✏ 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬.

𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐫

The sun perches itself above the meadow, mellow light pooling onto the van’s table. Deo had been left outside due to not being a member of the cabinet. Sitting in the shade were everyone except for Quackity, who picks at his jacket sleeves with the hue of his countenance a shade of both worry and fear. Tubbo, sitting at the far end opposing Tommy, explains the predicament they find themselves in and that there could only be a catalyst for such and as if rehearsed, all eyes fall upon Tommy.

Tommy, first to play, advances his white pawn to F3; totally denying any liability. In a torpid state, Tommy did the best he could to argue against the allegation brought forth, which turns out to be not very much at all. Turns out it’s as valuable as Schlatt’s remains. No one seems to buy it - he’s pointed fingers at Niki, which in retrospect was incredibly stupid given her docile character - and by the end of the discussion, he’s cornered himself spectacularly.

Maybe the total desecration of his dignity will chuck him out of this mess he’s found himself in - screaming, tossing, and whining like a dumb mutt who doesn’t know any better. It’s not like he could've exactly save himself from the grave he’s digged himself, but maybe making a mockery of the situation would lighten his sentence.

Having gone nowhere due to Tommy, they adjourn the meeting, hoping to include the man who’s walled off the entirety of L’Manberg in the conversation. Tommy retires from the Camarvan and out into the open where the skybox melts from hazy purple into magnolia and dew collects on the tip of every grass blade, creating prints of their footsteps on the wooden path as they approached the all-mighty man himself.

“Hey, Dream- I’d like to start by pointing the attention to the massive elephant in the room, which is the massive obsidian borders you’ve put up around L’Manberg. I’d like to know if there was any- any motives.”

In classic dickhead fashion, he flashes a shit-eating grin at Tubbo, subliminally imploring Tommy to carve his face in with his feet. Dream's always a mystery; his mask hides his face, and his intentions are hidden behind his sharp teeth. Everything about him is an enigma from his loose morals and personality is, given he possesses either of those. Clad in green, every limb he has is made of either sin or vice, prancing about the server fields as a pantomime villain with zero the charm and less likability.

“I’m just trying to be helpful.”

It was at this point his vision clouded with red, subsuming the monochromatic filter that dolled up his life to nihilistic gripes and churning out a vehement red that punches him in the face. As if he'd ever done anything fucking helpful in his mean, green existence besides fucking ruin his life. He could be happy, but no, he’d had to fight in fucking wars and lose two lives to him. Tommy could feel his nails taste blood as they dig deep into his palms, and Deo hadn’t the need to look at him to realise his seething and he settles his hand on Tommy’s shoulder.

“Dream, I don’t see how this is helpful.” Tubbo crosses his arms, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Dream, I really don’t.”

“Well, you see, we signed treaties a while ago.”

“Yeah?”

“And then your country held a democratic election and elected Schlatt - democratically - and then forces came in and raided the country, took it over, killed the president, and took over the land. So, to me, those treaties mean nothing ‘cause you are a new government and you’ve taken over the old government. You disregarded the old government’s law and you took it over!”

Disregarding the fact that Schlatt died of a heart attack, the dramatic pauses for every other word lost Tommy twice. It’s all a bunch of political jargon and whimsy that’s barb is to provoke confusion among them, and it drives Tommy nuts. It’s all palaver he’d sooner discard into the abyss alongside himself.