Long Live L'Manberg

Chapter 54: One Man's Trash

Schlatt slammed the door to the caravan with such force it practically broke off the hinges, the sound rattling the shelves inside the cramped room. With the new White House under construction, his lack of an office forced him to seek refuge inside the old drug van. His possessions, which were few to none, were crammed into cardboard boxes and shoved in a corner, empty bottles of liquor haphazardly scattered across the floor.

Swinging open a cabinet door, Schlatt grabbed a roll of bandages and slowly began wrapping them around his forearm. He let out an exhausted sigh as he slammed the gauze on the table. What Tommy did was completely out of line, but he was not exactly innocent either. Still, Schlatt knew wasn't wrong about Wilbur- the man was insane. He knew very well who rigged Manberg. It was too calculated of a scheme for Tommy, but too ambitious for Quackity- this had Wilbur written all over it. The sound of a creaking floorboard caused him to whip his head around, hands tightly grasping the edge of the counter as he was pulled from thought.

"Fuckin' hell!" he bleated, using his sleeve to forcefully wipe his mustache before jerking his head around. "You don't knock, asshole?!"

Dream stood in the doorway of the caravan, tilting his head slightly in return to Schlatt's outburst. His presence was expected, but he couldn't help but feel unwanted. "Would you like me to leave?"

"No, no," Schlatt dismissed the offer, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just...siddown. I need to talk to you." Tightening the knot on the gauze, he carefully rolled his jacket sleeve overtop of the wound before swiveling his chair to face the visitor. He got straight to the point, his eyes filled with something rare for a man like him- desperation. 

"I need you on my side."

Dream didn't even bat an eye at his request, standing eerily still as he studied Schlatt. He found the man incredibly predictable. He knew exactly why he was called here. Why else would a lowlife junkie reach out on such short notice?

"And just why should I help you?"

"In case you haven't noticed, I don't have anyone else," Schlatt grumbled, his eyebrows kneading together with impatience. For someone who was asking a favor, he was not making it easy to comply.

"How is that my problem?" Dream declared with a slight bitterness in his tone. He closed the door behind him and rested his body against a nearby countertop. "I don't do charity work, Schlatt. What's in it for me?"

"What do you want, huh? Money?" Schlatt asked impatiently, his hand already stuffed halfway down his pocket reaching for his wallet. Dream waved him off, shaking his head. "You know very well that I have no use for money." It was true. For someone as powerful as Dream, money was the last thing he was after. If it was even possible, Schlatt's patience had thinned until he was practically at his wit's end.

"The most valuable things to me are...invaluable," Dream said with a wicked smile. Schlatt couldn't see his face, but he just knew Dream was grinning- he could hear it in his voice. He was about to con the conman. Sighing, Schlatt grumbled lowly as he accepted what was to come. "What are you talking about?" 

Schlatt despised talking to Dream. That mask he wore acted as a shield putting Schlatt at a psychological disadvantage. He was unable to study his weaknesses, a skill that put him ahead in most situations. He busted Tubbo through his body language- how was he to know if Dream really meant what he was saying if he couldn't see through him?

Dream focused on his hands as he fidgeted with the buckle on his leather gloves. "If you want my help, I need something of yours. Something you can't replace." Dream's intentions suddenly clicked for Schlatt as he nodded his head, folding his arms in thought.

"You want leverage."

"Bingo."

At a complete loss, Schlatt pondered about something Dream would want. Whatever he forked over to Dream would have to be meaningful enough to satisfy his end of the bargain, but he had very few things in his life that actually meant something to him. He pulled a cardboard box off the shelf, hastily tossing it toward Dream. "Here. Whatever you're looking for would be in here."

Dream began to sort through a bunch of personal belongings, but none of them were exactly what he was looking for. Everything that lay in the box would be more suitable for a pawn shop- valuable, but with no sentimental meaning. He dug his hands through the rubble until his fingertips graced a book that was covered in tattered leather. He pulled it out of the box and began to inspect it closely. Schlatt raised a brow, his interest peaking suddenly. Of all the options he gave him, Dream chose some decrepit book that looked like it barely survived both world wars. "Could never read the damn thing," he grumbled, shrugging slightly. "The piece of junk was written in fuckin' wingdings."

The book looked like it was at least a century old, a thick coating of dust layered on top of its leather cover. Gently using his hand to swipe it away, Dream revealed the embellishment of a golden angel as well as a series of characters scrawled inside the cover.

⏁⊑⟒   ⏚⍜⍜☍   ⍜⎎   ⍀⟒⎐⟟⎐⏃⌰

Dream squinted his eyes, delicately thumbing through the pages. Enderian characters were etched onto each of the pages, unintelligible to the untrained eye. "Where did you find this?" Dream questioned as he tried to retain his excitement. Schlatt replied unenthusiastically, "On the ground." He chose to not say much, instead focusing on why Dream was so captivated by this book. It meant relatively nothing to him, so he had no problem trading it off if it meant securing Manberg's fate. Still, he couldn't help but be curious as to what was really written on those pages.

"I'll take it," Dream announced briefly with one foot practically out the door. Schlatt's eyes were glued on that stupid book. What exactly had he just given up? 

"I take it we have a deal?" Schlatt confirmed, enforcing the rules of their agreement in case Dream decided to get smart with him down the line. Dream nodded, extending his palm outward. Schlatt grasped Dream's hand and shook it firmly before ripping his arm back, recoiling in pain as his hand flew up to the wound. Without a word, Dream slipped out the doorway leaving Schlatt exactly where he was before.

Alone.