CW/TW: Mentions of sexual assault, toxic abusive relationships, substance abuse, mentions of nausea, mentions of blood
Song suggestions: Starships by Nicki Minaj for the line "The atmosphere in the casino has shifted dramatically".
Wilbur's POV:
Wounds may heal, but scars stick around as their reminders.
* * *
The atmosphere in the casino has shifted dramatically.
Upbeat club music has replaced soft jazz, and strobe lights flash from pink to blue. The crowd is screaming, drunken visitors grinding up against each other to the music. Mobs huddle around various game tables, disappointed groans momentarily drowning out the music and cheers viciously rocking the room only seconds later. I crunch over a mess of shattered glass on the carpet, stumbling and losing Quackity in the chaos of the party before spotting him a few paces ahead.
I duck under waiters' trays and swerve around game tables as I trail behind Quackity, who watches me with an amused expression every time I trip over a guest's shuffling feet. I shoot him a sheepish grin.
Across the casino, I spot Schlatt, who stands at a large round table, blood already dried on his shirt and a tissue shoved up his nostril. It appears he's tag-teaming a line of shots with Tommy, whose face is a concerning shade of red. I scowl.
Ranboo stands behind them in the crowd, nervously glancing in my direction and shrugging. There's no controlling Tommy at this point. He's too far gone.
The boy whoops, climbs on top of the table, and swears out the opposing team. Schlatt bellows in response as he leaps onto the table beside Tommy, pulling him into a headlock and screwing up his carefully slicked-back hair. Strands stick up at different angles on his head, and Schlatt carefully sculps the hair into a spiked mohawk.
"FUCKING BADASS!" Tommy screams.
He begins jumping up and down to the beat of the music, shrieking the lyrics with slurred speech, hyping the crowd up. I laugh and shake my head, silently dreading tomorrow morning when his head is pounding louder than the music itself.
The table suddenly buckles and Schlatt cries out, grabbing Tommy by the back of his wrinkled suit, and they tumble back into the crowd surrounding them, a collection of arms, legs, and giggles. Despite myself, a grin sneaks across my face.
I maneuver around a woman carrying a full tray of blindingly toxic-looking green margaritas, and my eyes absentmindedly scan the room to find Dream. I almost walk by the table he's seated at, and to my dismay, he looks like he's enjoying himself.
Dream is sprawled out in the center of a booth, bathed in pink light and surrounded by a small, tight-knit group, his arm wrapped around George protectively. His eyes flick to mine, gaze darkening. With a prompting slight nod of his head, I chase Quackity down to the bar.
"Took you long enough," Quackity teases, nudging an empty chair next to him with his knee.
I seat myself next to Quackity and hear Slime attempting to explain how to twerk in excruciating detail. "Basically, my squishy friends, you stick your ass out and slightly arch your back. Since I'm made of ooey gooey goop, it's a lot easier for me to bend in unnatural ways. Sadly, you will have to deal with your uncooperative human bodies." he chirps from his position on the counter. I can't tell if Slime's drunk or just an idiot. Well, he is an idiot, but he might have had some drinks too.
YOU ARE READING
Silver Tongues and Golden Scars (WILBUR x QUACKITY / TNT DUO)
Fanfiction"Quackity?" I spin around, tackling him and tumbling roughly into the wall behind us. I pin his wrist down, tears dropping onto his soon-to-be crimson shirt. I can almost see the blood seeping out of the wounds I intend to slice into his skin. His p...
