Not Your Typical Insurrection 👑 TnT Duo !!!

defamation

Quackity feels the tension building in his body. The apprehension. He's terrified, really, though he tries not to let the guard pick up on it. His wings are out, flapping against the wind. Quackity hates having them out, but last time he tried to hide them...

Quackity is still missing quite a few feathers.

He looks to the ground, avoiding sizable rocks. The autumn air is chilly, making him shiver. Layering clothes on nights like these was not permitted, the queen had forbidden it. She wanted him to feel each and every hit, every lash, every chill. And it worked, Quackity dreaded these nights every waking moment of his life.

Quackity looks up when he begins to hear the crowd. They're gathered around the abandoned stage.

A long time ago, there used to be weekly revels. People would come from all over the kingdom to drink and dance and party. Performances would be put on or big banquets would be hosted on the grand stage. Now, the stage is rotted, shrouded in moss and weeds, missing quite a few planks, reeking of mold.

Quackity swallows when he sees the Queen standing in the center, his father beside her. The King looks bored, staring off into the distance. And drunk.

Reflexively, Quackity searches for Wilbur.
If he's here, Quackity does not spot him.

Quackity is shoved onto the stage, purposely tripped. He falls, hands digging into the wood. Already, he is miserable.

"The King's bastard son!" The Queen announces, raising her arms wide. She's wearing a beautiful black dress, with frills and ruffles like that of raven feathers.

The crowd whoops and hollers, excited. Mostly, it is the noble families of the council. Quackity's wings flutter before fixing into place.

"You've been getting too bold, boy. You sneak into town, conversing with the common people, the rebels, the poor scum, trying to... fit in with them. Is that what you want, boy? To be poor? To be nobody? You would forsake your royal blood?" She gestures then, and one of the guards kick Quackity's side. Hard. He is knocked off balance. "It wouldn't surprise me if you were conspiring with those- those rebels. They seek to kill us, to kill the King. Is that what you want, boy? Is it?!"

Quackity hardly hears her. He begins to dry heave onto the stage, forcing himself back up on his hands and knees. He lets his head hang in hopes they don't kick it too.

Another strike and Quackity is knocked onto his side once more. He catches a glimpse of his father's face, lazily staring down at him. Distantly. Quackity tries to pull himself up again, but a foot is placed on his chest and he can not pull himself from the ground.

The Queen says something and the thundering of people trodding up rotten wooden stairs fill his ears and he panics. Never had he been beaten by the crowd all at once.

Never all at once.

She was actually going to kill him this time.

Quackity's eyes water.

There is pain shooting through every inch of his body. On some occasions, he hears bones crack. He tries to mend it as quickly as possible with the shape shifting, melding his limbs as they were previously, but it's all just happening too quickly. He can feel his body being torn apart.

And then there is a deafening scream, and the crowd begins to bustle away.

Quackity draws in ragged breaths. He barely gets anything in before he is coughing out blood again. His eyes won't open and his ears are ringing. Every available inch of skin seems to be stinging or aching or burning.

"Hey.." someone speaks, Quackity feels their breath on his ear. "..it's okay. It's over. Can you hear me?"

Quackity can make out the dull thumping of feet on wood once more and panics, curling in on himself further with a loud inhale and a sputtering exhale. He won't survive another round. Surely the Queen realizes this? She wouldn't actually kill him?

"It's over. You're okay. Nobody is gonna hurt you now. The Queen- she's dead."

Quackity's heart sounds loud in his ears. He opens his eyes.. to Wilbur's face. The man is touching Quackity's cheek, which was relatively unharmed, peering down at him. His eyes go wide. The Queen is- dead?

"So you can hear me! Okay. She said you're the King's son, right? So you're his only heir. The kingdom goes to you, yeah?"

Quackity blinks, looking past Wilbur. They're surrounded by a tight circle of rebels, a few Quackity recognizes. Niki glances over her shoulder. Quackity spots the several dead bodies surrounding them, shutting his eyes again.

"Hey, stay awake!" Wilbur orders him, touching his face again. Quackity flinches at the contact. Oh my Gods, it's Wilbur. He doesn't have his typical disguise on. Infact, he's dressed quite formally, and his hair is marginally shorter. Had he been in the crowd? How could Quackity have missed him?

"You-" he coughs again, viciously. "Why?"

"It's like you said!" Wilbur muses, letting his hand fall. "It was a trap. So, when I found out the King had a son, I figured I'd just kill him and make you King. And to do that, I had to kill the Queen, too. So I guess we're both free of her. Plus you uh... looked like you needed some.. help."

Quackity can't even begin to fathom it. The Queen, dead. She was gone. Is gone. Quackitys life forever changed in an instant. And the King is dead, too. Which makes Quackity the... King? Was Quackity even considered a prince?

Wilbur is still looking down at him, brown eyes pinched with worry. Quackity's last thought before passing out is a plea to the Gods for Wilbur to not find the various embarrassing poems hidden away in his room.