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Lo siento

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A large group of people were gathered in a circle, all staring at the same thing and whispering amongst themselves. As Quackity approached the group, he grew ever more confused and concerned.

You see, about five minutes ago, Quackity had received an urgent message from Dream telling him to haul ass to spawn. He didn't say what was happening, didn't say why Quackity was needed, only said that they needed Quackity specifically.

So that leaves us back in the present. The duck hybrid reached the group and tapped one of the people on the shoulders. Phil turned to look at him and gave a weary smile and a soft wave. "Hi, mate."

"Hey, Phil. What's going on? Dream asked me to come over."

Phil bit his lip, glancing back to the center of the circle. "Uh, let's just say we have an uninvited guest, and only you have the expertise to—"

The other avian hybrid was cut off by brash yelling, "TODOS ATRÁS, NO SÉ ATREVAN A TOCARME MALPARIDOS—"

As soon as he heard the sentence, spoken in his native tongue, Quackity choked on air and had to take a second to compose himself. Once calm, he pushed through the crowd to look upon the new, unexpected arrival.

Only to find... a scarf. A very angry scarf. A very angry scarf, currently cussing out all the members of the SMP to hell and back in spanish.

To say the least, Quackity needed more than a minute to get ahold of himself after the initial shock.

Quackity wiped the lingering tears from his eyes and took a few breaths, straightening and looking down at the scarf which had since calmed down and started glaring—albeit it was hard to tell, considering the guy was wearing sunglasses—at Quackity himself. The duck hybrid cleared his throat, crouching down to be at eye level with the other. "¿Quién eres?" He asked politely, trying to be as friendly as possible to the foreign clothing piece.

This seemed to have been the right move, considering how the scarf visibly untensed, now much more at ease knowing there was at least one person who understood him.

Actually, as Quackity continued to wait for an answer, it seemed the other grew more confident. A smirk appeared on his cloth face which made Quackity slightly uneasy, unsure of what the scarf was planning. "Por que," he took a step back, raising fabric arms and radiating an egotistical aura. The people behind him backed off, turning the circle into more of a semi-circle, "yo soy Billy la Bufanda, por supuesto!"

Without warning, the day changed to night, sending the SMPers into a slight panic. The sounds of weapons being drawn was obvious, the glow of enchantments lighting the pitch black area. But that was soon not the case as well. Bright, purple and pink lights—with no actual source—shown upon he ground around Billy, who now had two companions by his side: two pink boots. Music kicked in and the confused—and some terrified—players had to watch in mounting horror as the items of clothing opened their mouths, beginning to sing. In spanish.

Or they were, that was until a crossbow bolt sailed through the air and pierced Billy right between the sunglasses. The boots, along with the players, all gasped in horror.

Technoblade lowered his crossbow and snorted, smirking slightly: the azul y verde bastard was finally dead. Good riddance, he'd say. The man had been stealing his clout for far too long.

Slipping out from the other people, he tapped Phil on the shoulder, altering the man to his departure. Phil quickly fell into step beside him as they both walked back to their arctic home, leaving the rest to deal with the aftermath.

Billy my Beloved