Stories

☆*•° Fathers Patches°•*☆

She couldn't help herself when she padded her way into her parents' room after having overheard them talking about something of the past at least three hours prior to her investigation. It didn't help that at night, from her room, she'd sometimes hear them whispering to each other about a time of war and hardship. It led her to wonder what times they spoke of.

That's why she found herself standing in front of their closet, peering inside of the cramped space at a box. It looked worn and untouched, as if lonely and in need of a friend. Unfortunately for her, sitting stubbornly above it was a rather large stack of equally as ancient books. She figured they could start their own personal library with what they had, though she thought as she wedged her way into the closet to move the books, that they didn't have a big enough house for a whole library.

She crouched a small bit beneath the empty clothes hangers, trying not to bump her head as she attempted to read the binding of the books, starting at the one on the top.

Poker for Dummies.

She had remembered her father speaking of a time when her dad had been wild and less chained by the confines of a life at home. She wasn't told much more than that as her father would grow into a face of dimsay. It always led her to wonder who exactly her parents were before she was born almost twelve years ago. She ran a slow finger down the assortment of books, skimming each title before moving on to the next.

Then she stopped on one that caught her attention.

Revival

What did that mean, revival? She thought long and hard with furrowed brows as she lifted the books above it up to grab it from the stack. She held it carefully with both hands as she gently flipped it open with one finger, glossing over the delicate and tattered pages, yellowed with age. She sneezed, making sure not to let her hands jerk too much when it happened as she looked it over. After her eyes had cleared up, she read the foreign language that was scribbled out onto the page. The end was signed with a faded green smile.

She glanced around after a short while, even though there was no need to. Her parents were gone. They had gone out, and she assumed to dinner due to the outfits they had worn upon leaving the house and into the afternoon. They trusted her enough to be alone, and that made her somewhat happy.

After getting bored of looking through the book she was holding, she placed it behind her on a different box on the other side of the closet. She would go back to the books and the boxes later on because as she stood up as straight (as well as she could given the small space), a jacket caught her eye. It had various patches, each one colorful in a sense that wrote time all over its ash brown fabric. it was covered with a few splotches of old soot from a fire of sorts, seeming to be encased with dust and age. More and more questions kept popping into her head, like a stampede they raged on. How much did she not know about her parents?

***

Meanwhile, Wilbur and Quackity sat across from each other at a nice diner, talking and laughing over wine and fine steak. Though, as per usual for him, Wilbur couldn't help but wonder about their daughter while Quackity had an unbothered smile.

"Anxiety is like being chewed on by a toothless alligator."

Wilbur stated calmly, forking up another bite of stake, which was freshly cut. He always spoke in a way that over complicated things.

"You really think we can keep leaving her at home like this?"

Quackitys smile faltered slightly for a few seconds as he paused his fork from moving any further on his plate. His eyes softened into a small glance of worry, and he let out a breath, his smile returning in hopes of reassuring his husband.

"Don't worry, Wil, she's okay."

He would say, but Wilbur couldn't help his nerves. Being bound by blood and having a deep past of breaking those bindings, he was always scared he was doing something wrong. Still, he nodded and took a deep breath, knowing if he didn't, Quackity would tell him to.

"Right."

He ate the steak off of his fork, his eyes downcast as he remained in thought. He traced each idea mentally. Not all of them were as easy to draw up and swallow as the food before him, this didn't taste tender and savory, though when did it ever?

They returned to their previous conversation about who was better at cards, and it always somehow led to Wilbur challenging Quackity. Things would get interesting when they got home, he thought, as he set his fork down to move on to his wine. His eyes smiled at Quackity over the glistening rim of the glass.

***

She lifted the jacket off of the hanger that it was hung on, and she pulled it around herself, taking a step back and out of the closet. She stuck her arms into the sleeves. It was very long and very hard to walk around with. She nearly tripped when going over to her father's mirror to see herself. She sneezed again when the dust from the fabric roamed up to her nose.

When she saw herself, she nearly laughed. pushing a handful of curls back from her face, she turned to get a full view of the large coat on her. She didn't think it belonged to Quackity, her dad. This wasn't something he'd wear... he always wore more casual things, and when he was at work, simple dress clothes. This was something of her father's, Wilbur's coat. It had many patches on it, some of which resembled flags of nations she'd only ever heard of in school. When she saw them fully and better in the light, she gasped.

What could this mean?