Not Your Typical Insurrection 👑 TnT Duo !!!

imminent warning / expected threat

Having royal blood is supposedly the highest honor in Gold Spire, a kingdom built on wealth and reputation. But not when you're the child of an affair, no.

"You're lucky she hasn't ordered you... extinguished," his father would say, with a wine-stained grin. Quackity, young and scrappy, would smile and nod, laughing like it was something to laugh about, laughing because his father did.

Instead of being "extinguished", Quackity was to remain hidden and forgotten in a sole corner of the castle, a punishment he found to be a little better than death. The Queen's annual humiliation parties were far, far worse than death though. They started when he was thirteen, and were held biannually, twice a month.

The King never attends. Quackity suspects it's because he has little care for his bastard son, or maybe he's scared of facing him. Quackity only sees him yearly, on the King's birthday.

Well, supposedly only yearly.

Being able to shapeshift, to change his identity, means he could see whoever, whenever, wherever, as long as no one was looking for him, which was a rare occurrence anyways.

Often, Quackity goes looking for Wilbur. He takes the shape of a girl Wilbur's age, with bright red hair and heavy freckles, attending each and every rebellion and attempted coup d'état or whatever Wilbur wanted to call them.

Quackity gets as close as possible to Wilbur, learns of him from his closest circle of rebels, writes about him, dreams about him.

Wilbur is the leader of the biggest group of rebels in all of Gold Spire, set on making the King's life utterly miserable all the time. Quackity had admired him for that at first, but then he found out Wilbur was doing it because the Queen demanded it of him. Wilbur was doing it for his family's immunity against the seasonal execution. Isn't that just so heroic? Quackity began to feel a little more than admiration for the man after that.

Today, Quackity has taken the form of a middle aged man, racing down the overcrowded streets of the poorest town in Gold Spire. Manberg, named by its people. He's heading specifically for a rundown manor at the edge of town.

Last night, Quackity had learned the Queen had ordered Wilbur to crash one of the King's private parties, which was going to be hosted on a big abandoned stage at the back left area of the the castle grounds. Quackity's corner of the castle grounds. Today was also the first Sunday of the month, meaning the biannual humiliation was to take place.

Quackity is no fool. Either the Queen was going to do something awful to Wilbur, or the King was actually going to show up, or both. All were horrible, dreadful options for Quackity.

He makes it to the manor, shifting into the redhead girl Wilbur seemed to love so much, and then to himself once he was far enough inside.

Quackity finds Wilbur standing over his drawn out plans, hunched over a desk, just as he suspected he would.

He takes a step into the sunlit drawing room, and Wilbur turns, eyes lighting up.

"Hello." He says, raising a brow. Defensively, he takes a step forward.

Quackity feels his breath catch. He's seen Wilbur a million times, and yet. To feel Wilbur's eyes on his real skin, not the skin of some stranger or the redheaded girl.. Quackity finds himself caught off guard. Nervous.

"Wilbur." Saying his name to his face... Quackity might faint. "About- About tonight."

Wilbur crossed his arms, tone unamused. "You've come to warn me?"

"Yes." Quackity says, feverishly avoiding Wilbur's stare. "Yes. I have. You can't- it's a trap. The Queen is going to do something- something horrible."

"The Queen? Impossible. We have a deal, me and her." Wilbur leans back against the table, hands in his pockets. He has shed his coat, still in his maroon sweater, gloves and mask off to the side.

Quackity has warned him before in many different forms, at many different hours of the day, in many different places. And yet, hes just never been able to get used to the beauty of it. Of Wilbur.

"I- I know you have a deal. She grants you immunity, you sabotage the King for her. I know. But Wilbur, it's a trap. She- the King, he never attends these private balls of hers. She's luring you there for something. Not the King."

Wilbur stares at him, studying him. Quackity feels his face grow warmer by the second, looking at Wilbur's brown eyes. They've been the subject of so many shitty poems, Quackity almost wants to wince. Just the memory of them makes him one million times more embarrassed.

"She wants me to kill him. She says he will be there, and that I am to kill him. Why would she lie? She must hate the king more than she hates me. Surely." He says it so matter of factly, Quackity wishes he could trust it. Actually, its a horrible realization. She wants Wilbur to actually kill the King? No.

"I don't know. Maybe it's getting too risky, your rebellions. She can no longer give you immunity, because the King has found out about your... your meetings. Maybe he's ordered you killed. Maybe he's behind it. You just- you can't be sure, Wilbur." Quackity fidgets with his hands as he talks, squinting up at Wilbur once he's finished.

"Nothing about this line of work is sure."

Quackity shakes his head. "You must not go. Its a mistake. A trap, surely."

"You know of my family. What will she do to them if I don't show up tonight? If this really is some- some trap? She'll kill them either way." Wilbur frowns.

"You have to be smarter than her, Wilbur. I know you can be." Quackity winces when he realizes how much this sounds like a plea. What if Wilbur assumes this is some sort of love declaration, that some stranger has fallen for him and can't bear to see him put in harm's way? Quackity wraps his cloak tighter around himself.

Wilbur tilts his head once more. He doesn't think this is some love declaration at all. "I receive similar warnings to this weekly. Do you know about them?"

Quackity doesn't have an answer to that. This warning is different, and he knows Wilbur realizes that, whether he admits it or not. This warning was less ominous, more direct.

Normally, it was something like "don't do this Wilbur, you're going too far, this will catch up to you eventually". This time, Quackity is claiming an attempt on Wilbur's life, or at the very least some sort of trap. Some sort of betrayal.

Quackity swallows heavily, looking up at Wilbur one last time. To see him in any other light for any other reason, that would be enough to keep Quackity happy forever. If they could be lovers or at least acquaintances in this life, if Quackity could get the chance to spend time with Wilbur as himself, without the looming threat of fate... Quackity turns, blinking.

He starts down the hallway, ignoring Wilbur's singular protest. When he turns the corner, he is the owner of the manor. And once he is outside, he is a middle aged man again, on his way back to the capitol.

By the time he returns home, he is Quackity again, the King's bastard son, and it is late. He pulls on the same lousy shirt he wears for every beating, the same loose pants. He opts out of any jewelry- not that he had anything more than one beaten up necklace.

Quackity holds the necklace in his hand, rubbing it with his thumb. It was a dark green pendant, with flecks of orange in it, worn around the edges where Quackity holds and fidgets with it.

Quackity is jolted to the present when there is the most dreadful banging on the door. He sighs, bringing the necklace to his lips before sitting it up on his dresser.

A guard throws open the door, nearly hitting Quackity with it. He clears his throat loudly. "The Queen has requested your presence."

Quackity huffs. "I know."

"Best not to keep neither his or her highness waiting."

So the King is attending. Quackity holds his breath, letting himself be shoved out the door.