Unsolved Crimes Against Humanity

Part 1

A tiny sweat droplet falls from Quackity's forehead down to his lips, his breath heavy and nervous. Wilbur realized the tension and smiled at the shorter man standing beside him. Taking the cigarette out of his mouth he blew a puff of smoke and chuckled turning his full attention to Quackity with a smug grin. "Or, maybe it could be something else." a little corner smirk printed onto Quackity's face.

Wilbur gave a slightly condescending glance before laughing once again and leaning against the railing of the balcony, that they had spent the evening on, with a sigh and smiling curiously.

Quackity stands up and yells with a bit of embarrassment "Hey, listen up, you British maniac! I'm the one that's in charge here you can't be laughing at me!"

"Okay, do your worst." He was curious to see how this would turn out and if Quackity could actually muster the courage to make a drastic move. "this will be fun.."

Quackity moves up close to Wilbur as his legs start to shake out of nervousness and being tired from the other night, stuttering and mumbling as he tries to think of what else he would say. He mumbles under his breath "fuck... you got me this time, Wilbur, but next time I will get you.. I will..."

With a more aggressive tone, Wilbur smirks and leans in to speak into Quackity's ear, his hot breath trickling down the skin of his neck. "Don't speak to me in that tone ever again, you hear me? I know you're in charge, but I too have the ability to make my own choices. I can laugh, I can smile, I could even sing out to my heart's desire, but I'd rather spend that amount of fun to myself if you're going to be a whiny bitch about it." He muttered angrily, though he kept the smirk over his face and pulled back, gently pressing a finger over Quackity's chest before he lightly pushed him into the railing of the balcony, and stepped back, folding his arms.

Quackity shuddered at Wilbur's words and stayed leaning against the balcony railing, his heart pounding inside of his chest with an abusive power that felt like knives piercing his organs. He pushed himself off of the railing, looking up with a soft glare into Wilbur's eyes, his own being filled with embarrassment, but he kept himself standing strong, his confidence slowly decreasing. "Well if it's going to be that way, I'd say it'd be best if you left this damn place. Leave Las Nevadas, and don't come back." He snapped back, clenching his fists defensively.

"Fine by me. So long, mi amor." He smirked again, turning around and walked off, his trench coat swaying gracefully as he took each step. Quackity gave a small sigh of relief as he saw Wilbur walk away, and walked back into his office, where he had grabbed out a lightly burned piece of paper and a quill, placing them gently on his desk and sat down. He took the quill into his hand, and dipped it into the dark, nightly colored ink, tapping it on the edge of the container before he hovered the quill over the paper, and began writing a letter. Well, it was more of a complaint note, but he did write, and every time the page was filled, he'd grab a new one. It had become more of a novel now, and each page he wrote, he had stacked on top of one another. Creating towers of writing. Cathedrals, per se.

Wilbur had made his way back to Pogtopia, where he had met with an old friend. An ally, who had fought in the war of L'Manberg, Wilbur's old nation that he had founded years ago. L'Manberg was, unfortunately, now blown up, due to Wilbur's uncontrollable sense of direction. Wilbur was known for creating the nation, and destroying it, and there was no way of turning the past to an unrenowned present, which was impossible to recover at this point. No two soul that crossed each other now would ever be able to speak about the past as something that had been fixed. Nothing changed, and nothing will.

This new personage that Wilbur spoke to stood confident and tall, their long pink hair tied back into a braided bun, some loose strands in the front swaying gently as they tilted their head. A long red cloak was clipped to their shoulders, as well as a netherite axe that rested on their back. Wilbur spoke up as he encountered this personage. "Hey there, Techno.. it's been a while, eh? Haven't seen you since Doomsday." He spoke as though nothing had happened when he was in Las Nevadas, and didn't mention a single thing about it either.

"It really has been a while, William. How did limbo treat you?" Technoblade joked, though it sounded more like a sarcastic remark that could've been heard as an insult, but Wilbur thought nothing of it, and chuckled softly. "It was quite nice, actually. I don't suppose you've seen Phil around, have you? And where's Tom?" Wilbur asked, growing rather curious. "Oh, Tom's been exiled from L'Manberg. Tubbo's the new leader of the nation, nobody's really active there anymore. Shops closed down and stuff. It's been a real mess since you died."

Wilbur gave a more seemingly distraught gaze, his posture failing over him, his back slouched. "What? Exile? Why..? What did he do to make.. his best friend put him on exile..??" At this, Technoblade only nodded, folding his arms and leaned against a nearby wall, which stood as the wall that was built around Pogtopia, protecting it from the outside. Since seeing him nod, Wilbur groaned with a painful tone, tilting his head back and rubbing at his eyes, shaking his head. "No.. that's not.. I need to talk with someone.. fucking christ.." He muttered quietly, continuing to shake his head.