staring him down. Word had traveled fast, a sensible tension in the air only mere days after his exile. Maybe Schlatt had given another speech, disparaging him in front of a crowd. Quackity snorted at the thought, it wouldn't be too far from Schlatt's true nature to rub salt in the wound. A small knot suddenly formed in his chest. He could mock all he wanted, but at least he didn't get a public execution.

Sounds of clattering debris caught Quackity's eye as he turned to face his attention towards what used the be the White House. His blood ran cold as a large wrecking ball smashed into what used to be his bedroom window, a roaring fire stirring in Quackity's gut as his favorite project become nothing but rubble. Flinching at the impact, Quackity rolled his eyes, his pace quickening as he approached the stage, or at least what remained of it. The wooden platform was practically charred from the crossfire of the firework, half the curtain cinched from the fire. Sweeping his jet black hair out of his eyes, Quackity gently placed his shoe onto the first stair, a loud creak escaping the wood as he shifted his weight, making his way up to the top of the platform.

Waiting for him at the top was none other than the president himself, standing with his arms folded as he watched Quackity uncomfortably shuffle up the stairs. Quackity narrowed his eyes, the idea of throwing himself off a cliff seeming more appealing than the confrontation they were about to have.

"Schlatt."

"Alex."

Letting out a rather frustrated exhale, Quackity took a step forward, his eyes laser-focused on anything else but the man in front of him. "Listen, I called this meeting because we really need to-"

"If you've come to apologize and beg for your position back, the answer is no," Schlatt groused, judgmentally eyeing the filthy man that was basically cowering before him. In return, Quackity bit his tongue, shooting Schlatt a rather hostile glare. "That's not why I'm here, Schlatt," Quackity mumbled through clenched teeth. "I want nothing to do with you, and it's clear you feel the same way. The only way we can make that happen is by signing this."

Extending his arm outward, he handed Schlatt the folder that contained an unnecessarily long contract. A brief feeling of deja vu washed over Quackity as he remembered the night Schlatt showed up unannounced, paperwork in hand. Each had similar motives- to trick the other into signing their life away. His lips slimmed into a thin line as he sighed in defeat. Maybe they were more alike than he cared to admit.

Schlatt wrinkled his nose as he used his large finger to open the envelope, slowly pulling out the contents of the folder. "What the hell is this?"

"My legal resignation," Quackity confirmed, watching intently as Schlatt held the contract in his hands. "In order for it to be effective, I need your John Hancock."

His mouth twisted into a lopsided grin as Schlatt snickered to himself. "Wow. At least take me to dinner first."

It took him a second to process the ill-suited joke that Schlatt made, Quackity's hand flying to the bridge of his nose. He pinched it tightly in pure frustration, attempting to hide the humiliation that was flushed across his cheeks. "God, you're so fucking immature."