“ "Just uh- dropping off some copies." Quackity replies slowly with narrowed eyes, looking over Schlatt. He doesn't look his best. Well, he never really looks his best since presidency.
"Are you... are you good, man?" He sets the papers down on the desk, snatching up the tumbler to see how much he drank. "How are you not passed out right now?" Quackity mumbles, marveling at his alcohol tolerance. ”
— @best-vice-evr
Schlatt scowled seemingly at Quackitys appearance, grumbling at his approach even more, before burying his nose back in his draft of a speech. Well, what was supposed to be a speech that was..
Rather upon closer inspection, this was the ramblings of a drunkard homeless addict. That suited the frantic looking scribbled words and doodles of Wilbur crying to the side.
“Drop them on the desk, I’m sure it’s easy to at least do that quickly.” He murmured under his breath (toward the end), rather he’d get his snide comment out without a long winded conversation about his manners after.
Schlatt looked over with dilated eyes when Quackity seemed to question his state, huffing with an annoyed expression as he opened his mouth to give a witty response— but rather he felt the warm glass he’d been nursing all afternoon pulled away, “Hey dick head, that’s mine. Get your own!”
Schlatt rolled his eyes as he reached to snatch his glass back, scoffing at such a response. “You just- grow a tolerance, what can I say. Now would you give me my drink back?”…
