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“This isn’t something you want to do Quackity.”
“Ah but I think it is, Wilbur .” The name is spat with distaste.
“You sure you can handle it, Ducky? ” A sword is drawn.
“Careful now.”
“Why should I?”
“Wouldn’t want to go back to that train station would you?”
Teeth grit together.
A smug smile grows.
“Awe what happened? You scared of a little public transportation?”
The taunt hangs in the air.
Nostrils flare.
“Now let’s not forget who owns this place,” A step is taken. “Let’s not forget who everyone despises.” Another step.
“I think that fits us both.” A low snarl.
“True,” The sword is twirled in between uncaring fingers. “But you’ve angered anyone who has ever helped or even liked you. You have no one.” A final step.
Face to face.
A neck craned down.
A neck craned up.
A smug look.
Anger.
Fists clench.
“Oh, and you have so many people?” A cold hand grabs a collar.
“More than you will ever have.” The sword is gripped tightly.
“Maybe. But at least I don’t force people to be around me,” A lean.
A mouth next to an ear.
Breath fanning over an earlobe.
“I didn’t get abandoned by pretend lovers.”
A sharp intake of breath.
Metal to fragile skin.
A sadistic smile grows on the tallest.
The sword pressed to a neck.
A line of blood.
“Awe what happened? Scared of a little truth?”
More blood spills from pressure being added.
“Admit it. Neither of us will ever be loved by anyone here. We have no one.”
A shove.
“Get out of here. If I ever see your face again I’ll send you straight back onto that fucking train.”
A sword being sheathed.
A short man with duck wings turning away.
A tall man in a trench coat watching.
Two sides of the same coin, both despised, both angry.
Both alone.