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Jschlatt comes across him by pure, glittering chance, and the glee that balloons inside him nearly propels him to kiss himself, to congratulate on his good fortune. The jungle is no place for civilization, where the sun is crowded out by spread foliage, and the vines break in the distance with the sound of a popping crunch. When was the last time he took off on his own? He would have strayed more often, if he knew what lurked beyond the borders of the city.
The Blade’s surprise reflects off the dull shine of a rusted, iron sword, gloved palms flexing over its hilt, but he doesn’t pull out the diamond axe holstered to his back, which Jschlatt considers a hearty sign.
The torch Jschlatt holds in his offhand crackles between them.
“How’d you like to destroy a nation?” he asks, just as an arrow whistles past his shoulder from behind.
Technoblade doesn’t bother ducking. He turns swiftly to sprint down the jungle path, his long, errant braid whipping behind him, and by the time the arrow embeds itself in the soft dirt where he stood, Technoblade is a shadow between the trees.
Jschlatt isn't one for chasing.
He cuts down the skeleton, and cranes his neck to look towards where he'd last seen Techno.
The shadows flirt with the light of his torch, nothing but tricks and dancing silhouettes. He swings the fire forward, peering beyond the hanging branches. His head is churning with ideas; he hadn't gone looking for Technoblade, but others might have, and if there's anything Jschlatt knows to do, it's staying ahead of his opponents. He picks his way past a reaching bushel, pressing a hand down on his good suit, and looks towards the sky. A mountain away, standing crooked under a sliver of waning moonshine, is the watching figure of an old god.
"Are you waiting for something?" he murmurs into the wind, and lets it carry his message home.
The silhouette cocks its head to the side.
"Are you?" comes the whisper back.
Jschlatt laughs, and follows.
The mountain is hell to climb, the moon hiding against the mountain means his hand aches holding his light up high to keep his sight. At the edge of its sheer cliff, there is the razor edge of tempered steel at the pulsepoint of his neck. The axe has made its appearance. Technoblade's shadow creeps at the edge of his figure, the moon is nearly sheer behind him. What is left of his blooming cape flutters behind him like a flame, an orange glow lighting the soft line of his jaw.
“I wasn’t expecting you," Technoblade says, in that low, meandering way of his. His head is cocked to the side, long strands of hair drifting from his shoulder. "And I... I’ll be honest, I didn’t prepare what I'm going to say."
There is a shield in his other arm that hadn't been there before.
The old metal of his crown is bent, and dried mud crusts at its engravings. The Blade is a name that Technoblade wore with good humour once, now he holds it clumsily, watches Jschlatt skittishly. As if Jschlatt would do anything here, now - a surprise attack wouldn’t work like this, and anyway, he has bigger plans for the specter he holds court with. Techno would dismember him without a twitch of his cheek, and so Jschlatt’s smile is sugar sweet to his voice, "What, to my offer?"
He drops the torch.
“To you," Technoblade says, although he turns his head to watch it tumble off into the trees below, the sword doesn't let up. He waits.
Jschlatt draws his own axe, pulling himself onto solid ground. "That's a little rude, Techno, we go way back.” The cliff oversees a spattering of bamboo that laps at the shoreline. There aren't islands for miles, only a line in the horizon where the sea reflecting the blue-point sky peters off.
“Does that matter?”
“Oh… not really, but it means I know that you love playing the bad guy."
Technoblade tongues at the sharp edge of his upper canine, a flicker of a pink, peering from the wide berth of the leaves. He's interested.
Jschlatt gestures rather pointlessly at the smart press of his black suit, earning a thin brow raise. It's been crumpled by his haste, but he thinks he looks rather smart. “They'll be gunnin' for me over there. And you might be thinking of running off to Wilbur, now that I've come to you with this, just to be contrary."
Technoblade's fingers drum against his arms, crossed over his chest. His expression is impossible to describe, "... I don't even know what Wilbur's doin' over there," he says in a listless argument, and Jschlatt laughs, friendly in return.
"And you know, that's fine." Jschlatt shrugs, smoothing his hands down the lapels of his suit, talking past Technoblade. "You do what you gotta do. They're gonna be devastated, I tell ya, they're gonna have nothing." he smiles, breathes, "You'll think that's the side to be on, you, Wilbur, Tommy, against the world."
Technoblade considers him, "This is an election, if I'm correct,"
He clicks his tongue, "Yeah- well, you know, I got surprises!" Jschlatt watches him. "You will come back when the tides turn. It'll be us against the world."
"This is kinda sad, you got no faith in your friends?"
"I'm putting my faith somewhere else," Jschlatt says.
Technoblade laughs, dry and surprised. "I'm flattered." he says, "You know, people don't usually come to be for loyalty."
"I think you value a good fight over loyalty,"
Technoblade doesn't respond for a long moment, and Jschlatt allows him his ruminations, wishes he could see beneath the dark water in the blank well of Techno's eyes.
“And when this thing happens, hypothetically,” Technoblade draws out on his tongue, “You want me to do it quickly, or is it more of a slow and sweet kind of deal?”
Jschlatt smiles wide. Ah, to remember hot blood painting the picked skin of his nails red, bruises down the length of his palm from the hilt of the sword.
“You see, that’s what I like about you, Techno,” Jschlatt drawls, voice low, and scraping, like the bark of a dark oak tree. His black eyes twinkle, leans over the Blade like a specter, made possible only by the habitual hunch of Techno’s shoulder. “It’s that you’re always so,” Techno’s pale lashes flicker upwards, considering the fine silk of his tie. “Damn,” Jschlatt murmurs, drawing himself down until his mouth brushes against a peach cheek, that his horn rests against the dip of Technoblade’s metal crown. “Considerate.”
Techno hums. “I don’t like you so close to me,” he says, sotto voice, hits him once to propel him back.
“I forgot,” Jschlatt says cheerfully. “You let me get away with it so often.”
But Jschlatt does know Technoblade. Knows however interested he is, he’ll wait on his decision until the tides turn. There’s a greed in the Blade for bloodshed, suppressed under his distracted veneer.
All Jschlatt just has to do is keep his attention.