Long Live L'Manberg

Chapter 32: Contractual Obligations

48 Hours Prior

"And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why the SWAG party should have your vote in this upcoming election."

Quackity's apprehensive expression stared back at him as he rehearsed his speech in his smudgy bathroom mirror. It was two days before the L'Manberg Presidential election and for the last hour and a half, Quackity was rehearsing his speech to no avail. He had meticulously printed his monologue on white notecards, the shaking of his hands being the culprit of the many scrapped attempts resting at the bottom of his trashcan. Large purple bags were painted on the rims of his under eyes, his black hair stringy from grease.

The freshly-pressed suit he planned to wear on the day of the election hung in a garment bag on his bathroom door. In a twisted way, it taunted him. This persona he had cultivated throughout the entire election was draining him. Keeping up with lavish trends and appearing socially presentable was everything but easy.

He examined the notecards in his hand, the ink smudged from his sweaty palms. Tossing the paper onto the bathroom counter, he opened the door and maneuvered over towards his kitchen sink, gripping the faucet handle and turning it towards him. Lukewarm water began to pour from the spout, dribbling away into the garbage disposal. He grabbed a cup from the cabinets above and held it under the tap, turning it off before taking a sip. Gently, he placed the glass on the counter before he caught a glimpse of a reflection in the dark window in front of him. His front door was slightly ajar, the uninvited night breeze rushing in. Hadn't he locked it before he went upstairs?

"You look like shit."

Quackity's hand flew to the knife block resting in the corner of his kitchen, his hand grasping a steak knife as he swiveled around. He met eyes with who was standing before him, instantly letting his guard down. "Do you fucking knock?!" He heaved an exasperated sigh before jamming the blade back into the wooden block. "You can't just walk in here, man."

Schlatt leaned in the doorway, a dark look washed over his eyes as he studied the disheveled man before him. His shirt was unbuttoned slightly, his red tie casually hanging around his neck. "I do as I want, Alex."

"I told you not to call me that."

Quackity pivoted around and leaned his back against the counter, steadying his breath as he attempted to calm his internal adrenaline. "Dude, why are you here? I'm already psyched enough, I don't need you making it any worse."

Schlatt narrowed his eyes, not a fan of Quackity's short behavior. "Pour me a drink, will you? Make yourself useful."

Quackity scoffed in offense, rolling his eyes as he shifted over toward his liquor cabinet. "You have real balls walking into my house and barking orders." The cabinet was empty except for a bottle of whiskey that was barely touched, a crystal glass resting beside it. The radiant, golden liquid sloshed around as he picked it up by the neck of the bottle. Quackity wasn't much of a drinker. The bottle was for nights like these where Schlatt would show up unannounced for a drink and a late-night talk. He popped the cap and carelessly let the liquid fall into the glass.

"We both know you're not winning this thing."

The liquid stopped pouring. The clink of glass aggressively being placed on the counter caused Schlatt to raise an eyebrow. "What, you're mad? You honestly thought you stood a chance out there? They're walkin' all over you, hotshot."

Quackity's blood began to boil as he stared at the half-poured glass of neat whiskey, still having yet to turn around. "At least I'm making something of myself. You're the one who just sits on his ass and expects things." He heatedly marched towards Schlatt and slammed the glass on the table in front of him, swiveling a chair around to straddle it. He bit the corner of his cheek. Whether he liked it or not, Schlatt was right. This whole ordeal had been one humiliation after another.

"I'm running for president," announced Schlatt, inspecting his drink before taking a sip.

A howl of sarcastic laughter escaped his lungs as Quackity kicked his feet onto the table. "Oh, and you think you have a better chance?" He ridiculed, shaking his head. "You're an outsider. No one knows who you are."

Schlatt scoffed, taking another swig of the amber liquid. "At least my slate's clean."

Quackity's face went red, balling his fists. He didn't have time for this. The election was only a few days away and he was wasting his time conversing with Schlatt. He most certainly did not invite Schlatt in as a guest for him to humiliate him in his own home. "Look. I don't give a shit what your end goal was when you waltzed your ass in here, but quite honestly I think I've heard enough. You need to leave, Schlatt." Quackity removed his feet from the table and marched over toward the front door. "You're delusional. You have less of a chance at winning than I do."

"Exactly."

Quackity abruptly stopped in the middle of the hallway, his brows snapping together with confusion. "What?"

"On our own, neither of us will have enough votes to beat the shitshow that Wilbur and Tommy threw together," Schlatt stated, tracing his finger along the rim of the glass. "They're the fan favorite, even with prettyboy on your team."

Quackity leaned against the doorframe in the corridor, somewhat intrigued. "So? What's your point?"

"We work together. We'd just make it if we pool our votes," Schlatt suggested, studying Quackity's expression as he proposed his idea. In response, Alex scrunched up his nose, a bit taken aback by the idea. "Is that even legal?"

"Is attempting to run a one-party election legal?" Schlatt retorted.

A subtle smirk appeared at the corners of his mouth as Quackity made his way back into the kitchen, this time sitting normally in the chair. "I mean...I guess it would be worth a shot," he shrugged, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket. He rested the paper between his lips as he reached for his lighter, igniting the end of the stick with a small flame. "Who would be president?"

Schlatt twirled a blue ballpoint pen in between his fingertips, pulling a couple of papers out from within a thin folder. "I think you and I both know the answer to that."

Quackity sighed, a cloud of smoke rushing out of his nostrils. "It's fucking exhausting. Day in, day out, you have to put up this white-collar front." He stared at the floor with exhausted baggy eyes, the whole electoral process evidently sucking the life out of him. "I'm not cut out for it. I was just running to prove a point." He took a longer drag before sucking the smoke back into his lungs. "Wilbur's a prick. Someone needed to put him in his place."

Schlatt pushed the papers towards the opposite end of the table, sprawling back in the chair before taking another sip from the cracked glass. "You work too hard. The key is to do nothing and let everything just come to you."

Quackity scoffed, fidgeting with a ring on his index finger. "That's rich. What world are you living in?" Schlatt didn't flinch at Quackity's harsh dismissal, instead keeping his eyes focused on the man sitting in front of him. "Open your eyes, kid. This world only serves those who let it."

Quackity huffed as he grabbed the pen with his dominant hand, cigarette idle in the other as he skimmed the contract in front of him. What if Schlatt was right? By putting all this effort into the election, he was only setting himself up for disappointment if things didn't go as planned. His expectations were sky-high- what if things went south?

He initially hesitated, looking up at Schlatt one last time before etching his name in sloppy cursive. Schlatt's mouth twisted into a sly grin, gently sweeping the papers towards him and placing them in the folder. He then leaned back, briefly meeting eyes with Quackity before gathering his things.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Alex."