The 'prince' and the duck. (Quackbur, Prince Au.)

Chapter Two.

Upon entering their wood house in the absolute middle of nowhere, Tommy and his elder brother, Wilbur, whom had a duck in his pocket, both stumbled inside their home. The lanterns that hung outside the little cottage lit up the entire area like a bonfire in the dead of the night- which, it definitely was the dead of the night. The crescent opalescent moon hung high in the sky with endless amounts of stars scattered around like a blindly made painting on a black canvas with white paint.

Tommy sighed happily when he bumped into Philza, His father. "Where have you boys been?" Philza asked, sternly. Like Tommy, He was a blond. Wilbur snorted as Tommy quickly crept to hide in his room but Philza grabbed him by the back of his shirt, yanking him next to Wilbur, who stood firmly with his feet on the ground and hands shoved into his pockets. Soft quacking was heard, and obviously annoyed, Wilbur tried to shut Quackity up. But of course, Quackity wouldn't stop. I mean, I wouldn't blame him. If I was outside in the forest and became a fuzzy animal at one moment and suddenly in somebody's pocket in the next, I'd be pretty freaked out too.

Philza stood there, arms crossed and stared at his boys attentively. When he heard the shrill chirping of a duckling, he glanced at Wilbur suspiciously, who immediately decided the wooden floor was a better thing to look at than his own father. "We were..." Wilbur finally spoke up, clearing his throat. "Finding my pen! It's my fault, because I dropped it somewhere today... I spent everything I had on that... pen..." Tommy admitted, dramatically. Philza stared at Wilbur as if he couldn't believe the 7 year olds random ravings. The brunet nodded slowly, defending his younger brother. "Alright then. But if any of you go out at night once more, you're all in big trouble." Phil mumbled. "I'm going to be going out, Wilbur, you're in charge. Reminder once again, do not leave the house. I'll be back shortly. Get Tommy to bed."

And like that, the Philza disappeared outside the home and into the darkness with only the light of the moon to guide him through.

"Hm. How's the duck, Wilbur???" Tommy smiled curiously, immediately breaking out of character as soon as his father seemed to be a good enough distance from the house. "Oh, here." Wilbur replied, pulling Quackity out of his pocket by the leg. Quackity was literally quacking his ass off, shuddering. His fur was all puffed up as if he was startled and in bad condition. "Don't hold him like that!!" Tommy shouted angrily, snatching the poor duck-prince from Wilbur's hands and stroked the duckling's delicate feathers. Wilbur began to feel guilty, but didn't express it.

"Also, Tom. Your little Um.. duck friend...-" Wilbur began. His tone was as if the duck just wrote something in the ground with a twig while they were outside- which, the duck did. "Yeah? Is he okay? Did YOU injure him?!" The blond shouted accusingly, not keeping his eyes off of Quackity who was scared as hell and nuzzled against his palm. "No, I don't think the dumb duck is injured. It's just that-"
"SHES NOT A DUMB DUCK, TAKE THAT BACK!!!" Tommy cried, flipping the brunet off. Wilbur rolled his eyes in extreme annoyance. "Okay fine. I take it back. And it's not a girl. It's a guy." Wilbur said, pointing out how the duck- well... yeah you get it.

"Oh." Tommy said, looking at poor Quackity who sadly quacked at Tommy in response. "I should give it a little bath, here, hold the baby duckie, I'll get a little bowl for her- I mean, him to bathe in! And be careful, don't mistreat him like a toy." Tommy exclaimed quickly before immediately running off on his quest to find a bowl filled with water for Quackity who was by now covered in pieces of dead leaves and dried up mud.

Wilbur glared at his brother but held Quackity close in his hands. Quackity simply stared at Wilbur. the du
Duck prince was just about to say something when he once again was reminded that he couldn't speak. All he could utter were cute little duck sounds that nobody could understand. Upon remembering the curse, Quackity began to cry. The little duckling began crying in Wilbur's palms. "What in the?" Wilbur exclaimed, startled. He did feel rather sympathetic. But what in the hell was going on? This felt like a fever dream. This duck is the same goddamn duck who wrote "help" and "kiss" with a stick in a pile of mud.