The Swine | TNT Duo One Shots |

Beat of a Wing

His eyes fluttered like that of a butterflies wing, and his feathers faltered and swayed with the wind. Eager to be pulled out and flown like the great sun.

Quackity was no man to stay anywhere near the ground, his mind kept home in the clouds where people screamed his name like a god. The golden light shone over his lashes, enlightening his face with shimmering orange. This light would trace itself along his gold wings, its luminescence was one to behold in glory.

Quackity was a man of fine features, his face glared war and history, and he followed the long scar tracing down his eye. It was rough, nibbled with bumps of texture, he could nearly feel the moment it was given to him. He leaned on a portion of the railing, accompanied by the Space Needle at which he bestowed upon.

He figured a Friday afternoon should be well spent, at least somewhere he was needed. With only a moment's notice, he took himself off the railing and made his way to the elevator where he was lifted down. Las Nevadas was thriving in significant lights, as the sun moved down the horizon people were arriving.

Dressed in sparkling colors to make their way across the city. Interests followed with either the Strip Club, Casino, or Pool. Quackity approached the casino, upon walking inside he could nearly hear his voice. Bustling voices scattered along the floor as crowds of people gathered around each table.

Beautiful women and handsome men betted on their souls. Quackity's lip curled wickedly into a selfish smile, he couldn't help it, this was ultimately the sound of success.

Once he was done admiring his work, he approached the back of his office. Only to find the door suspiciously opened, from where he was standing the entire room was completely dark.

Quackity's first curled until his knuckles went white, he reached to his waist where he found his hands entangled over the hilt of two short sawed-off shotguns that he always kept on hand, his ear feathers fluttered hesitantly as he entered the office with complete silence.

He found his velvet chair turned off to the side, unusual to how he last left it. Papers were strewn across the carpet floor as though a child had rummaged through every drawer they could find.

Yet he saw no one, his golden ear feathers flicked at the creak of the door behind him. He spun around, his shotguns drawn as he fired. The figure hadn't even attempted to dodge, instead, he just stood there with his hands raised as if in surrender.

Quackity only now realized that the smell of smoke was coming from the man before him. The two shots hadn't hit him at all they struck the back wall with an ear-shattering pain.

The figure chuckled warmly, his body moved off to the side where the slim light coming from outside of the office covered a portion of his face. Resting in his lip was a cigar, it lit the room with familiarity.

Quackity approached the wall and flicked on the lights, the man standing over him bore a heavy long coat. His left arm was bandaged with dried blood, while a streak of white stained his hair with an old memory. Quackity scoffed in disgust, almost as if he'd turn away any moment to gag.

"You anger too easily, and I've been here for only–what? Ten minutes?"

Wilbur said, mockingly. Quackity's eyes lit with a flame with indescribable frustration. He took his arms and folded them roughly, although he was smaller in stature compared to the man. He still held intense borders to shield himself. A look too close could burn soft skin, Wilbur was smart as to not take a step closer. Instead and prowled the room with his hands glued into his pockets. Giving Quackity a sense of insecurity.

"That's because whenever I plan on enjoying myself, you show up. Truly, terrible timing."

Quackity puffed like an old man scolding a child, of course, this made Wilbur want to laugh. But for the sake of his head, he only let out a bundle of humble chuckles,

"Enjoying yourself doing paperwork? I don't think so, I always figured your view of fun was being surrounded by women or alcohol–whichever you prefer."

Wilbur teased him endlessly, Quackity's brows furrowed, appearing nettled by the situation standing in front of him. He rolled his eyes as his wings shook, a feather would shed off one of his wings. Fluttering to Wilbur's feet, he'd bend down and pick it up. Caressing it in between his fingers as if it were something sentimental to him. He stared at it with compassion, pleased is what could describe his expression. He wouldn't dare drop it, instead kept twiddling it around as they both continued.

"One of those is correct, but aside from that. Explain to me why you're rummaging through my office like a lost child. You realize this is a violation of the country?"

Quackity asked, well it was more of a statement. Wilbur simply laughed, placing a hand atop his forehead as if wiping away his words.

"For one I am not lost, and if you've been paying attention there have been numerous times where I've violated this country's 'rules.' You're just too fond of my company, I can't blame you though. I am fun."

Wilbur said through smiling teeth, he ran a hand through his curly white-streaked hair. He simply looked at ease, and rather amused. Quackity is deemed to be the exact opposite with his arms crossed.

"You're only lucky that I don't bomb that burger truck of yours, the grease coming off of that thing is unbearable."

Quackity grumbled more curses under his breath as he leaned against the wall, looking away from Wilbur as if he were disgusted. But Wilbur for one hadn't borne a single inch of shame since his L'manberg Arc. Instead, he giggled with a humble tone.

"Don't forget who gave you that form of problem-solving, admit it Quackity. Without me, this country would be impossible. After all, wasn't it I who suggested you use a...better, form of a solution?"

Wilbur suggested this to be Quackity's cruel perception of dealing with people. A good example of this would be Dream who has been locked away in the prison. Every day he would go out to visit for that revival book.

Wilbur wasn't wrong either, he had influenced Quackity long before Las Nevadas. He lit the grass and sparked a forest fire that burned in Quackity's chest. Quackity's brows furrowed with slight intensity, he wouldn't want to admit that in front of him. There was a moment of silence before he gestured toward the door off-handedly.

"Just get out of my sight, Foolish will beat you with a stick if you're caught."

Quackity ordered with a stern tone, he wasn't up for any further discussion. The room oddly fell silent for a thick moment. The atmosphere was heavy and he felt a figure of danger walking toward him. Wilbur was already graciously taller than Quackity, he felt his chin be grabbed like a dog's collar. His head was raised and he felt Wilbur press his warm lips to his cheek. He then took his hand away and quickly scattered off.

"Lovely day, King."

He chimed lightly before making his leave through the door. Quackity felt a boiling rage surge through his head, he placed a hand over the spot where he was kissed. It was just above his lip right where his scar was drawn.

He wiped his hand over the spot as if trying to clean away any germs he had left. Quackity wanted to throw up, of course, this was over-exhaustion, but he couldn't help but admit that he was surprised. Wilbur had always been a huge flirt, but he had never dared do something as forward before. What a weirdo.

- Art By LETI on Twitter -