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On a rainy day in September, a lone man walked to the church. The bishop wasn’t there to take confession, and the door was closed—church attendance was down everywhere, such a shame—but frankly, he wasn’t here for anything the bishop could offer him.
The door was unlocked, so he walked in and right up to the altar.
He adjusted the sleeves of his jacket, brushing off his shoulders in case any lint had gathered. He cleared his throat.
“Quackity?” he called. No answer. He tapped on the altar. Above him, the church bells rang, sounding more like a buzz than a toll. The man didn’t pay them any attention, staring over the altar until the bells cut out.
“I’m busy, Schlatt,” Quackity’s voice echoed through the church. “This had better be good.”
Schlatt, because that’s who it was, sighed and dropped a book on the altar.
“The book’s magic,” he said. “It’ll revive you or whatever.”
“I’m not dead,” Quackity said. Then, “Wait, revive-? What’s happening there?”
Schlatt took a second to answer.
“Well,” he said, “I took over Tommy’s house and exiled him.”
“Exiled him.” Quackity’s voice changed, turning flat and unimpressed. Schlatt rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously.
“Renamed New Jersey to New York, revoked his citizenship, said the line about it. Killed one of his friends a few times, too.”
“Schlatt, it is twenty-twenty-fucking-five. How did you get involved in this? Again?”
“Entirely voluntarily,” he swore. “There’s only two guys who could drag me into something like this, and both of them are in this call.”
“So if you’re doing his greatest hits, this is a booty call.”
Damn, Quackity was fast.
“I dunno,” Schlatt said. “This time around my right-hand man’s this guy named Lukey and he’s pretty qualified for it. Loyal as a cat and completely amoral, but you know…he doesn’t laugh like you.”
“Yessir,” Quackity said mockingly. “I bet he doesn’t have an ass, either.”
“You could take him,” Schlatt said, and it was probably a lie, but they both knew why he was saying it. “Been a while since I last went mad with power, and I think my governorship of New York needs some twinks to be the court wrestlers.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Quackity’s voice turned teasing. Schlatt opened his mouth to say something like There you go, playing stupid just like old times, of fucking course I would but Quackity kept talking- “Me kneeling in front of you, taking your favour before we fight-” and Schlatt realized his tone changed and took the conversation with it.
“My tie,” he said, and sat down against the altar. His bones didn’t hurt on this server, no rotten book seeping death into his body, alcohol mostly in his rearview mirror with the dynamite boy. Still, he knew where this was going, and if Quackity wanted him to do that in his church, well, who was Schlatt to go elsewhere? “I wrap it around your arm so you’ll always be the brightest one in the wrestling ring.”
Quackity snorted. “That’s a look,” he said, like he had the taste to know how to dress. Schlatt closed his eyes, picturing Quackity there before him, wearing Schlatt’s red on his arm. He looked up at him like-
“Is that all you’re giving me?” Quackity asked. He was practically purring from the attention. God, Schlatt loved him. “Come on, I’m on my knees in front of you and all you take off is your tie?”
“Wait-”
“Sorry, missed your chance, old man. I have an Uber to catch.”
With a click like a lock, the presence of Quackity departed from the church. Schlatt was left alone with a silence as echoing as a bell and the vague idea that he mishandled that conversation.
He’d try again tomorrow. Maybe he wouldn’t mention Lukey this time. At least, whatever else happened, he could always lean on Tubbo until he brought about Armageddon and let Schlatt go home early. Until then…well, he had a New York to run.