BLIND | DreamSMP

XVIII - Expected Betrayal

L'Manberg looked like shit.

Phil couldn't believe how much worse it had gotten in the short time he had been away. The wooden streets connecting platforms were splintered and cracked, guardrails barely still attached or gone entirely. Chimneys had crumbled, flowerboxes wilted with neglect, paint chipped away from derelict buildings, and assorted bits of trash lay abandoned. It was like the leaders of the country no longer cared about its upkeep.

The view from his kitchen window was depressing; not wanting to spend more time than he had to staring at the place, Phil drew the curtains and focused on the task at hand.

His visits to L'Manberg weren't just about reinforcing his citizenship, but gathering supplies and resources. Though they were never short of the necessities, a bit of good meat or fine drink was hard to come by, complex materials being scarce if not altogether absent in the isolated tundra, and so Phil made certain every visit to fill a knapsack with lavish items to carry back.

Already he had wrapped and packaged several cuts of meat along with a carefully stored bottle of vodka, embroidered cloth, porcelain dishes, treated leather, various spices, and gifts for Techno and Tommy; parchment paper accompanied by a new quill, and a small wooden puzzle cube he thought looked interesting.

Phil stretched tiredly, shaking out his wings to ease the cramps he got from keeping them folded too long. He would sleep here tonight, and depart in the morning; while he didn't want to spend more time than he had to in the desolate city, early spring brought with it unpredictable weather, and it was safer to travel during the day.

In case a snowstorm kicked up, Techno had also lent him a compass, which pointed towards the lodestone set in the foundation of their house. Phil drew the smooth, circular piece from the pocket of his robe, watching as the red arrow that should have faced north swung diagonally, yearning for the invaluable material it was magnetized to.

A sudden banging on his door made him jump; quickly, Phil returned the compass to his pocket and slid the pack full of supplies behind a large flower pot.
The pounding came again, this time accompanied by a voice.

"Philza! Open your goddamn door!" Quackity demanded.

"Just a second!" Phil called, hurriedly scanning the room one last time before hesitantly turning the polished knob.

He was hit immediately by a sickening coppery smell, abundant in its presence; but he barely had time to register the scent of blood as Quackity shoved his way inside, followed by Fundy, Ranboo, and Tubbo. All wore matching white aprons, splattered with a glossy reddish-brown Phil could tell was fresh, the color indicating it had only just begun to oxidize.

"H-hi Phil," Fundy mumbled. The fox-man reeked of tobacco, at which Phil wrinkled his nose.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He asked in an unforgiving tone.

"Why such hostility, old man? We're just visiting!" Quackity responded, faking hurt.

A glance at the pitiful expressions of the others confirmed the lie.

"What do you want from me?" Phil questioned warily, keeping his senses on high alert. Nothing good could come of this interaction.

"Just some information. I'm sure a dedicated citizen such as yourself wouldn't mind assisting his benevolent government, would he?"

This was certainly about his involvement with Techno. Though his heart raced, Phil didn't waver in his speech.

"Of course not."

"Wonderful!"

Quackity's smile didn't reach his hard, cold eyes.

"And as a government that cares so much for its people, it'd be no trouble at all for you to tell me why you're all covered in blood, would it?"