uhh @nachosforfree here’s techno’s arrest and “execution” for the kids au thing
please ignore that it’s bad writing/pacing/whatever i wrote this in like 20 minutes
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“I like it here,” says Techno leaning his chin on the windowsill. “They can get heatstroke if they want to, but I’m great here. It’s like bein’ retired. More people should retire young.”
“If you say so, mate,” says Phil from the other side of the window. He’s sitting in one of the few unbroken lawn chairs they have, with Fundy’s head plopped in his lap, securing him in place. “I think I’m practically on house arrest, though. Or outside-arrest.”
Techno nods thoughtfully and goes back to the table to resume eating the apple he’s stolen from the fridge. They sit in silence like that for a few minutes, until Phil sits up, looking intently in the direction of the garden, which Techno can’t see from his position.
“Mate, I think you better get ready.”
Techno slides out of his chair and patters over the window to peer out of it, just as Fundy jumps off of Phil’s lap and bounds around the house in the direction of the front door.
“Them,” murmurs Techno darkly, as the door bursts open and Quackity, Tubbo, Ranboo, and Fundy enter.
“Techno,” announces Quackity, putting his hands on his hips. “You are to return with us immediately to stand trial for...” he glances at the other two, trailing off uncertainly.
“Leaving,” whispers Ranboo loudly.
“And knocking down L’manburg with Wilbur,” adds Tubbo.
“That was an accident,” says Techno with all the righteous indignation an eleven year-old can possibly muster. “And it was mostly knocked down already! Why can’t you get Wilbur to stand trial?”
Right on cue, Wilbur appears at the foot of the stairs with an empty glass in his hand. “Hi guys,” he says conversationally, walking past Techno to put it into the sink. “What’s up?”
“We’re arresting Techno,” informs Quackity with far too much sadistic glee. “We could arrest you too, if you want.”
“Nah,” says Wilbur, already drifting back towards the stairs. “I think revivals should wait for another day.”
Quackity nods and turns back to face Techno, his hand tightening on the broom handle he’s holding. “We’ll get you to come back with us, willing or not.”
Techno casts around for the nearest throwable objects. “You’ll never take me alive,” he shoots back.
Ranboo rubs Fundy’s ears in a mildly worried kind of way as Tubbo and Quackity lunge.
Outside, Phil sips his coffee and listens. From the sound of things, Techno isn’t going down without a fight. There also seems to be quite a bit of hair-pulling involved, mostly between Techno and Quackity. Eventually though, the little procession emerges from the house, with Techno being marched in between Tubbo and Ranboo, and Quackity holding a furry little bundle that seems to be Carl as Fundy weaves through his legs, yapping excitedly.
“Be careful with the kitten!” calls Phil.
“I was in retirement! I was being peaceful!” yells Techno to nobody in particular.
As Techno is marched back to the front lawn, Quackity hangs back to talk to Phil.
“We’re going to execute him,” he says confidingly, eyes glimmering with excitement. “Wanna come watch?”
Well, Phil’s coffee was getting cold, anyway. “Sure mate,” he agrees easily.
Quackity nods seriously and produces a thick plastic bracelet. “We’ll have to restrain you.”
Phil agrees, although he refuses to let the thing go around his neck (he values his share of oxygen, thank you very much) like Quackity wants. Eventually they settle for it going around his ankle (“like a house arrest bracelet, Mr. Phil!”) and together, they make their way to where the others are.
They’ve got Techno sitting underneath the trampoline with his legs crossed and an annoyed expression on his face. Tubbo is balanced on the trampoline with what seems to be an entire box of legos, and seems to be currently preparing to drop it on Techno’s head.
“Tubbo,” says Phil warningly.
“Dad,” gasps Techno despairingly, catching sight of the ‘house-arrest’ bracelet. “Dad, what did they do to you?!”
“Maybe don’t drop that on his head,” offers Phil.
“This is the end,” says Techno flatly, seeming to accept his fate in the span of a few seconds.
“This isn’t a trial,” says Quackity with far too much melodrama for the current stakes. “It’s an execution!”
What happens next is… well, Dream’s little brother (Phil thinks his name is Ponk? Or Punz, maybe?) hops over the fence, and tears through the yard, sending legos scattering and nearly overturning the trampoline entirely. He’s over the other side of the fence before any of them can react, but in the ensuing confusion, Tubbo drops the box.
Techno rolls neatly to the side to avoid getting hit on the head, springs to his feet, snatches Carl up from where he’s lounging in the grass, and flees back into the house.
“Escaped,” says Quackity darkly, before turning to Philza. “You know, you did kill Wilbur. Would you like to stand trial next?”
Tubbo’s already got most of the legos back in the box, and both of them have a distinctly bloodthirsty look in their eyes.
“I’m alright, thanks mate,” says Phil, and heads after Techno before either of them attempts to execute him either.
When he gets back to the kitchen, he discovers Techno sitting up on the counter with an ice cream sandwich, and Tommy rooting through the freezer.
“We were too hot,” says Techno, a bit guiltily. “I’ll share if you like.”
Phil shakes his head at the outstretched ice cream, but does lean over Tommy to grab one for himself. “Long day, huh?” he asks once all of them have ice cream in some form or another. “Attacked, nearly executed…”
Techno nods seriously, scratching lightly at the top of Carl’s head with a slightly sticky hand. “Very long,” he agrees. “I’m starting to think there can be no peaceful revolution. Do you have the texts?”
“The what?”
Techno rolls his eyes. “The texts. The ancient texts. Battle strategy.”
“You mean the Art of War?”
Techno and Tommy both nod vigorously, although Phil seriously doubts Tommy knows what either of them are talking about.
Phil shakes his head, but gets up to go fetch it from the bookshelf anyway.
“You should put it on a lower shelf,” suggests Techno with his best shot at puppy-dog eyes. “So I can reach it better. Much more convenient.”
Phil doesn’t even dignify that with a response, because Techno and easy access to battle strategy is a bad combination, as they’d all discovered three days ago when he had apparently launched an attack against poor Dream and Schlatt with the rest of Pogtopia.
“Put the hat on,” encourages Tommy when Phil sits back down at the table. “You need the hat, big man.”
With a sigh, Phil grabs the striped bucket hat off of the hook where it lives and patiently waits for Tommy’s shrieking laughter to die down. Oh, the things he does for his kids.
i had to wash my face twice just to make sure the dark circles really are mascara. they’re not but maybe they’re just the shadows of pinpricked hands on my face. i’ve been standing under them since i was little, so it makes sense they’d linger, i guess.
it looks sort of cool though, if you’re into the anemic college student look. it could be romantic though maybe? like the paperback-novel vampires and stuff that my mom hates
why do they drink blood anyway? is it irresistible, like someone placing the best-cut steak in front of them? i don’t like meat though
maybe it’s not irresistible exactly, but i imagine liquid salvation is pretty hard to ignore. is it a need? an itch that must be scratched? does it go down easy or is it like scrunching your eyes shut and swallowing shards of stained glass while you pray to a god that has long grown bored?
or not. maybe vampires are as irreverent as the kids who sit in the back pews and scuff their feet. maybe they’re heretics that burn brighter than if you torched the arc and let the flood put the flames out. maybe they’d laugh as briars prick their forehead.
steak.
stake.
hah.
maybe it’s an energy thing. i could use that for mass. i wouldn’t though, because the whole insomniac look is as romantic as the paperback-novel vampires and everyone fucking hates them.
have my eyes always been dull or is it just the fluorescent lighting? it’s washing out my skin too. jeez i look so fucking pale
