Work Text:
The atmosphere was still in his office, and the night uncommonly quiet. The tick-tick-tocking of the clock and the rhythmic tapping of his pen upon his thigh served as the only sounds in the midst of the dreary night.
He sat at his desk, the surface stacked and steeped with papers, a half-empty forgotten glass of water barely sitting atop the edge of the table. He was nearly bent in two, leaning forward as he was, the words in front of his eyes swaying in some sort of incomprehensible dance.
He bent his head further forwards, his forehead almost pressing against the cool surface of his desk as his eyes drew across the parchment over and over, reading, but never quite comprehending, the numbers and letters dancing across its surface.
Sighing, he drew back and sank into his chair, his hand slowly combing through his hair before coming to a halt against his horns. His eyes jerked to the clock on the wall and back, not quite reading the time, but still checking on reflex.
These forms had to be finished by tomorrow , he thought, It's too important…
Nervously, he brought his pen up to his mouth and bit into its plastic cover, nervously worrying its outer shell, before bringing it back down to the parchment. He pressed the pen's tip against the pale sheet, detailing his words in little swoops and swirls, his cursive sprawl slowly taking more and more space away from the blank white of the page. For a second he let himself get lost in the quick taps and soft scratches of his handwriting, the sound lulling him into an easy state of mind.
Someone knocked on the door, his hand twitched.
For a second he stared at the black smear of pooling ink, the broken pen's reserve seeping away, ruining mindless hours of work. Drawing in a deep breath, he threw his pen across the room as hard as he could. It struck the far wall with a crack, it's not splattering against its surface, a new black stain against the porcelain white walls.
Staring blankly at his outstretched hand, he sighed deeply. It was already a tough night, thank god he just made it a little worse.
He drew his hand up, and then down his face, and swiveled around on his chair. Looking out of the window situated at the back of his office, he took a moment to peer out across the dark city down the grassy knoll upon which his workspace was located. He thought about his journey here, and the friends and enemies he made along the way. He thought about the beauty of the starry night sky, the soft comforts of his bed, and how he wished to sleep. And lastly, he thought about why he had to get this godforsaken paperwork done before the sun once again reared its ugly head at dawn.
‘Manberg…’ He thought, perhaps the one good thing about this whole ordeal was the satisfaction he could take from having a whole county of his own, but even then, god was he tired.
The person knocked on the door again, louder and more insistent.
Schlatt exhaled through his nose, and stood up from his seat to go retrieve his thrown pen. There was no reason to leave the damn thing all the way across the room, after all, he could still, probably , find a use for it.
And speaking of useful things…
"Come in," He spoke aloud, carrying around his office.
A man barged through the door to his side, slamming it into the wall with a dramatic flourish, and Schlatt turned to find the figure of his vice-president, Quackity, standing in his doorway.
The man had a wide and dopey smile stretched across his face, but otherwise looked rugged. His tie was missing, and his suit jacket seemed rumpled, he wasn’t wearing his suits matching pants. He instead wore some comfortable looking blue shorts, and his signature beanie was perched askew atop his head, exposing unkempt haphazard hair. Focusing on the items with his hands, Quackity held in his right hand an open bottle of liquor, and in his offhand, he held tumblers, presumably for the drinking of stated liquor.
“Tough night, eh Schlatt?” Quackity asked with a lopsided smirk, looking at the piles of ever so despised unfinished papers upon his desk.
Schlatt grunted, rolling his shoulders, “Something like that,” He spoke, grimacing. He tightened his fist around his broken pen, ink leaking between his fingers.
“Hey man, no need to be so stiff, man!” Quackity set the bottle and glasses down on top of Schlatt’s desk with a clatter, and spun around to peer at Schlatts form again, “I figured you could use help with all of, ehm,” Quackity met his eyes, and gestures broadly at Schatt’s desk, “All of this .”
“Well, if you’re insisting, why don’t you go ahead and pull up a chair, work on some of these forms for me.”
Quackity chuckled, rolling his eyes, “Of course, man, that’s why I'm here!” Quackity grabbed one of the old folding chairs meant for press meetings from the corner of the room.
“To work?” Schlatt inquired, dubiously.
"Huh?"
Schlatt cleared his throat, " You , are here to work?" He clarified.
“Like, yeah hombre," Quackity beamed at him, a coyish smile on his lips, "To work .”
Schlatt placed the broken remains of his pen on a nearby shelf, and made his way back to his desk. By the time he had settled himself back behind his desk, within his chair's leathery embrace, Quackity had already poured himself a drink, and was working on pouring another.
Quackity's eyes flicked up to Schlatts, “I just figured you could use the, ehh, moral support , tonight, compadre. You looked pretty ragged after the press conference this afternoon. Dead tired.”
Schlatt cocked an eyebrow at the man, “You do remember I’m trying to go clean, right?” Schlatt waved his hand at his paper-strewn desk, “Besides, I don’t think that will help me with this particular problem.”
“I know, I know,“ Quackity spoke, bringing a tumbler up to his mouth, ”I just–" Quackity looked unsure for a moment, "You just looked like you could use a drink, man.” He slid the other glass over the desk to Schlatt.
Schlatt peered down at the clear liqour inside the crystalline glass and sighed, bringing it to his lips, “Fine, but only a little. To take the edge off.”
Quackity smiled, wide and mischievous, “Yeah, to take the edge off.”
Schlatt tipped back the glass.
‐----------------
Schlatt reared back in his chair with an uproarious laugh, slamming his palms down onto the desk’s surface.
"But it's true hombre!" Quackity slurred with a laugh of his own, "He smashed the Ass! On live television!"
Schlatt wheezed, laughing, and flung himself forward and onto his desk, the skin on his forehead buzzed as he pressed himself onto its cool surface.
"But, But-- but-but-but! That's not all!" Quackity drunkenly swayed forward with a grin and a gleam in his eye, "It's what his wife did to him after that you, need , to hear!"
The night was filled with laughter.
‐--------
It was hours later that Schlatt swayed in his seat, and giggled, "Heh, hey… Hey, Quacky-- Quackity! Did I, uh, did I ever tell you, about… the uh, 'bout the..." Schlatt’s gaze lazily drew over to Quackity's slumped form, "The, uhm… Quackity?"
Soft snores escaped the man's lips, his hunched posture rose and fell with each loud snore. The bastard had fallen asleep.
"You motherfucker…" Schlatt uttered softly, "Fallin' asleep in the middle of our goddamn conversation," Schlatt scowled and pointed an accusing finger at the slouched man dozing on his desk, "How dare you."
Schlatt lurched upwards, stumbling to his feet. Swaying to and fro to a dangerous degree, and he struck a hand out to support his weight upon his desk.
"Jesus Christ, man," Schlatt's words were slurred and he rubbed at his face with the back of his hand, "What th' hell did you have in that bottle…"
Schlatt's beast blood gave him some immunity to the effects of alcohol, but even he had his limits, and by the lord, had he far passed them by now.
Schlatt shook his head to try and gain his bearings but merely managed to further discombobulate himself. His eyes felt like they were spinning in their sockets, and in frustration, he tried to focus on the nearest thing that caught his attention, which happened to be the paperwork that still sat on his desk.
Correction, the unfinished paperwork that still sat on his desk.
The very same paperwork they had barely gotten through a quarter of before veering drastically off course. Which, if he recalled correctly, was right about when the liquor-induced haze started settling in.
God, he thought, Why hadn't he stuck with just the one glass?
He felt like he was going to puke.
"Right," Schlatt spoke aloud, filling the quiet night with his voice, "No more paperwork. Not tonight, not ever."
He gathered the most important looking papers into a giant, only just comprehensible clump, and jammed them all into a single Manila folder. He then packed the folder under his arm, and started making his way towards the door, only to pause, and glance back at his desk, still occupied by the snoozing form of Quackity slumped upon its surface.
"Right," He remembered with a grumble. He staggered his way back to his desk, he wrote a quick few words upon a sticky note and slapped it on the folder's front, "Almost forgot the instructions."
On his way out, he left the sleeping man to his inevitable muscle cramps, though Schlatt made sure to flip him off on the way, of course.
He clumsily attempted to grapple the door shut behind himself, and winced when it banged loudly upon closing.
It was a long walk to the living quarters of the White House, but, as he slowly started to meander his way down the hallway, he began to absent-mindedly remark on his surroundings. After all, the inner walls of the White House were designed to be eye-catching, to be tall, and to be imposing.
They were designed to make you feel small .
Schlatt…
Decidedly did not feel small. The way he kept stumbling around, bumping into anything and everything, he, in fact, felt way too large inside the tall imposing archways and too-wide corridors.
He winced as his hip slammed into a table, and suppressed a flinch as an expensive looking vase fell onto the ground and shattered.
It'd be a miracle if he hadn't woken the whole country with that one.
Fortunately, Nobody woke up, and finally , he managed to flounder his way to his destination.
Raising his fist to knock on the door, he missed, and instead stumbled, slamming his entire body into the door.
Grumbling, he suppressed a shudder of pain, and brought his hand up to his face. Shifting his weight to press his side against the cool surface of the door, he basked in its soothing chill, and let a content sigh escape his lips.
He was so comfortable, he could've even fallen asleep, if his makeshift bed hadn't suddenly disappeared, and left him to flail around aimlessly.
A hand shot out to steady him, small and bony. Strong. He raised his eyes to meet those of his savior.
"Schlatt…?" Tubbo barely seemed to stifle a yawn, "What're you-"
Schlatt swung backwards, putting sudden distance between himself and his Secretary of State.
"I've, ehh, got some, uhm…" Schlatt trailed off, his vision blurring, "Some, uhh, some sorta shit paperwork for you to sign, or somethin', kid. Nee' it done by t'morrow."
Tubbo narrowed his eyes at Schlatt, taking in his appearance, and yanked the malia files out under his arm, "Sure thing, boss."
Schlatt stood there, listlessly staring into space.
Tubbo, raised his fingers up to Schlatt’s face, and snapped, "Schlatt…?"
Schlatt’s eyes suddenly focused, and he swatted at the offending appendage, "Cu' tha' shit out, kid."
Tubbo huffs a sigh, and takes a step back into his room, "Alright, Schlatt I'll take care of it. Get some rest."
"Thanks, Tubster…" Schlatt swayed backwards into the wall, "Don' overwork yerself, or… somethin'." He trails off at the end, leaning dangerously to the side.
Tubbo appraises him through tired eyes, "...Get yourself to bed Schlatt." And with that, he softly closes the door behind him.
Schlatt slides down the wall, landing in a pile of limbs, splayed across the floor, "Yeah," he said, "I think I'ma sleep it off…" His words were slurred and his world blackend around the edges.
Schlatt closed his eyes, and instantly fell asleep.
‐--------
Hours later, when Tubbo exited his room, with his finished work tucked under his arm, he would lay his eyes upon the slumped and slumbering form of his boss, drool dripping onto his suit, and he would smile.
And when Schlatt, too, woke hours later, laying on the floor, he would find a cool, silky, blanket over top his shoulders, and a soft, fluffy, pillow beneath his head, he would sit up, and lay his eyes on the rising sun, and he would smile.