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Summary
You stand for election because you want to piss off Wilbur fucking Soot, who thinks he can drag you out like some little dancing monkey for his cause, and because you’ve never encountered a thing that you didn’t want to own in your whole damn life. And sure, a nation’s a pretty big thing, but your eyes have always been bigger than your stomach. You’ve always been greedy.
Always wanted what you can’t have.
It’s a doomed attempt, and you know it – you’re up against L’Manburg’s pretty-boy founders, so you’ve lost the nationalist vote from the start. And the thirst-trap vote, and that one shouldn’t be a big deal, but it’s honestly the biggest share of the voting contingent as far as you can tell. Your campaign looks pretty dead before it’s even born.
Or, rather– it looks pretty dead until you meet Quackity. He’s young, and pretty, and he’s not got that sweet little British accent but he’s easy to play like a fucking fiddle so you’ll take what you can get. You flatter him, and ask for his votes, and his eyes don’t leave your mouth the whole time you’re talking.
(A series of moments in Quackity and Schlatt's relationship, through Schlatt's eyes.)
Series
- Part 2 of snapshots