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The best thing about Quackity's penthouse was the view. For reasons both practical and aesthetic, it allowed him to survey nearly the entirety of Las Nevadas from up high and observe everyone who might come in and out of his city. From the fountain path to the hotel to the Tubburger diner, Quackity could see it all.
And, you know. It was a pretty awesome view.
Leaning back in his chair, Quackity kicked his feet up on the glass, stretching his hands behind his head as he began to watch the start of another beautiful day in Las Nevadas. Technically, he had plenty of paperwork to do, a meeting with Sam, a meeting with Foolish, and a hundred other things that he's sure he'll remember at some point. But for now, the day was young, and Quackity could indulge himself in a little relaxation.
Out of the corner of his eye, Quackity spots movement.
The moment he turns his head, he nearly falls out of his chair. His boots scrape the glass railing, and he's forced to slam a foot down on the ground to steady himself. Quackity blinks, several times in a row just to make sure he isn't seeing things, but no. Clear as day, there he is.
Tourists entering Las Nevadas is kind of odd this early in the day, but that's not what has Quackity so surprised. No, it's the fact that Phil, Philza Minecraft, Techno's best buddy and co-conspirator in the Pandora's Vault breakout, is just walking into Las Nevadas, seemingly without a care in the world!
Quackity realizes, belatedly, that his jaw has dropped wide open. There's no one around to see, but his jaw clacks shut and he clears his throat with an embarrassed flush to his face anyways, taking a deep breath as he straightens his tie. His eyes haven't left Phil the entire time, tracking his path sharply as the old man ambles down the road.
Prime, is that a towel? And it looked like he holds some kind of potion in one hand, swinging it loosely. His hat is tipped back on his head, and his clothes are much more casual than Quackity is used to seeing, a patterned shirt tucked into a long, flowing skirt. The motherfucker looks like he's trying to go on vacation.
In Quackity's lands.
What a fucking idiot.
"What a fucking idiot!" Quackity laughs aloud at that, mirth almost bringing tears to his eyes as he leans over the railing, watching Phil just walk wherever he pleases, apparently. "Alright, I'm not just gonna let you walk all over my country." The more speaks, the angrier he gets, the striking of a match against some cold fury. "You don't get to take this from me too, you fucking asshole."
Taking a deep breath, Quackity drops down the elevator that will take him to the bottom floor. His hand is resting on the hilt of his netherite sword, but he doesn't pull it out quite yet. Phil is definitely the more amicable of the two compared to his piggy friend, and Quackity knows that as long as he stays calm and collected, Phil tends to follow suit. If he can just get Phil's guard down low, like really low...
"Okay." Standing at the entrance to the needle, Quackity tries to breathe in deep, up until he watches Phil wander up to the casino doors.
No, no, no, "Absolutely not!" Quackity shouts, slamming his fist into the entrance before he's off, walking at a fast pace toward Phil. His teeth grind together, gold scraping against bone, so hard his jaw shivers with an old ache.
But before he reaches Phil, the guy has just wandered off, like he isn't even aware of Quackity approaching. Flipping his towel over his shoulder, Phil saunters off toward the hotel, head still tipped back with a look of wonderment on his face, of all things. He doesn't even seem to be aware of Quackity slowly closing the distance between them, too fascinated by the wide doorway that leads into the hotel.
The more Quackity watches him, the more annoyed he begins to get. How dare Phil not only just walk in here like that's something he's allowed to do, but also not even give him the time of day? This is his hotel, his lands, he owns this place!
Here, Phil is nothing.
Especially without Technoblade's protection.
Quackity smiles cruelly, and the grip on his sword tightens.
Phil now stands in the center of the hotel lobby, a few steps away from the front desk. "Is there a- a concierge?" he asks, voice ringing with confusion. "Hm."
Quackity doesn't know where his workers are. It might be too early, or they might have all quit. It doesn't matter. What matters, right now, is that Phil learns who's in charge around here.
"Philza fucking Minecraft," Quackity sneers. In front of him, Phil freezes, spinning in place and blinking wide violet eyes at him. "What the hell do you think you're doing here?"
"Uh... I'm vacationing!" Phil says brightly, an odd lilt to his voice. He lifts his arm, and a crow flutters down onto it. Where the crow had come from, Quackity has no goddamn clue. They were inside. And there were no crows in Las Nevadas.
Phil lifts the crow to the side of his face, whispering as if Quackity wasn't right in front of him, fully able to hear everything he said. "Quackity's a bad guy in this, right?" he whispers. The crow caws, loudly. "Is this the part where we get the heck out of here?"
"I- what?" Quackity sputters, affronted. "What do you mean, am I a bad guy? Phil, what the hell are you doing here?"
"Oh, shit, he sounds angry," Phil whispers, still to the crow on his arm. His gaze keeps flitting back and forth between the bird and Quackity, purple eyes still round with shock.
Quackity frowns, confusion rising alongside annoyance. Now, it wasn't like he's ever spent a large amount of time with Phil—in fact he avoids him more often than not—but he's pretty damn sure that the guy has blue eyes, not purple. The only person he knows with purple eyes is, well, Purpled.
That connection refreshes the anger within him all over again. "Get out. Get the hell out of Las Nevadas!"
"What? Aw, but we only just got here!" Phil pouts, which is already so goddamn weird enough, but then the guy honest-to-Prime giggles, covering his mouth with the hand that's holding the potion bottle. His nails are painted, a dark purple that almost seems to be glowing, oddly enough, like crying obsidian.
Despite his laughter, Quackity doesn't miss what Phil grips in his other hand. It's a Totem of Undying, the emerald eyes of it peeking past Phil's fingers The crow caws again, and Phil nods his head. "I know, I know, we should probably leave. I know Phil would be really mad if I died." His eyes widen even further, and with the worst attempt at lying Quackity has ever seen, stammers, "I mean— I would be really upset if I died. If I died here. I'm just looking for a beach— I was going to try the pool here, but, well, it seems like there's no one working here. Uh, except you!"
"The pool's always open, there's no supervision," Quackity says automatically, before his jaw snaps shut and the rest of what Phil said registers. "Wait, what do you mean Phil would be really mad if you died? You're Phil."
"Well, yes..." Phil trails off, tapping his fingers along the bottle. "But also no." Ducking his head conspiratorially to the crows, he whispers, "Is it alright if I tell him?" He lifts his head. "If I tell you the truth, will you let me have my beach day? I was really looking forward to this, this is pretty much my vacation."
Every word he said was making less and less sense to Quackity. Also, he's pretty sure that somewhere in their conversation, Phil's usual bucket hat has been replaced with a black, wide brimmed hat that occasionally ripples with a veil, partially obscuring his face. "What the hell is going on?" He all but screeches those words, before taking a second to compose himself. It barely changes his tone, quick and snapping. "Yeah. Yeah, Phil, or whoever the hell you are, I do want to know the truth! Tell it to me, right now, or I'll— fucking kill you, man, I don't care if you have a totem, I'll kill you twice!"
Phil—whoever this is—laughs a little bit. "Don't worry, Phil made sure to stock me up on plenty of totems." With one hand, he uncorks the potion bottle, lifting it to her lips. To Quackity's shock, he can smell the sweet, briny scent of fermented spider eyes wafting from the bottle. Weakness. Is he trying to make it easy for Phil to kill him?
"Alright. Well, you probably recognize this body as Phil, but I'm only temporarily inhabiting his body. Hi, my name's Kristin," For a second, Quackity's vision flickers. Where Phil had just stood, something much taller is taking his place, a woman dressed in dark purples and blacks. A veil obscures her face, not that Quackity can see much of it from all the way down here. A murder of crows flies around her, and then everything is gone, and Phil's body stands back in her place. Still with the purple eyes, still with the painted fingernails. "I'm also known as the goddess of death. I'm also known as Phil's wife!" She says that last part brightly, lifting up the hand that holds the totem to admire the ring adorning Phil's finger.
Quackity laughs, a little helplessly, as the world begins to swim in front of his eyes. His body is wracked with chills, racing down his back and arms. Knees wobbling, Quackity is forced to back up against the wall, just so he doesn't completely fall over at what he's just witnessed. Finally, he manages to yelp, "Phil has a wife?"
Yep!" Kristin says brightly. Now that Quackity has seen her once, the distinction between their voices is a lot easier to hear, Phil's usual tones muffled under Kristin's lightly echoing voice. She takes another swig of her...drink, swaying lightly, a kind and patient look in her violet eyes as she waits for Quackity to collect himself.
"Con-congrats? When was the...when was the wedding?" He forces a smile over his stumbling words, feeling his lips wobble as he tries to regain any sense of normalcy to this situation.
"Hm," Kristin puts a hand on her—Phil's?—chin, briefly in contemplation. "Time's a bit tricky for the both of us, but I think we just passed the... third century of our marriage? That sounds about right, yeah. Give or take."
Third century. Three hundred years. Fucking Phil could get a marriage to last three hundred years and Quackity couldn't even hold onto a few people for more than a few months before they were torn away from him. Of fucking course Phil could do that.
"Oh, third century," Quackity says lightly, pretending as if his head isn't spinning, pretending as if he isn't suddenly being assaulted with the reminder of his own failures in the face of someone infinitely more powerful. "Cool, that's— that's awesome. Yeah, third century, mhm—" And then the next part of Kristin's words click for him, and all of a sudden Quackity feels like he's going to faint all over again. "Wait, and you're a goddess? Like, like actually, you— you're a goddess. Oh, Prime, oh, fucking Prime, what the fuck!" His hands have fallen to his face, clutching the hem of his beanie and fingers digging into his cheeks.
Kristin looks entirely unperturbed, eyes merely crinkled in laughter as she watches Quackity have an entire fucking crisis. The crows, too, are watching him, occasionally croaking with laughs of their own. "The goddess of death, yes. I know that my presence isn't very well known in this world, there's..." For the first time, the amused smile fades from her face, a storm entering those bright purple eyes. "There's something wrong with the balance of this world. Something that needs to be corrected."
"And is that why you're here?" Quackity squeaks from the ground. Shit, when had he fallen to the ground? His knees were bent and near his chin now, huddled up against a wall like a scared child hiding from monsters. Which, in his defense, feels like the appropriate reaction to being faced with the Goddess of freaking Death, even one currently inhabiting his enemy's body.
Kristin snorts. "Oh, I have no idea how to fix that. That's up to you mortals around here, not me, nope! I'm not here for that."
"Oh, fuck." Quackity gasps, scrambling to his feet, back and hands pressed firmly to the wall. "Are you here to like— claim a soul? Kill someone, or— or whatever it is you...do?"
Kristin's face screws up in distaste, and she takes another drink of the potion. "Oh, shit, do I have to? This is meant to be my vacation, man, I'd rather just, you know, go to the pool...? Can I still do that?"
"Y-yes!" Quackity stammers. "Like I said, uh, it's open! Go ahead, go- go right ahead." His hand is drifting to his communicator, half a mind to open an emergency line to Foolish and Fundy and demand they get over here right the fuck now to attend to their very important guest.
"Thank you," Kristin says warmly. She adjusts the towel over her shoulder, and as she takes a few steps toward the pool, Quackity is just about to pull out his communicator when she suddenly stops. "Oh. One more thing, actually."
"Sure, yeah, uh- anything!" Quackity says too easily, fear making his tongue loose.
"So, I talk to Phil a lot, when I can, and my crows here, they tell me a lot too, they're like my eyes and ears," Kristin explains patiently. "Which means, Quackity, I've heard a lot about you."
Quackity gulps. "Oh, yeah?" He laughs, a small and trembling thing. "All good things, I hope, all good things."
"Hm." Suddenly, Kristin's smile isn't so warm anymore. Suddenly, Quackity feels cold to his very core. "I just wanted to pass on a little warning, Quackity. If you, for some reason, decide that continuing to pursue my husband and the ones he cares for is a good idea..." She crooks an eyebrow, a small laugh leaving her mouth. "There will be no bounds in any world that could keep me from finding you. Death, after all, is an inescapable thing no matter who tries to cheat it. Okay?"
Quackity thinks he may as well be dead at this very minute, for how all the blood has drained from his face, legs shaking violently as if the slightest wind could knock him over. "Yeah," he whimpers, teeth chattering, quickly becoming a rambling mess. "Yeah, yes, yes, I- I understand. I won't— I won't bother him. Or you. Would hate to bother you, I'm sure you have plenty of other important things to be killing— I- I mean doing!"
By the time he finishes rambling, Kristin has already begun stepping away toward the pool entrance, apparently satisfied with what she had said. As Quackity stands there, trying to recover his wits, he can hear her whisper to the crows perched atop her hat. "Did I do it? Was I scary enough, chat? I hope Phil isn't too mad when he finds out... you think we can keep this between us?"
Unsurprisingly, that one-sided exchange does nothing to assuage Quackity's terror. He stands there until Kristin entirely disappears into the pool, and then sprints back to the top of the Needle, not stopping until he's as safe as he can be at the top. Almost immediately, Quackity leans over the side and dry heaves, ragged breaths scratching at his throat while his legs shake violently and his chest aches with panic and pain.
Almost automatically, his eyes settle on the goddess—though from this distance, she looks indistinguishable from Phil—where she has settled herself on a towel near the pool, laying down by the side of it. Crows are scattered around her, hopping too and fro. A few are bobbing in the water, floating around for a few minutes before flying out. Feathers are scattered everywhere, and Quackity knows beyond a doubt that there is going to be a huge clogging in the pool drains within a few hours.
He should go down there and yell at them to cut it out. These are his lands, dammit! He's in charge here!
Those words feel a lot less convincing than the last time he had said them.
Quackity doesn't go down to the pool again.
Just an hour later, Kristin stands up, and she leaves. Adjusting her hat, crows flocking to her arms and hopping along every building as she walks by, she simply stands and walks from Las Nevadas like nothing had ever happened at all. Simply finished with Las Nevadas, and hopefully Quackity by an extent.
When the day has ended, and he's as certain as he can be that the goddess won't be coming back, Quackity finds that he is left with nothing but a handful of sopping wet crow's feathers, and the terrifying memories of her presence.
And for the first time in a long time that night, he prays to Prime for protection. The prayers are clumsy on his tongue, but he pushes through them anyways, because anything is better than the idea of facing her ever again.