Work Text:
Wilbur adjusted his mask, styled after a raven, and peered through the eyeholes at the remains of L’Manburg’s walls. Or, he thought bitterly, Manburg’s, because this broken dictatorship could no longer call itself by the great name of L’Manburg. The tattered remains of the flag hung atop the flagpole, and Wilbur tore his gaze away from it to glance over at Tommy, his expression hidden behind a mask that resembled a raccoon. It was eerie to be back, in peace, looking at the ruins of their home. For a moment, Wilbur was overcome with emotion, his eyes burning as tears threatened to break free.
“Come on,” Technoblade grunted from Wilbur’s other side, voice muffled slightly by his hog-emblazoned mask. “The truce won’t last forever. We should get to the masquerade before the war returns in the morning.” Techno stepped forward, making the first move to head down the rise towards Manburg, vibrant crimson cloak rippling over his shoulders. It was easier for him, Wilbur knew. He’d been living alone in the wilderness, a humble potato farmer trying to forget the warrior he’d been before the Night of Ash, during the first war, when Wilbur had toiled to build this country with his bare hands.
A masquerade. All three of them had received hand-written invitations to a masquerade ball, a celebration of the winter solstice, the first one since the volcanic eruption that had wiped out most of the world’s population. Masks were customary, hence why they were all wearing them. Even though Pogtopia was at war with Manburg, the invitation had insisted that on the day of the ball, a truce would last from sunset to sunrise, giving the Pogtopians and Manburgians about twelve hours of peace to reconnect with each other for the holiday. Wilbur had initially been tentative and was still paranoid that it might be a trap, but the phrasing of the invitations had been vindictive and precise. Schlatt was one to work with loopholes - he never went back on his word - and Wilbur hadn’t been able to find a single loophole that Schlatt could exploit.
“Tommy,” Wilbur called quietly, getting the boy’s attention. “Let’s go.” The sun had dipped below the horizon just a few minutes earlier, bathing the world in darkness and signalling the start of the truce.
“I didn’t think I’d see it again,” Tommy mumbled, trailing after Wilbur as the three of them made their way down the hill. “At leat, not until it was ours.” Rubble from the demolished walls lay strewn across the ground, and Wilbur wasn’t sure where Manburg started nor ended anymore. Schlatt had been conquering nearby land left, right, and centre for his new empire. Now, where the hot dog van once stood, there was a fortress, towering over the Pogtopians with a threatening aura.
Wilbur gulped as Techno paused for him at the edge of the river. He would have been more comforted if Techno had gone first, but he supposed it was his duty as the president of Pogtopia to lead the trio into Manburg. What a pitiful country they were. Once, they had fought a war against the country of Dream SMP and won. Now they were outcasts, fleeing from Schlatt’s tyranny. How far they’d fallen.
President J. Schlatt. Wilbur remembered a time, many years earlier, when he and Schlatt had lived in the same town, Rainville, before the Night of Ash. A terrible flood, one of the many disasters that had preceded the final wipeout of humanity, had swept through their town and Wilbur and Schlatt had fled into the mountains in search of safety. This was before everything - they were just boys then. They were some of Wilbur’s last memories from before the day the supervolcano erupted and the sky turned black. Up until recently, they’d been incredibly painful - Wilbur and Schlatt had been separated by the rising water and Wilbur had presumed his friend dead - but now they hurt for another reason. They were one of the only records of who Schlatt used to be before the world went to hell.
The house was rickety and badly-built, but it worked as a shelter for the time being, and as the sun was going down, Wilbur no longer wanted to continue working on it. He slipped inside, laughing as Schlatt placed down a door in the gap between the rooms and slammed it in Wilbur’s face.
“I don’t want you over here! This is my side!” Schlatt called through the door. “A guy needs his personal space, Wilbur!” There was a note of humour in his voice, though, and Wilbur continued to laugh.
“You’ve got the crafting table!” Wilbur objected. “I need to craft things, Schlatt!” But Schlatt just turned away, ignoring him. “Okay, okay, fine,” Wilbur added quickly. “You should come out here, Schlatt. The view is amazing.”
“You just want me to come over to your side so that you can steal my side,” Schlatt grumbled. “If I meet you outside, I need you to promise me that you won’t steal my side of the house.”
“I promise,” Wilbur swore, sobering up much more than he needed to and putting on an almost-mocking expression of seriousness. “Now come outside and watch the sunset with me, Schlatt.”
“Fine,” Schlatt grumbled, opening the door and letting Wilbur take his suit sleeve and tug him through the other room and back out the front door. “I don’t know why you want me to see it, it can’t be that much different from a normal-” Schlatt stopped mid-sentence, staring at the golden ball of fire in the sky that was painting the horizon with shades of burnt amber and crimson. “Oh.”
“Sunset at the end of the world, Schlatt.” Wilbur didn’t look down at the rising tides - he kept his gaze fixed on the faraway mountains that the sun was slowly creeping down behind. “Might as well enjoy it, in case it’s our last.”
“Man, you really know how to lighten the mood, Wilbur,” Schlatt muttered, making Wilbur laugh. “Tell you what. If we’re getting all sappy and shit… do you know how to dance?”
Wilbur hesitated, then shook his head. “Not really,” he admitted. “Even if I did, there’s no music to dance to.”
“Hum,” Schlatt retorted, forcefully grabbing Wilbur’s hand with one of his and placing the other on Wilbur’s hip. “Put your other hand on my shoulder.”
Surprised, Wilbur did as he was told. “A waltz?” Wilbur questioned, and when Schlatt nodded, he jokingly started to hum an old ¾ song that he’d heard once or twice, though he didn’t know where. Schlatt took a step and Wilbur mimicked his movements, brow furrowing as he tried to figure out what to do.
“Move on the downbeats,” Schlatt directed. “Yeah. Hey, you’re not terrible at this.” Schlatt flashed Wilbur a grin, looking up at him.
Wilbur broke off his humming to reply, “Thanks. I feel stupid, though.”
As if Wilbur’s words had prompted him, Schlatt stopped and took his hands back. “It’s better with a real band.” Schlatt glanced away. “I’ll take you to a winter ball someday,” Schlatt promised.
Wilbur knew it was just wishful thinking. Neither of them really expected to survive the flood. There were only so many places they could run. But, deciding to pretend with Schlatt, he smiled. “I’d like that.”
Schlatt gazed at him for a few long moments, before his expression hardened and he barked, “But it’s not gay, okay? Friends can dance and it doesn’t have to be gay.”
Wilbur was so taken aback that he didn’t laugh. “Uh- I didn’t say it was gay,” he managed, scratching the back of his head. “Are you in denial, Schla-”
Before Wilbur could finish, Schlatt punched him on the arm.
Wilbur stepped over the stream, trying to push his memories away into the running water. Tommy and Techno followed, though Wilbur could sense their hesitation. They were all armed, but if worse came to worse, they were still gravely outnumbered by Manburg. Wilbur sighed and forded through the remains of Manburg’s walls, remembering fondly when they’d been built. It hurt, being home but not home. It might never be home again.
“Declare yoursel- Wil?” a voice called from the castle’s parapet. Niki’s eyes widened and she disappeared from view. Wilbur thought it was nice to see her again and know that she was okay - information about what was going on in Manburg had been sorely lacking due to their need to stay hidden.
The castle’s great oak doors were soon heaved open from the inside, the creak of winches and chains accompanying the action. Niki stepped out onto the gravel path, her boots crunching as she ran towards the Pogtopians. “Wil?” she called again, quieter, her gaze boring into Wilbur’s raven mask.
Wilbur shifted the mask to sit on the side of his face, revealing his visage to Niki. “Niki Nihachu,” Wilbur greeted. “It’s… wonderful to see you again.” A small smile graced his features. “We’re expected, aren’t we?”
“Of course,” Niki replied hurriedly. “Wilbur Soot, Tommyinnit, and Technoblade. We’ve been patiently awaiting your arrival since the sunset.” She glanced past them, then over her shoulder. “I’ll show you to the ballroom.” Niki turned and started back towards the castle.
Tommy breathed a sigh of relief and removed his mask as well, but Techno kept his on. Wilbur could sense Techno’s unease - it was second nature for him, the Great Boar, the legendary warrior who destroyed armies singlehandedly. Suddenly, Wilbur was feeling a bit more reassured about their chances if things went south.
As they followed Niki into the castle, Wilbur let his thoughts wander again.
“The water is still rising, Wilbur,” Schlatt murmured, poking their tiny campfire with a stick. “There’s nowhere else to go.” Schlatt sighed and leaned back against a boulder. “We’re not going to make it.” He turned his gaze to the horizon, where even darker clouds were beginning to roll in. “That storm’s going to bring more flash flooding and we’ll get wiped off this mountaintop.”
Wilbur leaned his head on Schlatt’s shoulder. Personal space was something that had disappeared between the two friends as soon as it had gotten cold. There was nobody else around, anyway. “We could make a boat,” he suggested weakly, “and ride the flood out to where it’s dry.”
“It’s too dangerous,” Schlatt insisted instantly. “I won’t let you.” Schlatt’s voice was firm and Wilbur couldn’t begrudge him for being attached. It was hard not to be when it felt like the world was ending.
“We stay here and die, or we take a risk, Schlatt,” Wilbur shot back, shifting so that he was more leaning against the same rock as Schlatt. The fire wasn’t doing much to help the cold, but it was better than nothing. “Whatever we do, we do it together.”
“Together,” Schlatt agreed, glancing over at Wilbur. He cracked a small smile. “If one of us dies, Wilbur… just know that you were the best friend I ever had.”
“This castle hasn’t been here long,” Techno commented lightly. “How long did it take to build?” He looked over at Niki, face still shaded by his mask.
“Just a few days,” Niki answered, leading them through the large halls. “We all helped. The president made an executive order.” She adjusted her hat, looking nervous. “He’s… making a lot of changes, as you know.”
Niki was on their side, Wilbur knew, but he didn’t want to press the subject with her in case they were overheard. “Things are definitely… different,” Wilbur hummed instead, eyes darting around at the unadorned stone walls. “I’m surprised that Schlatt hasn’t put up posters with his face on them everywhere.”
Niki laughed. “Maybe that’s the next step in his master plan,” she joked quietly. Then she stopped in front of a large dark oak door. “I have to retrieve my mask for the masquerade,” Niki told them, “but you guys can go on in.”
“Thanks, Niki,” Wilbur replied, pulling his raven mask back over his face and reaching towards the bronze handle of the door. “See you soon?” he said quizzically.
“Oh, yes.” Niki beamed at him. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” She took a few small steps back, then turned and hurried away along the corridor.
Techno’s hand drifted to the sword on his belt. “I’m ready,” he answered, before Wilbur had even thought to ask.
“Tommy?” Wilbur prompted, looking back at the boy. He had almost insisted that Tommy stay in Pogtopia, afraid that Tommy couldn’t handle it. But Tommy was looking oddly passive as he replaced his raccoon mask and nodded.
Wilbur took a deep breath and pushed on the handle, heaving the heavy door open with an extra bit of heft. Wilbur went through first, then Tommy, with Techno taking up the rear. Fundy was waiting by the door, his orange-and-white fur gleaming in the flickering orange torchlight.
“Father,” Fundy greeted curtly, with a nod to Wilbur. “No weapons allowed in the ballroom - just put them in this chest here and you can pick them up afterwards.” Fundy patted a chest sitting next to him.
Hesitantly, Wilbur nudged the chest open and unhooked the iron sword from his belt, before depositing it inside. Tommy placed a crossbow and a dagger in the chest, and tentatively, Techno added his diamond blade. Fundy slammed the lid of the chest down, making Wilbur jump, and flashed the Pogtopians a toothy grin.
“It’s… good to see you,” Fundy murmured, ears twitching. “Your table has your names on it, then dancing will happen afterwards.” Despite the warm fire glowing on the walls, the air in the ballroom was chilly, and Wilbur couldn’t tell whether it was the weather or the ambience. “The food’s safe, I promise.”
“I wasn’t worried,” Wilbur lied, a bit haughtily. “Er… thanks, Fundy.” He felt awkward, standing in front of his son, who had burned Wilbur’s flag and tore down the walls Wilbur had built to protect him. Wilbur shifted uncomfortably.
Fundy’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t say anything else. Wilbur assumed that he’d annoyed him. There was a tense silence for a few moments, before Fundy turned and walked away, fluffy tail flicking behind him.
Techno leaned over and whispered to Wilbur, “How do you have a fox as a son, anyway?”
Wilbur hissed back, “Long story - don’t ask,” to which Techno shrugged and glanced around the rest of the room.
It was a beautiful room, Wilbur had to admit. High ceiling, pristine floor, stained glass windows in abstract depictions that Wilbur didn’t understand… Wilbur would have never expected it from Schlatt.
Wilbur’s thoughts were interrupted by Tommy’s stomach rumbling. Tommy grimaced. “What’s for dinner?” he piped up.
Wilbur groaned. “Let’s find our table,” he said.
Wilbur, Tommy, and Techno had only just sat down when the ballroom doors opened again, both slamming open loudly to reveal the short, yet intimidating figure of the president of Manburg. President J. Schlatt was beaming from ear-to-ear, his black suit crisp and clean, mask in the style of a goat’s head covering the upper part of his face. Though Wilbur knew that the ram’s horns were not part of his mask but in fact an adornment that Schlatt lived with - new, since the Night of Ash. Many people experienced mutations after the ‘apocalypse’, including Schlatt… and that was how Fundy had ended up as a fox as well.
“Greetings, citizens of Manburg and Dream SMP…” Schlatt boomed, his voice resonating around the room without any aid, “...and Pogtopia.” He added the last country on as an afterthought, with a pointed glance towards Wilbur, Tommy, and Techno. “I am delighted that you have all joined us for the first Winter Ball since the world went to hell!” Schlatt’s gaze moved to the table where Dream, George, and Sapnap were seated. “Dinner will be served in half an hour. Please, socialize and,” it might have just been Wilbur’s unease, but Schlatt’s smile seemed to turn crooked, “enjoy yourselves.”
A shiver ran down Wilbur’s spine as Schlatt’s eerie amber eyes came back to him and rested there for a few moments. Then the moment was gone, Schlatt whisked away by Quackity and Punz. Wilbur let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, turning back to Techno and Tommy.
“Man, I hate that guy,” Tommy grumbled. “Stupid, controlling-” Tommy broke off into a huff and a groan. “Why did he even want L’Manburg in the first place?”
Wilbur looked down at the tablecloth. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “I know… I knew Schlatt, a long time ago, and he wasn’t like this. But maybe I… maybe it was something I…” Wilbur trailed off, glancing away towards the rest of the room.
“Hey, Wil,” Techno started, placing his hand on Wilbur’s shoulder. “Schlatt isn’t your responsibility. This isn’t your fault, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Wilbur sighed. “Thanks, Technoblade. I just… can’t stop thinking about it, you know? If I hadn’t called the election…”
Tommy waved his fork in Wilbur’s direction. “We made our choices,” he said. “Now we have to live with them. We can’t change the past, Wilbur.”
“Well said,” Techno put in with a nod. “You couldn’t predict the future.”
“Let’s… let’s talk about something else,” Wilbur prompted, placing his head against his fist. “I just… not here. This is supposed to be a party, right? No politics.”
“No politics,” Tommy repeated. “Sure.”
Wilbur closed his eyes, going quiet. Despite Techno and Tommy’s reassurances, he was worried that Schlatt’s dictatorship was somehow his fault - and not just because he called for the election, allowing Schlatt to take over. Wilbur searched through his memories, trying to find a time that he might have wronged Schlatt, and, though it wasn’t quite what he was looking for, settled on the last time that he had seen Schlatt.
Wilbur pushed his makeshift boat into the water with a mighty shove. “We have to go now,” he warned Schlatt. “Get in, Schlatt.” He knew Schlatt was still unsure about the plan, but it was the only way they could survive. Wilbur clambered into the boat, still hanging onto a low branch to keep himself from drifting away.
Schlatt took a tentative step back, adjusting the sleeves of his muddied and torn dress shirt. “Wilbur, I…” he started, and Wilbur realized that the emotion in Schlatt’s eyes was terror. “I don’t think I can do this.” Wilbur suddenly wondered if Schlatt had a fear of boats.
“It’s our only chance, Schlatt!” Wilbur protested. “Please…” He paused, biting his lip and considering his next words carefully. “Schlatt, I’m not leaving you here. Please get in the boat-” Wilbur’s eyes flicked up to meet Schlatt’s, “-Jeremiah.”
Schlatt’s shoulders slumped and he looked down at the ground. “If you were anybody else, I would kill you for calling me Jeremiah,” he muttered, digging his nails into his arm. “Fine. I’m coming, Wil.”
Wilbur breathed a sigh of relief. Then the roaring of water sent a spike of fear down his spine and he looked back over his shoulder, eyes widening at the sight of the rapids hurtling towards them. “This is it!” he yelled, letting go of the branch and viciously grabbing Schlatt’s arm to tug him towards the boat. “Let’s go!” He tried to pull Schlatt into the boat, but Schlatt pulled back, and he cursed Schlatt’s stubbornness.
“You dick, let go of me!” Schlatt cried, sounding frantic. “This is the worst plan you’ve ever had! We’re going to die, Wilbur, you fucking idiot!” Wilbur’s grip on Schlatt’s arm slipped and he let go momentarily, allowing Schlatt to move further away and forcing Wilbur to grab his hand.
“J. Schlatt, get in this boat right now and at least you’ll have a chance to be alive!” Wilbur protested desperately, fighting to pull Schlatt into the boat. They were running out of time, Wilbur knew. It was getting closer by the second.
Schlatt hesitated, glanced up towards where the flash flood was coming, and suddenly jolted towards the boat. “Move your fat ass, then, Wilbur, and let me the fuck in,” Schlatt demanded, using Wilbur’s hand to help himself climb into the boat.
Then the wave hit, violently tearing Wilbur and Schlatt’s hands apart, and the last thing Wilbur saw before he plummeted over the edge was Schlatt, clinging to a rock on the peak, a wild look in his eyes.
Wilbur had been quiet all through dinner, speaking when he was spoken to but not with much vehemence. He deliberately hadn’t been looking at Schlatt, keeping his gaze fixed on the food on his plate and occasionally on Techno and Tommy. They knew that something was wrong, he realized - but he wasn’t about to unload his entire life story just so that they understood, and that was mutually accepted. Life before the Night of Ash was not something that mattered, and therefore it was never discussed. If it was from before Wilbur met Tommy, then it was private.
Dinner was finished and the tables were cleared, forcing the guests to the sides of the room to wait. Once things were ready, the band struck up a tune, and it was simply a matter of who would bridge the gap and start the dancing.
To everyone’s surprise, it was Dream. Dream, his nondescript white mask covering his features, neon green cloak sloping over his shoulders and shading his body, footsteps quick and deliberate as he approached the Pogtopians. For a moment, Wilbur was confused, before Dream extended a hand to Technoblade, and after a sharp nod from the pig-masked warrior, Techno took Dream’s arm and they took to the floor.
Dream and Technoblade were not good dancers, to say the least, but within a few moments, they were laughing, unintentionally trodding on each others’ toes and tripping each other up. The chilly atmosphere warmed a bit with the sound of their friendly chuckling, and Wilbur relaxed slightly. And before Wilbur could even take in all of the reactions of the Dream SMP-ians and the Manburgians, Tommy had set his jaw and marched across the room as well.
“Tubbo!” Tommy called, enthusiastically greeting the other boy. “I… I don’t know how to dance, do you?” He was speaking rather loudly, and with the absence of much other talking, his words could be heard clearly.
“Er… no?” Tubbo looked more embarrassed than Tommy, with a sharp glance towards Schlatt and Quackity. “I can- I mean, it doesn’t look that hard.” He then looked to Dream and Techno, who had moved further down the hall towards where the band was playing.
“Well, come on then,” Tommy exclaimed pointedly, grabbing Tubbo by the arm and yanking him onto the dancefloor. “It’s a party - we’re supposed to be having fun!”
Tubbo yelped. “I’m going to- Tommy, you’re going to step on my toes, come on, this is such a bad idea-”
Wilbur could barely contain a giggle as Tommy and Tubbo attempted to copy Dream and Techno’s actions. Slowly, the addition of the two boys making a fool of themselves and Dream and Techno continuing their cheerful banter thawed the emotion of the room into something more festive, and the dancing started for real.
Wilbur hung back as people started to pair off - Fundy with Niki, Schlatt with Quackity, and Sapnap with George, to name a few. There wasn’t anybody he really wanted to dance with, plus the first and last time he’d danced had been on the edge of a cliff while fleeing for his life from a terrible flood. Wilbur didn’t think he would be much better than Dream and Techno or Tommy and Tubbo. He tapped his foot to the beat of the music, and as the music faded into a faster number, the existing pairs started to break apart.
Wilbur could feel Schlatt’s eyes on him from the other side of the room, and he made a point to ignore them. But it was futile because soon the president was striding across the dancefloor towards him.
“Wilbur Soot!” Schlatt boomed, a knowing and almost nostalgic glint in his eye. Did Schlatt remember? Did Schlatt have any sentimentality for the boys they’d been, once? “This is a dance, Wilbur! You’re not dancing!” Schlatt paused to beam at him. “That should be illegal!”
“You’re right, Schlatt,” Wilbur replied evenly. “I haven’t found a partner yet.” And, lifting his chin in defiance of the president, Wilbur turned away from Schlatt and called, “Niki! Want to dance?”
Schlatt scowled at him, but Wilbur just smiled sweetly behind his mask as Niki walked over to them. “Oh, Mr President, I hope I’m not interrupting,” Niki greeted. “I’d love to, Wil.”
“Wonderful,” Wilbur responded. “Now, Mr President, I think Sapnap is looking at you.” And with that, Wilbur took Niki’s hand and let her pull him into a more folk-like dance that involved some very confusing partner changes and quickly deteriorated into Wilbur crashing into Fundy and George.
Most of the evening passed by in a blur, with Wilbur getting passed between partner and partner, including but not limited to Technoblade, Sapnap, Fundy, Eret (that was an awkward one and involved Wilbur deliberately stamping on Eret’s feet a lot), and even Quackity, who was surprisingly decent. Eventually, Wilbur slipped away from the crowd and resumed his spot on the sidelines, a glass of water in his hand, though the glass was soon refilled with wine.
It was when things were coming to a close with the last dance of the night, a classic slow waltz, and Wilbur was a drink and a half deep, that Schlatt finally approached him again. Schlatt’s tie was slightly undone and his suit jacket had long since been disposed of over the back of a chair. He looked as if he’d been drinking as well, though neither of them was nearly as drunk as some of the others.
“Done for the night?” came Schlatt’s prompting question, the secondary meaning barely hidden underneath.
Wilbur let out a long sigh. “Well, I don’t have a partner for the last dance,” he admitted, eyes darting around. It would be symbolic, wouldn’t it? The first and second presidents of (L’)Manburg, dancing like old friends.
And without another word, Schlatt extended his hand to Wilbur, fingers slightly curled in a beckoning gesture. He could still refuse, Wilbur knew. It would be easy to simply say that he was too tired, or that his feet hurt. But those were untrue statements, and, well, he might as well go for it before the truce was over.
Wilbur reached out and linked his fingers with Schlatt’s, and after a sharp tug from Schlatt, they fell into a routine that Wilbur had already relearned a few times that evening. The band eased into the last song, cueing partners to take their places. Schlatt pulled Wilbur into the centre of the floor, drawing the eyes of everybody around them. Wilbur suddenly felt embarrassed. In frustration, Wilbur deliberately trod on Schlatt’s toes, but it didn’t seem to bother Schlatt at all, so he avoided doing it again.
Schlatt led Wilbur into each move with a slight push and pull on Wilbur’s hip, which Wilbur was grateful for, but would never admit. He felt light, almost gliding across the ground as Schlatt took him through the waltz with more grace than Wilbur had expected. At first, they were awkwardly standing apart, still holding onto the tension that came with being the leaders of two countries that were at war with each other, but as the dance went on, Wilbur found himself shifting closer to make it easier on both of them.
“How do you like your ball?” Schlatt asked quietly, tilting his head up to look at Wilbur from behind his mask.
“My ball?” Wilbur repeated, questioning.
“Of course - I promised you that I would take you to a winter ball one day, didn’t I?” Schlatt replied with a grin. “I always keep my promises, Wilbur. I’m a man of my word.”
Stunned, Wilbur blinked. “I didn’t- I didn’t think you remembered any of that,” Wilbur admitted sheepishly. “What with the… taking over my country and ostracizing me.”
“First rule of politics - don’t let your personal feelings get in the way,” Schlatt responded evenly, with a shrug. “This was my attempt to see you again. Not President Wilbur Soot of L’Manburg, leader of the revolution. Just Wilbur. My friend.” Schlatt paused. “In the morning we’ll be enemies again. I still want you dead, Wilbur Soot - don’t forget that.”
Wilbur suddenly understood. Schlatt wished they could be friends again, but for whatever reason, he was affronted by and opposed Wilbur’s actions as president. He wanted the Wilbur from before the end of the world back.
Wilbur had to admit that he felt the same.
But there was no going back.
“Touché,” Wilbur said. “Is there no hope of convincing you to let me have the presidency?”
“None,” Schlatt hummed, almost playfully. “I rather like being in charge. And I definitely do it better than you did.” Wilbur was inclined to disagree, what with the state of Manburg, but didn’t want to provoke the president on his own territory.
The music finished and they stopped dancing, with Schlatt returning Wilbur to the wall. “Thanks for the dance, Wilbur,” Schlatt murmured. “Best get going before the sun comes up.” He stiffly patted Wilbur on the shoulder, then turned and headed towards where Quackity, Niki, and Fundy were standing.
Wilbur let out a sigh and leaned back against the wall, waiting for Tommy and Techno to join him. However he’d felt about Schlatt once, it was over now. It had to be. No more foolish hopes of being able to get through to him somehow. They would fight, one of them would die or be imprisoned, along with others from their side, and that was how it had to be.
And Wilbur intended to win.