Long Live L'Manberg

Chapter 40: Making a Deal

Over a week had passed since Schlatt's inauguration and Manberg had undergone more alterations than anyone would care to admit. The walls and nearby trees were completely demolished, the country's ex-leaders were missing in action, and most notably- a luxurious White House was erected in the center of town. Elegant quartz pillars accessorized the rim of the building's entrance followed by a sleek staircase that led up to the two large mahogany doors. Despite its swanky outward appearance, it was a political eyesore to most. Quackity nudged the entryway open with his shoulder, paperwork slung under his left arm. The heels of his loafers clicked against the stone floors as he entered Schlatt's office.

"About time," Schlatt chuckled to himself, thumbing through the mass of complaint letters the two had received over the last few days, his feet kicked up on the desk. He tossed each envelope in the trash, not bothering to even open a single one. Quackity's forehead puckered as he watched Schlatt carelessly ignore the opinions of the people. Brushing it off, he remembered his place- it would be hopeless to argue. He parted his lips to speak but was abruptly cut off by another one of Schlatt's pointless demands.

"Pour me a scotch, will you?" Without looking up from his work, Schlatt nudged his head, gesturing towards the liquor cabinet that resided mere inches from his desk. Talk about mixing business and pleasure. Quackity sharply exhaled through his nose, his lips seemingly superglued together before he chose to speak his mind, "You know, too much of this stuff will kill you," he cautioned, swirling the golden liquid around in the bottle, admiring how it bent the light.

"I'm aware," Schlatt impatiently grumbled, his eyes remaining glued to his desk. A brief moment of awkward silence swept the room as Quackity crouched down to grab a glass. He placed it on the desk, suddenly being transported back to the night Schlatt showed up at his house, paperwork in hand.

"Look, I've been meaning to ask you something," Quackity poured the drink over a perfect ball of ice, the alcohol dribbling off the sphere. For a second, he went quiet, preparing for any kind of unpredictable outcome. "It's...about the exile."

Schlatt stepped away from the paperwork in silence, not acknowledging the conversation at hand. Quackity cautiously took this as his cue to move forward with his suggestion. "Would you...ever consider letting them back in?"

"Why do you ask?" Schlatt cut in, a demanding tone lingering in his words. Quackity's patience grew thin, beginning to not tolerate the way he was being treated. The snappy remarks, the constant demands- he felt more like a lackey than a vice president. "I don't know, man! The more I think about it, kicking them out just seemed a little...harsh." The room fell still. This wasn't the first time he had lost his temper in front of Schlatt, but something felt unsettlingly different. After all, living in such close quarters put a noticeable strain on their friendship- if there was any, to begin with.

Schlatt raised his brows as he took a sip from the cup, almost amused at how easily Quackity lost his temper. "We'd have to have a big discussion about it." Quackity bit his cheek as he placed his hands in his suit pocket as he stood in front of Schlatt's brass nameplate, anxiously tapping his foot up and down on the floor.

"Do you want to have it now?"

---

The underground bunker had changed significantly over the last week of inhabitation. The place was nearly clear of dirt and cobwebs, the floors swept as clean as they could get for cave lifestyle. Torches and lanterns were ablaze as they lined the walls in a uniform manner, illuminating the dark, winding staircases. Rickety wooden bridges were constructed on each floor of the ravine as a way to cross between sides. Caves and mining holes were randomly spread out amongst the ravine, making the base a labyrinth of stone.