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Screw the Bassist	By : LadyAriaa Category: +1 through F > Darkwing Duck Views: 1562 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Darkwing Duck or any of its characters. All rights belong to disney. No money was made from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Author’s Note: I apologize in advance for anything that may be off about this chapter. It’s gonna make my eyes bleed if I look at it anymore so I now proclaim it good enough!!
Enjoy
………..
In the streets, the throngs of fans were a flurry of anticipation. The masses had waited diligently for hours and they were starting to grow tired of the delay. As the wait stretched on, their actions grew in urgency and devastation, forcing the vast metropolis into a frenzy of destructive exploits. As the morning began to wane to midday, the streets lit with a malevolent air that hung heavy in the streets threatening to tare the city apart at its seams. Negaduck thrived off the chaos. He derived sick pleasure from their turmoil, but even he had better things to do at that point than make them wait just for the sheer amusement. At last the long stretch of time they had so far waited was to be rewarded, or so it seemed.
Within the mysterious manor, the five members had already spent several excruciating hours trying to sort out their course of action for the next few months. Everything from the extensive list of bass lines that Reggie had to memorize to Jack’s bad habit of leaving his various ‘toys’ scattered around the house had been discussed. It had gotten to the point that no one was really paying attention to what Negaduck had to say anymore. Jack was practically to the point that bashing his head against the table was more appealing than spending another moment listening to the lead member talk. Even Reggie was glad when the other mallard finally wrapped up his little speech.
“Any questions knobs?” Negaduck grumbled. It seemed even he had grown tired of the conversation. If the mallard barking orders at the others could be called a conversation.
“Yeah,” Jack said lifting his head from the table, “Are you done yet?”
He yelped in pain as Negaduck slammed his large bill back against the hard surface it had just risen from. “Owww, my face! My beautiful face!” he whimpered, rubbing at his beak pathetically.
The soft snickers of the rat beside him caused him to glare at his friend. He stuck his tongue out at the other when the chuckles didn’t stop.
“Alright ladies that’s enough!” Negaduck interrupted. “Time to give those assholes out there what they want.” He shot a glance at Reggie, smirking slightly as he strode from the room. The others simply stared after him for a moment as though unsure of what was going on. “Well hurry it up you worthless knobs!” the singer finally called from down the hall.
The distant call started a tandem reaction from the resident guitarists. Jack and Elmo shot a glance at each other before each of them jumped abruptly from their chairs in a mad dash towards the door. Elmo’s initial lead in the impromptu race did not sit well with his companion. The immature jester latched onto Elmo’s delicate tail in a childish attempt to come out ahead in their little game. Delighted cackles sounded at the loud smack produced as Elmo hit the floor.
“Jaack you dirty cheatin’ whore!” the now riled rodent griped as he lifted himself swiftly from the floor to try and catch is duplicitous friend. Reggie could hear the metal ends of his boots clanking against the ground as he chased the mad giggles down the corridor.
Reggie blinked quizzically as the pair scurried from the room. “Did I… miss something?” he questioned, moving his chin from where it had been resting on his leafy hand.
Bud snorted slightly at the question as he slipped across the kitchen to deposit his long empty whiskey bottle on a nearby counter. “You have to be pretty attentive to not miss something with those two,” Bud chuckled, “You gotta be careful around Jack or you’re going to end up starting a game you may not want to play. Or know you’re playing for that matter.”
Reggie simply produced a noncommittal hum in reply. Sometimes Bud really wished he could hear what was going on in that head of his. To see what secrets were hidden behind that blank face. “Come on Reg,” he said after a moment, “We’d better get out there before the lord of all evil comes looking for you.”
“Why? So he can parade me around in front of that maniacal mass like some kinda freak?” Reggie muttered, his face suddenly filled with annoyance.
The fluid drummer at his side thought about this question for a moment, somewhat unsure how exactly he was supposed to reply. “You’ll have to face them eventually Reggie,” he pointed out, his voice quite as though he had just revealed some well-kept secret.
The bassist crossed his arms over his chest grumpily as he thought about this. Bud suddenly wondered if he had even considered the kind of position he had put himself in when he signed his contract. The drummer shook his liquid head at this; he knew damn well that there was no way Reggie could have known the true extent of what he was getting into. The dripping canine chuckled slightly, as though the simple action would distract him from his suddenly disturbing contemplations. “Come on Reg. My water’s gonna go stagnant if I stand here much longer,” Bud finally said.
Several moments passed before the brooding bassist finally pushed himself away from the table. Bud leaned against the door frame as he waited for Reggie to light his smoke. Blue eyes focused questioningly on the water-dog as he noticed the other waiting for him. Bud grinned, holding out his arm in a subtle invitation for the duck to exit first. As Reggie passed him, he made it a point not to touch the still ornery duck this time around.
Bud’s movements were markedly languid as he led the way through the hall the others had disappeared down. He tended to get that way when he consumed so much alcohol as quickly as he had in the past few hours. The strange urge to study the dog’s movements tugged at Reggie, pulling his eyes towards the other with a force more tangible than seemed possible. Something about the flowing grace he moved around with when his was in such a state was oddly enchanting to the bassist. The notion was suddenly annoying to Reggie.
Several different hallways and sets of stairs later and the dark passageway gave way to an immense central room. Despite the different twists and turns the journey required, the trip was surprisingly short. From the external appearance of the building Reggie had expected that the living area would be massive. So far he had seen very little of what he knew was contained within the home. He would have to remember to ask about that later. The massive room they entered was obviously the main congregation room. Reggie could recognize the hall behind the stairs as the one that led to the various rooms of the band members. In the center of the room, an intricate and immense fireplace stood, but it was the figure behind the stunning hearth that truly took center place. It was a towering devil figure, a statue of stone and steel that bore a knowledge in its gaze that no piece of inanimate material had any right to possess. The stare made Reggie shiver; he felt suddenly cold. Reggie tore his eyes away from the disturbing display, moving his attention to the others in hopes that the action might stifle the disconcerting feeling. It didn’t.
Nearby Negaduck was leaning against the archway that led to the balcony outside the opulent room; yet another passage through the thick barrier that separated the dark world within the manor from the outside realm. Negaduck had many such places where he could survey his domain. He gazed almost lazily over his shoulder as he noticed that the missing members had finally entered the room. Without a word he plucked one of the many cordless microphones he had at his disposal from one of the tables nearby the colossal glass doors before slipping from the room. The others all gathered around the tall glass windows surrounding the doorway as their leader moved towards the balcony edge, watching with anticipation that nearly rivaled that of the masses below. The pace of Reggie’s breath quickened as he moved to join them. Somehow he wasn’t even sure he wanted to watch.
The high perch was barely far enough down the building for the congregation below to see the short duck, but the current level in which they resided was the lowest that the living corridors extended. No one outside the malicious singer ever ventured into the levels below. None dared. The moment Negaduck stepped far enough out onto the ledge to be seen by the fans, the crowd erupted into a flurry of excitement. The singer grinned evilly, feeding off their elated cries. He put his hands out, signaling for the cheers to stop, before flipping the microphone on and bringing it to his bill so that the massive crowd could hear him.
“You wanna see your new bassist?!” he roared, eliciting a louder round of cheers from the masses below. “Well fuck you!” he spat, deep voice booming across the crowd. “You wanna see your fucking bassist? Then I suggest you all be here four months from now when we release our new album,” even from his perch several stories above the fans, his grin commanded attention, “I’ll give you ungrateful knobs a concert the likes of which you have never seen! Be there, or suffer, my, WRATH!” The growled conclusion to the brief speech only made the crowd scream louder as the singer turned away from them.
Relief flooded Reggie’s still weary body at the news that nothing more would be required from him at the moment. Though he couldn’t help but wonder how they would produce an entire album in only four months.
“Well now that that’s settled,” Negaduck said as he reentered the dark manor, “I want you all to get ready for a little trip. We, are going out tonight,” he finished with a grin, moving through the room to the large entryway that led to the upper levels.
“Yeah! Par-tay!!” Jack yelled giddily, half sipping, half running toward the stairs in his excitement.
“Wait. What happened?” Elmo questioned, scratching his head in confusion as he watched his friend dash from the room.
“Time to party hardy Sparky,” Bud replied with a sideways grin at the rodent.
“Heh, sweet… what are we partying for?”
Bud cocked an eye at the perpetually addlepated rodent. “Our new bassist of course,” he said softly, looking over his shoulder at the still dazed duck behind him. Reggie glared faintly as he noticed the other’s attention on him. Bud merely grinned in response.
“Wha?” Elmo asked, bringing the dripping dog’s attention back to him.
“Nothin’,” Bud replied, “Just go change.”
“What the hell for? This is what I always wear.”
“Cause tonight is special asshole. Besides, you know damn well Jack isn’t gonna let you go out without looking pretty.”
“Hmmm. Go where now?”
Bud resisted the urge to roll his nonexistent eyes at the rodent. “Go let Jack play dress up.”
“Uuuhh, I hate it when he makes me his personal Barbie doll!” Elmo groaned, finally trudging away, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he had been talking to the drummer at all.
Bud chuckled slightly, shaking his head at the constantly befuddled guitarist. It continually amazed him that the rat didn’t simply overlook the need to breathe. The realization that Reggie had yet to say anything prompted his attention back to the mutant duck still standing by the balcony doors. The amused expression fell from his face as he noted the look the other was supporting. Reggie was staring sullenly at his dark green hands, face twisted into an excess of depressive emotion. It was quite obvious that he had not yet gotten over his recent change.
Bud made a noise as though to clear his throat in order to gain the other’s attention. Although considering that he lacked a throat to clear, the sound simply came out as a strangely harsh gurgle. Reggie lifted a questioning brow at the sound, looking over at the dripping canine.
“What?” he asked.
Bud tipped his head towards the staircase in response, signaling the other to follow him. Reggie opened his mouth as though to say something but seemed to decide against it. After a quick glance out the window at the thousands still gathered around the building, he trudged after the departing drummer. He made it a point to intentionally stay a few steps behind Bud as he led the way down the corridor. Reggie was barely paying attention, but his distracted mind managed to comprehend that they were going in the opposite direction from where they had come earlier. He was starting to slowly put together the layout of the upper floor in his mind.
They walked in silence toward their rooms. Reggie couldn’t seem to stop fiddling with the garment covering him as he walked. He had to continually tug at the coat to keep it from slipping down his overly thin arms. The defiant material finally forced him to button the garment closed to keep it in place. The feeling was strange; he wasn’t used to having the fabric touching so much of his chest. For some reason it made him feel somewhat claustrophobic. Reggie breathed a small sigh of relief once he reached the bedroom. He slid swiftly inside, closing the door behind him quickly in hopes that it would deter Bud from deciding to bother him. Reggie was grateful for the solitude the room provided. He leaned his back against the door, stopping for a moment to breathe deeply. His composure benefited very little from the brief pause. Leaf-like hands trembled slightly from their place against the smooth surface. Reggie shook the appendages in frustration as he pushed himself away from door. His soft grumbles did a poor job of assuring him that lack of nicotine was the only reason they were shaking.
Reggie was almost apprehensive as he walked to his mirror. He never did have the chance to actually look at himself before Negaduck had decided to have his little chat. Downturned eyes lifted slowly, being forced by their owner to face the mutant in the mirror. That face; if Reggie hadn’t known that it was his he wouldn’t have believed it. Only the piercing blue eyes, tinted with jaundice, lent any sense of familiarity to him. He blinked at the reflection. I wonder if plant-ducks can get jaundice, he thought. He figured not; somehow he doubted that he even had a liver anymore. Did he even have any internal organs at all? Reggie’s purple-petaled head shook at the inane thoughts. It didn’t matter much at that point either way.
Wooded talons clicked lightly on the floor as the perturbed bassist walked across the room; did every place in that blasted home have to have the same marble floors? It wasn’t really the floors that bothered him. The transformation was still eating at him. It was as though he had invaded someone else’s body, or perhaps just had his mind stolen and forcibly placed in some foreign shell. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had been somehow violated. A displeased grunt slipped from Reggie’s bill as he removed his now baggy black pants. The looseness of the material was starting to irritate him. “I suppose I have no need for you now anyway,” he muttered to the worn fabric.
Just down the hall, a certain liquid mongrel was caught in a similar futile course of contemplation as his fellow mutant two doors down. The drummer kept staring in his long mirror, swishing his dripping dreadlocks back and forth absently in his inebriation. He turned the water on in the sink below the large reflective surface, dropping his hands under the cooling stream to absorb the liquid. He felt the sudden need to clear his mind. The amber sheen began to slide slowly from his form, soon leaving him with his normal sparkling blue. Liquid lids slipped over the cerulean pools that comprised his eyes as his thoughts grew deeper. He couldn’t recall ever feeling quite so tired before. The sight that met his gaze when he finally opened his eyes again made the drummer jolt in shock. The red glow sliced through him, a fury and a warning behind the fierce stare.
“I do hope I don’t have to tell you to behave yourself tonight Bud,” the malicious mallard growled.
Bud literally had to force one of his usual cockeyed grins onto his face to mask the internal anxiety caused by the statement. “Don’t I always boss?” he retorted, narrowing his eyes at the scowling duck.
“No,” Negaduck stated simply, his suspicion obviously unappeased by the comment, “Just don’t make me remind you. I wouldn’t want to have to take any… drastic measures,” he finished as he turned his back on the other, leaving the dog to his thoughts.
Bud sighed heavily as the other left, running a hand through the liquid locks on his head to try and steady his mild shaking. “Gettin’ in too deep Buddy boy,” he muttered to himself.
After one last glance at his reflection, he grabbed a pair of black leather gloves off the bathroom counter, pulling them swiftly onto his hands as he followed the mallard from his room. The deep thoughts still swirling through his mind made him pause just outside his door, compelled to gaze down the hall at the room he knew housed the current bane of his existence. He ignored the voice that told him to knock on the other’s door, slipping silently instead down the dark passageway.
Within said room, the fidgeting bassist had accomplished little to settle his nerves. Reggie’s wooden leg shook like Jack on too much caffeine from where he sat on his bed. He was sure he’d gone through at least three cigarettes in just the few minutes he had spent alone in his room. The orange bud at the end of his latest cylindrical victim burned brightly as he took a deep drag from the smoke. It was that room, or so he kept telling himself. He couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that that room was out to get him. Reggie growled at the thought, putting his cigarette out roughly on the table beside the bed; he made a mental note to get an ashtray in the near future.
By the time Reggie forced his feet to carry him back into the unnerving room the others had already changed and were congregating at the bottom of the stairs. Jack’s appearance was far more colorful than what Reggie had previously seen. He was covered in reds and blues, small accents of gold shining in the pale light. Even his hat had been swapped for one of blue and red complete with golden bells. Elmo, on the other hand, had changed very little. His grey brown pants had been replaced with ones of a lighter shade and his boots replaced with ones that lacked the heavy steel toes. The absence of a more extensive makeover seemed very perturbing to Jack.
“Geez Sparky, even Bud changed for fuck’s sake.”
“He put on a pair of freakin’ gloves! Biiig change,” Elmo replied crossing his arms in a huff.
Jack looked over to Reggie as he realized that he had entered the room. A grin spread across his large beak at the sight of the other. “Hehehe, goin’ commando there Bushy?” he asked with a snicker, pointing at the other’s lower half.
“Why should I wear pants when I don’t have a fucking cock anymore?” Reggie grumbled around his cigarette.
“Fucking hell, is bitching all you do?” Negaduck growled, “I threw Bud into a vat of acid and he didn’t bitch this much.”
“Yeah, well… you owe me a new penis,” Reggie muttered under his breath as the singer led the way to the oddly ominous elevator that would take them to the underground parking space.
“Well at least you got them dangly things,” Elmo said, wiggling his finger at Reggie’s stamens as he entered the lift to stand beside the displeased duck, “Those are like, naughty plant bits right?”
Reggie merely scowled in response. He couldn’t help but will the elevator to descend faster as though his thoughts would help speed things up. He really didn’t feel like being stuck in such a small place with the others for long. A disgusted look made its way to his features as his space was suddenly invaded by a certain grinning rhythmist.
“Heh, heh. Wait. So uh, these are like, your balls then?” the jester snickered as he prodded at one of the spheres abrasively. The clown pouted as his hand was slapped away by the sullen bassist. “Oooh you’re no fun,” he said in disappointment.
As the torturous box finally reached the basement level, Jack’s easily distractible nature suddenly decided to make itself known, the swaying tail of the rat in front of him prompting the jester to leave the bassist in favor of a brief grope session. Reggie groaned in annoyance at the other duck. He really hoped he wasn’t going to have to spend too much time with the overgrown child that night.
Reggie was hardly paying attention to his surroundings as they ventured through the twist of tunnels more commonly referred to as the parking garage. He had to admit he was impressed with the repertoire of vehicles stored in the underground maze. His mind wandered horribly during the journey, but when the group finally reached their destination, he stopped dead in his tracks.
“What in the holy hell is that?!” he asked in shock.
The device in question was unlike any vehicle he had seen before. The stretched Lincoln continental had long since been transformed beyond a car. Its once normal lines had been altered into an impressively brutal display. Large tailpipes that spat fire and spiked hubcaps were among the more subtle characteristics of the car. The color was what truly caught Reggie’s eye. The black undercoat lay beneath a fire orange sheen that made the paint look as though it had been infused with small bits of lightning. It was an incredible feat of electronic engineering and an unexpected statement to the mad genius housed deep within the voltage-driven junky currently drooling over her hood.
“Oh my gorgeous, voluptuous, high-voltage babeh!” Elmo purred elatedly, leaning over the long, sleek front end of the excessively modified, 60’s style limo as though the hug would be pleasing to the car. He continued to mutter sweet nothings to the hunk of metal as if it were answering him.
Reggie cocked a brow at the less-than-sane rodent. He was starting to rethink the idea that there was a genius anywhere inside the rat.
“All right, file in assholes,” Negaduck snapped, pulling Elmo off the hood by his tail as he moved around to the passenger side of the car. Reggie was surprised to see that the mallard wouldn’t be driving.
Jack didn’t even bother opening the door to get in the car, its convertible nature allowing for a more flamboyant mode of entry. Reggie tried not to feel impressed at the flip he did into the plush back seat. He was less than pleased when Bud pushed him through the open door to sit beside the annoying duck. “Why do I have to sit in the middle?” he grumbled.
“That’s where the bassist always sits,” Bud replied, closing the door beside him, “Besides, you’ll be safer there. Believe me.”
Before the still grumbling bassist had the chance to question what the drummer really meant, the answer decided to make itself known. The vehicle sprung to life with no more than a sharp surge of power from the crazed rat at the wheel. Reggie never had the chance to react beyond holding the seat below him for dear life before the over-powered car raced from the garage. The mob outside didn’t stand a chance against the erratic speeding of the insane guitarist at the helm. Reggie was sure at least two people got hit as they pulled into the waning sunlight. He was positive about the third.
“Ahhh old lady! That’s double points!” Jack said excitedly. Something told Reggie this was one game that was played often.
“Na she lived,” Negaduck said, glancing in the side mirror lazily, “You lose points for that.”
“Hey, I can go back,” Elmo said distractedly, turning his eyes towards the mallard reclined in the seat beside him as he swerved madly around the few other cars scattered on the road.
“No. We’re almost there just keep your eyes on the road volt-breath.”
As promised, much to Reggie’s relief, the remainder of the trip did not take long. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding as the car finally slowed. Elmo screeched the car abruptly sideways as they pulled in front of their final destination, looking over the side in satisfaction at the perfection of his park job.
A glance at the mallard beside him sent Bud into a round of amused sniggers. The horrified plant-duck was still gripping the leather seat below him, his limbs shaking with the effort of trying to hold onto such an unyielding surface. His soft, lavender foliage was an unkempt mess, ruffled and puffed out in a way that Bud found strangely irresistible. Blue eyes shifted their focus slowly over to the dripping dog beside him as if looking for the other’s assurance that he was still alive.
“Does he… always drive?” Reggie questioned, his voice betraying the fact that he desperately hoped not.
“Well, only when we take his baby,” Bud replied with a chuckle before slipping from the car. He held the door open for the mildly traumatized bassist as the mallard made his way shakily from the backseat.
Reggie shook his head, running a lightly quivering hand over his head in an attempt to get the wild petals under control as he moved to follow the departing dog. Negaduck had already moved down the darkened stairway into the building by the time Reggie stood before it. The Old Haunt. Unassuming on the outside but within the historic walls were housed only the most elite of the city’s well known. These were the closet to the band; people Negaduck knew wouldn’t run their mouths. This was the only place where Reggie would be shown.
“A club?” Reggie asked curiously.
“THE club Reggie,” Bud said with a grin, “Aren’t you excited?” he questioned, a slight chuckle to his voice.
“Whatever. A club’s a club,” Reggie mumbled after the drummer as the dripping fiend slipped down the stone steps.
“I don’t know. Might be a little, seedy, for your taste,” Jack piped in, waggling his brows at the hesitant duck. Reggie glared momentarily in response before following Bud’s moist trail down the cement steps.
“Come on! Nothing?” Jack whined in disapproval, “I thought that one was pretty good.”
Reggie ignored him as he finally stepped into the infamous establishment. The atmosphere was such a contradiction to the outer face of the building that Reggie couldn’t help the astonishment from planting itself plainly on his face. After a brief introduction of the newest member, the group quickly split into their separate ways. Negaduck was obviously uninterested in spending the night anywhere near the others. Within moments the singer was waist deep in booze and women, just the way he liked it. Jack and Elmo soon followed the other’s lead, scurrying off in yet another unannounced race. Only Bud stayed near the blatantly struggling bassist as he was faced with the flurry of patrons eager to meet the most recent addition to the band. Reggie tried to keep his uncomfortable shifting at bay as person after person shot questions at him. He practically could have collapsed in relief when the obnoxious antics of a certain loud mouthed jester and his drugged out companion drew most of the crowd away. Reggie slipped away from the departing group with as much a mix of stealth and speed as he could manage. His attention was scattered until he nearly smacked into a lovely bird that would have stopped him in his tracks even if she hadn’t been in his way.
“Well hello there tall, green and handsome,” the buxom beauty purred, slipping a finger seductively along the exposed part of Reggie’s smooth chest. “Never seen you with this crowd before. I take it you’re the new bassist that’s got everyone in a tizzy.”
Reggie didn’t know what to think. The vixen’s beguiling eyes scrutinized him in a way he was completely unaccustomed to. He placed his cigarette in his beak to protect him from having to produce an answer. As luck would have it, his struggle did not go unnoticed by all the bars dwellers. The suffering plant-duck jumped slightly as the wet arm contacted his shoulder. An irritated expression masked the internal relief Reggie felt at the moist contact. He hated to admit that he was starting to become accustomed to the other’s unannounced touches.
“You stealing my girl away there Reg?” Bud questioned in mock hurt as he smirked at the bassist.
The lovely bird in question giggled at the dog’s flattery. Every lady in that bar knew damn well that no girl was really Bud’s girl. “Oh Buddy, you always know how to flatter a gal now don’t you?”
“Well I have to protect my interests don’t I love? Wouldn’t want Reginald here to be taking my place now would I?" the drummer answered with a flirting grin.
“Well now, no worries cool lips. No boy could take Buddy’s place,” she replied with a wink.
“So sorry to have to steal your consort away, but I really must introduce dear Reginald to the other lovely patrons,” Bud said as he turned Reggie away from the enchanting beauty.
“But of course,” she said softly, a knowing look in her eyes. “Wonderful to meet you, Reginald,” she purred as the two departed.
“Yeah,” Reggie replied uncertainly, looking over his shoulder at the gorgeous bird. She winked at him sensually, blowing him a chaste kiss. Reggie tore his eyes from her at the action. This was going to be quite a night.
Before Reggie managed to tare his thoughts from the fem fetal behind them, Bud had steered him to the glowing bar at the back of the softly lit building were many of the most regular patrons consistently congregated. Normally the long bar was filled with customers, but tonight only three of the locals remained before the mahogany surface. The gentle glow cast upon the otherwise dark corner bathed their faces in blue light. The pale shadows cast upon their features made it somewhat difficult for Reggie to make out exactly what they looked like, but one face caught his attention immediately. The aging duck was long past the prime of her years, yet there was something strangely captivating about the age of her loveliness. The subtle wrinkles on her face lent stories of glorious days long past. He was so engrossed with her that he hardly noticed the middle-aged dog and solemn duck sitting beside her.
“Bud ol’ boy!” the canine called, his tone attesting to his inebriation, “We’ve been waitin’ fer you to show up!” he said, already pouring a glass of the liquid drummer’s favorite drink.
Before Reggie knew it, the eyes of the woman he had been admiring were upon him. They smiled at him through the dim glow of indigo light. He found her presence at the bar strangely comforting.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us to your new friend Buddy?” she asked softly, still smiling at Reggie.
“Annything for you Darla dearest,” Bud purred, swirling his form around Reggie’s back so that the force of his body could push the tentative duck the last few feet to the bar. “Darla, Reginald. Reginald, Darla,” Bud said, slipping his hand beneath Reggie’s in order to place it in the smiling bird’s outstretched fingers.
“Pleasure to meet you Reginald,” Darla said, beaming sweetly as she lifted her slim cigarette to her lips.
“You too,” Reggie said quietly, unsure of what else to say.
“Quite the eloquent one, aren’t we?” Darla replied with a gentle laugh.
“And these other assholes are Benny and Jake,” Bud finished quickly as he took a seat beside his fellow canine and downed the drink the other had already poured for him.
“Oh so you’ll do anything for Darla dear and we’re assholes huh?” Benny asked with a snicker.
“That’s right,” Bud replied simply already pouring himself another drink. A glance to his right told him that Reggie had yet to take his eyes off the lovely duck sitting to his side. “Geez Reg, sit down will ya,” he said yanking at Reggie’s coat to pull him into the seat to his right. Reggie shot the other a half-hearted glare but otherwise didn’t reply.
“So you’re the new bassist huh?” Benny asked leaning across the bar to see past Bud. “Heh, I take it you weren’t interesting enough for ol’ Neggers huh?” he questioned with a smirk as he took in the other’s appearance.
“Nooo, my dad just fucked a tree,” Reggie said sarcastically, lighting a cigarette to try and ease his discomfort.
The unexpected answer set the others into a round of laughter. They were unaware that the sarcastic remark was just a way for the mallard to hide his insecurity.
“You all right Reggie,” Benny said, still laughing slightly, “Barkeep! Round of booze on me!” he said, whacking his hand on the surface in front of him to get the bartender’s attention.
Before Reggie knew it a drink had been placed before him; he cocked an uncertain brow at the bronze liquid. A soft clink sounded from down the bar as Benny tapped his glass against Bud’s, grinning at the other as he downed the delightful drink. Bud chuckled slightly at his good friend before looking over at the still slightly shocked bassist beside him. Reggie was just staring at the drink in front of him as if he was unsure what to do with it.
“What’s the matter Reg? You not a bourbon person?” Bud asked quietly as the others laughed amongst themselves.
“I wouldn’t know. I… don’t really drink,” Reggie muttered, trying to keep the others surrounding them from hearing him.
“Oh Christ Reggie, live a little,” Bud said his eyes swirling in annoyance as he pushed the drink towards the bassist.
Reggie stared at the beverage for a moment before picking it up and bringing it hesitantly to his bill. He knew Bud wouldn’t let it go until he finished at least one drink, so he decided to take the whole thing in one shot. He immediately regretted it. Once the burning liquid contacted his throat his eyes started to water slightly with the effort of keeping himself composed. One of his leafy hands curled into a fist as he brought the appendage to his beak. The hand did a poor job of holding back his soft coughs. He was lucky only Bud could really hear him.
The drummer chuckled in amusement at Reggie’s first meeting with lady alcohol. He patted a gloved hand against the quietly-hacking mallard’s back as he filled the other’s glass again. Reggie cocked a displeased brow at the new dose of intoxicant; he certainly wouldn’t be drinking this one as fast. Fortunately he was saved from having to keep up with the drummer beside him by the sudden round of questions that came his way. He wasn’t sure he preferred the questions to the drinking. Reggie tried his best to ignore the discomfort at being the center of attention; He didn’t even notice how much he was tugging at his coat. The constant questioning was starting to ware at him.
“So Reginald darling,” Darla asked, “Tell us about yourself. How’d a nice looking boy like you get mixed up with this rotten crowd?”
Reggie shrugged at the question, sipping slightly from his drink and trying to keep from shuddering at the still-foreign burn the liquid produced. “I just needed a job,” he stated as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“You picked a hell of a choice for just a job,” Jake decided to say. It was the first time Reggie had heard the mallard talk.
“You take what you can get when you live below the poverty line,” he replied indifferently.
“Well, you got quite some balls to join this crowd,” Benny offered with a small laugh.
Reggie tipped his head at the aged canine, genuinely curious at the comment. “Why’s that exactly?” he questioned.
“You are aware that no bassist has made it past a year, right?” Jake answered, shifting his narrowed eyes to stare at Reggie.
The slouching bassist seemed to think about this for a moment before replying. “Sure,” he answered quietly. Something told the observant drummer beside him that this wasn’t true. Bud glanced quickly down at the other’s empty glass before deciding that the cup necessitated a refill. Reggie narrowed his eyes at the dripping dog as he saw the empty vessel fill once again. “You just enjoy seeing me suffer through this don’t you,” he asked.
“Maybe I’m just trying to get you drunk,” Bud said with a sly grin.
“Heh, somehow that would not surprise me,” Reggie replied with a slight grunt. He downed the drink anyway.
“So Reginald dear,” Darla asked, her soft voice smooth as silk, “Where do you live? You don’t strike me as the type that’s been living around this divine disaster of a city for very long.”
Reggie stiffened slightly at the question. The aging beauty had unknowingly stumbled on one of his more tender nerves. “I… don’t exactly have a home. I’m more of a drifter I suppose,” he responded quietly.
“Oh? And what does your family think about that?” Benny questioned. Reggie was surprised at how genially interested the intoxicated canine sounded.
“I wouldn’t know. I left home at 15.”
“So young?” Darla asked, “So what have you been doing for all these years?”
“A little of this, a little of that.”
“Very nondescript,” Jake muttered suspiciously.
Reggie shrugged. The other duck was an increasing source of disquiet for him. “I’ve done so many things at this point… it would be very boring to listen to I’m sure,” he didn’t know what else to say. Reggie had never had the desire to use alcohol to escape from his discomfort before, but the constant prying into his past was starting to dig up memories he’d rather forget and only the drink in front of him offered any form of escape. For the second time that night, Bud took pity on the suffering duck.
“Oh Reggie, you simply must meet Sapphire,” he said suddenly, grabbing the mallard by the arm and dragging him out of his seat. Reggie’s eyes widened as he was yanked from the bar. His knees practically buckled at the unexpected pull. He certainly hadn’t expected the other to come to his rescue so abruptly.
“Sorry my dears but it’s getting late and I think you’ve hogged enough of Reggie’s time,” Bud said, winking at the others to assure them he was joking.
Before they could even answer, Bud began to drag Reggie away from the bar. It was a good thing too; the bassist was already tripping over his roots slightly from the amount of liquor already in his system. He hardly even noticed where they were going until his companion pulled him down into one of the few sofas situated around the club.
“I thought you were dragging me off to meet someone,” Reggie asked in confusion once he noticed that there was no one around them. “Where is this Sapphire person?”
The dog beside him snickered lightly. “Yeah, Sapphire was that hottie you met earlier,” Bud said amusedly, “I was just getting bored.” The reply was actually quite a poor excuse to cover the dog’s true motives; he was lucky that Reggie was really too relieved to question his reasons. Bud stretched lazily across the couch, a habit left over from days when he actually possessed muscles.
Reggie couldn’t help the soft chuckle that passed his bill as he watched the other recline against the armrest. Maybe Bud wasn’t so bad after all.
As the night crept on, the many partying individuals began to thin out as they found better locations to take their fun to. The band stayed diligently behind, catering to the lingering fans still eager to have their time with the metal icons.
The dragging hours found Reggie sill sitting with the drummer, listening to the many tales the dog had to tell. The table in front of them was scattered with empty liquor bottles, nearly everyone a different brand. Bud now spewed stories almost at random in his increasingly drunken state. He’d even managed to coax a few more drinks down Reggie’s throat. The floral mutant focused his inebriated gaze across the nearly empty bar as the sound of Jack’s drunken singing filtered across the space. The jester was sprawled across the bar where Reggie and Bud had been sitting mere hours earlier apparently making up words as to go along with the quiet tune that Elmo was playing.
“So what’s the deal with them anyway?” Reggie questioned, suddenly interested in knowing more about the strange group he would be living with. “I mean, how the hell did he find you people?” he reiterated, attempting to keep the slight slur from his voice.
“Well that’s quite the story from what I hear,” Bud replied, lifting himself from where he had been laying across the couch so that he could throw a wet arm around Reggie’s shoulder. “I can tell you what I’ve heard, but as for vouching for the validity I make no promises,” he snickered slightly as though the idea was funny. Reggie would have to remember how easy the dog was to get information out of when he was drunk enough.
“I’ll bet. I take it you all met because of the band.”
“Na, they knew each other before. I think they met here but I know Jack came from some shithole town out west in some bible thumping place,” he paused only to take a deep drink from his latest bottle of liquid bliss, “Apparently they thought he was an omen of the antichrist so they threw him out of town. Heh, according to him he was a stripper for over a year before he decided that was too boring. I guess he stared a business making toys of a naughty persuasion. I guess he did that for over four years before he got thrown in jail,” Bud snickered. For some reason Jack’s previous lines of work had always been amusing to him.
“What’d he end up in jail for?” Reggie asked when the other didn’t continue.
Bud shrugged, slipping his arm from Reggie’s shoulder. “Beats me. He changes the story every time you ask him. I do know he was transferred here to St. Canard prison, broke out and acquired Elmo’s company.”
“No shit?” Reggie replied, “So Elmo grow up here?”
“I think so, but no one really knows much about him. From what I hear he was a junkie who got so desperate for a cheap high that he invented a way to get fucked up on electricity. I do know he was living on the streets when Jack met him. I believe he was about 16 at the time. But his brain’s so goddamned fried at this point that I doubt anyone will ever really know,” Bud finished his laughs returning.
“16? How long have they known each other?”
“A couple years. Mo’s only like 19 right now. But like I said no one really knows, he just kinda guesses about his own age.”
“Guesses?! How can he not even know his own damn age?” Reggie asked in disbelief, “There’s no way he’s that brain dead.”
“Oh, yeah?” Bud challenged. He leaned back close to the bassist prompting the other’s attention back to the guitarists across the bar. “Ever notice how he’s constantly plucking at that damn guitar?”
“Yeah I suppose.”
“He does that because if he didn’t he’d forget the songs every five minutes.”
“Hmmm,” was Reggie’s only reply as he contemplated the information that he had gathered over the past few hours. “So Negaduck is the spawn of the devil, Jack is a man whore from Utah, and Elmo is a brain-dead, power plant reject turned voltage junkie.”
“Yup, that’s the whole story as far as I know it,” the drummer said, sprawling idly back across the damp couch cushions.
“Hm. Well there’s still one thing you never told me,” Reggie said, cocking a brow at the lounging water dog.
“Oh,” Bud answered opening an eye at him, “And what would that be?”
“What about Buddy?” Reggie said genuinely curious, “What’s the incredible sopping drummer’s story?”
Bud couldn’t help the grin that spread across his muzzle at the other calling him Buddy. He didn’t bother mentioning the implications of the other referring to him by that name. “Heh, well not much to tell there,” he said, “I’m quite the normal one don’t ya know. I was born and raised in a small town outside St. Canard’s suburbs. Basic white bread family. Two kids, two car garage, all that shit. I worked as a door to door salesman until I decided I couldn’t stand my life, pooled all my money, and came to the city to be a drummer. The rest is history. Those three loons track me down and say I can be rich and famous if I let them throw me into a vat of dubious, burning liquid,” he finished with a trivial flip of his wrist.
Reggie looked at him as though he’d fashioned a second head. “Soo you let them?” he inquired.
Bud shrugged, his eyes slipped closed once again. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Reggie’s head cocked to the side slightly as he observed the other. He found the strange urge to watch the drummer’s constantly flowing water as it sparkled gently in the light. Something in that moment seemed to warn him of how important his peculiar relationship with the dog was going to become.
……………..
Wow… not how I intended to end this chapter. But I also never intended it to be my longest chapter to date, so I guess this one is just full of surprises. Stay tuned for chapter 5!
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Screw the Bassist