Chapter Text

Ancap took a long drag out of the joint before he passed it to the Post Leftist who awkwardly had been hunching over from the back of the sofa.

Qui had just arrived after he had called and invited quim to his domain, which he at first got an ear piercing, screechy no to. But as things usually go with quim, after he promised drugs quis answer immediately did a sharp turn of a 180 degrees.

He didn't specifically mention he'd expect repayment later on, but of course that was not a scam, only a business tactic. Though, knowing quim, qui wouldn't even manage to repay.

Atleast not in cash.

He coughed a bit from the marijuana's raspy burn scratching on the inside of his windpipe and slumped back into the overly luxurious leather couch.

Qui climbed over it in an almost animalistic manner, instead of walking around it and just sitting down on quis ass like a regular, civilized human being, and let quemself plummet down next to Ancap.

''Ancom,'' he started, the drugs mushing with his mind and the remaining leftover syllables jumbling before they could find their way out his mouth.

''Mmh..Yes?'', qui hummed calmly, apparently not bothering to correct him with his misuse of an outdated label on quim.

Qui exhaled the smoke, the milky vapor curling up into fine strings and fading into thin air.

''Y..Y'know..I've..Been thinkin'..'', he drunkenly slurred and lazily slithered an arm around the fellow Anarchist.

The walls were wobbling unsteadily and the lights smoothly transitioning between several neon hues. A smile tugged at his lips as a bit of physically felt regret stung through his lungs. He really shouldn't have taken that much, on second thought.

''About..The Authoritarians..I am glad we're rid of 'em for now..'', he widely grinned as qui slowly nodded in response.

Qui relaxed a tad and rested quis head against his shoulder as qui placed the joint between quis lips again.

He sunk further into the squishy couchpillows as his thoughts drifted, not being able to focus on the present with all the substances nipping at his reality.

After he had left the centricide, shortly after ancom- now post left-, he dedicated himself to the construction of what he originally perceived possible only in his most far fetched fantasies.

And although some might've defined it as a dystopia, to him it had been everything but.

The Ancapistan he had invisioned and had been aiming to create was sheer perfection, and with the enthusiastic financial support of his fellow capitalists they actually managed to build it up from where initially had been untouched potential, a jungle inhabited by primitive tribes near a dried up desert.

There had been some hefty backlash by the media and some gen z hippies protesting against climate change and the preservation of nature or something, but he had it all under perfect control.

They could bicker all they want, he still would always be the one with the finger hovering over the red button; always ready to take it a notch higher and up to be willing to wage a full on war against these kids and communists and their ridiculous crying about god-fucking-trees.

Incase their propaganda against his oil companies got to a point where they caused his profits to decrease he'd make sure they'd pay up for it accordingly, one way or another.

He knew if he revealed the methods on how they secured the space for themselves to the smaller Anarchist, qui would make an unreasonably huge wuzz about him being a colonialist leech that is racist and steals from people who cannot defend themselves against his manipulative methods. Or anything like that.

Which wouldn't even be true, qui just didn't know shit about economics, transactions, the NAP et cetera, but that was, to his disappointment, absolutely nothing new. Maybe as a Post Leftist, qui would finally be able to be graced with the enlightenment of the free market.

He felt quem clumsily run quis gloved knuckles over the edge of his jaw as qui snuggled closer against his chest. Not sure if it was the influence of the coke mixed with weed and some hallucinogen but he could swear he heard quim softly purring.

''I..'', qui hiccupped, quis voice strained,

''I miss Tankie though...''

He rolled his eyes underneath the violet gucci shades and heaved a sigh, not bothering to care if the Postie was now offended by his obvious annoyance seeping through. Not that he'd feel the need to then apologize.

Qui was offended ninety percent of the time anyway whenever qui conversated with anyone outside of quis small social bubble filled with people sharing the exact same views.

But instead of what he expected, qui had just reached for his tie and began stupidly playing with it like some disoriented cat. To his own surprise he didn't mind the further intrusion and just pulled quem closer.

''You know..'', quis luminous emerald eyes fluttered up to him, a childish gleam twinkling in them, ''..Maybe he misses me..Aswell..?''

Ancap tried surpressing his amusement to quis naiveté and his choked down laughter just reformed into a dismissive snort.

''Who knows. Maybe that alcoholic does miss you, but I am the one that is currently present and didn't backstab or ditch you.''

The sweet, almost angelic innocence in quis irises immediately extinguished. Quis view darkened and sunk down to the LED lit glass table.

It was covered, in syringes, messily lined up white powder and cut off plastic straws. Quis gaze avoided him like he was a parent and had just slapped quim straight across the face in public. The Anarkid's lips pursed shut and qui just responded with lasting silence.

He had to admit to himself, despite the Tankie essentially being one to betray his ''comrades'' and reasoning it with the ends always justifying the means, he would likely do the same thing to quim. Well, not only to quim, but anybody that would be standing in his way of success.

He would trample them like any upper classman from the 18th century would with a field of overly fragile daisies, stunning to some but a disgustingly useless waste of space to him which he believed should be replaced with efficient machinery and a well structured nine to five work plan.

The only actual reason why he called quim over in the first place was because he needed satisfaction for his own cravings, and ever since qui had left that authoritarian all qui did was bitch and moan about him, about the what had been to him the very foreseeable failure of leftist unity.

Their friendship with advances just returned to being a regular friendship after that due to quis overly delicate heart and he felt like qui had broken an unspoken deal.

Not that Ancap was surprised by quim being fed up with the commie's shit though, Statists will stay Statists. But he really didn't feel like comforting quim like some fucking babysitter, he wasn't even getting anything proper in return anymore to make quis constant whining bearable.

His view snuck over to quim. Qui was still peacefully curled up next to him and qui looked absolutely gorgeous; even despite the distastefully garish turquoise covering quis eyelids being smeared with black streaks of run down mascara from quim bawling for hours on hours to him.

The maquillage made quem uncomfortably closely resemble one of the cheap prostitutes he used to frequently book in very desperate times. This usually would've made him cringe even more than any SJW from one of these compilations ever could but the aesthetic just ideally reflected quis entire essence. It forged an impeccability, a rarity of the imperfection perfecting quim, like a piece of fool's gold being polished. Absolutely worthless and of no value in comparison to actual riches but still such a sight to behold.

This alone was a quality he only managed to discover in quim. And he loved quim dearly for it.

He only now noticed quis orbs which were focused entirely back on him, dreamily gazing at him and taking him in like he was some sort of celestial or an entirely new dimension which qui seemed to had lost quemself in.

Mirroring the shattered chandelier's light illuminating them from above they reminded him of the strewn out leaf coloured tourmalines he recently set up for auction and painfully had to part with due to financial crisis.

Quis sight always managed to light up small, prickly and almost painful sparks inside the capitalist's heart, which was, with an exception for quim, frozen to the core with layers on layers of thick pack ice. He felt a rare heat rush to his cheeks as he sensed Post Left's breath brushing against his neck.

A smile crept up his lips and he gently reached up to caress quis silky chocolate coloured locks, letting them run through and lightly wrap around his gloved fingers.

Qui was still fondling around with his tie. He gently placed a finger beneath quis chin and made quim look up at him, a fresh layer of wetness glazing quis lashes.

Of course. Qui had cried. Again.

Ancap didn't even feel irritated anymore at this point.

He breezily wiped off the tears rolling down quis cheeks with his thumb, the glove's shiny golden fabric staining with the liquidized mascara.

He felt such a copious amount of pity for quim. He always did, and he hated it.

He knew if he ever admitted this to quim qui would recoil and snap, like a feline who just got dunked in a tub filled with arctically cold water.

Quis pride always wavered in the highest magnitudes. Qui wouldn't ever accept compassion by anybody, not even by quimself. The faded and fresh scars painting across quis scrawny limbs, paler than any bleached canvas due to quim starving quimself for literal days and only ever injecting heroin every few hours or so, were indefinite proof; for quim being the least merciful person in quis life, and anybody daring to try and disrupt these toxic relations would inevitably trigger a worse outcome.

Brushing a few fine strands of hair out of quis face, he smoothly cupped it and qui leaned into the touch, an alluring smile playing on quis glossed lips.

Suddenly, a flash of brilliance.

''Ancom?''

''..Yes?''

''How about..'', he thoughtlessly snatched a cut straw off the table and began boredly twirling it between his slender fingers while trying to carefully choose his words.

''..A compromise?''