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Reef's Roost is alive despite the sun having set long ago. The streets and port still bustle from the wharfed ships and visitors to the Night Market, a mix of regular and mysterious booths lining the cobblestone walkway as lights string up and cross between wooden posts.
The centerpiece of the port is The Sharkbait Tavern, a bustling place of rest for weary travelers of all kinds—merchants, navy officers, thugs, and of course, pirates.
Which is why Quackity stands just outside it, staring up at the wooden roofs and rafters built around a fake shark built from copper blocks, its mouth open to act as the entrance. All of the witness testimonies and tracking have led him to this throwaway seaside town where Wilbur supposedly is staying.
Quackity huffs as he readjusts his bright blue navy coat before straightening his back and heading into the mouth of the shark.
The tavern is alive, probably more so than the streets outside. Loud shanty music plays from the stage in the corner, rowdy drunkards cheering and laughing as they try to join in on the song, albeit very poorly. Thankfully, all the ruckus means Quackity slips in without any big scenes, the most he gets being a few thugs glancing wearily at him.
But Quackity turns a blind eye to them as he scans the crowd for someone more specific. He’s not about to waste his time and energy on lowly thugs. His mission is to find Wilbur, and Wilbur only.
When he doesn’t spot him right away, Quackity makes his way to the bar and takes a seat, greeted by the bartender after a couple of seconds.
“What will it be, officer?” the man asks while absentmindedly cleaning a glass with a white rag. The delicious smell and sound of fried and grilled food waft in from the kitchen behind the bar, making Quackity’s mouth water. But he isn’t planning to stay long, so he resists.
“Just get me some water,” he replies. The bartender shrugs and walks off before returning shortly with a glass of ice-cold water. Quackity sips from it while still scanning the tavern, with still no sight of Wilbur.
Maybe the sources are wrong, Quackity thinks, starting to believe the pirate isn’t here. Just a few more minutes, he tells himself.
Everyone in the tavern claps as the man originally playing the music finishes his set before going to take a seat. Another man takes his place.
“I wasn’t planning to get up here tonight, but I just couldn’t resist!”
Quackity nearly chokes on his water as his eyes widen and he quickly turns to spot Wilbur, sitting on the wooden stool, right in the spotlight, still wearing that infuriating casual smirk. A guitar rests in his lap.
The tavern cheers him on as he gets settled and tuned, preparing to play. Quackity quickly stands up. This is my chance! He doesn’t see me yet!
But before Quackity can start walking over, Wilbur begins to play and sing, and Quackity stops in his tracks, seemingly frozen in place. He can’t take his eyes off the man as he continues to play and sing.
It isn’t like the song is anything special—a common sea shanty most everyone has heard by now. Yet hearing Wilbur sing it, Quackity feels something he can’t name. It isn’t anger—he’d know if it was. Same with annoyance. It’s like he’s in a trance.
He stands there for the entire song, unmoving, listening, until Wilbur finishes. The tavern erupts into applause and cheers as Wilbur grins widely and soaks in the praise and attention. As his gaze sweeps across the tavern, he makes eye contact with Quackity.
His eyes subtly widen, but he plays it off, giving a quick good night to everyone before slipping out the back. Quackity, finally snapping back to his senses, shakes his head, his expression hardening again as he chases after the pirate.
He bursts out the back door and spots Wilbur running down the street. Quackity doesn’t take long to give chase, and it takes even less time to start catching up.
“Stop right there, pirate!” Quackity spits, a few feet behind Wilbur, who simply laughs. “Aw, come on! You know my name, darling!”
“Don’t call me that!”
“My bad. Guess I read the blushing on your face wrong!” Wilbur throws back with a sly grin, making Quackity’s face heat up even more—though he insists to himself it’s from anger.
Wilbur slips into a big crowd gathered around one of the booths, effectively shaking Quackity off his tail. The navy captain stops and looks around, chest heaving, cursing under his breath. Come on, he couldn’t have gotten far!
Quackity notices an alleyway nearby. He takes out his pistol and carefully approaches it, peeking around the corner, but sees no one. He slowly starts walking down it, staying on high alert.
Apparently not high enough, as a sharp blade suddenly presses to his neck and someone stands behind him.
“So how did you find me this time?” Wilbur asks, the playful tone in his voice gone. Quackity can faintly feel Wilbur’s breath on top of his head. He makes sure to stay still so as not to get his throat cut.
“I simply asked around,” Quackity replies. Wilbur chuckles, and suddenly the sword is lowered. Quackity could easily turn and shoot him in the leg, or shoulder, or anywhere.
But all he does is turn around and back up a few steps, his finger still on the trigger as he eyes Wilbur warily. The pirate’s playful demeanor returns in the blink of an eye.
“I’ve got to say, I’m very flattered I keep you up at night! You must love thinking about me!” he says with a wink.
“More like you haunt my nightmares.”
“Ouch,” Wilbur says with a smile.
“You’re not going to get me with your flowery words this time!” Quackity declares, but Wilbur just snorts, hands tucked into his pockets, stance casual. “Then why haven’t you shot me yet?”
Quackity opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes to mind because—yeah, why hasn’t he? He could easily do it right now. Just lift it up and pull the trigger.
But before he can react, he’s suddenly backed up against one of the walls—how did he get here?—and Wilbur stands close in front of him, leaning down to meet him at his height.
“You sure I can’t get you again? From what I saw back in the tavern, you were absolutely entranced by my singing,” he points out in a low voice, face mere inches away from Quackity’s. The captain’s cheeks burn as he keeps glaring at Wilbur in annoyance, shock, and something else he isn’t sure about—the same feeling he felt in the tavern, but he can’t name it.
“T-that wasn’t… shut up!” Quackity barks back, but the words have no bite. Wilbur’s smile grows as he continues to gaze into Quackity’s black eyes.
“Y’know, you look very pretty close up,” he says, relishing the way Quackity’s face turns even redder. He looks like a tomato now.
“I—you—you can’t—” Quackity stammers, unable to get the words out. His brain short-circuits.
“You really shouldn’t let your guard down, y’know?” Wilbur says, holding up Quackity’s pistol. The captain finally snaps back to reality, but by then Wilbur is already running down and out of the alleyway.
“WILBUR!” Quackity shouts, sprinting after him. I can’t believe I fell for that trick again! Just like in the tavern, and many times before, Wilbur has completely tricked him—turned him stupid so he doesn’t realize what’s going on until it’s too late. He’s like an annoying siren, his buttery words and accent, his tone and body language all one big mesmerizing song that drags Quackity far into the waters before he even realizes he’s drowning.
Quackity bursts out of the alleyway, flustered and enraged, spotting Wilbur already back on his ship, watching over the railing as his crew sets sail.
“You should really keep your head in the game, Captain! Don’t worry, I’ll return your pistol when we meet again!” Wilbur calls before the ship drifts too far for Quackity to shout back. Instead, he groans and stomps his foot, breathing heavily. His eyes narrow as he watches Wilbur’s ship slowly disappear into the horizon.
“You won’t be laughing for much longer. That I promise.”