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God, Tubbo smells like shit.
He’s spent too long in this office, stewing in the stagnant air. Schlatt’s administration has heralded the end of the eight hour work week, especially for his own staff. It’s been almost ten hours now.
Tubbo figures he could be out a bit earlier if he were not so busy with his second, more illegal job. He must spend thirty percent of that time copying down legislature and planting seeds of doubt within Schlatt’s propaganda. Right now Tubbo is sorting through his filing cabinet, trying to get everything in order before he leaves. Also not in order. He’s stealing government documents.
He keeps his office door locked. He says it’s a habit left over from the war, and that gives Schlatt an opening to criticize Wilbur, so he never tells Tubbo to stop. This comes in handy when Tubbo is doing less than legal things in his office, like he is now. Tubbo is shoving government documents into his already bulging briefcase, just skimming a bit off the top, not enough for anyone to notice. These are usually just itinerary’s or someone’s notes they’ve taken during a meeting, but Wilbur says everything counts. So he brings everything.
Tubbo lugs the briefcase along with him as he unlocks the door and enters the hallway. He doesn’t like how ornate it is. Schlatt has been renovating it, with candle lit chandeliers and long carpets Tubbo is scared to step on.
In the ostentatious hallway, Tubbo sees Schlatt and Quackity arguing amongst themselves. Schlatt is leaning over him, looking unaffected. Quackity is backed up against the wall, gesticulating wildly. It is not uncommon for Tubbo to catch them in a battle of wills, especially lately. He usually avoids this like the plague, trying not to get on Schlatt’s bad side and blow his cover. He also doesn’t want to screw over Quackity, who he has a very tense truce with right now.
But tonight, he’s so tired, and they’re standing in front of the exit. Tubbo spent today trying to pick up Schlatt’s slack on the diplomacy front, fielding calls to the Greater SMP and trying to establish any kind of trade. His wrist is killing him, and the day isn’t even done yet. In Tubbo’s briefcase are transcripts and copies of every conversation he has had and everything he’s written down this week. He is expected to deliver these to a rendezvous point currently twelve miles from his location.
The point of that is, he needs out of here, as soon as possible. And he’s willing to risk a run-in with his coworkers for it.
“It’s just not sustainable, you’ve seen how these policies failed under Wilbur, how can you expect it’ll go any differently now?” Tubbo hears Quackity say, as he starts down the long hallway.
“That failed under Wilbur because he never proposed an alternative, just stopped outright.” Schlatt says, maintaining composure. “It’s really clear to me you don’t understand what I’m talking about, so you can stop acting like you do.
“Wh-you’re such a prick! This was half of my campaign, if you’re such an isolationist, why the fuck did you bring me on?!” Quackity spits. Tubbo keeps his gaze on his shoes, getting closer to the couple. He hopes he can just squeeze behind Quackity.
“Okay, I’m having none of this. Alex, one of us here is the actual fucking president,” Schlatt starts. “and he gets to pick how things are run around here. So if you don’t like it, you can just leave.”
The argument picks up again, and Tubbo speeds up. Quackity is practically growling now, while Schlatt holds his hands up in mock-defeat. Tubbo sets his jaw, trying to look as unassuming as possible, like if he doesn’t breathe they won’t see him.
It doesn’t work though, and as Tubbo begins to squeeze behind Schlatt, he is stopped by a hand on his shoulder.
“Hey, kid.” Tubbo snaps his head back to see Schlatt leaning over him. Tubbo straightens himself under his gaze, and sees Schlatt’s mouth twitch at that. “You heading home?”
“Yes, sir.” Tubbo nods, waiting for Schlatt to move his hand. It’s on his right arm, the arm holding the briefcase, the briefcase holding the documents, the documents holding the proof that Tubbo is traitor scum to be crushed beneath Schlatt’s heel. “I’ve got transcripts of my meetings with Eret and Dream in your office, for your perusal.”
“Great. That was about trade, right?” Schlatt asks, feigning ignorance. He still hasn’t moved his hand. Tubbo nods, stiffly. “Oh, well this is just perfect. Me and Q were just discussing trade policies. I’d love to hear your opinion.”
Tubbo hopes Tommy is willing to wait in the woods another hour.
“Come on, don’t bring Tubbo into this.” Quackity laughs, nervously. Quackity has been asking that a lot lately.
“I mean, foreign policy is the Secretary of State’s business! I’m sure he’s got some opinions on it.” Schlatt turns around to face Quackity again, dragging Tubbo with him. It takes everything in Tubbo’s power not to trip over himself as he spins, but he remains steely, standing between his bosses. “I’m suspicious of the boats we’ve got docked right now. They’re supposed to be from the Badlands, trading sand and porcelain for our farm goods. But they’ve been there for weeks, and I feel like it might be some Pogtopia business.”
Tubbo knows this is most certainly not Pogtopia business, and that trade just takes a while, but confirming Schlatt’s suspicions might get him off Pogtopia’s back for a minute. Send him on a wild goose chase through the Badlands, who are one of the few factions who have placed themselves firmly on the side of Manberg.
“You’re so fucking paranoid. If we cut off trade with the Badlands, not only will we be totally disrupting the already struggling economy-thanks for that, by the way-we will also be straining our relationship with the Badlands who are, oh yeah, our only fucking allies!” Quackity retorts, huffing. “Wilbur tried this during the first war, back before they had farms set up, and they almost starved. We’re lucky enough to have farms set up now, but we’re asking for a repeat.”
Quackity is almost right. Wilbur hadn’t cut off trade, Dream had, disrupting all their supply lines and threatening anyone who tried to keep trading with them. He doesn’t like that rewrite, but otherwise, he makes good points.
Too good of points. Tubbo needs to ensure Quackity’s advice goes in one ear, and out the other, before Schlatt becomes a greater threat. If he can cut off Manberg’s allies, that will give Pogtopia an even bigger advantage. Tubbo makes the split second decision to throw Quackity under the bus.
“I don’t remember ships ever staying ported that long!” Tubbo turns to Schlatt, playing up his youth and surprise. “Have you seen them around Manberg?”
“I know, right?” Schlatt asks, finally removing his hand from Tubbo’s shoulder. “And the weirdest part is they’ve barely been in Manberg. Most of them are just holed up on that ship.”
“Weird.” Tubbo agrees, adjusting his grip on the briefcase.
“Well, hold on just a minute.” Quackity interrupts. He looks pissed. Schlatt grins at the sight. “I took a look at some of Wilbur’s old transcripts-oh calm down, Schlatt-and I saw some boats stayed here for more than three months at a time.”
Shit. Tubbo had been banking on the both of them not being around then, and thus not being able to fact check. Schlatt had tried to erase every piece of documented history of Wilbur’s presidency. He hadn’t considered that Quackity might still have a few pieces. And it looks like Schlatt didn’t either.
“Now why the hell would you have something like that?” Schlatt steps in front of Tubbo, standing incredibly close to Quackity. Quackity has to tilt his chin up to make eye contact with him. Schlatt’s tone is still playful, but hold a hint of malice.
“They’re important, Schlatt, I get you want to keep it out of the people’s hands, but they have some useful in-”
“Jesus, can you shut up?” Schlatt interjects, showing emotion for the first time tonight. He’s losing his composure, falling into an expression of anger. “I’m hearing I told you to do something, and you didn’t do it.”
“Yeah, you want me to burn a bunch of important government documents. Of course I didn’t do it, I took them out of the libraries, but I’m not gonna destroy them.” Quackity says, shoulders squared. He’s taking on the posture he uses when he’s threatened, when he’s scared.
“You’re fucking useless.” Schlatt spits. “I tell you to do shit for a reason. When I tell you to do something, you do it. You don’t bicker with me about what you think, or what you want to do, because that’s not what you’re here for. And you know that.”
Tubbo averts his eyes. He can’t leave yet, not without Schlatt’s permission, that would be too suspicious. But he doesn’t enjoy watching Quackity-who is not his friend, not by a long shot, but seems to be the only person as miserable as Tubbo, these days-take the berating Tubbo just avoided.
“I think I was pretty fuckin’ clear that when we pooled, you’d be there to have a pretty face and do my dirty work. And you agreed.” Schlatt jabs Quackity in the chest, and Quackity swats at his hand. “So I expect to see a little more obedience. You feel me?”
Quackity stares at Schlatt, face resolute. His eye twitches.
“I asked you a question.” Schlatt says again.
“I feel you.” Quackity surrenders.
“Good.” Schlatt steps back. “Tubbo, tomorrow I want you to draft a letter telling the Badlands I want them out of our port. And Quackity, I want you to finish getting rid of these documents, like I asked you to.”
“Yes sir.” Tubbo nods. Quackity doesn’t speak, but he nods too.
“Great. You’re dismissed.” Schlatt, falling back into a stony expression, turns on his heel and marches out of the whitehouse.
Tubbo gathers himself, and as he heads towards the door, turns back to see Quackity. Quackity is leaning against the wall, looking furious. His fists are balled at his side, and he is deep in thought. He snaps out of it and turns his head towards Tubbo, looking at him curiously.
“Goodnight, Big Q.” Tubbo says, trying not to sound half as bad as he feels.
“‘Night, Tubbo.” Quackity nods at him, and Tubbo books it out of there.