Work Text:
Oddly enough, failing to come across as arrogant and rash is an important mask to drop.
Presenting as a "top dog" all your adult life and forcing everyone around you to agree is something that takes a larger toll than one can first think. It gets to a point where when enough shit piles up. Something has to break.
Schlatt realized this when, after getting into a heated discussion with his vice president, he felt something warm and wet run down his cheek. Whatever they were arguing about no longer seemed to care for Schlatt anymore in that moment. While Quackity kept ranting about the topic at hand, Schlatt found himself frozen. Staring how at his open palm after wiping his eye only to realize his worst fear.
Tears.
Drop after drop falling into Schlatt's hand as he tried to clear his suddenly blocked airwaves.
What the hell? Schlatt thought to himself. Suddenly feeling the need to get leave the room. Quackity had shut up, taking note of Schlatts silence and wasn't sure what this meant either.
After all, this was a man who toted himself as such a "masculine, no nonsense business" but here he was.
"Schlatt? I didn't mean to come off that harsh, I was just trying to say-" Quackity started in a concerned tone before Schlatt turned away abruptly and left the room in a huff. The ram wiping his eyes and trying once again to clear his nose.
This wasn't normal for Schlatt. Was this is? Had he finally gone soft and no one was going to take him seriously anymore?
Thoughts swam through Schlatts head as he found a bathroom to hide in. Looking in the mirror only to see it was worse than he thought. His face was red and puffy as, when seemingly acknowledged, heavier tears fell. Frustration filling in Schlatts gut as he stared longer at his reflection
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Schlatt asked himself. "What kind of man gets chocked up over nothing!?" He continued, his reflection giving no response.
Schlatt gave an annoyed sigh and tried to wipe his tears away again with toilet paper. Tapping his foot against the tile floor in this small 3×3 bathroom, trying to figure out what, after all these years, finally broke him.
He hadn't cried since he was a kid. It wasn't manly to cry, so Schlatt never did. Sniffing a bit he decided to think back.
Surely that fight with Quackiry didn't do anything real. Just a breaking point. What was he thinking in the moment? As Schlatt sat there in silence, there was a soft knock outside the bathroom. Quackity voicing concern as he asked Schlatt to open the door. The ram didn't bother to listen, instead leaning against the wall and staring at his reflection. It was difficult to watch himself in the state, Schlatt feeling he was watching his egotistical self melt away in real time when something finally hit him.
You're horrible. You've got nothing anymore. I mean just look at you, crying like a fucking bitch while flatty patty fakes concern. You're a fucking joke now.
The thoughts quickly swarmed Schlatts head. The man pondering each one that flew by his brain. Afterall, he couldn't ignore the truth, right? After that festival, Schlatt was practically alone. The people he'd made allies with had left for "Pogtopia" or whatever the fuck it was called. He'd killed someone who he thought could be his right hand. His next in charge.
You killed a child. Not even the annoying one. No wonder everyone is leaving now.
"I didn't want to fucking kill him," Schlatt choked out, merely standing and talking starting to become an issue as he felt another heavy layer or guilt and realization wash over him. Nearly taking him to the ground as he wiped his watery eyes in frustration. Weakly leaning against the counter for some kind of support as he felt more twar form and fall with each crash.
Felt like Schlatt hit the problem on the head. He stooped so low that he had Technoblade kill- no. He killed Tubbo. He ordered and yelled for a traitor to be killed. Honestly could Schlatt really blame Tubbo for betraying him in the end? The kid had more guts that Schlatt, he thought as he finally gave into the crashing breakdown. Leaning over the sink as his guilty tears dropped in and down the drain.
Giving a weak, shakey breath as he forced himself to stay standing, even though he wanted to collapse into nothing.
"I didn't want to fucking kill him" Schlatt painfully choked out over and over. Being his only defense to his own thoughts and the only thing he could force himself to say. But it held no real water in this situation.
After what felt like years in this one spot, Schaltt had calmed down enough for him to move. Feeling drained and useless, he forced himself out of the bathroom. It seemed Quackity had left Schlatt to his business and was no where to be found. Schlatt deciding to go to his office. He may feel like nothing, but it wasn't an excuse to do nothing. Walking down the stone brick floor to the shitty office someone had build for him.
Sitting at his desk felt wrong. Dammit, man. Schlatt thought to himself as he lightly smacked himself a bit
"I can't get this worked up anymore. I had my scene, now it's back to business" Schlatt said, trying to bully himself back into his usual self. Deciding to pour himself a drink to lift his spirits a bit, he opened one of his desk drawers to reveal a bottle of whiskey and a glass. The booze wouldn't be cold, but fuck formalities, Schlatt needed to get buzzed.