Pandemonium | Dream SMP

53. I'm recharging.

I'm on my way to Schlatt's office when I hear the yelling. A monstrous cacophony of voices, each trying to rise above the other. I recognise one easily as Schlatt's, but the other...the other sounds like Quackity?

My fingers barely graze the door before one swings inward and a red-faced Quackity storms out. He sends me a sharp glare, his lips pressed thin, and proceeds to march down the hall and out of sight.

I stand, bewildered by Quackity's hateful expression. Did he think I heard the argument?

Edging into the office, I find Schlatt pouring himself a glass of whiskey. His hair is unruly and falls all about the place, tangled around his ram horns. He looks like shit.

"What was that all about?" I question, walking over to perch at the edge of his desk. I place my hands in my lap and wait patiently for him to finish down the glass. Which he does, in record time, and drops it onto the desk with a loud clink.

"A fucking mess." He grumbles, sitting back and pushing a hand through his curls. "Apparently I don't respect my Vice President the way he wants me to. Like, what the fuck does that even mean? I respect him! Especially when he doesn't give crappy advice." Schlatt sinks deeper into his chair and reaches for the bottle of whiskey again.

"It sounds to me like you haven't been giving Quackity enough positive reinforcement," I say after a moment's thought, lifting the whiskey bottle up and out of the man's reach before he can take another swig. "If you're only scolding him for the things he does wrong, and ignoring the things he does right, then he'll only see you in a negative light. You should praise him the next time you see him, or even better, thank him." I scrunch up my nose. "The whiskey isn't helping, either. How much have you drunk today? Scratch that, this week?"

"It's his job to get things right. Why should I praise him for doing what's expected of him? And gimme my bottle back."

"No. You've had enough, sir." I scold lightly, "it's not even the afternoon and you smell like a brewery already. I'll get you a protein shake if you're thirsty."

A pair of large hands grip my sides, pulling me down from the desk and onto Schlatt's lap. I raise an eyebrow but make no effort to move.

"I'm tired," he sighs suddenly, looping his arms around my waist and burying his face in my stomach.

I falter, unsure what to do with this mood change. Is this a ruse to lower my guard, or is he actually exhausted?

Placing the whiskey bottle back on the desk, I run my fingers through his hair, like a mother soothing her child.

"Being President isn't supposed to be an easy job," I say softly.

The man says something but his words are muffled against my stomach. I give a small laugh, curling my fingers in his hair.

"What was that? I didn't quite hear."

"How the fuck are you so perfect?" He mutters, tilting his head back to peek up at me. His dark eyes are half-lidded and sleepy.

"Is that the alcohol talking?" I question with a hum, placing my hands to his cheeks.

He sighs contentedly and leans into my touch, his eyes flickering closed. "Does it matter? I'm still the one saying it."

"True." I muse.

My heart softens as I gaze down at this horned man, his breathing soft and his expression even softer. Again I'm reminded of just why I follow this sly fool. It's for this side of him. The side that I love.

There's a knock at the door.

"Someone's knocking," I hum, my eyes still trained on Schlatt's face.