Cₕₐₚₜₑᵣ ₛₑᵥₑₙ: wₕₑᵣₑ'ₛ ₘy ₕₒₘₑcₒₒₖₑd ₘₑₐₗ?

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// TW for swearing in this chapter

"You've been gone for two days now and still no promised homecooked meal? What a shame. Quackity must be so disappointed."

"Oh, please." Pigeon rolled her eyes. She didn't understand what Wilbur's problem with making terrible jokes were,but she knew that she could hardly stand them as it was.

"I see someone's just like her daddy, ain't ya?" Wilbur smiled a bit as he folded some of his laundry.

"So how did you get a hotel room under the name of 'Jared?'"

"I know a guy who knows... someone"

"And they are...?"

"A fox."

"Fundy?"

Wilbur rolled his eyes. "How'd you guess?"

"Oh, nice one, funny guy." Pigeon said, smirking.

"You still owe me that meal."

"You never told me what you wanted, dipshit."

"Fried rice. Homemade soy sauce. Chicken soaked in salsa-but not that crap that whoever in the kitchen keeps making, the good kind-and a plate of strawberries and kiwis, chopped into little pieces, but not too small. And a glass of the best wine you have."

"Everything but the wine. I can't get you the wine." Pigeon said, confidence in her voice.

"Wh- oh. Alright." Wilbur sighed, somewhat understanding why she couldn't get him the wine.

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ꜱɪᴍᴘʟᴇ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍɪɴɢ

ʟᴏᴠᴇʟʏ ꜰᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ʙʟᴇᴇᴅɪɴɢ

ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ'ꜱ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜɪɴɢ, ᴡᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ

ᴘᴜʀᴇ ᴀɴᴀʀᴄʜʏ

ᴅᴇꜱᴛʀᴜᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏʀʀᴜᴘᴛᴇᴅ ʟᴇɢᴀᴄʏ

ᴅɪꜱᴛᴜʀʙᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ʟᴏᴄᴀʟ ʟᴏʏᴀʟᴛʏ

ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛɪꜰᴜʟʟʏ

ᴅᴇꜱᴛʀᴜᴄᴛɪᴠᴇʟʏ

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